Today’s guest is Robin Antalek author of The Grown Ups (William Morrow, 2015) and The Summer We Fell Apart (Harper Collins, 2010) which was chosen as a Target Breakout Book. Robin’s non-fiction work has been published at The Weeklings, The Nervous Breakdown, and collected in the following anthologies: The Beautiful Anthology; Writing off Script: Writers on the Influence of Cinema; and The Weeklings: Revolution #1 Selected Essays 2012-1013. Her short fiction has appeared in Salon, 52 Stories, Five Chapters, Sun Dog, The Southeast Review and Literary Mama among others. She has twice been a finalist in Glimmertrain Magazine, as well as a finalist for The Tobias Wolff Award for Fiction. She lives in Saratoga Springs, New York.
Connect with Robin on her blog and on Facebook.
[pullquote] “Doing the work of writing is something I’m passionate about—educating would be writers on the commitment and compulsion you must have to get the words on the page. To be published is a goal—but to do the work to get there is something entirely different. It’s not movie magic, it’s hard work. Even the most accomplished writers have a drawerful of rejections and abandoned manuscripts.” – Robin Antalek[/pullquote]Doing the Work
I was walking the dog and a neighbor came rushing up to the fence that faced the sidewalk where my dog was sniffing a pile of dirt and leaves. Over the chain link he asked in rapid succession, “How did you get to be a writer? How did you get published? Do you need an MFA?”
His son had just completed an undergraduate English degree from a prestigious northeastern college and was presently living in his childhood bedroom sleeping way past noon and telling his confused parents that he couldn’t just go look for any job because he “wanted to be a writer.” But they hadn’t seen any evidence of writing happening. I think they had visions of their son watching Netflix until the sun came up and sleeping all day for the rest of their lives and it terrified them.
My fast answer is usually: “Butt in chair.” And I did say that—but I also asked him if his son just wanted to “be a writer” or did he really want to “write”? He shook his head. He didn’t understand the question.
Being a writer and writing are worlds apart. While fiction was my one true love, after college I took any job that would pay me. The writing gigs were few, but I didn’t turn anything down. I wrote ad copy, radio scripts, press releases and did a stint working for a business news network where I kept a massive tome of financial terms in my desk drawer. I didn’t have a clue about Wall Street but I learned to write thirty-second business briefs like I’d gone to Wharton. I wrote for pennies per word or for free just for experience and the byline. Nights and weekends were my time to write fiction and I trained myself to do just that. Butt in chair, whether I felt like it or not.
For me there was simply nothing else I ever wanted to do. Words always came easily. Was my first published novel my first written novel? No, that was a rip-off of Go Ask Alice, written when I was thirteen. At just under fifty pages it was light on plot, tension and character because I knew nothing about drugs other than what I’d read in Go Ask Alice.
Writers should be readers and I was diligent. I read constantly, outlined the novels I admired for pacing and structure, and supported literary journals and trade periodicals. All the while I continued to submit short stories where I amassed file folders of rejections. The “good” rejections were the personal notes—and I hung my fragile writing life on those words and before long was submitting directly to the people kind enough to write them. Little by little stories were accepted into journals, I got into a workshop on twenty-five pages of a novel in progress and I never, ever, stopped writing. Snails pace progress, but man, I worked for every micro movement forward.
Right there is the difference of wanting to “be a writer” and “writing.” Writers write. Some see success, some never do, but that also depends upon how you define success. Here’s the truth: a funny thing happened on my road to publication. I realized I was doing the work. Published or not. With effort my writing life shifted. I stopped coddling every word I put on the page and began to enjoy the process of cutting and shaping. Sure, I shelved three novels that I jokingly refer to as my own MFA program. But without those novels I might have never sold the fourth novel, my debut, and got an agent. Very soon, my second novel, actually my sixth, will be published. There was a novel between them that I worked on for two years and put away. If I had never stuck with it, I might never have known that this is the work of writing. I know that sentence makes it sound so simple. Believe me, it wasn’t.
William Carlos Williams said, “I think all writing is a disease. You can’t stop it.”
So of anyone who wants to be a writer I would ask this: Do the words drive you? Are you compelled to write and do nothing else? Is there an ache to tell the story? Your story? Then do the work. Tell that story the best way you know how. Then tell it again and again and again until you are satisfied. Tell that story until the truth makes you squirm in your chair. When you are finished you won’t have to say you want to be a writer, you will already be one.
How do you define the difference between “writing” and “being a writer”? How do you “do the work”?
Thank you for this, Robin.
I’m sure I won’t be the first writer to admit there have been periods of my life where “being a writer” has held more appeal than the actual writing. Writing is hard work, after all!
What helps me switch gears is when I question myself as to why my butt constantly leaves my chair, why having a spotless kitchen is suddenly more pressing than finishing that chapter. (Those who know me well understand that my kitchen is only spotless when I’m avoiding something.)
If I know I’m not working because a plot point doesn’t ring true or because a scene strikes too deep a nerve, I can then brainstorm a better plot point or tackle another scene. The compulsion to write always returns.
Kim – cleaning your kitchen can also be considered writing if you are thinking about those characters or a plot line or really even if any of your characters avoid work by cleaning… ;-) A lot of my writing is done in my head – and when I can’t take that anymore I sit down to do the real work.
Good luck!
I’d say the difference between ‘being a writer’ and ‘writing’ is the same as the difference between a noun and a verb.
‘Writer’ is a noun. ‘Writing’ is a verb. To be a…..(choice of occupation) you have to….(perform the work of that occupation). A cook cooks. An astronomer studies the skies. A surgeon performs operations.
A writer writes. Night and day. BIC. Anything. Everything. Till he acquires the skill to move the reader’s emotions with just words, created over a distance of space and time. That is the magic of writing.
A writer (noun) writes (verb).
The magic of writing. There’s magic in the story, isn’t there? Sounds like you know exactly what you need to do, Anjali! A writer writes, indeed.
I’m not even published and guys ask me to help them learn how to write. Where do you start? I learned to write by writing, listening to others tell me why and where it sucked, and studying to improve. I think maybe I’ll carry around a dozen copies of Stephen King’s “On Writing” and just hand it to whoever asks me that question. “Here,” I’ll say. “This explains everything.” The good news for those of us who foolishly want to give this thing a go are in the minority. Millions of people want to write a book, and hundreds of thousands (based on the towering slush piles I’ve heard about) will actually write one. But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say less than 1% of those actually stick with it after those first rejections.
Yes, I want to be a writer if I grow up.
I have to. I really suck at being a normal.
All the best writers are firmly in the “not normal” camp, Ron. Welcome! Stephen King’s book is one of my favorites too – and it seems like you have uncovered the two things every writer needs to be successful: you have to read and you have to write. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment!
I love this post because it’s so honest. Frankly your neighbors need to boot their kid out … he’ll start writing fast enough or get another job so that he has something to write about besides the movies he’s watched.
I came to writing later in life. It is a gift. And so I’m doing all I can to tell the stories that are bursting out of me. Scribbling in my notebook, typing out the stories, sending them out, entering contests, etc. The best teachers have been the books of course, but it’s the time spent writing, even if it’s not very good. It’s all practice, including this comment.
Congratulations on your new book! I’ll look forward to reading it.
Vijaya ~ Thanks so much for reading and taking the time to comment. You are so very right – it’s all practice. Good luck with your writing. Tell your story, you’re the only one who can.
That question — the difference between writing and being a writer — is such an important one, and a tricky one to answer. I don’t think being a writer should be defined by accomplishments (published articles, essays, novels) but rather by commitment and spending your hours in pursuit of a writing goal, making that Important with a capital I.
Thanks for being with us today, Robin!
Hi Robin. I ‘fell’ into writing my first book and knew nothing about writing as I’m a Process Psychologist. I was also unbelievably fortunate to be published by a mainstream publisher. But i had absolutely no idea how much work it took! No idea at all. I often said, if I’d known, I probably wouldn’t have done it.
But here I am again, writing my 2nd book, albeit many years later. So I guess that being a writer is in me but the writing part? As you say, butt in chair!
Thanks for a great post.
Thanks so much for commenting ~ and how exciting that you are now writing book two! It doesn’t matter the distance between books or even the distance between getting words on the page ~ you are writer.
I’ve always written. With the exception of a period in my twenties where I thought that writing was something you should “grow out of.” But I came back to it a couple of years ago, and it was like I could breathe again. it was the way of expressing myself I had been searching for in those interim years. Being a writer is something you can’t force. It’s in you or it’s not. You have to have the passion.
Absolutely, Phoenix ~ you can’t run from it. Writing finds you one way or another. I am so happy that you are writing again. As Therese said here in the comments – its not about the publishing credits – it’s not about the public declarations or recognition. If you are writing, if you are happiest when you are writing, you are a writer. Nothing can take that away.
Excellent post, Robin. While I like having written better than sitting down to write, nothing feels as good, afterward!
I believe this is what separates the writer from the author. Sweat equity.
Oh my goodness Laura, sweat equity indeed. That’s great! I too like having written – but I’ve also noticed something about that time between books, when the business of writing takes over for a while, I long for writing like an old friend I haven’t seen in ages. That’s when I know it’s time to start a new book.
Ann Crispin made a similar point in a writer’s workshop I attended decades ago. “Most people who come to these workshops want to be authors”, she said, “not writers.’
What a lovely quote, Terry. Thanks so much for sharing.
Robin, I don’t know why but your post brought me comfort. I struggle with being an unpublished author, at least a single work all my own. I’ve been published in anthologies, but people don’t seem to count those. And when I say I’m a writer, and people ask what that means I really don’t know what to say. Your words, however, seem to have grounded me a bit. Like someone else, I’m good at avoidance so I can be found doing housework, my least favorite thing to do, when my writing is bugging me!