Okay, I’m not a runner, but I have a lot of friends who are. This analogy resonates with me.
Writing is a Marathon.
The experience at Clarion West can definitely feel like a marathon–there’s a lot of training to get ready for it. You write, you read a lot of short stories and novels, maybe you even practice sleep deprivation techniques to prepare!
Then you arrive at the workshop, and try to balance all the writing, reading, critiquing and socializing. The first week is easy. You’re excited to be there (“ohmygodiamatclarionwest!”), you’re meeting all these wonderful folks, some writers you’ve always admired, and you know the words will just flow. The start of a race is always easy.
Week Two is suddenly upon you, and the first hill doesn’t look too bad. You start to climb it, sure of reaching the top with the rest of the pack, and you do, though maybe a few paces behind or ahead. You’re definitely feeling the exertion, but it’s not too bad. There’s no place you’d rather be, after all.
Week Three is a little bit of slog. You’ve got the routines down now. You know the drill, but exhaustion creeps in at the edges, crisping your brain and dulling some of the excitement you felt when the workshop started. As tired as you are, it occurs to you that the experience is almost halfway done, and you get a little sad. You can see the rest of the path unwinding before you. Only three weeks left! But there’s a story that still needs to be written, and you put your eyes down and focus on just getting past this next obstacle.
Week Four, your spirits lift a bit. It’s time for a second wind. Some of the run is downhill, and you feel like maybe you’re finally getting the hang of things. You’ve had some good stories, material you feel just might be publishable. Some of your classmates are way out in front, some are lagging, but you’re all in sight of each other.
Week Five. The last hill. Your legs are burning, your chest heaving. You didn’t know that it could be this hard. Worse, you have no reserves left. Sleep comes erratically and thin, and you can’t remember the last time you ate right. Your family and friends from the outside are missing you, and they call from the sidelines, both a comforting and unwelcoming distraction. The workshop is almost over, too, and the goodbyes are coming.
Week Six. As you near the finish line, the adrenaline kicks in again, and there’s a joyous, festive energy permeating the week. The jokes come quick, the comaraderie is easy, and despite the dark circles of exhaustion under everyone’s eyes, elation is high. Every moment is a celebration of the passage you’ve just made. The elation is almost enough to balance out the sadness of the experience coming to an end.
This is an oversimplification of my experience at Clarion West, obviously. But it taught me a lot about how to approach the writing life (which, despite the analogy, is not actually a race, see Part 1 of this series).
I’m really just starting out, though I’ve had some nice successes already. Even this early, though, my sense of the career is that I have to take the long view. Every blog entry, every short story sale, every novel I may write are just mile-markers in a very long and winding road. I’ve got to pace myself. Focus on the tasks at hand, but with an eye on the horizon as well. Many people run marathons for reasons beyond winning them: endurance, persistance, and the satisfaction of finishing a sometimes grueling race are the real rewards.
Sounds like some pretty good advice for writers, too.
As I type this, a group of very talented up-and-coming writers has embarked on their first week of the 30th (!) Clarion West Writers Workshop. Most of you who follow me and read my blog will know what the workshop means to the people that apply, to the people who attend, and to the alumni (like me!). It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience to totally devote yourself to the writing life, and one of the most intense six weeks a writer can experience. It’s amazing.