This warm, friendly, deeply encouraging book might just be the best book on writing I've ever read, even compared to justly well-regarded classics like Stephen King's On Writing, Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird, and Brenda Ueland's If You Want to Write. To be fair, those books offer unique and profound gifts of their own, and are certainly must-reads for any aspiring writer. But as inspiring as they are, they're short on specifics for how to sustain motivation over time. In contrast, Word Work offers plenty of specific, practical advice for navigating the writing life. The result is a book with an authentic voice that is equal parts homespun honesty and elevated wisdom.
Writing books tend to fall in one of two categories: books on technical aspects of writing like plot, character, or sentence construction, and books on the personal aspects of writing like motivation and discipline. Word Work definitely falls into the latter category, though it is less fuzzy in its "inspiration" and more technical in its advice, making it an excellent guide to the writing life.
Just as writing books tend to fall into one of two general categories, so too do writer personalities: the pragmatic, goal-oriented "doers," who take a step-by-step approach and, in the world of fiction, are usually "plotters," and the romantic, intuitive "dreamers," who wait for the muse, look to signs and synchronicities for guidance, and, in the world of fiction, are usually "pantsers." Unusually, Bruce Holland Rogers seems to reside somewhere in the middle of this spectrum. He's equally at home wading into the mystic and wrangling the day-to-day.
For Bruce Holland Rogers, writing is a calling and a way of life. To take up the call to write is to go on a quest into the heart of life and self. This sense of writing being its own reward allows Rogers to remain remarkably neutral on subjects where most people take passionate sides. For example, he examines writing primarily for the sake of money versus writing primarily for the sake of art and acknowledges the advantages of either approach. He agrees that there are times that fast drafting and productivity are essential, while also agreeing that there are projects that need time to stew and mature. He neither tells his readers that they need to become obsessed with productivity and sacrifice everything to the altar of the word count nor tells them that they don't need to establish a regular writing routine.
In addition to many chapters on establishing a writing routine, Rogers dedicates many chapters to a topic at the center of any human life: relationships. While some writers might genuinely be recluses, and all of us need a certain amount of solitude, even if just to get the work done, most of us also need and seek companionship and connection. Rogers honors this by not treating relationships as a generic topic, instead, exploring in depth the role of different relationships in the writing life.
Rogers dedicates a chapter to "writers loving writers" and another chapter to "writers loving non-writers." In his usual manner, he offers this information impartially and without pushing either scenario as superior. His words helped me better appreciate and take advantage of being a "writer loving a writer." My partner and I have since had "writing dates" and have become more aware of how sharing our creative process can open channels that sometimes get blocked between us.
Rogers is so thorough, he made sure to include a chapter that covered material beyond his personal experience: how to write when parenting children. He accomplished this by interviewing some of his friends who were raising children while writing and presenting the chapter as a creatively edited transcript of their answers, thoughts, and strategies.
Rogers also goes into psychological depth on the toxic effects of living in a community that does not value writing or the arts. He points out that the general cultural stew you're in plays a significant role in your ability to persist as a writer; the "toxic golf" of living somewhere that treats what you do as unworthy can ultimately wither you. He makes what is surprisingly an oft-neglected point in books of advice to writers: while you don't need to move to New York, it's worth considering a move to a city with at least a bare minimum of supports for writers, if you're not already living in one.
Rogers also notes the pros and cons of the ways writers have traditionally thought of "community": meeting up for workshops and critiques. He describes with remarkable candor the complex internal reactions writers often have to criticism, and how to ride the roller coaster of ego at writing events with humor and resilience. He analyzes which types of criticism are worth considering and which are better ignored.
Even those of us who write as a means to "soul survival" and don't need great fame or fortune to validate what we're doing inevitably battle with the demons of grandiosity when it comes to writing. No one wants to believe they're writing crap, no matter how humble their dreams of recognition may be. Producing a concrete manifestation of dream-images, thoughts, and ideas, so that these can be more easily analyzed and critiqued, is nerve-wracking. You rise when you feel like you've nailed something, and sink when you feel you’ve hopelessly garbled it, or when some of your ideas fail when they're tested.
It's this harrowing of the ego that fells so many writers, some before they’ve written more than just a few pages.
Rogers describes these peaks and valleys in unflinching, intimate detail, and provides numerous ways to address them and to maintain sanity and joy in the writing life. The theme is always that writing is its own gift, and the writer needs to live her life in such a way that she doesn't lose sight of that. Perhaps my favorite single piece of advice in this book is how to identify "heart-sufficient goals" to keep connected with your deepest reasons for writing when other markers of success aren't manifesting in your life.
Perhaps this book's greatest strength is the depth and breadth of material it offers on how to manage internal states. This pushes aside a veil from what was regarded with awe and mystery in times further past, when dysfunctional writers were romanticized as "mad geniuses" and "tortured artists" and fans of literature believed that great writing required an unkempt life made up of bad behavior, excess, and lack of control. We now recognize that whatever links there might actually be between mental illness and creativity, or between emotional disturbance and emotional expression in art, dealing with any underlying psychological or emotional issues not only does not keep a person from making great art, but might actually make it easier for them to do so.
Rogers notes that a hypomanic state, or something close to it, is desirable for a creative endeavor, but does not have to come from untreated mental illness, substance abuse, or reckless behavior. Instead, there are simple "life hacks" a writer can do to bring on a state of psychological arousal prior to the act of creating. Rogers encourages writers to develop simple rituals to help them enter into the receptive, but focused state of mind needed for writing; to use affirmations to shift their perspective; and to value their dreams--literally, by using dream journals to enhance dream recall and then to work with those dreams to harness the power of the subconscious. He offers several techniques for using dreams to answer questions and to help dissolve blocks that come up in the writing process.
More than anything, Rogers encourages writers to take a holistic, spiritual view of what it is to write. While this book offers a lot of concrete and step-by-step advice, my favorite chapters were more mythic in scope. These chapters, which include "The Foam-White Bull," "Death and the Day Job," and "Athena’s Wheel," use mythic symbolism to plunge into the depths of why any person sets out on the writing quest and explore how to keep that flame alive. While Rogers, unlike Julia Cameron, is not prescriptive about the spiritual elements of writing, he attends to them nonetheless as a very important part of the writer’s path.
In "The Foam-White Bull," Rogers’ most mythic and mysterious essay, he urges the writer to consider kingship as a metaphor for authorship. Like a king, the creative person is given great privilege and responsibility and is asked for certain sacrifices in return. Recognizing that you have been given a "gift from the gods" risks hubris, but is ultimately a call to modesty, to understand that, as with anything that comes from the gods, there is an expectation of what you must give in return. If you fail to use your gifts, you are responsible for that failure whether you asked for those gifts or not. This was a startling and effective line of consideration for me: you are lucky if you can discover your calling, but also marked. All choices are no longer equally valid for you.
A person with a calling is more deeply connected to the vital energy of life, which is a cause of envy for those who are not; however, that person also has less freedom of choice, less freedom to just bumble through life or take the path of least resistance and conclude that is enough. If you do not honor your calling, your gift of connection to the high holy mystery that is the creative force, you end your life in fiery judgement. The longer you go without honoring your gift, the more monsters you breed and the more blight you sow. Is it not possible that the "demons" we've associated with artists are what hunts them when they're not creating, not what arises from the act of creation itself?
Rogers writes: "You take on the ordeal of being an artist, and your reward is... you get to be an artist. That's all. That's all that you can be sure of. The only other guarantee is that if you accept your gifts halfheartedly, you'll suffer. When the king forgets the balance of receiving and giving back, the land is blighted. In some stories, everything dies when the king forgets his proper place."
"Death and the Day Job" offers a similarly existential exploration of the life of the writer. In it, Rogers turns on its head the usual examination of writing full-time versus writing "on the side" while working a day job. Instead of focusing on financial matters, he turns to spiritual ones. What do you want your life to be? What are you living for? This reminded me of the main thesis Philip McKernan explores in his talks and in his book, Rich on Paper, Poor on Life, which is that trying to save up money so you can do what you really want to do later in life is a recipe for failure. Life is short, and finding our authentic selves is hard enough; if we do find them, that is the gold. What do we want money for, anyway? Better to scrape along for a while until we figure out how to make a sustainable living doing what we really want to do, than try to save up in hopes we'll finally get around to it some day.
Rogers writes: "When should you quit your day job? Before you can answer the question in monetary terms, I think you need to examine it in terms of faith and death and courage. You need to know what you can endure, and what sustains you."
Unusually for Rogers, it's obvious what he thinks is the right answer: quit that inauthentic day job! However, my own inquiry led me to realize the opposite: I actually like having a day job, something that balances the solitary mysteries of the creative process with the camaraderie and concrete tasks of work. When I took a year off from work to focus on writing a novel, I found myself struggling with anxiety and lacking the momentum to sustain discipline very well. My tendency to ruminate and obsess went unchecked. I emerged from this realizing that my "best life" (as Oprah would put it) would balance dedicated writing days with work that gets me out in the world, connecting with other people and out of my own head for a while. While my ultimate desired ratio of time spent writing to time spent at a day job will take some time, effort, and success to realize, it's nice to know that I have a dream that is that much more attainable than having to depend solely on my writing for income. But while I might have come to a different conclusion than Rogers, I arrived at it using his same method--contemplating mortality--and I think there is no better approach to this matter than this existential one offered by Rogers.
In the end, Rogers notes that the most important thing is to do whatever keeps you writing. He notes that whether it is as an individual or as a member of a couple, sometimes your greatest artistic achievement ends up being how you lived your life:
"There are collaborative artistic lives that, like the marriage between poets Donald Hall and Jane Kenyon, are themselves works of art. Hall had cancer twice. He and Kenyon both wrote powerfully moving poetry about the likelihood that he would die first, perhaps soon. Then Kenyon was diagnosed with advanced leukemia. She died. I recently heard Hall read his poems about her last days, and what struck me was the sense that at the end, both writers were intensely involved in being awake to what was happening, awake to each other, and awake to the poetry that they were weaving out of her dying.
I don't think that Hall and Kenyon did any overt collaboration, sharing a byline, but they borrowed from one another. Hall notes that his line about Kenyon's last breath is lifted from one of her poems. Their greater collaboration was the artists' life that they made, supported, and lived together."
No book of writing advice I've read makes as clear a case as this one for how a writing life is a richer life, how it might involve neurosis and struggle but requires neither, as writing can not only bring us more to life, but ground us in something that helps us weather all else that befalls us. This is why I write, and ultimately why I live: the encounter with what the I Ching calls "The Creative," that mysterious force that makes itself known in everything from the catharsis of shared grief to the joy of creative play. If you write for the same reasons, or are trying to look deeper for the reasons you write, you will find no better guide than this book.