Note: I wrote this post a month ago as an exercise in therapeutic writing. I decided then that I wouldn’t publish it, but I believe it provides a valuable counterpoint to yesterday’s post. Before writing me off as a shameless snob for this post, make sure you read the preceding one, entitled “Writing: My Craft, Enlivened.”
I’ve been a bit frustrated lately. I had decided not to express it on the blog, however, because it would crush me if anyone I worked with, or anyone else for that matter, mistakenly took my frustrations as a negative comment about my job. I absolutely love my job, my team, my leaders, and everything else about the place. Seriously, that’s not an exaggeration. At this point in my life, the most exciting prospect for me would be to retire from there in 30 years or so. I can’t imagine wanting to leave.
Now, that said, I want to share some thoughts about what I do for a living. I’m a writer. I’m not a salesperson who writes. I’m not a schoolteacher who writes. I’m not an auto mechanic who writes. I’m not a park ranger or busboy or accountant or elephant trainer who writes. I am a writer. That’s what I do, that’s what I’ve done every day for eight years, and that’s what I want to do eight hours a day, forty hours a week.
I know where commas are supposed to go. I know what a split infinitive is. I know why one word works better than another in certain situations. I know how to pluck a single thought from the garden of ideas, nurture it, develop it, and then paint a picture with words so that others can see it just as I do. I also know when to let a good idea die, pruning out the “good” from the “great.” Moreover, I know how to lead others to do the same, coaching other writers to hone their skills just as my mentors have coached me.
It’s not magic nor guesswork, accident nor luck. It’s a skill that is one part natural talent and one bigger part opportunity and training. It is an ability refined in the fires of harsh edits, rejection letters, failed manuscripts, and shouting matches with bullish editors.
Driving a car doesn’t qualify me to repair transmissions on the weekends. Grilling a hamburger doesn’t qualify me to open a restaurant. Playing with my iPhone doesn’t qualify me to write programs for it, develop marketing campaigns to sell it, or design the next model or product line. Steve Jobs won’t take my calls, no matter how much I love the iPhone.
Writing is perceived as different, however. Writing seems to be the one occupation that everyone thinks they can do in addition to their own jobs. Of course, I mean professional, for-pay, mass-market writing here. I have nothing against writing hobbyists, bloggers, or those who craft an especially powerful letter. Writing as a hobby is a glorious, educational enterprise that expands the mind far more than an episode of Survivor ever could. The world is shrinking, and we could all use a new generation of brilliant communicators. And yet, writing a blog doesn’t qualify someone for professional writing any more than my occasional notebook doodling qualifies me to be a graphic designer.
And sadly, business leadership often gets involved, as well, further muddying the waters. If you are a working, professional writer—trained, tried, and true—then you probably know how to turn a phrase better than your accountant boss does. And yet, he or she may still demand their version. Nothing kills a writer’s creative spark faster than reviewing his own work in print—and seeing the dark shadow of another’s voice all over the page. (True story: The head of the magazine department at my first publishing job was the CFO.)
This is one of the downsides of professional writing, and it is a lesson that new writers should learn well. Writing as art is becoming a tough sell in today’s world. “Everyone can write” is becoming subtly synonymous with “Everyone is a writer.” It’s not.
This makes it especially difficult for those of us who actually have to hire writers for mass market work. As soon as I put a job posting up for a writing position, I just stand back and let the wave of garbage hit me in the face. I always put the disclaimer, “Previous publishing experience required,” but to no avail. As soon as the word “writer” hits the job board, waves of journal entries and blog posts fill my inbox as “writing samples” from plumbers, teachers, housewives, gardeners, and biologists. Seriously, I once posted a job for a Bible study writer and asked only for those with seminary and ministry experience; a working biologist with a Ph.D. and absolutely no published work applied and sent home-brew writing samples. He didn’t get the job.
Fellow writers, I fear that our craft is in danger. The only solution, in my opinion, is to make our work more outstanding, more excellent, more unique than ever before. The market, both in print and online, is flooded with pages and pages of text, where haphazard words and half thoughts are taking the place of worthy writing and valuable stories. So, make your work stand out. Be the tree among the weeds. Let good writing live on.