All the Marbles
As I sit here drinking my green tea at 5:30 a.m., I can't help but be aware the vultures are circling around the body of Anna Nicole Smith. And I can't help but have great empathy. And of course, this got me thinking about writing. Yeah, they don't seem related . . . but . . .
I have to give some credit to a girl who would do anything to get out of some backwater town that offered her no more future than to work in a Chick-fil-A or a factory. With no offense intended to Chick-fil-A workers nor factory workers--an honest living is an honest living. But if you wanted something more, that town wouldn't be able to offer it. So she got out on the one gift she had--yeah. Her body. She wasn't bright. But she had ambition. And she had a body.
When I look at my own career, it would be nice to take all the credit. But in fact, from the time I could hold a pencil, I was writing stories, and as early as second grade, my teachers were pushing me--into gifted programs, into skipping grades. They told me I could write. My father told me I could write. I got an academic scholarship because I could write--and had straight As. But I have to be honest in that I don't remember having to work hard. It just came to me. The writing. And the As. Except for math. I had to really work in math.
Now, I could have graduated college and taken a job and stayed there and worked my way up. But I did want more. I wanted to BE a writer. Which to me, meant a paying writer, but that was so far off in the distance, but still. I got married, had a baby, got divorced, waited tables. I wrote. I wrote any spare second I had. But I wanted it. I became a book editor . . . and still wrote. And along the way, I met an agent, sold a book. Sold a bunch more.
So I realize there is this cross section. It's like coming to a game of marbles. You reach in your bag. You pull out your best marbles, and you start to play. In that marble bag, you've got brains, you've got talent, maybe you have a hot body or beauty. Maybe you have an uncanny gift for writing dialogue. Maybe you're really good at telling stories. Whatever it is, you have your gifts. Some people have more marbles of one kind than another. Some people's bags come with marbles of amazing teachers and supportive parents. Some people, sadly, come to the game with maybe one good marble. It might be a really cool one with swirls of blue and yellow and purple. But it's their ONE marble.
And the rest . . . it's all in how you play the game. What you DO with your marbles.
So I realize what was in my bag. I was lucky. And I realize some of it was how I played the game. But the writing, that came easy. I had a good marble.
So what was in your bag? And what was in how you played the game?
Peace,
E
I have to give some credit to a girl who would do anything to get out of some backwater town that offered her no more future than to work in a Chick-fil-A or a factory. With no offense intended to Chick-fil-A workers nor factory workers--an honest living is an honest living. But if you wanted something more, that town wouldn't be able to offer it. So she got out on the one gift she had--yeah. Her body. She wasn't bright. But she had ambition. And she had a body.
When I look at my own career, it would be nice to take all the credit. But in fact, from the time I could hold a pencil, I was writing stories, and as early as second grade, my teachers were pushing me--into gifted programs, into skipping grades. They told me I could write. My father told me I could write. I got an academic scholarship because I could write--and had straight As. But I have to be honest in that I don't remember having to work hard. It just came to me. The writing. And the As. Except for math. I had to really work in math.
Now, I could have graduated college and taken a job and stayed there and worked my way up. But I did want more. I wanted to BE a writer. Which to me, meant a paying writer, but that was so far off in the distance, but still. I got married, had a baby, got divorced, waited tables. I wrote. I wrote any spare second I had. But I wanted it. I became a book editor . . . and still wrote. And along the way, I met an agent, sold a book. Sold a bunch more.
So I realize there is this cross section. It's like coming to a game of marbles. You reach in your bag. You pull out your best marbles, and you start to play. In that marble bag, you've got brains, you've got talent, maybe you have a hot body or beauty. Maybe you have an uncanny gift for writing dialogue. Maybe you're really good at telling stories. Whatever it is, you have your gifts. Some people have more marbles of one kind than another. Some people's bags come with marbles of amazing teachers and supportive parents. Some people, sadly, come to the game with maybe one good marble. It might be a really cool one with swirls of blue and yellow and purple. But it's their ONE marble.
And the rest . . . it's all in how you play the game. What you DO with your marbles.
So I realize what was in my bag. I was lucky. And I realize some of it was how I played the game. But the writing, that came easy. I had a good marble.
So what was in your bag? And what was in how you played the game?
Peace,
E
posted by Erica Orloff at 6:34 AM
8 Comments:
I guess I came to the game with a bit of raw talent (partially, I think, the result of being read to a lot as a child, subconsciously soaking up the structure and rhythm of the language).
But talent won't get you very far in this business. Sure, it helps, and I think it's essential to have at least a smidgeon, but what it really comes down to is learning the craft. Lots of hard work. Hours and hours of your solitary butt glued to a chair, writing SOMETHING, hoping the muse might pop in occasionally. Hoping you don't LOSE your marbles in the process.
Read, read, read. Write, write, write. Pay attention. Focus.
And learn how to play well with others. :)
Jude:
Yeah, most of the time writers are shooting their marbles by themselves.
E
I have the opposite experience. From an early age, I wanted to dance. I begged and begged for ballet lessons until my parents relented. My dance teacher told me I had talent. I was in every school production that involved dancing. I didn't just dance too; I choreographed.
But my parents didn't think that there was any future in dance. So they crushed my dream like a bug underfoot, refused to enroll me in any more dance classes past the age of 13 and made me stop altogether. Although I mourned at the time (and by "mourn," I mean thrash around and break things), life eventually moved on.
As an adult, I feed my dancing habit by taking recreational classes and teaching it myself. I now know that I'm *good* but not THAT good. Perhaps my parents saw that and actually did me a favor.
karm:
I don't know. As a parent, I just still have this belief that if you want something bad enough you can get it. Maybe it's naive. I have one violinist, one drummer, and one aspiring chef who wants to move to Paris. I don't know if they're "good enough"--if that's what's in their bag of marbles . . . but I figure it's not for me to discourage them.
I think I had a couple of marbles to choose from. There was a love for the great story marble, and the love for art marble. I didn't know if I would ever have a future with them until I started playing and building any talent. The love for a good story was actually just me reading books and loving great movies. I wrote very little in school only when I had to, art was my calling for a long time. When I went to school for art, and tried to build it into a career, I don't think I wanted it bad enough to have the career. So when I started writing, I worked and I worked and I wanted it so bad, that I finally sold. So now I only have one marble, but it's shiny and bright and I hope to have it for a long time. =D
kelly:
Awesome marbles. I had the love of reading and a good story one, too.
E
My marbles had fangs.
Seriously, ever since I can recall I've written about vampires. Oddly enough, when I decided to get serious about getting published, all of my stories were about all sorts of non-vampire subjects. I thought that what I loved most--what I'd lived and breathed since I could remember living and breathing--couldn't get me there.
Thank the gods I wised up!
Heather:
That is an awesome reminder to write what speaks to you.
E
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