The Tunnel of Desperate Solitude
March 3, 2000
6:59 a.m.
A few days ago I spent a couple hours with a group of essentially unpublished writers. These are people in my community. Good people. They are teachers and truck drivers and box makers and whatnot. They've certainly done more in their collective lives than I could ever think to accomplish. They write a variety of stuff. I listened as they read their material and then talked about what they thought. I commented, too, of course. It was a really fun experience. It was good for me, too. Sometimes you just have to see how far you've come, you know? Going home I remembered sitting in a library in Greenwood with a mismatched group of three or four other writers. We would read our material, each introducing it with a drawn-out explanation that was sometimes longer than the work itself. Afterward we would talk about writing, and what it meant to us. They were discussions filled with alternating patches of such searching and longing, and such naive bravado. We were starting our journey, you know. I remember it as an exhilarating time period. Anyway. The session lasted longer than expected. We ended up talking a lot about story, and about what makes people want to read. I stepped out of the building into a fairly warm night, and got into my car. As I drove home, I thought about all the groups I've been a part of. I thought of the Fishers Five, of a couple other sub-groups. I thought of Writers of the Future. This one was no different, I thought. They are all full of people wondering if they're good enough. Can they make it? And as a published author in their midst, I had felt a little bit of that question heading my way. I was the judge. I could proclaim them Good or I could proclaim them Hopeless, and in their eyes I would be right. The road passed by. It was dark, and the cars drove along with their headlights guiding them. I wish I could tell them which was going to make it. I really do. But of course, I can't. Heck, I can't even tell if I'm going to "make it." But there is something I can do. I understand Stephen Leigh when he says that writers are very aggressive within their own circles. I do. I've seen it, and even felt it just a touch. And, at its root that competition is at least partially justified. After all, a magazine has only so many pages to fill. But I can go to the next session and talk to these people about writing. I can get them to think about what they want. I can tell them that every writer who has ever started down the path has had to go through the tunnel of desperate solitude that they are entering. I can tell them that they are not alone. And that, I think, is something important.  Got any words of wisdom I can pass on? Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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