Talented Bastids
On the hope of having talent
Often the question strikes me, “am I good enough?” This is in all types of contexts, can I do a good job for the people at work? Can I be a good husband and father? Can I suffer for my beliefs? I think of the people I’ve heard about who have been threatened with martyrdom, I heard a homily by a Syrian priest whose brother had been confronted by ISIS. In that instance, the brother was not good enough to stand for his beliefs and in that moment recanted his faith in Christ. He escaped the knife of the terrorist that day, but might have faced a different kind of death with his denial.
Stephen King’s short story collection, “You Like it Darker” begins by picking at another insecurity of mine, “am I good enough?” Not for a moral good or conviction, but am I good enough to write? This is not the first time King has haunted me with this, his book “On Writing” states the following:
I don't believe writers can be made, either by circumstances or by self-will (although I did believe those things once). The equipment comes with the original package. Yet it is by no means unusual equipment; I believe large numbers of people have at least some talent as writers and storytellers, and that those talents can be strengthened and sharpened. If I didn't believe that, writing a book like this would be a waste of time.
Do I have some of this equipment in my package? I have a little Stephen King on my shoulder asking me this when I sit down to write something — though the little one on my shoulder isn’t allowed on twitter. I like to think that I have ‘it’, but I do not know. In “Two Talented Bastids,” the pair of men from rural Maine receive a gift from a supernatural entity that enables them to become successful in their artistic endeavors. At first, I was a little disappointed. The back of the book states, “You like it darker? Fine. So do I.” Combatively. Aggressively. I was looking forward to descending into another world where the dark forces that rule it were a little more immediate than the ones that rule this one. A dancing clown on the streets of small town America, a cemetery where things don’t stay dead, or my favorite — an isolated hotel deep in the wintry Colorado mountains. My favorite King novels consistently aren’t about the spooky supernatural things. They are more about the terror of the ordinary — Childhood abuse, losing a child in a freak accident, and a man hurting his family with his alcoholism.
But in this story no one gets hurt or dies. Nothing all that bad happens to the central characters in the story, Laird Carmody and Dave “Uncle Butch” LaVerdiere, arguably this encounter with the supernatural resulted in something good. The same pattern re-emerges here as with the novels. There is a real anxiety expressed in the story —one that most everyone who has made art has felt.
They visited the forest on a hunting trip, and were given a special gift, a short-cut to artistic success. The pair already practiced their respective crafts, but they didn’t have the time to dedicate to said crafts to attain mastery. The visitor said, “ nothing can give you what isn’t already there.” Carmondy and Uncle Butch had it, they did their art at a hobbyist level, but after the gift they were given a shortcut to a master level. They ran with it, getting fame and fortune in the meantime, until the last moments of their lives. Mark, Laird’s son, finds this gift at the end of the short-story, and tries to use it, just to see what happens, and nothing. He does not have what ‘it’ takes. Not really. His row in life is to continue as a superintendent at a school. Not bad, no one died, but it’s not opulent.
A goal that Mark has, is that he wants to one-up his father. He daydreams critics saying, “The depth of Mark Carmody’s novel makes his father’s work look shabby. The pupil has truly outshone the teacher.” What Mark wants, is not so much a pure pursuit of the craft, but rather an ego trip. This is his problem, the ego trip, or the will to one. He can receive nothing that he doesn’t already have, which might just be a love of the craft.
The little Stephen King on my shoulder tells me: “This is the terror. Do you put these words on the page because you’re in love with language and the craft? Or do you want to be famous?”
Is the desire for fame a necessary disqualifier for the arts? An author might say yes, a pop star might say no, but these are entirely different disciplines. It’s hard to say definitely.
I plan on reading and writing more. This is vague, but I want to read more non-fiction to learn more about the world, and to have something that I can imbue into my fiction. I also want to have more fiction, because you need to read lots of fiction in order to make good fiction. Writing about books that I have read will help me in both regards. This is a good reason, practical.
I also would like to one day write for money, full time, instead of working a traditional job. My wife told me get a hard-to-get job. Writing professionally is one of the hardest-to-get. This is also a good aspiration. One that requires a great deal of diligence, but one that is good to work towards.
Sometimes though, I fancy myself hitting the podcast circuit, talking to people as though I have something important to say, or owning the libs or something like this. Perhaps I might one day, but it feels to me like vanity. I want to feel important by having my face seen on a bunch of screens. Do I have the same curse that Mark does? I hope not, but there’s a part of me that worries.
In the homily from the Syrian priest, he compared his brother to Saint Peter. The same Peter who also denied Christ, but later became the leader of the Church. The brother likewise made his best effort in order to be a better Christian after that incident. That moment of weakness was not a permanent blotch on his soul. Likewise with King, he wouldn’t have written a book ‘On Writing’ had he not believed that some people had the potential for being writers who had not been found and cultivated yet. So there is hope, both in greater things, and in a little bit lesser things.