Who Am I and What Have I Done With My Pen?

Who Am I and What Have I Done With My Pen? 

By John R. Greenwood

"The long road ahead"

This was a strange day and in some ways a mildly painful one. It began the night before while watching the Colbert Report. The guest was author George Saunders and he was promoting his latest book, “Congratulations, by the way”. The book is a transcript of a convocation speech he gave at Syracuse University where he teaches. The speech touched on the desire of many of us to lead kinder more fulfilling lives. Now, I hadn’t even read the speech or any of his other books. I had not even heard of the man before yesterday, but as I researched his background, I realized something. I realized that my thirst may never be quenched. What I found when I began reading some of the things he’d written was that I didn’t see what all the fuss was about. I have no doubt about his talent. He had more awards and accolades than you could shake a stick at. The problem was, I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand what people found so “amazing” about his stories. I liked his interviews and his demeanor. I found his imagination to be extraordinary. What I struggled with was enjoying his stories. Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe I don’t want to think about what I’m reading. Maybe I need to be better educated to enjoy someone who borders on genius. I was upset at myself. I kept looking up more of his work, more interviews, more reviews. All I got was more frustrated with my own work. Were did I stand when it came to ability and possibility. Why did this bother me so much? I felt claustrophobic. I was facing a serious feeling of self doubt. Was I wasting my time even touching a laptop or picking up a pen? I spent an entire Saturday letting this subject swirl around my head. I have been told my writing was descriptive and well crafted. I sometimes even believed it. But when I started comparing experience and accolades I began sinking lower in my chair. My shoulders slumped and my confidence level dropped below freezing. I started to stiffen up. My head was pounding. What was happening? Do others experience this phenomenon? 

I finally talked myself off the ledge. I was convinced that what was happening was normal. I didn’t have to rely on my writing to pay the car payment--I had a nine to five for that. What I did need was more courage, more gumption, less whining. Did I really think my silly little blog posts could compare to the talent of someone who’d won a Guggenheim and MacArthur Fellowship in the same year? He was famous and I was not. On one hand I couldn’t feel more distant and on the other, the desire to put my thoughts and dreams down on paper was exactly the same as his. He’d paid his dues. I was just beginning. The difference right now was years, or maybe just minutes. I went back to George for a second look. I would buy one of his books. I would study and survey his work more thoroughly. Who was I to think this stuff comes naturally. How arrogant of me. I learned a valuable lesson today. I learned that there are more books than libraries, more trees than forests. I owed it to George to look closer. The ability to grow and thrive depends on our resolve and doing your homework. It doesn’t come on a silver platter. I felt compelled to write about my shortcomings as an artist because I made the mistake of using a measuring stick instead of looking in the mirror. It isn't about the reviews; it's about the person being reviewed. It's about being true to what speaks to you. The problem comes when you're not listening. Today I vowed to open my eyes and listen more closely.