Because it just doesn't matter
An unlikely motivational speech
Dear Readers,
I woke up after an incredibly busy week and realized I didn’t have anything to write about this week.
Which is, ironically, sometimes the best creative position to be in.
Because in a pinch, we pinch ourselves, and we remember that a different approach might be more interesting than our usual approach.
There’s some maxim about necessity being the mothing of urgency, which is the mother of panic, which is the mother of creativity (and survival). Confucius told that to Shakespeare, and then Beyonce said it in a Vogue interview.
So I thought of the video of Bill Murray’s “It just doesn’t matter” speech from the movie Meatballs. I watch this speech often: before I have to give a talk in public, after getting a churlish stab of envy when I scroll through other people’s rich and glamorous lives on social media (so many vacations!), when I get a rejection (or two … or 500) from a publication.
I won’t describe Murray’s speech. You have to watch it. It’s liberating. It’s galvanizing. It puts winning and losing in perfect perspective. And then it’s a full dose of Bill Murray. So I wanted to share it in case you’re having your own, “Oh, shit, I’m a loser,” moment.
After watching it, I remembered a George Saunders video I’ve been saving. It’s a fun video, made by Ken Burns, about what makes a good story (and, man, George Saunders might be a better teacher than writer). And then I thought, hey, maybe this week’s newsletter should be a playlist of interesting writing videos.
Do you know what I discovered? It’s really wonderful to hear authors intone their words with such passion and introspection. I love a good quote, but it’s much better to be immersed in the rhythms of their speech, the inflections of their thought. I’m going to start spending more time on YouTube.
But let’s start with the Bill Murray clip.
What's a good story?
What's a bad story?
George Saunders says sometimes you write a good story just because a sentence keeps bothering you. Your better self rises up to make the sentence better. You tinker, then you tinker some more. Lovingly. Tinkering as caressing.
In fact, he views revision as a state of active love. You come back to a sentence like you do a person you love—you try to give them the benefit of the doubt, you look for possibilities in them, you listen and try to understand one another.
"The purpose of writing is to keep your eyes open all the time, to keep yourself mystified," says George Saunders.
If you’re not doing that, you’re probably writing a bad story. And probably being a bad lover.
Because it's possible not to know oneself and not to know oneself for one's whole life
After watching this, I plan to go down a Zadie Smith rabbit hole on YouTube because I never want to hear her quit talking.
My favorite moment of this clip: the way she talks about the nuance and mystery of the human condition. Her thoughts on intimacy—how difficult it is to express intimacy and to be intimate—are worth pondering long into the evening and probably the next day as well.
Hey, Walter Mosely and I have the same writing process
Walter Mosely has so many insightful things to say about writing and life, and he’s so fun to listen to. Maybe my YouTube writing rabbit hole exploration will alternate between him and Zadie Smith.
Favorite moment: Mosely’s answer to the question, “Is the writer a detective or an explorer?” I’ll let you watch to find the answer.
Because the past is always present in our lives
Favorite moment: Amy Tan’s stories about her mother perfectly capture how the blood that runs through us isn’t our blood alone. She says she and her mother were "dangerously symbiotic twins," an experience that then formed her as a writer.
Because you can only teach some things about writing
Favorite moment: Salman Rushdie says that every good writer has a particular relationship to language that guides their work. He talks about authors’ relation to language as if talking about mystics.
The thing you can teach? Craft.
What if a reader misreads your work?
Does an artist's intention matter?
It’s an age-old question: who owns the meaning of a work? Is the artist even truly in charge of that meaning? Or is the artist's intended meaning just one of many interpretations, no more relevant than others’ claims?
The act of creation is the definition of vulnerability. We give our souls to others and hope they care for them.
All the Comfort Sin Can Provide
If you like this newsletter, please consider checking out my recently released collection of short stories, All the Comfort Sin Can Provide.
Lidia Yuknavitch said:
“Somewhere between sinister and gleeful the characters in Grant Faulkner’s story collection All the Comfort Sin Can Provide blow open pleasure—guilty pleasure, unapologetic pleasure, accidental pleasure, repressed pleasure.”
Grant Faulkner is executive director of National Novel Writing Month and the co-founder of 100 Word Story. He’s the author of Pep Talks for Writers: 52 Insights and Actions to Boost Your Creative Mojo and the co-host of the podcast Write-minded. His essays on creative writing have appeared in The New York Times, Poets & Writers, Lit Hub, Writer’s Digest, and The Writer.
For more, go to grantfaulkner.com, or follow him on Twitter at @grantfaulkner.
As always, an hours' worth of content in one newsletter. That's a lot for a guy who didn't know what to write. Thanks!
‘The act of creation is the definition of vulnerability. We give our souls to others and hope they care for them.’ Love this quote Grant and the rest of your essay. Thank you for creating!