What It Takes To Succeed in Writing – Spoiler Alert: I Don’t Know

I just wrote to a friend whose stepson is a fabulously talented writer, but sadly, remains virtually unknown in the literary world today. My friend remarks that this is a “hard road,” to which I respond:

Yes, I’m quite certain it’s a hard road. I’m reminded of my life as an undergraduate during which I told my advisor that I aspired to be an author of philosophic novels. To my surprise, he actively discouraged me, on the basis of how difficult a field this is to enter. He explained that he had been a roommate of John Updike at Harvard, and thus had a privileged position from which to observe how this whole thing goes. He told me, “Once you achieve that status, you can barf on a page and it will be received with great ovation, but only a handful of people each generation actually gets there.”

The issue, of course, is meritocracy, i.e., that there isn’t one there, or anywhere else.

We elect George W. Bush, we emulate Paris Hilton, we listen to Sheena Easton, we admire Donald Trump, and so on. People who don’t know the first thing about climate science argue about the subject–against actual climate scientists.  These are not exactly examples of the cream rising to the top.

Even professional sports contains devices that blunt meritocracy. Did you know that virtually every golfer you see on Sunday afternoon television is exempt from qualifying rounds? There are a handful of spots open to people who survive the myriad of rounds of qualifying at the local, state and regional levels, but the PGA is designed so that you’re very likely to recognize the same group of players each week, so you can develop an affinity for them and want to tune in. The fact that there are better players than the ones you’re watching, but who can’t get a chance to compete, doesn’t concern them in the least.

Here’s another side of the same coin that an ex-girlfriend explained to me many years ago. After college she began to pursue a career in architecture, but was immediately turned off that the firm she had joined did such horribly unimaginative stuff, and just continued to turn out the same derivative junk, year after year. She finally mustered the courage to enter the office of the firm’s president and asked him why he didn’t apply some level of talent, skill and creativity to his craft. An awkward moment, to be sure. Remarkably, the man took no offense; he even appeared to have seen it coming.  He smiled, stood up, closed the door and then took his seat once more.

“There’s something you don’t understand, Liz, and it’s very important,” he began. “People love s***. In fact, they demand s***, and if you give them anything other than s***, they will reject it and go find someone who can satisfy their insatiable appetite for it.”

Now, you can argue about this, write it off as cynical, or process it in any way you choose. But at the end of the day, you still live in the country that elected George W. Bush, not once, but twice.