Category Archives: Writers

When Writers’ and Artists’ Lives Are Simple

Clouds over blue water

You hear so much yapping about a career in writing and art being a hard life. Shoveling coal for a living is a hard life, but when you are doing what you were put on earth to do with your life–and that is to write or paint–your life is simple, for then you have answered the most crucial questions of all: “What shall I be? “What shall I do? Then you ask, “How do I do it” and that is your craft, that is your art.

My blog is intended for writers and artists. Three million Americans identify themselves as writers. 2.7 million Americans identify themselves as artists. Of course, the blog also reaches millions of people in foreign countries who also identify themselves as artists and writers. To date my blog has been looked at by four hundred thousand writers and artists, the majority Americans, and others from even the least populated mountain and island kingdoms.

 

 An Example of What Happens to Writers as Their Lives Unfold: The Opportunities that Appear

I will use myself as an example of a writer whose career over many years I can describe. It may be of value to writers and artists to compare to their own careers. Fighting to Win: Samurai Techniques for Your Work and Life is my best and my favorite book. It was written to help people. The main beneficiaries of Fighting To Win are discouraged people—broke, out of work, disappointed with their career or life, etc. Fighting to Win lifts them up.

Many people–probably most– struggle to find direction for their lives, but some people know from their earliest years the life, the career, they will pursue. I began writing professionally at eight–$25 for a story published in Jack & Jill. I didn’t know then that eventually in my career as writer I would, as many writers do, evolve into writer/poet/book marketer/public speaker/blogger. I decided on the way home from school on a rainy day that my goal when I grew up would be to be a writer so I could write beautiful words like “lovely,” “sea-faring,” and “proficient.” That goal has never changed through the publications of twelve books that are not self-published.

Ninety percent of a writer’s talent is inborn. That’s why writers needn’t attend the Iowa school of writing, but are generally self-taught. Some writers who write surprisingly well when they are very young are prodigies. There are artist prodigies too that draw and paint beautifully like much older artists. They master perspective when they seem too young to have mastered it .Mozart was a music prodigy, composing at four. Baryshnikov was a prodigy in ballet. He was the greatest dancer of his era because he could leap highest.

An early blooming prodigy can perform something before being taught to do it. For example, a young writing prodigy can write a story that has a plot, characterization, themes, tension, mystery, a strong conclusion though they have not been taught those features. The remaining ten percent of a writer’s expertise is skill and technique that comes from study, a ten percent separating great from good, and a phase that introduces the need for hard work, even among the most naturally-gifted.

As in every field, sweat-and-toil hard workers out-perform  lazy or listless workers. You cannot rely on natural talent alone to bring high success. Without drive and intelligence–however naturally talented you are–you will not go as far as you could.  Each day writers and artists should hope they have talent and tell themselves. “Today I will be energetic. Today I will be focused.”

A career in the arts is in keeping with my Welsh heritage. The Welsh entertain each other with stories and songs. I completed three degrees in American literature and taught Self Development in a university graduate school. At age twenty I had a short story published in a major literary journal. At twenty-one, a highly-regarded writing teacher said of my paper, “Teachers wait their entire career for a student who can write like this.”

I knew nothing about publishing and sent the entire manuscript of Fighting to Win to a publisher who called me and said they wanted to publish the book. I asked what kind of changes they wanted made and they said, “None. The book is a perfect book.” That statement soured me. Surely no book in first draft form is that good. I wanted a more demanding publisher who would encourage me to write my best. I turned the offer down. Having some doubts about the book I wrote an entirely new draft, starting from scratch, consuming a year.

I made an agreement with an excellent literary agent. I owe him a debt of gratitude.  He was energetic and honest, and placed my book Fighting to Win with Doubleday. After the success of Fighting to Win, another publisher said they wanted me to write a book for them. “What do you want me to write about?” I asked. They said, “Whatever you want.” So I wrote Waging Business Warfare for Scribner’s publisher, a book that The Wall Street Journal said would change the way companies do business. Both books climbed the best sealer charts. Fighting to Win was also a best seller in Sweden. Waging Business Warfare in France and Japan.

Writer or artist, you have to distinguish yourself from the crowd. You have to get known.  I’ve had many appearances in the national media on publicity tours and on my own. The books and my name became known in North America and foreign countries who purchased rights. I discovered that I am a good interviewee for marketing books, which is really sales. I have trained people in selling technique. The goal of a writer marketing to the broadcast media is to be invited back. Ideal is when the host of the show says “Call whenever you have something you want to talk about. We’ll put you on right away.”

Having written a book that becomes known by the public changes the author’s life forever. If you’re an author you’d better like the book since you and it from the publication date to the end of your life will be inseparable. You will be known as “So and so, the he author of….”   

A New York publisher, I didn’t know, head of a major house who “had read everything,” generously called me out of the blue to tell me  she had read Fighting to Win and found it “One of the  two or three best books of any type–prose, poetry, biography, history, arts etc.–I have ever read.”

Then I took on a new career: public speaking in auditoriums in North America and Europe to audiences of thousands about their self-improvement, based on the content of Fighting to Win. I discovered a talent for public speaking to large audiences that I wasn’t aware of. Long ago I was afraid of public speaking, but now I enjoy it as much as I do writing, and the income is impressive. Many speakers/writers earn more money from speaking than from writing.  The writer who can also speak is lucky. It is quite a shock to writers accustomed to working alone to find themselves on a stage addressing three, four, five thousand people who have come to hear an author’s wisdom.

Later I began this blog, designed to stimulate thinking about the important roles of writers and artists, especially those who hope to excel, a goal I share, placing emphasis on research and prescriptive how-to advice.  I wanted to think of every aspect of writers’ and artists’ work life and write something practical to aid them. Each blog is an essay pertaining to the life of writers or artists–their necessary knowledge, their moods, their challenges, their discouragements, and so on. My most popular post is “The Characteristics of Creative People.” There are now 141 essays.

A major change in this writer’s life was turning, later in life, from writing prose to writing poetry. Since then there has been a stream of publications of poems and great joy. I wrote a book of poetry about  adventures I had at seventeen when for six months I lived the life of a hobo hitching rides on freight trains: The Poetry of Riding Freight Trains Across America.

Philip Roth said eventually people won’t read novels anymore because with such busy lives, growing busier, they don’t have the many hours needed to read a novel. A poem can be read in a few minutes.

Gold and white clouds on a blue sky

In Bliss

When you spend thousands of hours working hard over many years as many writers and artists have, and think of your craft all the time since childhood, writing and painting and other arts are the simplest  tasks of your time here on earth. Dancers find a similar joy in dancing, actors in acting. When unhindered, such craftsmen write, paint, act, and dance in bliss.

 

© 2025 David J. Rogers

For my interview from the international teleconference with Ben Dean about Fighting to Win, click the following link:

Interview with David J. Rogers

Order Fighting to Win: Samurai Techniques for Your Work and Life eBook by David J. Rogers

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F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Crack-Up no

Photograph of F. Scott FotzzgeraldF. Scott Fitzgerald’s (1896-1940) writing was the major interest in his life. From grade school to his death nothing was quite true to him unless he had written about it. He was a fine writer, and his writing was always about himself or people he was intimate with. As a result his life was inextricably bound up with his work and his life with his kooky and attractive wife Zelda was an interest in itself. He lived a colorful life and a disastrous one with Zelda. They lived like fairy-story hero and heroine, filling newspapers with reports of their wild life-style. Much of the disaster of their lives were of their own making. Fitzgerald is called the creator of the Jazz Age which began with his writing best seller This Side of Paradise at the age of twenty-four, making him rich, his goal for writing it. The book became the voice of the younger hedonistic, thrill-loving, post-World War I generation.

Fitzgerald felt that a person such as himself was happiest if they were rich and had acquired the trappings of wealth and were living “the good life.” In his earlier adult life Fitzgerald saw the “improbable, often the impossible come true. Life was something you dominated if you were any good. Life yielded easily to intelligence and effort. It seemed a romantic business to be a successful literary man.” (Arthur Mizener.)

Fitzgerald felt he could not have chosen any other profession although in the writing trade “you were forever unsatisfied.” In the nineteen twenties the big problems of his life seemed to solve themselves, and if the problems were too tough he ignored them. He strove to make a lot of money from his writing novels and dozens of short stories that were immensely popular, as he did in the early and middle parts of his career. Fitzgerald always lived well beyond his income, troubling his editor Maxwell Perkins for many advances on earnings. He was often confused between writing just for the money and writing high quality literary work. He had a keen understanding of public literary tastes and could profitably write both.

The Crack-Up

Fitzgerald wrote three magazine articles frankly describing his crack-up. His friend Ernest Hemingway advised him against writing them because, he said, they would make Fitzgerald appear weak. The fear of appearing weak was a concern of macho Hemingway, but not of Fitzgerald. Rare is writing so honest about one’s psychological and spiritual problems as Fitzgerald’s revelations in those articles.

For seventeen years things went on marvelously well, and then at thirty-nine Fitzgerald suddenly realized that he had cracked up. He said you can crack up in the mind and can crack up in the body and the nerves. His crack-up was in the nerves where he said there was “too much anger and too many tears.” He said that he had been living a long time “not caring much, not thinking about what was left undone, or of his responsibilities.”  He had a sudden instinct that he must go somewhere and be alone for a while. He wrote, “I didn’t want to see people at all. I had seen so many people all my life.” He was seeking “a certain insulation from ordinary cares. I went away and there were fewer people…I felt tired and slept dozens of hours or twenty -four hours at a day.” Sick, he made lists, “hundreds of lists of happy times, baseball plays, popular songs, of pairs of shoes, of women he liked, “and then suddenly, surprising, he said, “I got better.”

In reflection he began to realize “that for two years of my life I had been drawing on resources that I did not possess, that I had been mortgaging myself physically and spiritually up to the hilt. I realized that in those two years…I had weaned myself from all the things I used to love.” He saw that for a long time he had not liked people. He felt that even his love for those closest to him was only an attempt to love them, but was not love. He became bitter about everything he encountered or thought about day and night.

In the article “Putting it Together” Fitzgerald said, “In a real dark night of the soul it is always three ‘o clock in the morning day after day. At that hour the tendency is to refuse to face things as long as possible by retiring to an infantile dream– but one is continually startled out of this by various contacts with the world. One meets these occasions as quickly and carelessly as possible and retires once more back into the dream, hoping that things would adjust themselves by some great material or spiritual bonanza…But as the withdrawal persists one witnesses the disintegration of one’s own personality.”

Fitzgerald said “It was strange to have no self–to be like a little boy left alone in a big house who found he could do anything  he wanted, “but found there was nothing he wanted to do.”  In a final reflection on his ordeal, his crack-up, Fitzgerald wrote, “A man does not recover from such a jolt–he becomes a different person and eventually the new person finds new things to care about.”

Fitzgerald’s Death

In 1937 Fitzgerald was sick and unable to write and no longer earning royalties. He turned to Hollywood’s film industry. He died at   forty-four a modestly paid Hollywood screen writer of mediocre movies. Many critics consider his The Great Gatsby the great American novel many writers have striven to write. The Great Gatsby surprised the literary world by being more substantial than anything Fitzgerald had written before.

 

© 2025 David J. Rogers

For my interview from the international teleconference with Ben Dean about Fighting to Win, click the following link:

Interview with David J. Rogers

Order Fighting to Win: Samurai Techniques for Your Work and Life eBook by David J. Rogers

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Motivating Quotes for Writers and Artists

 

  • “Painters and poets alike have always had license to dare anything.” (Horace)
  • “The incurable itch of writing possesses many.” (Juvenal)
  • “He is the greatest artist who has embodied, in the sum of his work, the greatest number of the greatest ideas.” (John Ruskin.)
  • “The excellency of every art is its intensity.” (John Keats)
  • “Great artists need great clients.” (Artist I.M. Pei.)
  • “It seems to me that the writers who have the power of revelation are just those who, in some particular part of life, have seen or felt considerably more than the average run of intelligent beings…The great difference, intellectually speaking, between one man and another is simply the number of things they can see in a given cubic yard of the world.” (Gilbert Murray.)
  • “High but not the highest intelligence, combined with the greatest degree of persistence will achieve greater eminence than the highest degree of intelligence with somewhat less persistence.” (Catherine Cox.)
  • “I think if you’re going to write, you’re going to write and nothing will stop you.” (William Faulkner.)
  • “It is the nature of man to rise to greatness if greatness is expected of him.” (John Steinbeck.)
  • “The essential factor of development of expertise is the accumulation of increasingly complex patterns in memory.” (Andreas Lehman.}
  • “Gifts like genius, I often think, means only an infinite capacity for taking pains.” (Jane E. Hopkins)
  • “Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon one can never resist or understand.” (George Orwell)
  • “It is through art and through art only, that we realize our perfection; through art and art only that we can shield ourselves from the sordid perils of actual existence.” (Oscar Wilde)
  • “If I set out to sculpt a standing man and it becomes a lying woman I know I am making art.” (Henry Moore.)
  • “The whole function of the artist in the world is to be a seeing and feeling creature; to be an instrument of such tenderness and sensitiveness, that no shadow, no hue, no line, no instantaneous and evanescent expression of the visible things around him, nor any of the emotions they are capable of conveying to the spirit which has been given him, shall either be left unrecorded, or fade…The work of his life is two-fold only; to see, to feel.” (John Ruskin.)
  • “I am just a man in the position of waiting to see what the imagination is going to do next.”(Saul Bellow.)

Rainbow in sky with clouds above a thick row of trees and water

 

© 2025 David J. Rogers

For my interview from the international teleconference with Ben Dean about Fighting to Win, click the following link:

Interview with David J. Rogers

 

 

Order Fighting to Win: Samurai Techniques for Your Work and Life eBook by David J. Rogers

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Fame is Fleeting:  Novelist Thomas Wolfe

Introducing Thomas Wolfe

Writers are always looking for material to write about. The right material is half the job. American writer six-foot-seven-inch Thomas Wolfe (1900-1938) wrote about himself. When he wrote he strove to use everything. He wanted to put all the experiences of his life into books. He might write thousands of words about a young man waiting for a train–just waiting as he recalled having once done. Every experience had to be used; nothing could be left out, a goal that was the source of his distinctive achievements and his greatest weakness, for the immensity of his goal was an impossible ambition.

Abstract painting like clouds in orange, gold and purpleAll writers are equipped with a good memories, but Thomas Wolfe’s memory was astonishing. Because of it he was able with ease to recall events, people, and places in stunning detail. That was his strength. His weakness was an inability to restrain the deluge of words that poured out of him from evening to dawn as he wrote, or when he spoke, and he simply, despite himself, had no ability to stay within the requirements of writing a saleable novel. He had no concept of how to write such a book and needed the help of his editor, the legendary Maxwell Perkins of Scribner’s, who at the same time was the editor of Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald, two other difficult clients.

The manuscripts Wolfe turned in to Perkins were of enormous lengths, twice as long to War and Peace. They required tens of thousands of words–or hundreds of thousands–being cut. But Wolfe, being told to go home and cut fifteen thousand more words, might go home and add twenty or twenty-five thousand. Wolfe would sit looking at the manuscript with no idea of what to do to shape it into a novel that could be sold at a book store. The only way Perkins could get Wolfe to stop adding words was to take the book away from him and send it to the printer without Wolfe knowing.

 

A Sketch of Thomas Wolfe

Thomas Wolfe was the most naïve and trusting man on earth and wanted everyone to be his friend. His belief in hard work was almost holy. He wrote all night, each night producing thousands of words on large scrolls of newsprint that he dropped on the floor for an assistant to try to paginate.

He was a big man in many ways, not just in his physical size, but in terms of his ambitions, his memory, and the intensity of his emotions. To Wolfe, the need to write–to spare no effort, to exhaust himself writing–was paramount. Whenever he was distracted from working he would fall into a black mood; then he would brood, drink, and pace New York streets all night, telephoning his friends and accusing them of betraying him.  The next day he would call them and apologize abjectly. He was governed almost wholly by his insatiable need to write.

Wolfe inherited from his father the richness, rhetoric, and music of his prose and the gusto with which he lived. His vocabulary was immense, and his ability to select from it the right word, phrase or image was, and is, unrivaled by any other writer. From his mother he acquired his enormously retentive memory and his dogged attraction to long-sustained, exhausting work.

 

Wolfe’s Most Important Relationships

Three relationships were most important in Wolfe’s life: with his parents, his lover Aline Bernstein, and his editor Maxwell Perkins (considered the best editor any writer ever had). Aline Bernstein, a beautiful, brilliantly successful stage designer and one of the directors of the Neighborhood Playhouse, had more charm in her little finger than most people have in their whole body. Wolfe met her in September, 1925 when he was twenty-five. She was nineteen years older at forty-four and a married woman. He wrote about her that “that woman would become his heart’s centre.”  It was love at first sight for both of them. Wolfe had been involved with other women, but Bernstein was the one great love affair of his life, and the influence she had on him was incalculably great.

Without her unwavering belief and confidence in him and her substantial financial and emotional support, he could never have written Look Homeward Angel when he did. She made it possible materially and spiritually for him to write it while he taught English at NYU. For six years she guided and transformed his life until 1931 when their affair ended bitterly. Often Wolfe’s relationships ended bitterly, for example his working relationship with Perkins–editor, confidant, adviser, creditor, and friend, the most important relationship in Perkins’ life.

 

A Writer’s Life Becomes More Difficult with Each Succeeding Book

After having his first book (Look Homeward Angel) successfully published, Wolfe wrote about the difficulties of each succeeding work, the travails of the life of a creative person. He wrote that the writer is alone: “At that time, among the many other things I did not know, I did not know that for a man who wants to continue with the creative life, to keep on growing and developing, this cheerful idea of happy establishment, of continuing now as one has started, is nothing but a delusion and a snare. I did not know that if a man really has in him the desire and the capacity to create, the power of further growth and further development, there can be no such thing as an easy road. I did not know that so far from having found out about writing, I had really found out almost nothing … I had made a first and simple utterance; but I did not know that each succeeding one would not only be … more difficult than the last, but  would be completely different–that with each new effort would come new desperation, the new, and old, sense of having to begin from the beginning all over again; of being face to face again with the old naked facts of self and work; of realizing again that there is no help anywhere save the help and strength that one can find within himself.”

 

Fame is Fleeting

Boat at the horizon with red sky and gold waterNo writer in the nineteen thirties–or even now–could write with the beauty of Thomas Wolfe’s prose. His reputation after his death suffered because of the perceived formlessness and verbiage of his writing in an age when critics preferred tight structure and economy of language–short sentences and short episodes, and highly-focused scenes rather than the volume and torrents of Wolfe’s  language.  Once considered by Nobel Prize winners William Faulkner and Sinclair Lewis to be America’s finest writer, and in the past extremely popular with readers and critics, Wolfe is now almost never read–unfortunately in my opinion, if one is interested in being inspired by the brilliance of written expression. Hard as you look, you will not find Thomas Wolfe–once thought a towering genius–in current anthologies of American literature.

 

© 2025 David J. Rogers

For my interview from the international teleconference with Ben Dean about Fighting to Win, click the following link:

Interview with David J. Rogers

 

 

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Henry Miller: A Unique Novelist To Say the Least

Brooklyn-born-and-bred Henry Miller, the late-bloomer of modern literature, published his first book in 1934 at the age of forty-three. His previous work had been unpublished, and for good reason; it showed no originality or promise. Miller worked in America as an employment manager of a Western Union office, ran a speakeasy, worked as a gravedigger and proofreader, and lived most of his life in poverty.

Photograph of a street in ParisHe arrived in Paris in 1930 with no money, no prospects, and no place to stay, in his words, “ a writer at the beginning of his career, naïve, enthusiastic, absorbent as a sponge, interested in everything and seemingly rudderless.”

He was little more than a middle-aged vagrant with exalted literary ambitions, tremendous self-confidence, and nothing in print. And there in the City of Lights, a penniless expatriate without a name, a reputation, or a fixed address, he did not just live, he sacrificed all material security and devoured life, searching for “the real Paris.”

His aim, he said, was to “regress” further and further to a state where culture and civilization “do not figure,” to “start completely from scratch in a way that is uncultivated, primitive.” There had to be “a time when I was totally broke, desperate, and living like a vagabond on the streets to start to see and to live the real Paris. I was discovering it at the same time I was discovering myself, undergoing a trial that was as difficult as it was fulfilling”

Miller’s was not the guidebook Paris, not the Paris of Cole Porter. Hemingway, and Fitzgerald, but the lurid backwater slums and dens of vice where he sloughed off American Puritanism and embraced a wild hedonistic, sensual existence–roaming the streets in search of new sensations without a single sou in his pocket, living a hand-to-mouth existence, sponging off friends and strangers alike.  He was attracted to cheats, shysters, and rogues, and they to him.

His worldly possessions consisted of the clothes on his back and a toothbrush, a razor, a notebooks, a pen, a raincoat, and a cane. He didn’t know in the morning where he would sleep at night—whether with friends or on a park bench or in an alley or a cheap hotel whose furniture “required the assistance of wires, ropes, and leather straps to keep from collapsing.”

With no bed, no tobacco, and no food, lying, cheating, and stealing for survival, he felt no anxiety, but rather felt liberated and free of worry and believed “there could not be anything better” than what he was experiencing.

He said, “I have no money, no resources, no hope. I am the happiest man alive.” He was euphoric, like a man who had been let out of prison, finding on most every street some rich new experience, some realization, some moment of illumination. He compared himself to a ghost haunting a banquet. His goal was to write autobiographical books that documented the living of a life no one before had ever dared to live, and in a manner no other writer ever had, books written in a new style and consciousness that “would restore our appetite for the fundamental realities.”

Miller felt that the artist’s truth lies in finding a “voice,” and that the discovery of one’s true voice doesn’t happen easily, but requires boldness. Miller imitated every style in hopes of finding the clue to the gnawing secret of how to write. Then: “Finally I came to a dead-end, to a despair and desperation which few men have known because there was no divorce between myself as a writer and myself as a man: to fail as a writer meant to fail as a man…It was at that point…that I really began to write. I began from scratch, throwing everything overboard, even those I loved. Immediately I heard my own voice…the fact that I was a separate, distinct, unique voice sustained me. It didn’t matter to me if what I wrote should be considered bad. Good and bad had dropped out of my vocabulary…My life itself became a work of art. I had found a voice. I was whole again.”

 

When he left Paris in 1939 Miller was the renowned author of Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn, autobiographical works that jolted readers new to his writing. His unique books created a vast international following.

 

© 2024 David J. Rogers

For my interview from the international teleconference with Ben Dean about Fighting to Win, click the following link:

Interview with David J. Rogers

 

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Why Some Writers and Artists Do Not Have a Single Close Friend

The Writer’s and Artist’s Sheer Voltage

Picasso style face in red, orange, khaki, green and whitePsychologists classify people in categories according to their personality traits. Yet they cannot measure intensity and sheer energy of a person’s life force.  There are some people who have a hundred times more intensity than others.  Artists and writers have an abundance of intensity. The energy pouring out of Vincent van Gogh would bowl you over. Writer Thomas Wolfe wrote in a “wild ecstasy” at top speed, never hesitating for a word, as though he were taking dictation. He wrote all night, at times churning out on large oversized sheets of newsprint thousands of hand-written words before dawn, leaving behind at his death at age 37 a million words to be made into books posthumously. Goethe called these super-charged creatures “demoniacs,” people with a super-abundance of vitality, “something that escapes analysis, reason, comprehension.” Goethe was aware of this power in himself.

A high level of energy is one characteristic of many artists and writers. Another characteristic is this: Artists and writers are often so highly focused and absorbed in solving artistic problems that they have no interest in anything that competes with attention to their work, such as concern for social relations, status, prestige, material objects, and money.

Most artists and writers spend an inordinate number of hours alone, and enjoy that very much, believing they are in ideal company alone in a studio or work room.  That need for autonomy and social isolation is one of the reasons why many artists and writers were attracted to their art in the first place.  A detached attitude in interpersonal relations–the strong desire to do what you have in mind to do without restraint or control from any other person–is a strong quality of yours if you are like most great artists. And not much desire to be included in a group unless that group stimulates your creativity.

The Need Theory of motivation states that the need for other people is one of the most powerful forces, yet many people pursuing an art have not a single close friend. Asked why, they answer that they don’t want or need friends.  They aspire to be non-conforming in thinking, and independent in judgment, to shut out irrelevant events and people, to cut off what is unnecessary to their creative life. Short story master and innovative playwright Anton Chekhov was the most popular writer in Russia, beloved by a vast public, and with many acquaintance in literature, but without one person he could call a valued friend.

It was said of Martha Graham, who revolutionized the art of modern dance, “Martha felt that she must cut from her life all deep emotional involvements, all attachments, all comforts, even moments of leisure, and beyond that love involving family and children. She gave everything to her work, withheld nothing.” Picasso could be affable and gracious when he wanted, but tended not to get deeply involved with anyone, and was willing to sacrifice any person who interfered with his work.  Toni Morrison said, “I don’t go to parties. All I do is write.”

Competence and elegance, aesthetics and the desire to create something novel and meaningful are at the heart of the artist’s and writer’s system of values. They are often indifferent to the standard conventions and social niceties. Some, like writer Raymond Chandler, are socially withdrawn.  As a screen writer Chandler abhorred the need to associate with other writers and collaborate with movie directors, and they, in turn, were none too happy working with such an unpleasant person.

 

Quotes

Nobel Laurette Saul Bellow was married five times.  He said, “I have always put the requirements of what I was writing first–before jobs, before children, before any material or practical interest, and if I discover that anything interferes with what I’m doing, I chuck it. Perhaps this is foolish, but it has always been the case with me.”

“The biographies of great artists make it abundantly clear that the creative urge is often so impervious that it battens on their humanity and yokes everything to the service of their work, even at the cost of health and ordinary human happiness.” (Carl Gustav Jung)

“The true artist will let his wife starve, his children go barefoot, his mother drudge for a living at seventy, sooner than work at anything but his art.”  (George Bernard Shaw.)

“I wish I could work straight through and wouldn’t have to stop for any reason–not for meals, sleep, rest, entertainment, shopping, socializing, conversation, repairmen, UPS deliveries, playing with the kids, sex.” (A writer friend)

 

© 2024 David J. Rogers

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What Are Serious Writers Like? What Do They Do?

A serious writer has the identity of a writer, emphasizes the production of works, and is a skilled craftsman.

Serious Writers Have a Writer’s Identity

Sometimes a person who one day will become a serious writer doesn’t know herself what she might do with her life. But she feels instinctively that she’s good for something and has some reason for existing. She has a hunch that there is something important in her that’s worth pursuing further. She finds that something in words. She makes herself into a writer–an expert in expressing herself via written language. At times, with some people, writing becomes the center of their identity, and they become another Saul Bellow who said that when he wrote he felt like an artist, but when he was not writing he didn’t feel like anything.

As a writer you’re specially endowed with (and may have been born with) not only “creative stuff” but with an assortment of personality qualities that equip you specifically for the writer’s role. And it’s that identity that gives you the sense that you’re a person with a definite life task—to write, to create. Whether you find writers in big cities or in remote jungles or rain forests and deserts you will also find them generally to be quite similar. Writers who succeed have a combination of such inner qualities as curiosity, obsessiveness, doggedness, and endurance. They’re playful, sensitive to life, open to experience, and have an abundance of physical strength, energy, and stamina. Often it’s the end of the writer’s endurance that stops her work day. They have a much higher tolerance for ambiguity than the great majority of people—one reason they’re usually such good problem-solvers.

Your everyday identity isn’t the same as your writer identity.  The “you” that shines through a novel you’ve written isn’t the same person your neighbors know. It’s a version of you, but yet it’s different. As a writer you’ve a sensitivity to language which a person either possesses or does not possess.

Language—for a writer shaping it into phrases, sentences, and paragraphs–is delightful. Amy Tan wrote, “I am a writer. And by definition, I am someone who has always loved language. I am fascinated by language in daily life. I spend a great deal of my time thinking about the power of language.”

You know the basics of grammar (know a noun, a verb, and a preposition when you see them), and have the biggest vocabulary and highest appreciation of words, the greatest skill in using them, and the best ear for them.  Most writers are able to produce large volumes of work. But that’s just the tip of the characteristics writers have in common and which make up the identity of serious writer.

 

Serious Writers Emphasize Production of Works

A main goal of writers and all other creative people is to produce works. Writers make the structure of their creative lives by means of their work. If they are unable to work or the work doesn’t go well, they suffer. The writer–the artist, whatever the art–uses the art to express emotion and when they are denied that expression they feel tension and conflict.

Always have your production goals in mind: “The only certainty about writing and trying to be a writer is that it has to be done, not dreamed of or planned and never written, or talked about…but simply written” (Janet Frame). Saul Bellow said, “For the artist work is the main thing and always comes first.” Psychologist Howard Gardner writes about high-excelling creative people. He says, “Individuals whose stock in trade is to do things which are novel, are people who’ve got to have a pretty good command of how they work.” Psychologist Abraham Maslow said, “The fact that people who create are good workers tends to be lost.” The inventor, whether artist or thinker, creates the structure of his psychic life by means of his work…It is only as the work is done that the meaning of the creative effort can appear and that the development of the artist…is attained” (Brewster Ghiselin.)

In Art & Fear, authors David Bayles and Ted Orland write about what happens in a ceramics class that I’ve found also happens in a class of writers.  You could take two imaginary groups of writers in a class—those on the left side of the room would be graded solely on the quantity of the work they produced. Those on the right side would be graded only on the work’s quality. On the final day of the class the teacher would measure the amount of work of the quantity group—500 pages an A, 350 pages a B, and so forth. Those the teacher graded on quality would have to produce only one story, but it would have to be perfect to justify an A.

A curious thing would happen. The quantity group would also produce the highest quality work. The quantity group would churn out streams of work and learn from their many mistakes and develop a wide variety of skills. But the quality group would get caught in the elusive concept of perfection and grandiose dreams and would become paralyzed. Some writers produce 10, 15, or 25 times more writing than others and those most productive usually rise higher, do better work, and find a greater sense of accomplishment.

Experienced writers almost always structure their work time and environment carefully. A perfect work place and good production routines and rituals are to be treasured. Simply by being there, ready to work repetitively the same time day after day, the power of good habits goes into effect. Some writer’s production habits will strike you as strange.  The poet H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) splashed ink on her clothes to give her a feeling of freedom when she wrote. Hard-boiled detective writer Raymond Chandler could only write when he was drunk, and poet A.E. Housman rarely wrote unless he was sick. Voltaire wrote love poems in bed using his mistress’ back as a desk. I’m sure you have your own peccadillos too, and if we ever meet you can tell me about them. I’ll tell you about mine.

Writers’ production ebbs and flows. Some periods the words come out of you in torrents. You’re in overdrive–700 words a day, a thousand, 1,500, and every word is perfect. Other days they wouldn’t come out were you to use blasting powder. Some writers—most—find it easy to be distracted. Beth Henley, Pulitzer Prize winning playwright at 28, said, “I love to work, although sometimes I spend whole days doing nothing more than picking the lint off the carpet and talking to my mother on the phone.” Joyce Carol Oates says she squanders as much as 90% of her time writing letters—e-mails—to authors, her writer friends. “The problem is that they write back, and so do I. And suddenly the morning has vanished irretrievably.”

There isn’t one universal work/production program that suits all writers. A production program won’t work if it’s imposed on you. Your program will have to be custom-designed by yourself for yourself. To find the ways and means to improve your production should be a major aim.

If as a writer you’re productive, you’re happy.  If you’re not, you’re unhappy. Ernest Hemingway, as hard a working and production-minded writer as there’s ever been, said that for him, “Work could cure almost anything.” But many writers aren’t successful because they haven’t figured out the best work/production program that equips them to:

  1. Focus on the work for desired periods of time
  2. Abandon what isn’t working, putting aside futile problems that will lead to dead-ends
  3. Free themselves from distractions and time-wasters
  4. Persist in the midst of obstacles and setbacks
  5. Maintain their energy
  6. Achieve a desirable level of output

 

Serious Writers Are Craftsmen

The sciences and anything involving a machine are mysteries to me. I have no aptitude for them. Once I got hold of an old used paperback on how to become handy around the house and did some wiring and put in a light switch in the children’s bedroom without burning the house down. My children watched me and marveled.  I swelled with pride. I felt I’d really accomplished something. I’d say to guests, “come upstairs for a second” and show them the light switch and brag, “I put that in.” A very unusual accomplishment for me. But writing I understand and am good at. I’m confident about it. It’s my best craft.

Writers are talented people who have open to them many routes that could enable them to express themselves. But they focus on writing. Everyone has one dominant ability, and writing may well be yours. Ernest Hemingway could have been a professional big-game hunter or deep-sea fisherman—he was that versatile. He said, “I like to do and can do many things better than I can write, but when I don’t write I feel like shit.” William Faulkner could have made it as a painter.

The craft you choose to try to excel in has to be appropriate and can’t be simply wishful thinking. A moment comes—an experience occurs—and you become aware that writing, not something else, is the direction that suits you best and  will lead to a fulfillment you might not reach if you follow another route to another craft—the craft of the engineer, the attorney, the athlete, etc., for example.

Your aptitudes, personality, abilities, capabilities, temperaments, tastes, strengths, weaknesses, and interests are matched up first of all with a writing career and then with the kind of writing you wish to do. Will you specialize in fiction or non-fiction, drama, or poetry, novels or short stories, comedies or tragedies,  or will you be a jack of all trades and write more than one?  What you choose becomes the craft that’s your own.

Awakening to the realization that the writing craft is appropriate to you and you to it can strike at any time in a person’s life. Harriet Doerr finished her degree at 67 and won the National Book Award at 73. Englishman Thomas Chatterton was a mature poet by the age of sixteen. Poets, like mathematicians, mature very young. Dylan Thomas was at his most talented at nineteen.

 

A serious writer’s identity, production, and craftsmanship are three pillars of a structure of writing excellence.

 

© 2024 David J. Rogers

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Why Are So Many Talented Writers Unsuccessful?

I’m assuming that you have a writing talent, and that you may even have been the most talented in your class, in your school, and now are the Hands typing on a laptopmost talented in your writers’ group, most talented in your home town. That’s something to be proud of. But talent alone isn’t enough to make you a highly successful writer in the competitive field of creative writing in which almost everyone is talented, everyone gifted, and everyone exceptional.

But there are qualities other than talent that will determine how successful, fulfilling, and happy your writing career will be in that competitive world of very talented people. That hard-to-define stuff called talent is just one of the many requirements of the writer who excels. If you are relying solely on the talent you were born with to bring you writing success and happiness you are making a mistake.

Poet John Berryman thought that talent was no more than 20% of a successful poet’s personality, and why shouldn’t the same may be true of novelists, dramatists, screen writers, and essayists?  What I’m asking is, “What comprises the eighty percent of a writer’s personality that blended with natural talent brings about success?”

To that question there are innumerable possible answers. According to writers, teachers, critics, and researchers other factors that are important are:

 

Endurance/ Persistence

Novelist Kurt Vonnegut said that talent was extremely common, but what is rare is endurance, the willingness to endure the sometimes difficult and trying life of the writer. Many writers have come to the conclusion that sheer old-fashioned day-by-day doggedness is the key to writers’ success. In the book The Courage to Write, Ralph Keyes says, “Success as a writer is within the grasp of whoever can tell a story on paper that people want to hear and is willing to persevere, to put up with boredom, frustration, and anxiety. Determined writers will find ways to get published regardless of whether they are brilliant or have a degree from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop.”

Hand writing on blackboard in white chalk NEVER GIVE UPWhenever people say to me “I hate writing” I am shocked. Teachers tell me that most people hate writing. It is only a person who has a continuous intense interest in writing and in mastering the skills of writing who will persist in developing their abilities over a long period of time. Non-writers cannot be motivated or even forced to work at a writing task to the extent that a person with an intense interest does willingly. Writers—creative people generally—are often such astoundingly motivated people that less creative people have difficulty comprehending their zeal, their stamina, their capacity for sustained effort. Few people who ever lived–whatever their art, whatever their field–were as motivated as Shakespeare, Dickens, or Faulkner.

 

Passion, Intensity, Obsessiveness, Willpower, and Patience

Among the personal qualities that cause motivation strong enough to sustain a writer through the inevitable trials, disappointments, setbacks, and self-doubts are those that are not luxuries but necessities for any writer who is in any way serious about writing: passion, intensity, obsessiveness, willpower, and patience. Gertrude Stein said that all of a writer’s work comes out of a passion as a powerful force, and added that if you really have that passion you aren’t able to recognize it because you don’t know what it is to feel any differently.  Many people with obsessive compulsiveness–including writers I’ve known–are especially productive not despite that affliction but because of it.

 

Hard Work, Commitment, and the Hunger for Success

Writing teachers are generally in agreement that it’s not the best, most talented students whose names they see in print in later years, but the hardest workers and the hungriest for success. The students with the most talent but the weakest work ethic who dazzled the class disappear into oblivion, while the hard workers often go on to great achievements. Many prodigiously gifted but poorly motivated people do not end up where gifted people belong:  in the upper echelons of their field. Without pursuing all your goals with clear-mindedness, confidence, and commitment over years, you’ll probably quit after repeated failure.

Every writer, as every artist and every actor, who experiences minimal success eventually asks “Should I quit?” or lowers their ambitions. Writers who have achieved a high level of excellence and success are not satisfied to reach merely an acceptable level of performance, but are motivated to pursue increasingly higher goals.

 

Example of Pursing Increasingly Higher Creative Goals: Frank Loesser

Piano keyboard with fingers on a keyIn the field of music Frank Loesser began by being contracted to write individual songs for movies. To hear what they sounded like he made up makeshift lyrics. His wife told him that his makeshift words were better than the lyrics of the lyricists he turned his music over to, so he then started writing words as well as the music.  Then he became more ambitious and turned to writing all the music in movies and then, more ambitious still, turned to writing the stories and the librettos (the words and music) in plays like Guys and Dolls and How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. Similarly, novels are often written by men and women who started their careers as short story writers where they learned the fundamentals of their craft.

 

Self-Confidence and The Need to do Your Best

Those who are sure of themselves intensify their efforts when they don’t reach their goal. Studies of high-performers in all the arts show that they are all universally alike: over and over again they are people who believe in trying to excel, in doing one’s best, in working very hard and spending time constructively. They are intensely attracted to their field from their first exposure to it and all through their efforts to develop their skills and their “reach.” In fact, if you have an intense interest in a creative field, that in itself is almost always a sign that you have a natural talent in it.

 

The Effect of Passing Comments

Talent can be ignited at any time. The cause of motivation to write a 300 page book or continue on the writer’s life path may be nothing more than a passing comment. Simply being told by someone else or telling yourself that you can achieve much more through trying harder will get most people to try harder.  Just being told that they are talented is often enough to start people off to develop that talent.

 

An Analogy

Talent in writing will not bring success unless it is supplemented by other human qualities. Without endurance, determination, intensity, passion for writing, obsessiveness, will power, hard work, commitment, hunger for success, and self-confidence a writer would be analogous to an automobile–beautiful, streamlined, expertly designed–but lacking an engine.

 

 

© 2023 David J. Rogers

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Why Your Life as a Writer Creates Conflicts

Stick figure in black leaning on a desk stacked with books Writing is a time-consuming process of self-discovery, self-awareness, and self-expression that may satisfy a writer’s deepest needs. Some writers find that nothing can compete with, nothing can replace, the writer’s joy of creating.  Many writers so saturate themselves with their work that it becomes a need as strong as sleep, sometimes stronger. Many writers think, “This writing that I am doing is essential to my fulfillment and well-being. At times I may be so involved I will forget to eat. I will forget to make love. I will block out distractions. I will arrange a life-style and personal habits and routines to accommodate my writing.”

But writers have other roles too. And this fact creates conflicts. Psychiatrist Carl Gustav Jung thought that the artist’s life cannot be otherwise than full of conflicts because two forces are at war in them—on the one hand the normal human longing for happiness, satisfaction, and security, and on the other hand “a ruthless passion for creation which may go so far as to override every personal desire.” That passion for creation absorbs almost all the artist’s energy: “A special ability means a heavy expenditure of energy in a particular direction with a consequent drain from some other side of life.” The artist’s work “means more to him than his personal fate, whether he is aware of it or not. Being essentially the instrument for his work, he is subordinate to it.” (Carl Gustav Jung, “Psychology and Literature’ in Brewster Ghiselin, ed. The Creative Process).

In Silences, Tillie Olsen points out that delaying a focus on writing for a long time during a period in your life may become a habit: “The habits of a lifetime when everything else had to come before writing are not easily broken, even when circumstances now often make it possible for writing to be first; habits of years—response to others, distractibility, responsibility of daily matters—stay with you, mark you, become you” (Tillie Olsen, Silences, p. 38). If you desire to be a serious writer, these habits of letting other things come first create conflicts.

Open laptop with a plant, cup, and cellphone next to itSome writers do consider writing the most important role in their life and give other roles short shrift. Many writers would agree with Katherine Anne Porter who said that the “thing” between her and writing was the strongest bond she had ever had—stronger than any bond she had ever had with any person or activity. A survey showed that writers and poets are considered highly desirable occupations for a mate. But many are so consumed by writing, and work such long hours in such solitude, that they may make poor spouses. Nobel Prize winner Saul Bellow—married five times–said, “I have always put the requirements of what I was writing first—before jobs, before children, before any material or practical interest, and if I discover that anything interferes with what I’m doing, I chuck it. Perhaps this is foolish, but it has been the case with me.” (Saul Bellow in Conversations with Saul Bellow, p. 20)

Others consider writing enjoyable, but not nearly their most important role. Being an actively involved parent–a time-consuming function–can take precedence. Some writers think during the day about when they’ll have all the time to write whenever they want, but because they have other roles to fulfill, they consider themselves lucky if they can write at all. Married women writers especially testify to the difficulty of finding the time and support needed to have a successful writing career while also possibly holding another job and managing a family.

Hourglass next to a checklistHere it seems appropriate to talk about my Law of Give Up to Get. The Law of Give Up to Get means simply that to get something important in life, you must give up something else. Gripe all you want, rail at the gods, and wish it weren’t so, but you have no choice. In the long run, perhaps you can have everything you desire. But at any one time, to get A you’ll have to give up B. To get X you must give up Y,  and maybe you might have to give up Z too.  To write, you have no choice but to give up something else—maybe more than one thing. That’s a law, the way life works: to achieve this, you’ll have to give up that—time, energy and other resources spent doing other things, attaining other satisfactions.

 

Your Roles in Addition to Writing

Now I want you to identify four other roles you  have in addition to your role as a writer. Also think about how important each role is to you and your major responsibilities in that role. Rank them in a hierarchy from the most important  to the least important. (Include the role of a writer which may be number 1, number 5, or somewhere in between).

Where does your writing role fit on your hierarchy?

Now, answer the question: “What will I do to fulfill my role as a writer to the degree I want while also fulfilling the demands of other roles that I value highly?”

Brown silhouette of a woman showing her brain in yellow as she looks at laptop, cellphone, calculator, and other itemsAre there any roles in your life that can be supported with a smaller investment of time, energy, and other resources so that you can devote more time to writing? Are there any roles currently in your life you might dispense with?

You may have found that the life of a serious, hard-working writer is a difficult life. Yet in the midst of difficulties, writers from the Greeks and Romans to the present would agree with Henry Miller that writing is worth pursuing because, despite difficulties and disappointments, setbacks and trials, and the competition among your roles, writing is “a delectable thing.”

 

 

© 2023 David J. Rogers

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Good Writers Who Were Discovered by Agents and Publishers

Writers, are you having trouble getting published? I sympathize. Yet, be ready! In a month, week, or day or a few hours, or minutes, you may come in contact with that one editor, one agent you must have confidence exists here, there, somewhere, who will discover you, recognizing your potential, your craft, your genius the way young Faber & Faber editor Charles Monteith recognized novelist William Golding’s immense promise when no one else in the world did.

 

William Golding

Monteith was charming, witty, and sophisticated, qualities Golding did not possess. Golding’s novel Lord of the Flies was Monteith’s first editorial project; his first taste of an editor’s role. Some editors–very capable in other areas–are surprisingly poor at judging the work of beginning writers, but that was not the case with Monteith.

Old manuscript with stainsThe manuscript Golding submitted was worn, torn, and stained when Monteith first saw it. It had obviously been rejected by other publishers. Even Monteith agreed that this work of a public school teacher was over-written, disorganized, repetitive–a mess–and seemed never to get started. After many rejections Golding was losing hope of having the book published, of ever being published.

But Monteith saw “something” in the book, and in Golding –the work of a unique talent–and fought for it at editorial conferences, almost coming to blows with a senior editor who was known to have impeccable taste in picking properties that would succeed. Monteith prevailed, staking his young reputation on the book. Lord of the Flies was published, caught on, and was published in many languages.  Many Golding/Monteith novels followed. Monteith and Golding were editor and author friends the rest of their lives. William Golding was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature in 1983.

What might have happened had Golding’s beaten-up manuscript not caught the eye of the best possible editor for him? One day you may be fortunate: a Monteith may be excited by your work and discover you.

 

The Need to Be Discovered

The logical conclusion of the process of serious writing is to see the work published. Before writers get published they have to be discovered, to Hands typing on a laptop with a background of question marksbe recognized as a person with a talent that can generate revenue. When a writer is discovered by an agent or publisher, their life changes for the better. This post is about writers who were discovered, then published, and found success–perhaps more success than they expected. There are so many writers with all the talent in the world who are trying very hard to be discovered by an agent or publisher who is trying as hard to discover them. There is a good chance that many writers we read would never have been published had they not been discovered by the right agent and a right publisher.

 

Harold Kushner

A friend of mine was the late Rabbi Harold Kushner. He too was discovered by an editor with insight and moxie. Harold personally hand-carried his manuscript to publisher after publisher in New York and Boston.  Every publisher rejected When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Editors said the book couldn’t possibly succeed. For one thing it was “too Jewish.”

Two people shaking hands with a background of a city skylineFinally a small publisher picked it up. However, this editor who discovered the book, was different. He was enthusiastic and said to Harold, “Your book is going to be a best seller.” Finally what Harold had been hoping for: someone had faith in the book and its spiritual message. It became a phenomenal best -seller, the most popular book in the world, selling twenty -five million copies.

 

Thomas Wolfe

Scribner’s editor Maxwell Perkins discovered biographical novelist Thomas Wolfe. Wolfe was the most talented writer of his generation. His monumental goal was to convey in his writing every experience he had ever had. His vocabulary and expressiveness with language was so stunningly extraordinary that it didn’t take a genius to recognize that Wolfe was one. Wolfe wasted ten years trying to be a playwright until his married lover, patron, and muse Aline Bernstein told him, “You were not meant to be a dramatist. You should be writing novels.” The popularity of his first novel Look Homeward Angel marked him as a major talent, so much so that when fellow American Sinclair Lewis was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in November, 1930 Lewis praised Wolfe as the writer to be reckoned with in the future.

An open blank book floating above dark blue waves with a lighter blue sky Maxwell Perkins was the greatest American editor.  Editor of giants Wolfe, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Ernest Hemingway at the same time, he tutored and guided Wolfe who never had a concept of “a publishable book.” Thousands of hand-written words poured out of high-energy Wolfe in a frenzy all night long. In the morning a woman picked the pages off the floor of his New York apartment, where Wolfe had thrown them, and typed them up. Perkins taught and tutored Wolfe literally daily. Each man considered their meeting and their relationship the most important event in their lives.  Perkins gave Wolfe assignments such as “You have to cut this episode by six thousand words,” and “Cut the book by 200, 000 words. I’ll help you.”

 

Jack London

Silhouette of a howling wolfPersistent and confident in spite of failures, Jack London submitted his manuscripts hundreds of times to publishers that rejected the work before an editor discovered him. But after that, within a single year London, a self-educated writer, took the literary world by storm and was the most popular, most critically and financially successful novelist/short story writer in the world.

 

Talented People Looking For a Break

I traveled extensively in North America and Europe during my career as author/public speaker and often after a work day and dinner would have a drink in the hotel lounge and enjoy the entertainment. Leaning brown tree limbs in front of green sunlit leaves and a serene pondInvariably I would think, “All these incredibly talented performers I see–artists who are looking for a big break and are dying to be discovered.”  Much like them, so many writers with so much talent also are trying very hard to be discovered. Without the people who discovered William Golding, Thomas Wolfe, Harold Kushner, or Jack London, would we have ever heard of those famous authors?

 

 

 

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Filed under Adversity, Charles Monteith, Confidence, Developing Talent, Human Potential and Achievement, Editor, Goals and Purposes, Harold Kushner, Jack London, Maxwell Perkins, Publishing, Thomas Wolfe, William Golding, Writers