Raymond Carver, a writing professor and author of short stories, had friends who published their work and apologized for it not being very good. “It would have been better if I’d taken the time,” they would say. Raymond responded:
I wanted to say to my friend, for heaven’s sake go do something else. There have to be easier and maybe more honest ways to try and earn a living. Or else just do it to the best of your abilities, your talents, and then don’t justify or make excuses. Don’t complain, don’t explain.
When I consider what I want more in my life, I’m interested in writing and publishing more books. I’d taken a break from working on my next book a couple of months ago, which has opened up space to consider what the best way to approach writing it—and the following books—might look like.
The tension comes from knowing that I’m capable of writing a great book, and earning success from it, while balancing it out with the very limited time and energy that I’m working with. I took a break because, I realized, I didn’t have enough time to write and edit the book in the way that I would have hoped. Perhaps another way of saying this is, I was trying to avoid the disappointment that Raymond’s friends felt about their work.
I have two choices: I can either wait for an opening, in which I make the time and energy to write the book as I would like to. Or, I can carve time out regularly, make progress in smaller chunks, and accept the ensuing frustration, disappointment, and exhaustion.
The reality is, stories are subjective, and so are the ensuing emotions. You can give shape to how you feel.
Since the expectations I’ve set are getting in the way, and no longer useful, I’ve got to find a new way to work with them. Relaxing expectations doesn’t mean that I’m not expecting good things to happen. However, it does mean shifting focus away from the end results, back into the writing process, and doing my best with what I’ve got.
In the analogy of a romantic relationship, it means shifting focus away from what other people think of the person I’m dating, and focusing more on the person and our relationship.
Not all of this has clicked for me yet. A part of me still, truly and genuinely, desires getting good results. The question I need to answer is, “Is that worth writing and publishing fewer books? Very possibly none?”
Some of my work will impress and delight me. Others will disappoint me, confuse me, or make me feel scared. The process of making all of this work will teach me, as long as I’m ready and remain open.
If part of growing up means learning to appreciate the people around you—your loved ones, for all of their strengths and their flaws—who reciprocate this love, then perhaps I can approach my creative work in a similar way.