I read this passage from Malcolm Gladwell's book, Blink, earlier this week, and I think it has somehow reconciled my questions about the relevance of my work as writer , which I pondered over last summer. Here's the passage:
"…that's not the way this music works. This music takes faith. And faith isn't what the music business is about anymore. It's absolutely frustrating, and it's overwhelming as well. I can't sleep. My mind is running. But if nothing else, I get to play, and the response from the kids is so massive and beautiful that it makes me get up the next day and fight again. The kids come up to me after the show and say, 'It sucks what the record companies are doing to you. But we're here for you, and we're telling everybody.'"
This passage is from a musician, Kenna, whose work seemed to have a fan base in real life but which did not measure well with focus groups (highlighting the idea that sometimes, intellectualizing something can take away its qualities of success).
I took that passage in my own mind and rendered it sensible to the mindset of a writer with a lot of readers who still doesn't break into the mainstream to become a commercial success. Check this out:
"…that's not the way this literature works. This literature takes faith. And faith isn't what the publishing business is about anymore. It's absolutely frustrating, and it's overwhelming as well. I can't sleep. My mind is running. But if nothing else, I get to write, and the response from the readers is so massive and beautiful that it makes me get up the next day and fight again. The readers come up to me after the reading and say, 'It sucks what the publishing industry is doing to you. But we're here for you, and we're telling everybody.'"
While I don't have broad cross-sections of readers (at least not that I'm aware of!), I do occasionally get "fan mail" in email, and people do seem to respond well to my readings, so I can relate, at least in a more humble way, to this passage. What it comes down to is faith, certainly. Faith in myself as a writer. Faith that those who respond to my reading aren't a limited population. Faith that my readers are discerning and passionate. Even more so, however, I think it's got to do with the human element of communication that is part and parcel of every dispatch ever relayed between sender and receiver: it's this idea that I can still touch someone, move them, inspire them to think or to act, even if the publishing industry lets me down. Absolutely, I would love to do these things on a grand scale, it's in the egotistical interests of all artists, regardless their chosen media, to want to reach as many as they are able to. But my work isn't created in a vacuum, I don't communicate it to a vacuum, and the readers out there aren't part of a vacuum either.
Really, after the sheer pleasure and sense of accomplishment that comes from completing a new manuscript, it's that one friendly note I get every so often that keeps me going. And it can keep me going a good long while. A friend of mine recently stated in her blog that the really nice rejections she gets are almost as good as acceptances. That's the same kind of psychic fuel I'm referring to, and it has to do with human connection.
Which appeals to me and my rebellious nature. After all, while the publishing industry might have a huge hand in shaping my career from a materialist's perspective, it's still readers—real human beings who do not comprise an abstract industry—who I work for, in the end.
I suspect that's who Kafka and Melville were writing for, and Melville; I suspect that's who Van Gogh was painting for, who Bob Marley was performing for.
No, I don't want to be a posthumous artist, nor do I wish to romanticize that. What I want to do is remember why I started this business of creative writing in the first place. It all began back in preschool, really, when I realized that my own writing could move people…and hasn't stopped since.
Serendipitously, I followed up a link to a small press in Portland while seeking out publishers for my own work to discover they were publishing work from one of my favorites of the underappreciated author set: Poe Ballantine. From the Hawthorne Books website comes this mission: "We suspected that good writers were being cast aside as a result of consolidation in the publishing industry, and in 2001 we decided to find these writers and give them a voice."
O! my soaring heart! I jotted off a note to the editor to thank them for giving Poe the place he deserves in literature. And naturally, they were quite glad to hear that they were making a difference. Poe is one of their favorite authors, as well.
I suggest we all, as creative people, make these kinds of efforts. You see, it means the world to all of us to know we are reaching others. But how will those we admire ever know this, if they don't make the Big Time otherwise, and we don't tell them ourselves?