Early in his life, Robert Greene wanted to be a writer. His first attempt at this started early, with a job in journalism. After working for several years, one of his editors took him out for a liquid lunch and told him, “You should seriously consider a different career. You are not writer material. Your work is too undisciplined, your style is too bizarre, your ideas are just not relatable to the average reader. Go to law school, Robert, go to business school, spare yourself the pain.”
After the initial shock wore off, Robert realized he was right; journalism wasn’t the right line of work for him. He left the U.S. and traveled across Europe, doing many odd jobs—construction work in Greece, teaching English in Barcelona, receiving guests at a hotel in Paris, guiding tours in Dublin, making television documentaries in Brixton, amongst many others—all the while initiating drafts of novels, essays, and plays that went nowhere.
When he returned to the U.S., he joined the entertainment business in Los Angeles working in research, writing, and as an assistant director. He saw how people wielded power against each other. He also had power wielded against him, with directors doing whatever they wanted with his writing, or cutting his name out completely, effectively publicly removing his contributions. Robert felt powerless and couldn’t figure it out for himself. Eventually, he realized the entertainment industry was also a poor fit for him. He traveled back to Europe, still without a book, once again working different odd jobs to pay the bills.
He wanted to write, and he didn’t understand power. He studied history to get a better sense of how kings, queens, and powerful people used it. Eventually, he met a friend who worked as a book printer. When his friend asked Robert if he had any ideas for books, an idea came to Robert and he improvised an answer; that was the book that would become The 48 Laws of Power.
I found out about Robert’s story very early on in my own career, and after some more life experience, the emotional depth of it resonates with me much more. For example, when he talks about his inclination towards darker emotional themes, it reminds me that everybody has a dark side, and it’s important for me to get back in touch with it in order to channel it constructively. I recently met an author who discussed a painful and humiliating rejection with me, and how she channeled the vengeful energy she felt into writing a new book.
More importantly, I also realized that Robert would not be considered a leading thinker of power before he wrote the book; he hadn’t seen much success in journalism or in entertainment. When he traveled to Europe, his family and friends must’ve wondered if he was running away from his problems. His book on power came together not because he was powerful, but because he felt powerless and struggled with this emotion. (Powerlessness also found its way into Mastery). On top of this, nobody else talked about it; power, perhaps more than sex or even money, was (and remains) too taboo to discuss, so perhaps he felt like nobody else could help him either. In his process of learning and mastering power, and writing the book, he also became it.
In writing what he did not know, the writing process helped Robert figure it out. My experience has been similar in kind; I struggled with a creative block, which led me to write my book, Creative Doing.
When I was younger, I learned about Robert’s circuitous route to his first book, and the lesson I took away was to try not to do this. Now, as I revisit his journey, I realize the beauty in the struggle. All of the life experience he accumulated along the way was, in its own way, necessary in order for him to write. “It’s all material,” he says.
More importantly, he didn’t need to wait to become an expert in order to write; instead, he wrote about the powerlessness he struggled with. The writing process led him to do immense amounts of research, derive new insights, and communicate them clearly which, as a byproduct, made him an expert. The years and energy he gave writing, it paid him back with expertise and insight.
Writing has done the same for me, and it can do the same for you as well, so long as you’re willing to participate.