3. What are the joys of being a writer?

presents “Two Voices” – a discussion about writing
by 2 writers, Alfred Brown and Anh Thi
 (male) ALFRED (female) ANH
Escape. Expression.
Being able to make something. Being able to create a whole new world.
The thrill that maybe today you make the thing that means something to somebody. The thrill of making an impact on someone – writing something that makes someone think, or smile, or just plain enjoy for whatever reason.

2. What is your writing process? Please explain how you start, and when do you know when you’re done writing?

presents “Two Voices” – a discussion about writing
by 2 writers, Alfred Brown and Anh Thi

(male) ALFRED

I do not need inspiration. I have too much of it frankly.  Unless you define inspiration as having an idea that makes you money.  In which case, I’d love some of that.  But ideas that alone can make money do not exist, as far I’m aware.  Right now, I just got inspired to write a piece of sci fi:

–[Alfred’s spur-of-the-moment writing sample]

While I was talking to Ted, his eyes kind of glazed over and then I heard a soft ding noise.

“What was that?”

“Oh, I have an implant that records instantly my thoughts, and cross-references it with a database of patents, and then does sophisticated analysis based on models and algorithms to see if it can actually make money, and then patents it if it does, and then instantly sends it to an agency who will later enact it, and it instantly sends me back a funds transfer per that analysis, minus their cut, of course.”

He then told me how much he made with that thought.   That amount was more than I believe I, or any of my ancestors, have made in all our collective lifetimes.  He then proceeded to say he was most proud that he patented his idea patenting procedure, because otherwise he’d have far more competition and his model predictions would be far lower in value.

I was fortified in that instance to go through with my assassination plans

—

So, inspiration comes easy.  I just have to be writing, or about to write, at the time.

And when is that?  Oh, often when I’m anxious (which is often).  Like right now, I’m supposed to go visit my family for dinner before I go to sing for Midnight Mass, and I am worried I won’t make it on time, or forget something I need to bring etc.  So, I do the addict thing and escape into some writing.

(female) ANH

I start my writing process with an idea, or a thought…and then write to explore where it goes. The writing process is different for everyone, I believe, as different as a fingerprint. You really have to know yourself in order to express yourself. And that is a process of discovery. As you grow as a person, grappling with your shortcomings while working to develop your strengths, you grow as a writer.

I learned a lot about myself over the years: that I’m easily distracted, but when I get started, I am intense in my focus. Almost obsessive! That I didn’t like outlines and rough drafts because I didn’t like following a path that was already laid out – rather, I preferred to explore as I go.

So I learned to think before I write. To essentially make my first drafts as final drafts, with minor editing. It wasn’t easy because I went on a lot of tangents, thinking until my brain ached and writing until my eyes hurt. Writing got easier with practice, as I grew into the writer that I envisioned because I was becoming the person I wanted to be.

How do I start writing? I think about it. How do I know when I’m done? When I reach an ending that feels right.

How do I know when it feels right? That’s a judgment call, and I can’t explain it other than describing it as a feeling of completion. That I served the story and the characters, and did them justice in allowing their journey to reach its natural conclusion.

1. What does it mean to be a writer?

presents “Two Voices” – a discussion about writing
by 2 writers, Anh Thi and Alfred Brown
(female) ANH (male) ALFRED
            To be a writer is to be an artist. To want to create something that you want to share with others, even though you may never do so.             To be a writer, is to be an addict. Otherwise, you are just someone who writes. Be it recreationally or when a task requires.
            Why not share? Because you’re crippled by doubt and ego. That little voice in your head whispering, “you’re not good enough. What you wrote could be so much better!” And your ego stops you before it can be wounded by public opinion.             A druggie versus a recreational drug user. A drunk versus an occasional imbiber of libations. A smoker versus “hey give me a drag of that while we stand outside the bar waiting for Uber to take us home.”
            A writer writes, though, no matter what. Even if it doesn’t end up seeing the light, a writer is a slave to the need to write, to express, to create, to endeavor to give life to an idea or a thought.             A writer writes when it’s wrong. A writer writes when it makes him later to that social event he promised to attend, her sad when relatives want her to come downstairs and make a gay appearance, him up all night when his body begs him to actually get some rest, her reliving that tragic moment when it just aggravates her PTSD.
            It’s an addiction. A method of torture, always reaching for that perfect way to “write that,” and never quite feeling like you’ve attained mastery despite toiling endlessly in hours, weeks, months and even years!             That’s addiction. When you go out of your way to do something that you know, long term, is probably not a good idea. Obviously, it must satisfy something short term. It must be gratifying.
            Am I gratified to write? Be a writer? I can’t say it has been a gratifying experience. Troublesome, yes. Lonely, yes. Maddening, yes. Satisfying on a level I cannot communicate, definitely!             And it gratifying to quite a few people. That’s why there is no shortage of writers. Nor musicians. Nor teachers. Though society says over and over we value these people, it’s clearly supply and demand when it comes to direct compensation. Thus, they make very little money on average, and yet there is still no shortage.
            It makes no sense to write, when there is no reward in the most common understanding of what it means – to receive benefits.   Usually there are no payments, no accolades, no honors equal to a writer’s effort.             The “smart” ones say, well, I don’t hate spreadsheets as much as I hate not being able to provide for my family, or pay for that operation I might to have one day, or (depending on your socio-economic context) having at least one thing to eat every day. Sure, I love writing, but spreadsheets it is!
            Why continue? Because discouragement is just a phase. Because failure and discontent cannot compare to the wonder and intensity of those outbursts of language and style. Those moments when you are fire burning bright, so bright that nothing and no one – time, opinions, doubt and worry – can stop you being the writer by writing.             And that’s been me most of my life, at least professionally.   Because the non-addicts will discourage you! Many addicts will also discourage you. Most addicts that encourage are seemingly in denial about their financial pain, the rest are the very few who have actually had significant monetary success–either way they are speaking from their own skewed perspective.
            And then you stop writing, and life, love, job, and the state of your finances distract you from the need to voice yourself.   But a true writer keeps coming back to the craft because it’s a wondrous thing to walk in a new world, meet new characters, and contemplate the expression of an idea framed by the prism of your mind, heart and soul.             But there are more non-addicts than addicts, and they remind you over and over that writing is no way to make a living. So, even though I had desire to do it before puberty, even at that age I was aware of this pressure. I thought it would be just as foolish to say “I want to be a writer” as to say “ballerina” or “astronaut.” Might as well expect to be the first ballerina/astronaut on the moon, making one small pirouette for fantasy-addled kind.
            The written word is much maligned as a tool of (mis)communication. It is used poorly and ineffectively by many. Because we are lazy creatures. But when words are used well and delivered thoughtfully, it creates bridges, sparks discussion and foments rebellion from the tyranny of the small-minded (what we think we believe is a small world to live in).   Writers do a service by opening up possibilities, and that’s what it means to be a writer to me.             And, yet, I still wrote. I kept writing. You might think it was because somewhere along the line I disagreed with my younger self, but that’s never really happened. It’s just that sometimes I can better ignore that child’s voice of reason than the voices others. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be a writer. I’d just be someone who sometimes writes.

I did not reach thee

(146)

I did not reach thee,
But my feet slip nearer every day;
Three Rivers and a Hill to cross,
One Desert and a Sea—
I shall not count the journey one
When I am telling thee.


Two deserts—but the year is cold
So that will help the sand—
One desert crossed, the second one
Will feel as cool as land.
Sahara is too little price
To pay for thy Right hand!


The sea comes last. Step merry, feet!
So short have we to go
To play together we are prone,
But we must labor now,
The last shall be the lightest load
That we have had to draw.


The Sun goes crooked—that is night—
Before he makes the bend
We must have passed the middle sea,
Almost we wish the end
Were further off—too great it seems
So near the Whole to stand.


We step like plush, we stand like snow—
The waters murmur now,
Three rivers and the hill are passed,
Two deserts and the sea!
Now Death usurps my premium
And gets the look at Thee.
-Emily Dickinson
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