James Frey Epilogue — Because Your Forehead is Bleeding

You read the post.  If you didn’t, and if you’re serious about writing fiction, you should.  It’s right beneath this one.

It’s a shot of reality that ends up right where it should, in the wheelhouse of your muse.  If you’re wondering why you’re even writing at all, Jim tells you why.

Even when you can’t get arrested.

If you’ve ever bled from the forehead over the blank page, then this is for you.  Because you’ll understand why the blood, the incessant suffering, is both unavoidable and necessary.  Why it’s even a good thing.

One of the reasons I invited Jim to appear on Storyfix is his reputation as a no-nonsense teacher of fiction writing.  I’ve often felt alone with how I’ve positioned the acceptance of the writing mantle, and I’ve even been criticized for it.

Not so much for my enthusiasm for structure and process, but for my constant in-your-face urging to work harder, go deeper, take risks, and generally get your head out of the there-are-no-rules-listen-to-your-characters-just-make-it-up-as-you-go-along sphincter that can bury your dream in a steaming pile of illusion.

I keep reminding of you the odds, the nature and sheer mass of the competition.  Some hear this as discouraging words.  I mean them as truth.  Too many writers aren’t willing to pay the price that the truth demands of us.

With your willingness to bleed from the forehead, and with what I’m laying out for you here (and others are doing elsewhere) in terms of structure, story architecture and the requisite elements of storytelling, you actually do stand a chance of getting published. 

Orders of magnitude more than most, in fact.  Because most spend their days working on their sentences, their use of words.  You, once enlightened, will work on your storytelling.

One word will make the difference in this regard: knowledge.  Seek it, embrace it, then put it to work with a discipline that borders on obsession.  And while you’re at it, allow a little magic in, too.

In a world in which The Secret seems to be the religion of success, I am, like Jim, a bit of an impatient realist.  One who believes that anything worth doing is worth doing well, and that luck is a product of effort, especially in writing.

And you will need to get lucky.  Which means you need to get busy.

I know what it means to outwork the other guy, to win by the sheer strength of your will.  Talent is good.  Craft is better. 

Write this down: the latter can become the former with enough work and willpower.  Provided there is enough knowledge in the mix.

I also know what it means to work smart as well as hard.  To write in context to accepted principles instead of some rebellious nobody-is-going-to-tell-me-how-to-write-my-story value system that leads nowhere.

Those writers rarely, if ever, get published.  And if they do, it happens because they’ve inadvertently, in spite of themselves, stumbled upon the very principles they rail against.  

I’ve always said that you need to write as if your story is a gift to the world.  That’s a huge responsibility.  If you aren’t taking your story that seriously – even if the story isn’t particularly serious – then perhaps you should. 

As Jim tells us, writing is the one fully accessible avocation that can really matter.   You can change lives with it.  You can make yourself count with it.  You can contribute to mankind.  And yes, you can even change the world.  Yours especially.

You really can. 

You don’t need a medical degree.  You don’t need to occupy public office or be the offspring of nobility.   You don’t need to be six-feet-nine and able to dunk with either hand.  It’s not about who you are in the world, it’s about who you are inside.

You just need to write.

Are you taking your writing that seriously?  Successful writers do.  Jim does.  I do.  Many of the folks reading this do.   And most of the people who continue to publish do.

Once you do, too, you’ll realize you are alive in a way that others aren’t.  You are no longer just a passenger on the ride of life, you’re experiencing it more clearly than ever before.  You’re driving the bus.  You’re recording and interpreting it for the rest of us. 

Which means the beauty, the meaning, the inherent opportunity of life is completely and utterly yours. 

And yes, the pain, too.  Comes with the territory.

You, the serious writer, miss nothing.  You see and feel everything.  You hear the lyrics and move to the melody of being fully alive. 

Even as your forehead is bleeding.

Strive to touch one life with your writing.  Just one.  And you will have mattered in a way that you can’t imagine.  A way that makes everything, every ounce of that blood, worthwhile.

They say that somewhere, far far away, a butterfly moves its wings and the world is forever changed.   Time shifts, mountains tremble, angels weep.  Or not.  Nothing in life is guaranteed.

But always, the butterfly matters.

The same is true with your words.  Be the butterfly.  Be the middle linebacker that knocks someone on their emotional ass.   Be the issuer of the wake-up call.

Become a force of nature.  Be a writer.

Live.

Check out my guest post today on www.menwithpens.ca.  It’s about one of the most challenging topics in all of fiction – theme.

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