Review of STILL
WRITING: THE PERILS AND PLEASURES OF A CREATIVE LIFE by DANI SHAPIRO
(based on a
review copy)
I subscribe to
the idea that writing discussions divide relatively easily into three
categories: craft, business, and philosophy. STILL WRITING falls in the latter
category: a collection of numerous, very brief essays (1-4 pages each) in which
Shapiro muses about her writing philosophies. Though divided into three parts
(Beginnings, Middles, and Ends), I found the categories rather arbitrary; most essays
could be moved to either of the other labels. In fact, a reader could easily
peruse this book at random without losing any necessary context. I’m a front
cover to back cover type of reader, but if you like a little more originality
try flipping the book open to any page and reading the nearest essay. I read
most of STILL WRITING in one day, but in retrospect the essays are probably
better absorbed here and there, piece by piece.
I felt a teeny
bit skeptical when I first started this book. As a writer, I naturally love
books about writing, but the only thing I dislike about writing books is when
the author assumes all writers must be the same as him or her. I wouldn’t say
Shapiro generalizes about all writers so much as focuses on her experiences (lending
a memoir taste). I nodded along, laughed aloud, or even noted the page number
of certain essays that resonated, but I also shook my head or mentally grumbled
at others, thinking, “Well, I’m not like that.” Of course, I didn’t shake my
head very often and, as I kept reading, my opinion of the book rose more with
each new essay that had me nodding along.
I’ll only
mention one of my disagreements first and then move on to far more examples of
essays that I loved. In one piece, Shapiro writes about a friend who published
a book about her family’s secrets. The book became very successful, but her
family - not to mention many friends, acquaintances, and strangers - resented
the author for this perceived betrayal. In an interview, the woman said that we
don’t choose our stories, that our stories choose us. Shapiro extrapolates on
her friend’s quote with obvious admiration, but I strongly disagree with that
sentiment. Now I don’t want to be sidetracked by the particular writer. I’m not
standing in judgment on the rightness or wrongness of her decisions, but rather
I take issue with that viewpoint. To me, saying stories write themselves is
deflecting responsibility. Of course, writers choose their stories. Sure, we
don’t choose our inspiration. We might feel inspired to write or publish a
particular story, but that hardly means we must. We decide whether or not to
turn inspiration into action.
Now on to the
positives and, believe me, I have plenty of them. In “Habit,” Shapiro discusses
the necessity of making yourself write everyday. A writing career requires
discipline and sometimes you won’t feel like writing but once you sit down and
write you find that changes. “Being Present,” as it sounds, focuses on being
present in the moment and taking in every sensory detail. This is useful as a
writer, but especially important as a person. “Next” compares writing a book to
having a baby, an inevitable, arguably cliché metaphor, but if it pops up
everywhere that’s because it’s so apt. I also like what Shapiro says about
paying attention to the senses and individual tics. I, too, count those things
as vital in distinguishing characters from people.
“Corner”
utilizes another perhaps cliché metaphor to which I relate strongly
nonetheless: the jigsaw puzzle metaphor. I like Shapiro’s advice: build a
corner. It’s easy to look at all those pieces and feel overwhelmed, but most
skilled puzzlers fixate on some trend and work from there. I had just finished
a 1500-piece puzzle the day I read this essay, so perhaps that’s part of the
reason I hopped aboard with the comparison so readily!
In “A Short Bad
Book,” Shapiro emphasizes the importance of writing without, well, overthinking
the importance of your writing. She shares a story about a writer friend who
declared she would write a short, bad book to pull herself from a slump. Freed
from any expectations about that book being great, writing it felt easier…and
then it went on to become a bestseller. In contrast, Shapiro recalls a time
when The New Yorker invited her to
contribute. When she started thinking about how good everyone would expect the
piece to be, she felt paralyzed by the expectations.
I really
connected with “Patience,” which exemplifies the virtues of, yes, patience.
When a writing student asked Shapiro for career advice, she told her to wait.
Her writing was good, but not quite ready yet. The student submitted her work
anyway, soon landed an agent, and not long after that snagged a two-book deal.
Other students in the class felt awed, overshadowed, bitterly jealous,
heartbroken - some all at once. The student’s first book, once released,
received minimal attention and an overall “eh” response. Many critics agreed
that it’s good…not great and could easily pick out the flaws. That writer has
yet to publish her second book many years later. Meanwhile, many of the other
students in that class, some once so disheartened by someone else’s apparent
fast track to success, have become accomplished writers. I myself am a big
believer in patience, especially in relation to a writing career. Publishing
takes a lot of determination and time. One question always makes the wait
easier, for me at least. I ask myself, “If I knew for a fact that I would never
be published, would I still write?” (I’m happy to say that question needs
tweaking as I am published now, but it’s still the same concept: “If I knew for
a fact that I would never be published again, would I still write?”) The answer
is a resounding, don’t-have-to-think-about-it, what-kind-of-question-is-that
“YES!” Writers who want to publish their work often feel a desperation to see
results ASAP, but it’s all part of the process. At a stage when people are
rejecting your work, you can learn from their critiques. As long as you keep
writing, you will continue to improve your craft. As Shapiro points out, it’s
not a race and there’s no finish line.
I also really
enjoyed “Envy.” Shapiro comes right out and acknowledges how hard it is
admitted her own envy and how she didn’t even want to write or include this
essay because envy is so ugly and shameful. She opens with an anecdote about
her agent who had another client on The
New York Times bestseller list - number three on the list. At first I
assumed this would be an essay about Shapiro’s own envy over her colleague’s
accomplishment, but instead we learn how this seemingly successful author
obsessed over the writers placing in the two spots above her. This led Shapiro
to the realization that envy will never be satisfied. There’s always more to
covet. Even if that author earned the number one bestseller spot, perhaps she
wouldn’t be there for as long as another author. Or perhaps her book won’t win
any awards. Or maybe it wins lots of awards, but not that award. Envy has an insatiable hunger. Best not to feed it.
Quite a few of
these essays revolve around quotes from other writers. Three of those jumped
out at me. There’s E.L. Doctorow’s classic comparison between writing and
driving down a dark road in the fog. You can’t see very far, but if you
continue forward slowly and carefully you reach your destination. Shapiro uses
this as a reminder that many authors think every other author must have a
better idea of where their story is going, but the truth is that most writers
don’t know; most writers trudge through some kind, some level of fog. In “Channel,” Shapiro shares Martha
Graham’s insistence that there is no satisfaction ever in writing, that dissatisfaction is a key to creation and
growth…though painful for the individual. My favorite, though, is Dorothy
Parker’s “I hate writing. I love having written.” Writing is sometimes fun and
sometimes challenging. If it’s a hobby, you can only write when it’s fun for
you and skip over whatever you don’t enjoy, but if it’s a job you’ll have to
face the challenging bits eventually. Sometimes the joy of writing is in the
act, but other times it’s in the product: when you struggled and suffered
through a problem you doubted you could fix…and finally you did.
I want to end on
the core of this discussion: why? In
“Ambition,” Shapiro shares an application from a startlingly egotistical
student as a lead in to the only reason to become a writer: because you have
to. If I had to pick out one piece of advice from all the writing advice out
there, it’s that. You need to write because you need to write. A writing career
has plenty of negative aspects (despite media portrayals). The only thing that
will keep you going is a love of writing. Those who want to publish because
they have delusions of money or fame filter out in the literary world.
Expounding on this, the essay “Still Writing” addresses that common question
writers (and most creative people) dread: “So are you still writing?” I’m sure
that, to a degree, we writers are oversensitive about this. Most of these
encounters come from people you don’t know too well and who don’t know you too
well. Most likely they’re merely trying to grasp how your life might have
changed since you last spoke. Oversensitive or not, though, there’s a subtext to
that question, an implication that there’s a reason - in their mind, at least -
that you might not be writing any longer. On the innocent end, maybe they think
your interests or priorities changed. Or perhaps they have opinions they’re
projecting: it’s not a sensible “job,” your work isn’t very good, you’re
clearly not successful enough, books are boring. Because writing is so
important to me, that question “Are you still writing?” is like asking “Are you
still breathing? Do you still do that?” If I’m alive, I’m still writing!