The Old Money Book

I recently found myself giving advice to an aspiring writer.

It’s an opportunity that I look forward to, most of the time. I’ve had the privilege of learning most of my craft on my own, by trial and error, with little assistance from mentors, professors, or colleagues.

I say ‘privilege’ because the road has been a long and often challenging one. The lessons I’ve learned have been personal, vivid, and beneficial. They will never be forgotten. And I consider all of these blessings.

My professional pursuits have also been blessed by a supportive family, a magnificent spouse, and the rare genetic luck of the draw–my grandfather and uncles were all newspaper men of some sort. Ink runs through my veins.

I was also lucky to develop a sort of haphazard but relentless commitment to my chosen profession. I refer to it as a ‘dilettante’s devotion’ rather than a military-style regimen.

I have several ideas always running around in my head, clamoring for attention. I often miss deadlines, but always finish what I start. My first drafts are legendary in their mediocrity, but my final product usually works well and even excels upon occasion. Beneath the interruptions and fitful starts and stops, revisions and deletions, elation and despair, lies an ability to do what needs to be done, when it needs to be done, whether it’s pleasant or not. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

There are periods of time when I do nothing. There are periods of time when I do nothing but write.

I tried to explain this professional reality to the aspiring writer–namely, that you’re going to do much better if you get up in the morning, brew a hot tea or coffee, sit down at your desk, and knock out the day’s writing first thing. And do that relentlessly until you’ve completed your novel, screenplay, song, or article.

To the extent that you can do that–and to the extent that you possess literary talent–these factors will largely determine how successful and fulfilled you are in your career as a writer.

It’s that simple. My aspiring writer acquaintance was more inclined to wait for inspiration to hit. Inspiration does come, I confided, but many times you have to bridge those moments with tireless, workman-like craft. “We all face the blank page, white elephant as Hemingway referred to it. Lock and load, my young friend, then hunt it down without hesitation or mercy, or it will turn on you and trample you.”

I doubt my words of wisdom found their target.

The broader point is this: what is life without discipline? What are our spirit, mind, and body for, if not to pursue focused, productive, challenging, and rewarding action within the boundaries of our ambitions, abilities, resources, and personal situation?

We have been born, and it is a privilege. We cannot squander our time here. We are not required to work every moment of every day, but at the end of a week, month, or year, we should be comfortable and satisfied (to an extent) with our efforts and progress.

In order to honestly feel this satisfaction, we must have discipline. We must be resilient in the face of setbacks. We must be self-reliant, for no amount of delegating or networking or borrowing or begging can marshal the push we need to have in order to accomplish our most personal goals, the ones we hold most dear, the ones we would secretly label a ‘triumph’ when achieved, even if no one else knew about our success.

I have heard this discipline defined as ‘doing within while we are without’. To internalize our desire and possess it, even as we are still working toward it. I find it more simply the ability to ignore discomfort, distraction, and the uninformed opinions of others.

Of course, there are hundreds of books and thousands of techniques we can refer to and employ in order to harness willpower and slay procrastination.

But, in the end, what’s best for you is what works for you. The rituals, the time management, the schedule, the motivation–all of it is where you find it, and it’s only value is whether or not it works for you. Whether it produces results.

So I sit here, doing my work alone in a dark room beneath the light of a single floor lamp. Earl Grey offers encouragement. A layered army of wool stiff-arms the cold. A space heater wheezes, its efforts evaporating, but not before toasting my legs and feet.

It is not glamorous. I am not giddy. But I have a duty, an obligation, a debt to repay with the currency of ideas, in the marketplace of words.

I am often reluctant. Still, I muster discipline. Join me.

• BGT