The promised land. (Day 80) [Guest Update]

Today's guest update is a very special one, coming from Punknews.org and Bitter Press Editor, Jesse Raub.

Jesse is a great guy, who works 23 jobs and never sleeps. He's extremely talented, and a pleasure to know.

He's given me a lot, and I mean a LOT, of valuable advice as per writing, and the less than creative sides about it. If it weren't for him, I'd be walking blindly with a big smile and steak wrapped around my neck into a den of hungry lions. I wish I could thank him for all the nice things he does. I'd try, but he literally works 49 jobs and still somehow manages to do things for his own site, Bitter Press, and Punk News.

Once you get to know him, you realize that all our lives are shit without him.

I'd suggest any, and all aspiring writers take heed to what this post is about.

Go to Bitter Press. Diddie Mow! Do so after reading this (as well as all the guest updates) and love life! Give him money so he can quit one or two of his goddamned jobs.

- Aaron Hale.
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"I seem most instinctively to believe in the human value of creative writing, whether in the form of verse or fiction, as a mode of truth-telling, self-expression and homage to the twin miracles of creation and consciousness. The special value of these indirect methods of communication — as opposed to the value of factual reporting and analysis — is one of precision. Oddly enough, the story or poem brings us closer to the actual texture and intricacy of experience." – John Updike, "This I Believe" essay for NPR

I was driving in my car, listening to NPR on the day of Updike's death, and was taken aback by the essay he read from 2005. He was right. In editing a piece about counterfeit goods in China for a local magazine, my managing editor and I both agreed that there needed to be more first person anecdotes sprinkled throughout the piece. The author told a story about a friend being physically chased out of a counterfeit Cartier store for trying to help a Canadian couple barter, and instantly the counterfeit markets became a real place in the world staffed by real people.

But what Updike was saying goes past anecdotes for magazine essays. Sitting in my car, driving home with my dog in a snowstorm after work, I felt like I had let Mr. Updike down. Something clicked off a few years back, and after my last fiction class, writing had become a sideshow to paying bills and pursuing easier publication (album reviews, news posts, blogging, etc.). In just a few years after graduating with a degree in Fiction Writing, most of my pieces were small, inconsequential stories worth a smile but that didn't communicate any Universal Human truths. All attempts at novelling had run into brick walls after the first twenty or so pages.

It's easy to assume I'll never become a successful fiction writer. And that's because writing fiction requires complete ultimate dedication. Getting your novel published or a short story collection or even a singular short story means that you live, eat, and breathe what you are doing, sacrificing human contact and any other work. Of course that's a generalization, but I've never met anyone who's had it work any other way.

I made a big choice three years ago that the most important thing in my life was my fiancee. So for the past three years, my focus has been on working to support her while she's in grad school and writing what I can on the side. That's fine. I had a period of decompression after all my fiction deadlines in college and worked on writing short pieces and incidental short stories. I climbed my way to editor positions at a variety of magazines and honed my editing and writing skills. I even kept cheery about working on long form pieces. But the long and short of it is that my time is limited, and my dedication is to my happiness in my home life.

Rarely do you hear about the great writers who had successful first marriages. And while I don't want to discredit Updike's personal life compared to what he gave the literary world, my future wife is the foundation that provides support, love, and understanding that allows me to be happy with my life and pursue writing. Without her, surely I'd have more time to write, but I wouldn't have happiness, and that, sometimes, is most important.

I also believe that writing relies on pattern and habit. With most of my writing work occurring at my full time job when I have some downtime, it's hard to get in and out of the setting of a story. And as much time as I've spent denouncing the influence of fiction in my life, it's the mistress I'll never be able to quit. So I'm making a resolution for when I leave this town for the next this coming May: I will spend time each day reading from a novel and writing in my own. I will dedicate attention to my own personal goals and ignore the opportunity to slap my name on another small publication.

"The Promised Land" -- that's how I see the new house we'll be moving into. Our plan is to have a small library on the main floor with a reading chair, and to have a small office in the basement where I can work on my fiction. And while my own pursuits don't quite match up with the character from the Springsteen song, I think the underlying feeling is there.

After all, I owe my debt to the "twin miracles of creation and consciousness," the two forces in my life that make everything possible, be it a healthy, nurturing relationship with my future wife, or a love-torn fling with my latest novel attempt.