Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Guest Post: Comparison Shopping

Today's guest post is from a blogger who holds a very special place in my bloggy little heart. She was one of my first readers and was one of the very first blogs that I read that I finally felt like I had a kindred blogging soul out there. Without further ado, my fellow reader and writer: Masked Mom





"Most people can read much more profoundly than they can write, speak or even think. For me, this is one of the great humiliations of being literate at all. If I can read Shakespeare, why can't I write Shakespeare? It's not fair."


I am not merely an avid reader, but a voracious one. This is a character trait I mostly consider a good thing—particularly when it comes to writing, because I’ve yet to read a book on writing that does not trumpet the importance of reading (and lots of it) to the development of writing skills. One of my favorite lines from Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down The Bones  is “If you read good books, when you write, good books will come out of you.” This seems so sensible—like an artistic version of “You are what you eat.” And sure, there is a certain simple logic to it—of course there are many things in life we learn not merely by being actively “taught,” but by proximity, by osmosis almost.

The flip side, the dark side, of reading good books, or good work anywhere really, is that sinking feeling that nothing, NOTHING!, I ever write will be as good as what I’m reading. There are sentences and whole passages of things I read that not only strike an emotional chord but also inspire outright awe in the writer in me. Miracles of economy, stellar examples of structure, masterpieces of clarity, icons of imagery. All these things bring me great joy—and, very often, at the heart of that joy is a hard little nugget of despair.

This is one way of putting that paradoxically delicious despair: “I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I am simultaneously grateful to have read it and insanely jealous that I didn’t write it.” I couldn’t have said it better myself—and, in fact, I did say this myself, in a comment on this very blog, where I regularly read things that give me this exact feeling.

I think a feeling of inadequacy in the face of so much greatness in the literary world (in all its manifestations, including blogs, dammit) is a practically universal thing—we all feel it from time to time. “What’s the use in plugging away if I can never be as great as _______________.” Don’t we all have a name, many names, we can put in that blank? (And, to really push the limits of tasteful sucking-up, isn’t our fabulous hostess, TangledLou, one of those names for a lot of us?)

We must each find our own ways to work around this feeling. At the core of my own philosophical approach to this problem is a page from a years-old calendar featuring Maxine, the wiry-haired, cranky old lady who is a creation of Hallmark greeting cards. It said, “I gotta be me. I don’t see anybody else lining up to do it.” I am me, there’s no choice really. I approach the page with my own life experiences, my own level of education, my own proclivities (passionate (and somewhat intemperate) love for parentheses, just for one example), my own motivations, my own interests, my very own me-ness. I try to focus on leaving the best me on that page that I can.

Most days I succeed-ish.

15 comments:

  1. Hahaha I liked it! And I agree. With the happiness that holds an unignorable (I just made a new word) sense of despair, with Maxine, and with the flattery. Periphery is definitely on my list of.."I wish I could write like___"

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    1. Glad you liked it Larissa. And, yeah, if I wasn't so busy being amazed as a reader around here, I might be insanely jealous as a writer. :)

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  2. You succeed-ish plenty. And yeah, I feel that grateful/jealous thing frequently. I feel it when I read and sometimes when I see a movie that really moves me or makes me laugh. Damn, I would have loved to have written that.

    My favorite writers are smart and eloquent. They're nitty-gritty and real. They see inside me, pluck bits of my heart and guts, and lay them out on paper. They pick me up right out of my chair and drop me squarely into worlds of their creation and don't return me until they're damn well good and ready, and when they do, they sometimes leave me a little stunned and disoriented. I love them a lot. I might hate them just a little.

    You, me, Maxine, and everybody--we do what we can. We are who we are. I was once asked to describe myself in one sentence. My answer? "I try hard." Most of the time, that's all I've got.

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    1. "I love them a lot. I might hate them just a little." LOVE IT!!!

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  3. It's heartening to know that others feel the same way. I often feel like I'm the only one who feels inadequate. Surely, these other writers, (yourself included), must be completely confident in their gift. That's one of the things I love about the blogging world, we've opened up to each other and can support one another in our insecurities.
    (I used the word 'feel' a lot, didn't I?)
    (I have a love affair with parentheses, too.)

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    1. I love that about our bloggy little corner of the internet, too, Jewels. (And here's to parentheses! It's a passion bordering on a fetish, for me.) (Obviously.)

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  4. To tell the truth, I almost always feel freakishly inadequate as a writer. Either I am awed by the mastery of someone's ability to command the written word to sit there–and stay–consistently like a well-trained dog or I am jealous of the occasional mediocre bloggers I come across who have attained national prominence for being more "something" than I am. The second is an even less worthy emotion. So much less worthy I am embarrassed even to be admitting it, but somebody else must feel that way, mustn't they?

    So many of the bloggers that have coalesced around out little neighborhood of blogs impress me. You all impress me with your generosity of spirit, your ability to keep on producing material, your talent, your devotion to one another. I guess I am just...humbled. Excellent post.

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    1. Oh, please don't be embarrassed. I've spent a fair (and fairly depressing) amount of time attempting to pick apart the popularity of mediocre bloggers myself. Not my proudest moments, to be sure, but I try to consider them market research or some other learning exercise--like for instance, a reminder of why I should focus harder on improving my own writing for my own satisfaction, blah blah blah. Let's face it, when I get into one of those moods nothing constructive's really going to come out of it. ;)

      And I completely agree about our little corner of the internet. I get all gushy and goofy when I try to talk about it and I'm glad you're a part of it.

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  5. Yep, we, most of us, are just average people doing average things in average lives. Fuck it all - who wants to be famous anyway!

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  6. I've become convinced that the only time I'm able to write something I can look back on and smile is when I have no "comparison" or "distinction" of another work in my brain. These times are rare, but they are freeing...no shadows of greatness casting cold spells across my efforts. Only space... I long for more space!

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    1. I like the concept of space. I think I do the comparison thing way more when I am reading than I actually do it when I'm writing, if that makes any sense.

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  7. Yes, agreed, there are different levels of quality of writing. The high level of passion that each of the members of this gang has for their craft is apparent and it is what separates the writers from those who merely record events.
    As I shopped around for blogs to add to my reading list, I recognized early on that I fall into the category of journaler (yes I made that word up). The reason I don't compare myself to any writer, great, or mediocre is because I am not one...a writer that is. I just enjoy the read and very often at the end of a piece I find myself saying, "whoa that was good!"
    Yep, MM "Whoa that was good!"

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    1. Thanks so much, Lynda and for someone who doesn't consider herself a writer, you do a pretty fantastic job "journaling." :)

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  8. I used to feel like this all the time. And still, occasionally, wish I were funnier, more eloquent, better...something more than me.

    At some point though, I realized it's pretty great being me. I may never be The Bloggess with a book debuting #1 on the NY Times Bestseller list and I won't ever turn a phrase like you or Tangled Lou, but I think I have my own distinct voice that is pretty. Pretty loud that is ;).

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Thanks for reading and taking the time to say hello!