Writing for mags like The New Yorker, GQ, Esquire, etc.

If this is from the top of your head, I'm contemplating sticking my hands in the blender.

 

lono, you got that work all on your own.

And "The Paris Beneath Our Feet" is a fabulous book title. (And that was a fabulous post, jgmacg.) I think writers, especially, yearn for other times -- they always seem cooler, quainter, hipper, more romantic, especially between the covers of a battered paperback. But there's something to be said for living in an age that's anti-romantic. You have no one to answer to but yourself.

 

If the blender's out, how about we just have some daiquiris instead? The Jones enjoys a daiquiri.

 

This has been a delight!

A delight. Thanks to all.

My question to Jcgmacg is this: can you describe, in some detail, just HOW these greats go about their "hard work"? I believe you that Jones works harder than me, Boo works harder than me, etc., and that I must work harder. But in what ways, exactly?

As I'm sure you'd agree, it's more important to work smart, while working hard, than to work "hard" in some unproductive or unfocused way. When I read you saying "start working harder," because the greats are working immensely hard, my immediate (panicked) instinct is to start waking up at 4 AM and...I don't know. Doing something. But what should I actually do? Do the greats spend more hours than me reading the greats of the past? Are they reading those greats differently than I'm reading them? Are they taking a superior approach to criticism-seeking? Are they reading more newspapers? Are they staying up later?

I could ask an endless number of questions, but you know what I mean. I know everybody is different, but is there some sort of approaching-universal Guide to Working Like a Journalism Legend we can create?

 

Sir V - RE: "hard work"

I hope jgmacg weighs in, but here's another ten cents. I think one of the most important things for a young writer to learn is their own way, and discover what that way is. I spent years frozen and intimidated because I didn't think my method/discipline/talent met the standard of some of the giants. For instance, the notion that Jack Kerouac had written a million words by age thirty scared the hell out of me until one day I added it all up and figured out I had too, almost by accident. I had the realization that since none of the giants took the same approach either, it was as much of a mistake to imitate their method and mode of working as it was to imitate their work. Thomas Wolfe wrote standing up and used a refrigerator as a desktop. Some sit, walk, write long hand, type, word process, in the morning, starting at midnight, on weekends, during lunch, in a dark room, before an open window, with heat on full blast, etc. - I think Scott Turow wrote his first novel while commuting by train. The thing is to find the ways that work for you, you need to learn how to listen to that inner voice that tells you to make another phone call, or look up another reference, or spend a few more hours. That is the voice that you must NEVER ignore, the one from inside.

How do you hear it? One way, and one way only, and the only way everyone shares, is to someway, somehow put in the time, staying mindful and attentive whether reading, writing or talking long nights in the bar or taking long walks alone It is like playing an instrument and learning the scales. You build the reservoir inside and at a certain point the water finally starts flowing over the edge. Then the next trick is to not get so excited that you spill the cup, but let it keep flowing over.

You get better at this over time, you really do.

 

Sounds great, and less painful.

Marvelous post about Paris.

Perhaps jgmacg, The Jones and others would be kind enough to continue with some examples of hurdling barriers, mental or physical (obtaining tough interviews, etc.), finding the voice, knowing when a 10,000 piece is complete and ready to send to an editor?

 

This thread just keeps getting better. That's some damn good advice.

 

Thank you, Jones. Thank you, Jgmacg. Thanks to everybody for this thread.

I admire you guys for what you do and how you do it so consistently. But I don't think we've adequately addressed the most important quality that separates you from me.

I have some talent. I work hard. But what I don't have is the mental toughness required. I hope to come across as modest as Jones when I say I've pulled a good, long story out of my ass a time or two, because I have. But Jesus, every one of those stories nearly fucking killed me.

I read with great interest Jones' thread about the story that nearly killed him. I admired him for it because my stories didn't involve half the work, nor were they half as great, yet I could imagine every bit of mental anguish he probably endured.

Long stories took everything I had to give. I wouldn't eat. I wouldn't go out much. I smoked packs of cigarettes a day. At my desk. Long after everyone else put the paper to bed.

Every word had to be precise. Every sentence had to sparkle. Every paragraph had to be perfect. I had to get it right because I didn't trust the editor to do it.

And that was only after the hard part was done. That, for me, was deciding the true meaning of the story and figuring out how I was going to tell it differently and better than everyone else.

I always wanted to be original. And good. I didn't want to sacrifice one for the other, and sometimes that meant spending days just thinking, writing and re-writing different ideas until the right one came about.

Someone on here mentioned that voice in your head. I always had two voices in my head. There's that first voice that every writer has, the instinct, telling you what the story should be, what angle to look at. I've had that voice hit me really early on in a story but I've ignored it so many times because pretty soon that second voice chimes in. The second voice is the editor voice, the one that says, 'That's too out there' or 'That will take too much work' or 'Your readers/editor won't get it.'

You have to know when to listen to which voice. And then you have to commit to it. And I did to a point. But honestly, I could never really figure out which voice to listen to, especially working at a daily newspaper.

I remember the day my Gannett newspaper brought in a two-time Pulitzer winner to talk to us about writing. He was fascinating. I was thrilled when he used one of my stories from our newspaper as an example of good writing, but we ended up having a disagreement when he brought up Jon Franklin's story, "Mrs. Kelly's Monster" as something reporters should be doing more.

I knew the story well and - I hate to spoil the ending for anyone who hasn't read it - I told him there's no way most papers would ever let me get away with waiting until the end of a 12,000 word story about brain surgery to reveal that the woman dies. "My editors would take the last paragraph and stick it in the top 5 paragraphs," I told him, with my editors shifting nervously next to me.

The writer agreed with me. He knew what I was talking about, but he told me not to give up.

But you know what, folks at SportsJournalists.com? I gave up. Somewhere along the line I decided it wasn't worth it for me to mentally whip myself and ignore everything around me for a story that an editor would no-doubt rape, slash and mutate into some top-five paragraph, real-life real news enterprise on brain surgeries. It happened so often. (I still loathe myself for allowing certain stories that should have been great to be turned into something else entirely, either by an editor or my own willingness to give up.)

One could blame Gannett, but I don't. I think I was looking for an excuse, for my own well-being. I got the hell out of that Gannett shithole, but I still found a comfortable niche away from those stories. I made myself into a much better reporter who can turn shit around quickly on deadline. I did that by working hard. I'm not lazy. I love the daily deadline. It's an excuse for me to turn the story in. Otherwise, I would keep it until it's perfect.

Obviously, my writing isn't as good as it was and sometimes that's hard for me to deal with. Reading this thread has raised a few demons. So, you know, maybe I'll take on a project soon - remind myself I still got it.

I don't have to necessarily tell anyone what I'm doing, do I? Last thing I want is for the story to turn up on an editor's weekend budget. That's the kiss of death for many of my stories because suddenly you have to write that and a half-dozen other stories no matter what. And then the wife and kids want to know where you are.

But yeah. Thanks Jones, Jgmacg and the rest of you for doing what you do. I enjoy reading your stuff.

 

Sir V and Sixtoe - if you're interested in climbing into the heads of some excellent writers, may I recommend a book called The New New Journalism. It's a compilation of interviews with narrative scribes, including Krakauer, Trillin, Michael Lewis, Eric Schlosser, RB Cramer, Orlean, Preston, and a bunch more.

It's great stuff, alternately intimidating, illuminating and, in the case of Gay Talese, surreal (he pastes his pages to the wall and writes very, very slowly - a sentence a day sometimes). I have a beat-up copy I keep near my desk. What I love about it is that it's very technical - how do you transcribe? When do you show your writing to other people? How many drafts do you turn out?

Here's the thing you take away, though: rather than there being one Guide to Writing Like a Badass, each of these writers is markedly different in their approach, interviewing, writing, etc. Orlean comes off almost like a savant, whereas Ted Conover lives his work, literally. It really highlights how you have to play to your strengths, whatever those may be.

My favorite quote in the book comes from Richard Ben Cramer. He talks about how he goes into interviews/situations without questions, save one: What the Hell is Going on Here?
It really does apply to almost any story you'll ever work on.

And no, I'm not Robert Boynton, who put together the book. Though if I ever meet him, I'd love to thank the guy.

Finally, to you, Mr. Dragon, good luck. Sounds like you've got the fire back. And, in my experience, always, always listen to the first voice. It makes life much more interesting.

 

I'd like to second the notion that the first voice is usually the right voice.

Also, Paper Dragon, you will never do your best work when you don't trust your editor. The best stories have been written for a good and decent and careful editor, who has done his best, too. Even the great writers are playing a team sport. You've got to find your work's batterymate. That goes for everybody on here.

And last, I've been thinking: We're in the non-fiction business in more ways than one. Our best comes when we're being true -- to our subjects, to our readers -- but most of all to our instincts as writers. I know in my heart when a sentence or a paragraph is right. It's a great feeling, when the words sit how you want them to sit. But I also know when they're not quite right or even flat-out wrong, and I know that when I ignore that other voice, the one that says, "Don't be lazy, fix this shit up," I always regret it later, and for a long time after. Those stains stand out like bruises. (See how many of my posts have been edited after the fact.)

The stone-cold nuts of it is, You can't lie to yourself when you know you haven't done your best. You can't choose your spots to be faithful. You're either a servant of the truth or you're a novelist, which is just a fancypants word for a goddamn liar.

 

Could we get this stickied?

 

Sirs, Madames,

It is a great book. And given his last effort Talese could afford to go even more slowly.

YD&OHS, etc