So YOU want to be a 'writer'

One of the most polarizing and crude poets happens to be one of my favorites. Charles Bukowski, generally speaking, writes poems with a unique subversive voice that the reader can't seem to put the book down, no matter how enraged they might become.

His poem 'So You want to be A Writer' is one of my favorite poems. The poem is at the bottom of the post.

I have been thinking for the last couple of weeks about what it means to be a writer. And after one of my plays was chosen to be produced and a friend asking me if I considered myself a writer, I was taken aback. I don't know, am I? I mean, sure. I write stories that are apparently pleasing to people. I mean, no one has booed. Or ripped my book in half. No one has damned my writing or called for it to be burned. But am I a 'writer.'

I will admit to being a bibliophage. Maybe even a bit pretentious. Maybe I'm a burgeoning writer. Someone who will have a meteoric rise. Not now though. Now I'm just hanging out, banging keys on my keyboard.

Since my show The Kids are Pissin' on the Front Lawn was chosen to be produced this December, I have heard plenty of nice things about the script. And me. And me as a writer. I've heard people speak about themes of the show. About the characters and their relationships. I've listened to people discuss the design of the show. I've listened as actors discover their characters. I've enjoyed hearing the director discuss her excitement about the show and its meaning.

Sure I had inspiration for the show. Yet, the unsexy answer is I wanted to write a play. And this is what came out. This often disruptive, clamoring heap of a show. And to be fair, I started with the inspiration, the event that occurred, and then blew that up. I annihilated it. I picked up the pieces and examined each one to create a world that was difficult, comforting and haunting.

I am extraordinarily interested to see how people react to the characters. Will they identify themselves in the characters? If they do, will they admit it? Will it affect them? If it does will it be immediate? Or will they be walking down the street and then all of a sudden they'll think "Crap. That bastard affected me." To that end, was it me? My words?

I started this play because I met David Lindsay-Abaire. He received advice from Marsha Norman while he was at Juilliard. Norman said 'If you want to write a good play, write about what frightens you most.' What frightens me most? That's a good question. And I won't answer this directly except for saying if you come to the show, you'll hear the characters talk about fears quite a bit. And I won't tell you which things are directly attributed to me, but there are a few.

But it is an interesting thought. To write about what is most personally frightening. To become a servant to the audience. To open up the private self and present it in characters. And what if, what if the audience doesn't retain the wall between the author and the characters and projects the characters thoughts directly upon mine. This play asks a fair amount of rude questions and has a fair amount of rude language, what if the audience shuts down and doesn't respond at all? What if people walk out? Or if people are so filled with vitriol they egg my house.

Not to be brilliantly quixotic, but then I guess I succeeded. And this play succeeded. And the cast and crew should be proud. It has been a whirlwind month. I have no idea how I will feel when I walk in and see the set for the first time. And I have no idea how I will feel on December 8 when the lights dim and the show begins. Or on December 9 when a former professor, Dr. Darcie Rives-East, asks me questions about the show and then opens the discussion up to the audience. Or on December 10 when my in-laws and a friend from New Mexico are in the audience. Or for that matter later on December 10 when the lights dim and the set is taken apart and the play returns to the ephemeral state.

So, I guess, what was the point of this post. No idea. Besides the fact that this play came 'roaring out of me'; but I am prepared to wait as well. I'm also struck by a quote by Jonathan Franzen. And that is "I voluntarily inflicted a certain level of insanity on myself.' Boy did I. And perhaps that is what it means to be a writer. The ability to inflict insanity upon yourself, to become a glorified schizophrenic, to hear voices and put them to the page. Ultimately, to annihilate yourself, to blow yourself up, and pick up the pieces.

So, am I a writer?

So You Want to Be a Writer by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.