Connecting is committing
The creative writing process involves solving a series of problems to construct a credible narrative. You can learn something about the nature of these problems from books on how to write but this will provide only a theoretical understanding. It’s not until you grapple directly with those problems that you have any real concept of what it is to confront them. Shared experience of the process is what creates a bond between writers — only other writers know what it is to take on this challenge and this is what makes communing with them worthwhile. This applies to beginners and more experienced writers alike meaning again that a forum can include those at all stages of development with opportunities for everyone to learn.
Newcomers’ readiness to engage only superficially with the craft has led to some of our more difficult sessions at Southwest Scriptwriters. Although new to scriptwriting, they have often completed other writing projects (novels, memoirs, family histories) and have convinced themselves that they have the makings of a cracking drama. Even if they do, drama writing requires more commitment to the form than just arranging the source material into the semblance of a script. These writers often seem to have learned little in composing their debut drafts and are bewildered by the gentlest observations about essential scriptwriting challenges like exposition and story development. It is as though it hasn’t occurred to them that they’ve confronted these challenges in the writing process — and, since such issues are often the reason for a beginning writer’s script’s shortcomings, it’s likely that the writer has failed to notice them. Rather than finding unity in shared experience, the session is divided by the frustration of those who have engaged with the drama writing process and the incomprehension of those who have not.
A writers’ group is likely to attract those who have made a more significant commitment to their writing. If the group aspires to be more than a gathering of dabblers, it’s vital for participants to be ambitious. This doesn’t mean that groups shouldn’t welcome beginners but that those beginners need to aspire to become more advanced writers. Lerman[1] stresses that it’s important that those offering feedback ‘sincerely want [the] artist to make excellent work.’ If the group does share this earnest objective, it’s incumbent upon the recipient of its efforts to be as committed to creating their best work.
Writing has its ups and downs and so do writers’ groups
I feel that creative processes are often conflated with unhelpful expectations of instant gratification. Insistence on feeling inspired or being visited by a Muse are, for example, sure ways to stymie your writing. Yes, sometimes words come more easily than others but even those that flow in periods of compositional lucidity benefit from editing meaning that inspiration doesn’t necessarily yield perfectly-formed work. With a nod to the cliché about the ratio of inspiration to perspiration involved, completing a writing project is often more a matter of putting down words as best you can than it is of transcribing them as if from on high. There needs to be an inceptive spark that inflames you enough to complete a project, of course, but this is often all the inspiration you can muster.
The other unhelpful notion often associated with writing is that of passion. The expectation here is that the possession of passion is sufficient for success and achievement can be yours if only you prove passionate enough. Eric Schmidt and Jonathan Rosenberg[2] offer the following lucid articulation of what I’ve often thought about overapplication of the p-word:
Passionate people don’t wear their passion on their sleeves; they have it in their hearts. They live it. Passion is more than résumé-deep, because its hallmarks — persistence, grit, seriousness, all-encompassing absorption — cannot be gauged from a checklist. Nor is it always synonymous with success. If someone is truly passionate about something, they’ll do it for a long time even if they aren’t at first successful. Failure is often part of the deal.[3]
Genuine passion isn’t on show in fleeting fits of froth and bubble but is most evident at times when exuberant enthusiasm feels least appropriate. The expectation of endless ebullience during the creative process reminds me of the Charles M Schulz Peanuts cartoon[4] in which Lucy Van Pelf tells Charlie Brown that sometimes she gets discouraged. He responds platitudinously that ‘life does have its ups and downs,’ sending Lucy into a rant about why this need be the case. ‘Why can’t I just move from one “up” to another “up”?’ she demands. ‘Why can’t I just go from an “up” to an “upper-up”?’
Expectations of ‘upper-ups’ are counterproductive in the creative process where learning to embrace the ‘downs’ is more fruitful. John Cleese[5] writes that when he and Graham Chapman worked together on comedy scripts they:
[…] came to understand that the blockages weren’t an interruption in the process, they were part of it. For example, when you eat, the bit where the fork returns empty to your plate isn’t a failure. It’s just part of the eating process.[6]
Cleese goes on to advise:
When the juices are not flowing, don’t beat yourself up and wonder if you should retrain as a priest. Just sit around and play, until your unconscious is ready to cough up some stuff. Getting discouraged is a total waste of your time.[7]
In the same way, it’s important to understand that a writers’ group will also yield variable rewards and it’s vital to allow for this. While those of us who organise meetings are anxious that each one will be lively, engaging and informative for all involved, it’s inevitable that some will be more scintillating than others. And in order for a writers’ group to thrive it’s essential that all participants accept this.
I’ve paraphrased John F Kenndy’s famous epigram from his presidential inaugural address[8] for the title of this exploration — ‘ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country.’ This is really an elegant way of putting the even more familiar truism that ‘you only get out of something what you put into it.’ A writers’ group’s goal is to pool experience and expertise so that, through a creative learning process, the return on its participants’ investment of their know-how is greater than that they bring. I hope to have shown here that these rewards accrue through a willingness to contribute and by understanding and accepting what is often a volatile process. I’ve benefited enormously from working with Southwest Scriptwriters over the past two and a half decades, learning from the group’s feedback on my work and that of others, building networks of supportive friends, and creating opportunities to have my work produced. These benefits didn’t occur spontaneously on attending my first meeting but accrued over the years of involvement. Working with the group is itself a creative process that needs to be followed to reap its rewards.
Notes and references
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