A Writer's Notebook, Day Three-Hundred-And-Sixty-Five

One of my teachers, the late poet Thomas Lux, was fond of pointing out that writing and publishing are two different things.  He stressed the need for a writer to focus on the work itself, not on the building of a career or the accumulation of publishing credits and other accolades.  Those things are not what a writer should be working towards, he would say, but instead the focus needs to be upon the craft.  He once expressed to me his belief that great work will always find a way into the world, even if it is after the artist has died.  Emily Dickinson is, of course, a prime example of this, though far from the only one.  That is a fine way to think about these things, but, and Lux also acknowledged this, to have a career as a writer requires doing all that other work.

I tend to think that the writing itself is an important act on its own, having nothing to do with whether the work finds an audience immediately or not, and the publishing aspect as more of an ego based pursuit.  I do not mean ego purely in the sense of self-aggrandizement, but in a more holistic and practical sense.  While, yes, a part of it is about wanting some recognition, a part is also about the desire to feel that the work itself is being rewarded in a practical way.  In the same sense that a person who is doing physical labor feels entitled to some form of payment, it is natural to want to gain some benefit in the world from this work.

Now, though, as I begin to really press to get my work out there, I do find myself conflicted.  There is a purity in writing without any deeper intent which is necessary, but there is a mercenary spirit that becomes conscripted when one seeks to build a publishing career.  As well, of course, their are other issues that arise.  Feelings about worthiness arise, along with impostor syndrome.  At times, I find myself thinking, even, about how there is a limit to the amount of work that is being published by the journals and presses I desire to work with and ask myself if I, not even my work, deserve to have my work knock someone else out.  I am a fairly lucky man, in many ways, who is able to sustain myself already, why should I take opportunities from others who may not be in that position?  As well, I fear my own self-aggrandizement along with feelings of guilt even for wanting to reach a certain level of success.  It gets very complicated.

What really makes all this change, though, for me at least, is the comments I receive, on occasion, from other poets usually, though sometimes from others I have shared work with, that the poems themselves have a value to those who read the work.  I have had the great honor of being told on a few occasions by people that they believe a poem of mine might save someone's life if they read it at the right moment.  That is not anything I know has ever happened with my work, but the faith that others have shown in the potential value is very meaningful to me, obviously.

So, though my natural inclination is to consider publishing as selfish, as me taking something, there is also a perspective where the act of putting the work out is itself a generous thing.  I am not putting it out for myself, but in hopes it might be of service.  That is, of course, the attitude I try to have as a writer, and I think it is the attitude I must cultivate, to some extent, as I consider my efforts to share my work.  Of course, there is still the egotistical aspect to that, and I will not deny that I would like the rewards a career can bring, but, as well, I must consider that, perhaps, sharing this work may provide others with something they have wanted or needed.  Of course, this does not negate the influence of my own desire for success or the want I have to see my work published for my own gratification, but it does remind me that the work does not exist for me, is something that is part of a larger world, a larger conversation, and it is valid, even beyond my own desires, to share this so it can exist within that context.