let’s extend the discussion in class that was prompted by aviva’s reference to a romanticized (and questionable) magicality surrounding (inherent in) the writing process. seth pulled us back to the realist issue of discipline. which camp do you fall into: the one of muses that comprises an element of magic, or the one of rigor in the dailiness required by the business of words? or perhaps you fall somewhere in the middle?
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Eating Our Words 
I feel that the act of writing is undoubtedly magical. However, discipline increases the chance and quality of the lightning strike, if you will. Not enough discipline leads to very sparse acts of debatable genius, but too much makes writing soulless.
Everything in moderation, I suppose.
And here’s the NY Times article on the Cattle Industry. http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9405E0DD1331F932A25752C0A9629C8B63&sec=&spon=&pagewanted=2
I disagree Sean, I don’t think anyone can have too much discipline as a writer. I think soullessness in writing comes only from working too much on one piece, not from working too much in general. I would say no one can really teach someone to write, but can rather just help someone teach themselves. Therefore we must all teach ourselves to write (with the exceptions of theory and the rules of a language, which can be taught) when we write, and when we are disciplined to write often and more often we teach ourselves to write better. A disciplined actor is good, a more disciplined actor is better, not any less magical, and I think the same applies to writers. If you convinced yourself to get up in the morning and write for four hours every single day, in ten years you would be all the better writer for it.
There is magic/luck that is involved certainly, but I think Samuel Goldwyn put it well, “The harder I work the luckier I get.”
Perhaps I have just spent too much time around debatably talented but undoubtedly pretentious people (ah, high school creative writing majors…), but I find myself calling writing “magical” or any words like it. To say that the act of writing is magical– I guess I would ask, why? And what counts as magical and what doesn’t? To assign an act such a heavily inflected word is to imbue it with meaning and gravity that it doesn’t always (maybe even rarely) warrants. I’m not saying there aren’t moments of genius or inspiration, but I think these spring from a practiced and studied mind. So I guess I’m in the disciplinary camp.
(And yes, I object to the idea of “soulless” writing just as much as I object to the idea of “magical” writing.)
Sean, that reminds me of a metaphor that Mary Oliver uses in one of her books. She likens the writing process to Juliet waiting for Romeo. “Make a promise to yourself, and show up. Like Romeo and Juliet in the orchard – if they hadn’t both showed up, no love story! … Be reliable, pay close attention, then you can write what comes to you, because it will be coming from that deeper place, because you are ready. Go to the orchard.” That’s the philosophy I subscribe to (though I don’t practice it very well) — you have to get into the habit of discipline in order for inspiration to strike.
Oh, Aviva, I love that you’re pulling up Mary Oliver. She’s someone I would have loved to have read with the class this month. What you’ve quoted is important, I think — the bit about the deeper place. This is what I think we mean when we say “magical,” a word I dislike in the context of writing. Those moments of deeper instinct are important, and lovely — but they only come out if you’re actively writing, and THAT requires discipline.
What we haven’t really spoken about when talking about discipline is revision. We could all sit and write for x number of hours every day, and amass an insane amount of work — and sure, that requires some amount of discipline. But what transforms that hard work, and those lovely (magical?) moments of instinct into something deliberate and refined is revision. It’s also, incidentally, the part of the writing process I find most daunting.
I guess part of the reason the “magical” myth is so appealing is that it omits the need for revision altogether. Either a beautiful, perfect piece has sprung forth full formed or it just isn’t good and will never be good. I definitely don’t agree with that but there can be a sort of spark that makes you want to examine and work on the piece more.
Also, everyone seems to be championing the discipline idea so just to play devil’s advocate — if discipline is all that matters, what defines really good writing? Where does the myth come from in the first place?
Clearly, discipline isn’t all that matters. But it’s nice to think that it is — it’s a myth in its own way, however different it might be from the “magical myth.” There’s this idea that if we work hard enough, and spend enough time reading good writers and practicing our craft, we’ll gain some sort of mastery of it. The American Dream — work hard, and succeed — adapted for the writer, in some sense.
This brings to mind an essay that Francine Prose wrote for The Atlantic a few years ago in their fiction issue. I think it was adapted from her book about reading like a writer. The bulk of the essay is about just that, reading like a writer, but she opens with the question, “Can creative writing be taught?” She writes:
“It’s a reasonable question, but no matter how often I’ve been asked it, I never know quite what to say. Because if what people mean is: Can the love of language be taught? Can a gift for storytelling be taught? then the answer is no. Which may be why the question is so often asked in a skeptical tone implying that, unlike the multiplication tables or the principles of auto mechanics, creativity can’t be transmitted from teacher to student.”
http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200608/francine-prose
I may be jogging down this lane because it’s 2 a.m. and I’m knee deep in my final portfolio, but both myths — the myth of discipline, the myth of magic — seem attractive because they rule out this idea of required, unteachable, innate talent. Inspiration strikes — and you’re golden. Or else you work hard for long enough — and you’re set. Both seem like easy traps for aspiring writers.
Aviva,
I don’t think discipline is all that matter, and I don’t think everyone is advocating that. I’m trying my best to carefully organise my thoughts on what I feel makes a good writer besides discipline, and I think only one specific dialogue comes to mind for me (and I’m not going to bother telling you who wrote it):
‘What are you writing?’ I made the mistake and asked.
‘I’m writing the best I can. Just as you do. But it’s so terribly difficult.’
‘You shouldn’t write if you can’t write. What do you have to cry about it for? Go home. Get a job. Hang yourself. Only don’t talk about it. You could never write.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Do you ever hear yourself talk?’
‘It’s writing I’m talking about.’
‘Then shut up.’
I think certain people are inclined to write better than others (though I think the people who are inclined to write better can be anybody and come from anywhere). Discipline will only help you write if you are able. That is, I think nature, as well as nurture, has a big part to play. For example, it would be absurd to think that anyone could have been Shakespeare given the right circumstances and the right discipline.
Seth, I think you are correct in stating that writers need discipline…it’s not only about magic. But what we need to clarify is that a disciplined writer is not one that merely writes and writes until the piece comes closer to completion; a truly disciplined writer is a truly disciplined reader. This is the link I believe we are missing in this discussion. Stacie said (I believe it was Stacie and not Cohen, probably both) that in order to write well, you MUST read. A lazy reader myself, I am finally seeing the value in this, because if you don’t read, you’re stuck in your own technique, and though it may start off magical, it can become stagnant. Like in any other aspect of life, the way to grow is to learn from others, while constructing yourself. So as writers, let’s keep this “magic”…but train it as well.
Seth I loved what you said how you can’t teach someone to write, but can rather just help someone teach themselves. As I’ve written this semester, I’ve tried to figure out what the trick is, is there a formula etc… Through workshops and class discussions I’ve discovered that while writing is a process involving discipline and “elements of style”, as E.B. White says, there is also a magical aspect. The instantaneous writing spurts on scraps of napkin and paper are just as crucial to the writing process as daily writing and revisions. One doesn’t negate the other.
I definitely think that I fall into the camp of writing with discipline. It seems unfair to call writing that we think is brilliant an act of magic because it undermines the credit that we should give to writers. If something came to a writer in a dream, is that really the writer’s talent? I agree that writing is magical, and beautiful, and sometimes we wonder how someone put an emotion or an action into words, but I think that there is a discipline to writing, it is a process that needs tweaking and effort. When claiming that a certain piece is an act of magic, it just seems that it came from somewhere other than the writer.
Although I shy away from calling writing a “magical” process per se, I definitely get into that zone where good stuff is coming out but I don’t feel like I’m actually controlling the details beyond the basic plotline. But I think that in order to get to that zone you have to start from a stable place, maybe a thought. maybe a line of dialog or the first line of a poem. Or just an image. I guess that’s where I think discipline comes in. Even if you can’t exactly teach people to be good writers, you can guide them to starting points from which good writing can spring. When I’m in a creative writing class and doing writing exercises, I hit on that place more often. During the times when I actually convince myself to write regularly, I also hit on that place more often. With practice it gets easier to deal with the tender, emotional issues in writing, and this is often where the strongest writing lies.
And I agree with Jessica as well; other writers certainly provide inspiration stylistically and thematically, and reading them gets us out of ourselves a little. Unknowingly (or consciously) we incorporate the elements of different writing that we liked, and that adds to the whole flow of the writing process.
Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is that I think writing does involve a certain amount of magic, something that pulls you out of yourself for a while and throws you purely into the act of writing. It also involves discipline and practice and feedback and external influence…and if everything comes together just right, it will be something that people want to read.
Writing is definitely not magical, at least not in the way people use that word. Writing is sweat, hours, and of course inspiration, but inspiration is not magic; inspiration is inspiration; inspiration is an idea, a great line, usually coupled with a burst of energy that gets you to sit down and actually get it on paper.
I think that ninety percent of my good ideas disappear just because I’ll be too lazy or too far from paper or computer to get them down, and once I think something and put it into words in my head, that’s it, I don’t have the patience to hold the thought in my mind or think it up again… but maybe that means that those ideas aren’t worth saving anyway.
Back to the point, Inspiration is inspiration and not magic, and writing is hard work. That said, I don’t think that just anybody can write. Writing is a talent like any other, some people are just less adept from the get go. I could never succeed at physics, I could never understand finance, maybe you can’t see why what you’re writing doesn’t flow well, why one word doesn’t fit in with the rest of the diction, etc. etc. All that definitely develops with practice and time, but I believe that there has to exist a certain basic understanding of the aesthetics and whatever the sound-version of aesthetics are of writing in order to really be good at it. I look at the writing I did even last year and think; how did anyone ever like that? How was I ever proud of that, but people did like it and I was proud; even though I didn’t have the skill or patience yet to be a good writer, I had the sensibility, an innate knowledge that made my writing not-so-terrible. With practice I’ve grown, and hopefully I’ll grow even more. I’d also like to note that I can’t write expository papers for anything; they’re never in logical order, my teachers call me into their offices to shake their heads at me. I still have so much to work on. Writing isn’t magical, it’s work, just like anything else.