June 20, 2022
How to Be “Good Enough” at Writing
How can we be good enough at writing? Maybe the question puzzles you. “I don’t want to be just ‘good enough’ at writing”, you might say. “I want to to be excellent! The best!”
And yet, have you ever wondered whether there’s a paradox in a situation where the world wants us all to be “the best”?
Inspiration for this post came after I saw a short documentary about Jiro Ono, arguably the world’s best sushi chef. At the age of 85 (at the time of the documentary, some 10 years ago), he was still working long hours at his diminutive restaurant. In the documentary, we see him and his son, together with some apprentices, working hard to prepare the day’s sushi.
But there are dark clouds under this facade of perfection, that most people fail to notice. Yet, if you’re wondering whether you shouldn’t be just “good enough” at writing because you want to be excellent, such details are worth paying attention, as we’ll see in this post.
Good Enough Writing vs the American Dream
The documentary about Jiro Ono is offered as some sort of “American Dream” scenario: Work hard, and you’ll make it to the top. However, as I said, there are details that likely pass unnoticed by most viewers.
The one that haunted me the most was how the 85-year-old Jiro (who lost his children’s childhood because he was working all the time) said, referring to his 50-year-old son: “All he has to do is continue to work like this for the rest of his life.”
In that moment, the expression on the son’s face was telling, for those who can see.
I saw condensed, in one second, all the what-ifs, all the lost dreams, all the what-might-have-beens (that, quoth Robert Smith, “filled me with the hope to wish impossible things“).
What does writing have to do with all that?
What Do You Want?
Even if we could define “making it to the top” – and naively assumed it’s a simple hard-work-takes-you-there scenario – we’d still need to address the repercussions. “Making it to the top” involves missing out on virtually everything that makes up what we call “a life”.
The pattern is similar, if not identical:
- Musicians who shut themselves in the studio and alienate their partners.
- Writers who shut themselves in the study and miss their friends’ birthdays.
- Sushi chefs who are in the house so rarely, their children tell their mother “there is a stranger sleeping on the couch” (not making it up; happened to Jiro Ono).
I have no doubt Jiro Ono (and perhaps his son) profess their love for what they’re doing. They might even believe it (confirmation bias and psychological compensation are very powerful things).
I Want to Be Good Enough at Writing
As for me, I don’t want to be the best writer. I don’t want to be the best anything. Heck, I wouldn’t even want to be excellent, if it involved missing out on life.
The only reason I’m fairly good at writing is because my brain is wired that way, allowing me to remember, reflect, and “synthesize huge amounts of information”This is a verbatim comment from the reviewers of my MA thesis., conjoining incongruous things and finding connections – this post is a meta-reincarnation of this very thing, if you noticed.
That’s all what my writing is about, fiction or nonfiction: seeing things that “don’t” exist.
Obsession Doesn’t Work for You
Obsession about excellence works well for others, in that it offers the world timeless art or inspiring creations in general. But it rarely works well for the creators themselves. Just take a look at tortured souls like, say, Vincent van Gogh.
The truth is, I don’t want to work hard; I’m lazy. I want to enjoy being lazy, traveling, experiencing. Above all, I want to enjoy being with people I care about, experiencing with them.
The best? Nah, pass. Degrowth is what I prefer. I’d rather be just “good enough” at writing and have fun in the process.
9 Comments
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Priorities change when you have little to no choice – I have so little left of that normal ‘life with friends and family’ that having a writing obsession is the only thing that keeps me going. Not because I don’t have the lovely friends and family, but because my own body and mind are a prison, and writing is the world I can see through the bars.
You say you can ‘remember, reflect, and “synthesize huge amounts of information”. ‘ I literally can’t any more. And unless the research for post-viral syndromes finally pushed by those who realize there will be many millions of Long-covid survivors turning from productive citizens (as I was, different virus?) into people who need to get support from ‘the system,’ with funding being poured into those investigations which has been unavailable for decades, produces some answers and treatments (cure?), my sentence is for life.
But I CAN write. And it is my last hope for any kind of a legacy. It is life and death for me, and I’m unapologetic about it. And my minor task in life is to remind people (and writers) that choices can vanish – so don’t put off doing what you love, unless forced to.
Interesting perspective. You’re right, there are circumstances where writing literally replaces life outside it – texts produced in captivity are a good example. Obviously, my post doesn’t apply there. Indeed, in a way, it’s precisely such circumstances (when you don’t have a choice) that should inspire people who do have a choice not to take themselves so seriously and count their lucky stars
This “I’d rather be just “good enough” at writing and have fun in the process.” Yes. Life always comes first, or it should. That said, I do want to be best at something, but it’s not writing. I want to be the best /person/ I’m capable of being. There’s still an element of obsession about that, but I can live with that. 🙂
I really enjoyed this post.
Many thanks for your comment!
😀
Hmm…I did comment. It seems to have disappeared. In case it’s just MIA for a while, I’ll just repeat that this is a very enjoyable post. 🙂
It didn’t disappear, it’s just that I have to manually approve all comments before they show up, and sometimes it might take me some time 🙂
Aaaah! Right. Not a problem. I’ll know for next time. 😀
Exactly! I tell my hiking and step-counting friends to take a few more steps – for me – and send me a picture.
I minimize social contact (within reason) because it exhausts me – and the next day often has no writing in it.
I call a few people, but not often enough.
Priorities always defer to what you want to do.
And I do the best I can with what I have – because that drive is still there. Don’t pity me – just try not to waste my time, because people are more important than writing, and I love all of my friends and family. But, man, the aftermath is a form of exhaustion so profound it’s ALMOST not worth it.