Improv and stand-up comedy are opposites in a lot of ways. One is a with a group, one is individual, the other is completely made up and never seen again, one is meticulously planned and written and repeated, etc. But one of the biggest ways that improv and stand-up comedy differ is how we get into it. A lot of people are inspired to do improv by really great improv. A lot of people are inspired to try stand-up by really bad stand-up. It’s the difference between, “I want to do that,” and “Hell, I can do that.”
I feel like those are the two ends of the spectrum for any creative pursuit. Sometimes you encounter writing or a movie or play or painting that makes you think, I can do better, I have a talent for this. Other times you see or read something that’s so good you can’t help but think that you’re a hack and not only could you never do anything that good, you wouldn’t even know how to attempt it if you wanted to try so you might as well give up.
The sweet spot is in the middle, where you read something that’s good, beyond your skill level, but inspires you to keep working.
I’m not in the sweet spot at the moment. I’m reading three books at the moment. I’m reading Shrill, The Best American Essays 2017, and Raymond Carver: A Writer’s Life. All three have me closer to the that’s so good I should quit place.
Lindy West’s essays are powerful because she’s passionate about what she’s writing about. She’s also wickedly funny. I think she did stand up for a while and I have no idea what she’d be like delivering jokes on stage but her writing is crazy funny. She can just rip through sentences with funny jokes and turns of phrase. I may not be laughing out loud on the subway but I’m impressed.
I’ve only read two essays in The Best American Essays 2017 but the second one was called “The Weight of James Arthur Baldwin” by Rachel Kaadzi Gahnsah. In it she visits Baldwin’s house in France that is about to be torn down and later she visits with his surviving relatives and reckons with the black experience in America, specifically as an artist. I liked her writing so much I googled her to see what else she’s written. Turns out she won the Pulitzer for her piece in Dylan Roof for GQ. As Walter says, “not exactly a lightweight.”
And finally I’m reading the biography of Raymond Carver. I’ve known his work for a long time. I believe I’ve read all of his short stories. What’s striking me now is his dedication. He was completely committed to being a writer, no matter the cost. And he and his family were broke most of the time. A lot of his ability to write was because of his wife Maryann working jobs to support him but he still had to take care of two children while trying to write. He had a mentor in John Gardner (whose books about fiction I honestly couldn’t get through) and colleagues at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop. He wasn’t even considered talented there and he kept at it.
Which brings me to myself: the white, male, middle-class blogger. When a writer captures something in clear prose, they tend to call that writer the Chekhov of something. Cheever was the Chekhov of the suburbs. I believe Carver was the Chekhov of the working class.
Do I have anything that I’m passionate about? Do I write anything that matters? Am I truly dedicated to this? Or is it all just navel gazing from a privileged person.
Maybe I could be the Chekhov of nothing much at all.
These books have been inspiring, though. I’ve been so focused on my own, daily two-fifty minimum, that I haven’t been reading people who do this and do this well.
Sitting down to write when your mind is blank is courting self-esteem busting anxiety. I just start thinking, What could I write, what could be good, what will people enjoy, what’s worth their time? An idea pops up and I immediately shoot it down because it’s not good enough or it’s too similar to something I’ve done before or it’s only good for a sentencer or two. It can be a hopeless game of starts and stops.
And that’s just what I have to face to write something every day, let alone something amazing.
In her introduction to The Best American Essays, editor Leslie Jamison says, “Everyone hurts about something. Everyone has feelings about breakfast. Every person is a fucking miracle.”
If I had to say why I write, it’s that. The specifics of our everyone’s life are worthwhile enough to write about. If I’m passionate about or dedicated to anything, it’s putting that idea to the test.
