On Bravery

I grew up with the notion that bravery was something that people had when faced with dangerous situations. Bravery was reserved for soldiers and Apaches and that it was something I should strive to have. A soldier I could be, but there was no way I could ever be an Apache. Being brave, was the first and most important of attributes to have.

When I was first cutting my teeth as a writer, I had what I considered the normal influences. Although the words I was reading were from Zamyatin and Huxley and Orwell, I began to have very different ideas of what bravery meant. It was becoming clear to me that the most hapless or the most clueless of heroes could and often were, brave. Bravery comes in forms that push along the plot, whether it is the plot in a story or a plot in life.

I did not set out to be writer. I did not set out in life wishing to be anything particular. In my younger days steeped fully in long working hours and little money, it was more of a question of how would I pay my rent than how do I become something, anything, much less a writer. Rather, the evolution was something that happened very slowly and it all happened when I wasn't looking.

I suppose there were those moments, when I was a college student and living in old and derelict apartments all over Denver's Capitol Hill neighborhood when I realized who I was and what I was destined to become. These were not big shining moments, nor do I think these sorts of moments happen for anyone. It is not the way it would seem, it is not the dramatic way that books or movies would have it for us, where the clouds part and the muse comes from the sky on a ray of light to put that kiss of inspiration on us.

No.

It happens in the small hours of the night. It happens when we suffer from defeat or failure or heartbreak. It happens like this: well, here I am, this is who I am, this is where I must go. All of that aside, I do not mean to imply that we become writers and artists like the phoenix rising from the flames of failed endeavors. Although, that may happen to some.

Like I've said, it was a slow process for me. I never really wanted to be a writer, and when it came to writing, I never wanted to be a writer for hire, for others, for posterity. I just wanted to write a novel, one novel, some day. I was one of those people who just wanted to write one novel. Now, many years later, I have written dozens. I just wanted to find the peace and stillness inside myself and that seemed like a good thing to follow. Imagine the ability to simply listen to the silence of yourself, what does it sound like?

Reason creeps in. It's reason, I think. It's reason because it is easily summed up in practical thoughts, or practical questions. When you decide to be a writer, there are a number of things to consider. First, there are a great many writers. Anyone who can put a pen to a paper is a writer. There are people who will only write one book, and that's all they'll do. There are people who are good at writing even if they only write one short story. There are so many writers that I feel like every other person is a writer and that number may be too conservative. Of all the writers out there, you have to know that every last one of them is a better writer than you are. Second, there is nothing that you'll ever write that is unique, new or clever. It has all been done before. And third, there is no future in writing. There are more people writing than people reading. Writing is a solitary act, as is reading. Hopefully whatever you write gets an audience, even if it is only an audience of one.

So now, the next question is, why do it at all? Why take the time to write something? If it's a novel, it's hours, or days, or years of writing, thinking, rewriting, rethinking. If it's a short story, which may be a more manageable piece of work, there is still many, many hours and tons of thought that goes into it. With all of this work, it feels like there needs to be more of a reward than a few friends who'll skim the text and say generically nice things to you about what you wrote.

The true is, when faced with the decision to become a writer, it is balanced with the reality of being a writer, no one would bother do it. There's just no reason to do it, face all that work and so little recognition. It's best to just walk away. It's best to just walk away because your rational mind knows that it is a failed endeavor waiting to happen at the long road of overactive self doubt and futile work.

It's that self doubt, I believe that keeps a writer from his work rather than the rejection letters, dangling modifiers or lack of compensation. It is that self doubt that gets the filter of “I need to do something to pay the bills,” or “I'll never get anywhere with this.”

When I think about bravery now, it is not the silhouette of soldier. It is not an Apache. Although I still think these are examples of what it looks like to be brave, it is not the model of bravery we need. No, to be brave is to know the risks, the benefits and the practice and to overcome any self doubt and go. Overcome the self doubt and go, go be the writer.