Historian Steven Pressfield tells the story of how he wrote a novel when he was 21, got 99.9% through it — and froze up. Couldn’t finish. He was so depressed about it that he started acting out in all sorts of self-destructive ways — alcohol, drugs, sex. He destroyed his marriage. His life was hell for seven years and he was near suicide when he decided to try writing again.
He wrote a few hundred words of dreck, but when he was finished he realized that he was happy. So he decided to keep writing because it made him happy and eventually, he became a best-selling author.
I can relate — to the happy part, not the best-selling part. Nothing makes me happier than the feeling of writing something good. Even something bad, I guess, although that also makes me feel terrible at the same time. But like the little girl with the little curl right in the middle of her forehead, when it’s good it feels very, very good.
Back in my radio days, my secret dream was to be a writer. I wanted to write a book about my stepfather, Joe, and what happened when he was stabbed in the neck one night while trying to break up a gang fight in my mother’s diner.
It happened in the spring of 1967. I was a 20-year-old new mother, working for my parents at the diner on the north side of Minneapolis while my husband went to radio school. After the stabbing, Joe was in surgery for ten hours and had a stroke on the operating table.
He came out paralyzed on his left side.
Six young men involved in the fight were quickly arrested and brought to trial. We were shocked and demoralized when they were each given a 90-day sentence in the county jail. One, a minor, was even allowed to finish high school and graduate with his class while sleeping at the jail at night. To add insult to devastating injury, after the sentencing a woman stormed into the diner and said to my mother, “Your husband ruined my brother’s life!” We all shook our heads and wondered what kind of people they were.
Joe struggled with depression, bitterness and constant pain. The business failed a couple of years after he was hurt. That’s how my mother talked about that night: When Joe was hurt. We never said stabbed or attacked.
My parents moved to San Diego where Joe, a strong, virile man whose father lived into his 90s, died of a massive heart attack at the age of 63. Mom, heartbroken, followed in 1981.
Years later, I moved back to Minneapolis. On my daily commute, I drove by the drab building that once held Mom’s bustling restaurant and started thinking about the men involved in the fight. They were all around my age, grew up on the North Side just like me and were, I assumed, in the same socio-economic class — blue collar. What was the difference between us, I wondered, and how could that woman say such a thing?
Then it occurred to me for the first time that only one person held that knife — and no one knew which one. We had always thought of them as equally guilty, all of them somehow holding the knife as it sliced into my stepfather’s throat.
No wonder the woman was so angry. From her point of view her brother was innocent, and now he would have a record as a violent criminal for the rest of his life.
What was his life like now?
I started to write about what happened, with the goal of finding the men and interviewing them about how the crime and punishment had affected their lives. I wanted to compare their experience with my own and see if we were really that different.
At the library, I looked up the newspaper stories on microfiche and found their names. I interviewed the detective who investigated the crime and made the arrests. [And let me clear one thing up that everyone asks: they were white.] I went to the courthouse and found more records, including the current addresses of most of the men, who would now be in their 50s. I could barely breathe from excitement when I saw those addresses.
I wrote five chapters about all of this — pretty good ones, I think — and sent them off as part of a book proposal to a big literary agent. Who wrote back. Wanting more. Like, a chapter about me actually meeting one of these guys.
And just like Steve Pressfield, I froze.
I was terrified of meeting them, not because I thought they’d hurt me, but because I didn’t know what to say. How would I introduce myself — “I’m the daughter of the man you stabbed?” What would I ask them? What would they say to me? Would any of them even talk to me? I couldn’t do it.
I never replied to the agent’s letter.
That was the end of a years-long dream for me. I had wanted to write creative nonfiction books ever since I read In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, The Right Stuff by Thomas Wolfe, and The Soul of a New Machine by Tracy Kidder. They were my heroes. I was thrilled when I once got a chance to interview Kidder on the radio.
But instead of dusting myself off and coming up with a book idea I could handle, I gave up. And like Steve Pressfield, I became very depressed. I didn’t drink or do drugs; I ate lots of ice cream and gained 50 pounds. Not so dramatic, but the feeling was the same. I was mourning my lost dream. And now that I think of it, I was ashamed of my cowardice. I hated myself for not having the courage to seek out those men, and for giving up on my dream. My work suffered and I eventually lost my job. My career never recovered.
I had lost my heart.
That was 17 years ago. I’m not going to be melodramatic and tell you my life has been hell since then. I’ve learned a lot. I became very interested in yoga and Buddhism, which helped me come out of my depression. The pressure I had put on myself since my teen years to be “somebody” lifted, and I understood deep down for the first time, that none of that matters.
Back during my blackest period, under the guise of being a skeptical journalist, I interviewed a well-known psychic medium. I asked her the question that was burning in my soul:
“What is our purpose in life?”
Her disappointing answer: “To be happy.”
That’s all? I was expecting something more profound. I couldn’t comprehend how truly profound her simple statement was.
The medium’s response did not compute for me then. Now it does. I understand what Steve Pressfield meant about being happy after writing those few paragraphs, even though they weren’t much good. It’s not about how good it is. Being happy is about doing what we were meant to do, whether it’s writing or making pottery, being an amazing parent or creating an awesome website. It’s about making something new. That’s what makes us happy.
It’s what is making me happy right now as I type. I’m finally writing again. It’s not a book but that doesn’t matter.
I’m writing.
Go. Make something. Be happy.
Image credit: Scott Ableman
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[…] there when it’s less than perfect. Like the past week-plus since my last post. It got such a positive response that I froze a little. The fear was, “How am I gonna I top that?” I had nothing. But I […]
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An incredibly moving post, I'm so sorry to hear about the tragic events that occurred and their impact 🙁
There's a lot of focus now on 'finding a meaning/purpose' in life. Many people say 'I want to do something that feels meaningful' (including me!) when actually I think the translation is 'I want to do something that leaves me feeling happy'.
Thank you so much, Hannah! That's a very interesting point. I don't think
happiness is possible without meaning, but what is meaning anyway? I've
heard a lot about a book and website called The Happiness Project. Sounds
good but I'm up to my ears in website stuff, starting new projects, etc.
I'll get around to it one of these days.
What an intriguing post LaVonne. You had me glued to the screen from beginning to end. I read the transcript about the interview with Steven Pressfield the other day. It's interesting how we give up when we're so close.
Are you still thinking of giving your book a go?
Thank you, Tran [is that correct, or should I say Thanh? :)] I never thought
about giving it another go until last night. Obviously, meeting the men is
out. But maybe it could be part of a book about writer's block, heh. I
certainly know about that!
Thank you, Tran [is that correct, or should I say Thanh? :)] I never thought
about giving it another go until last night. Obviously, meeting the men is
out. But maybe it could be part of a book about writer's block, heh. I
certainly know about that!
Brilliant, heart warming, totally vulnerable and authentic……amazing article again ….Thank you LaVonne…you have no idea how much your words become the 'ripple in the pond' effect….their impact remains…..
Brilliant, heart warming, totally vulnerable and authentic……amazing article again ….Thank you LaVonne…you have no idea how much your words become the 'ripple in the pond' effect….their impact remains…..
Wow, thank you so much!
I think you should still write it, I was hooked reading this short precis. Why can't you meet the men now?
The Happiness Project is what started me on this journey; It's a great site, and so is the book. But you're right, when there's so much else going on it's a lot to take in.
I have another take on this. The agent wrote back to you suggesting something that would make HIM happy, never considering -or caring- that his 'happiness' hinged upon your going through the incredibly brutal and traumatic experience of visiting the people who destroyed your family. You internalized the very real danger of facing down people who participated in what was really the murder of your stepfather and came away feeling like a coward. Facing them would hardly have improved your life since those people would likely have felt that they (or all but one of them) weren't guilty of anything so heinous as murder. And you would have had to nod your head and swallow that attitude.
They were guilty even if they had no intention of committing such a crime. Few people will wield a knife without mob support. The mob mentality takes them through it and by not confessing who did it (one of them had to know), all got away with it. I think meeting them would have led to another kind of crisis for you and forgiveness isn't mandatory for such crimes. All for the purpose of making the agent happy.
Happiness isn't the goal of existence. It merely accompanies those actions (including internal ones like processing/thinking) which advance our lives and utilizes our talents. Happiness is the feeling that tells us we're doing really 'good' stuff.
Most of us have to settle for contentment.
The agent wasn't suggesting anything. The premise of the book was that I would interview these men; it was my idea. He naturally wanted to be sure I could deliver on my own promise. The inherent drama/tension/suspense of my own difficulty in meeting the men was exactly what made the book proposal interesting enough for the agent to reply. I don't think there's anything wrong with that.
Re your take on happiness, I don't want to get into a philosophical debate but we disagree. To feel happiness or joy when we are doing work we love is, in my opinion, the whole point.
On contentment, maybe we have differing definitions of contentment and happiness, but I consider them very close to the same thing.
Thank you, Jane. I can't meet the men now because I live 2,000 miles away and am not well enough, nor do I have the resources, to travel that far. But I could tell the story the way I have here, with a different point, and that's something to consider.
I will definitely check out The Happiness Project soon!
It's Thanh Ngoc. Sort of like two words for your first name. The username is taken on Twitter by someone who hasn't used the account since last year, but ah well.
You could totally write about a book about writer's block, with all your experiences included. That would be cool.
OMG – you are PHENOMENAL LaVonne. You talk about being a flake, but when you put pen to paper with thought, you blow me out of the water!!
Well written and well structured. If this is the result of your 2500, keep it up. You are such a gifted writer.
OMG – you are PHENOMENAL LaVonne. You talk about being a flake, but when you put pen to paper with thought, you blow me out of the water!!
Well written and well structured. If this is the result of your 2500, keep it up. You are such a gifted writer.
You are an amazing writer. An amazing person. What an interesting life you've led. And I'm with Trece – you talk about being a flake but man, you can write!
I've always wanted to write a book about my mom – or rather, my mother's generation. She was born in 1938 and has lived through incredible changes in the world. I think it would be interesting to write something about her life in the context of the generation she's in. It could be good – but I just don't get beyond writing snippets about her life, little ideas of things that could be in the book, a few hours of research here and there. It's fear, I think. Or laziness. Probably both with a dose of “too interested in too many things to focus on one thing long enough” disease!
Keep writing! What you're doing is exciting and wonderful.
Oh boy, it's all coming back to me now, that old desire to write books. Scary stuff.
About your name, and please forgive me for being the 8,387th person to ask, but how do you pronounce it? I assume Thanh is pronounced Tahn [I'm a big fan of Thich Nhat Han] but the ng sound in Ngoc or Nguyen defeats me. Teach me!
Oh boy, I'm lovin' all this praise but I don't know how to respond gracefully. Thank you so much. I need to hear it. And yes, 2500wds is the cause.:)
Ok I'll give this a try.
Thanh rhymes with barn – so like 'tarn'. The Ngoc part, the g is pronounced more like a y … so like n-yoc. Nguyen is like new-win.
Hope that sort of helps hehe. It's ok, you're not the only one that can't pronounce it!
Ah, thank you! Funny, I just realized one of my son's best friends is
Vietnamese. Could have asked him and saved you the trouble, but this was
more fun. 🙂
I must have misunderstood your post where you said the agent wrote to you suggesting you meet the men – I hadn't realized it was your own idea but was disturbed that you felt something was lacking in you for not being able to go through with that. Some confrontations make for great drama but are not necessarily healthy in RL – which was my point. Would such a meeting really have enriched your life? Or the agent's product?
We do agree about happiness being a verb – we love the things we do well and good feedback makes us and the work even better. I'm among the very lucky few who never worked at anything I didn't love. But then turning unlovable jobs into the kinds of endeavors which can be enjoyed and valued is the real talent. That takes a lot of perseverance, however. Kind of like the 2500 word challenge.
It would have enriched my life if it meant a book deal, lol, but I think it might have been healing, both for me and some of the men. Just because they got involved in a brawl in their teens/twenties doesn't mean they were hardened criminals. One of them had a knife. The others didn't.
I like your closing line: “Go. Make something. Be happy.”
I'm happy when I'm reading. When I write, I feel like I'm sharing ideas from what I've read and when people interact, it leads to a discussion. It feels like your with friends. And really, that's a good feeling. So yeah, I guess writing does make me happy.
Welcome, Ricardo! I like that line too.
Forgot to say: I like your site!
Who's to say which is the goal & which the byproduct? It occurs that you can turn it on its head & still have a truth. An interesting bit of pondering for my own Mill. Thank'ee's! 😀
Btw, in my experience, no-one 'has' to settle for anything. You may freely choose to do so, but it's still a choice.
I'm happy when I'm creating.
Thank you for writing this. Amazing power can come out of the past when we look at it again with the perspective of years.
And conversely, I'm UNhappy when I'm NOT creating. So why do I resist so
much? Gotta get that Steve Pressfield book, The War of Art. It's all about
Resistance, with a capital R. That would be me. :sigh:
Thank you for the kind words. 🙂
LaVonne, love this post, love your writing, but I guess the whole point is that it wouldn't matter if I didn't, right? Writing makes you happy regardless. Me too.
Are you familiar with the book Flow by Mihaly Czikszentmihalyi (ME-hi Chick-SENT-me-hi)? It talks about the state of mind we get into when we are creating and fully engaged with what we're doing. I think it's that state that makes us feel so happy.
I hadn't made the connection between creating, flow and happiness before, so thanks so much for helping me see how that all fits together. What a huge contribution you've made to my life, and I only found out you exist 20 minutes ago! 🙂
If you really were interested in doing the interviews with those people now, you certainly could. There's phone, videoconferencing, etc. It might be a bit complicated to arrange from afar, but it would certainly be possible if you were on a mission. And I'm sure you could still find a publisher interested–it's a fascinating idea–or self-publish.
Of course, even if you never do, you've already put the story to great use through this post. That's enough.
Thank you so much, Sue, and welcome! Thanks for telling me about Flow; I
will definitely check it out. Sounds very interesting.
As for my aborted book, it's tempting to dredge all that stuff up again, and
I did think about it, but I no longer have the information about the men and
can't even remember how I dug it up in the first place. I know, I'm looking
for an out. It still scares me and I should face my fears, but I don't think
this is one I'm going to face. The best I can do is face my fear of writing,
which I'm still facing every morning. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.
😉
Here's a glimmer that's dancing around in my brain right now: maybe I can
write a different book. That's pretty scary all by itself, lol, but in a
delicious sort of way. Thanks for the encouragement. 😀
LaVonne, love this post, love your writing, but I guess the whole point is that it wouldn't matter if I didn't, right? Writing makes you happy regardless. Me too.
Are you familiar with the book Flow by Mihaly Czikszentmihalyi (ME-hi Chick-SENT-me-hi)? It talks about the state of mind we get into when we are creating and fully engaged with what we're doing. I think it's that state that makes us feel so happy.
I hadn't made the connection between creating, flow and happiness before, so thanks so much for helping me see how that all fits together. What a huge contribution you've made to my life, and I only found out you exist 20 minutes ago! 🙂
If you really were interested in doing the interviews with those people now, you certainly could. There's phone, videoconferencing, etc. It might be a bit complicated to arrange from afar, but it would certainly be possible if you were on a mission. And I'm sure you could still find a publisher interested–it's a fascinating idea–or self-publish.
Of course, even if you never do, you've already put the story to great use through this post. That's enough.
Thank you so much, Sue, and welcome! Thanks for telling me about Flow; I
will definitely check it out. Sounds very interesting.
As for my aborted book, it's tempting to dredge all that stuff up again, and
I did think about it, but I no longer have the information about the men and
can't even remember how I dug it up in the first place. I know, I'm looking
for an out. It still scares me and I should face my fears, but I don't think
this is one I'm going to face. The best I can do is face my fear of writing,
which I'm still facing every morning. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.
😉
Here's a glimmer that's dancing around in my brain right now: maybe I can
write a different book. That's pretty scary all by itself, lol, but in a
delicious sort of way. Thanks for the encouragement. 😀
Writing is the best form of self therapy around. You write, reread and gain insight. The more you write, the more patterns emerge; connections you may have never considered. It also serves as a safe place to store all those feelings that bog you down. You can’t get them off your mind, but saved for when you are ready to confront them. It spurs creativity, entertains, allows you to make company with a side of you you’ve never met, for it comes from the spirit, not the mind. Writing is indeed happiness.
Yes, it’s great therapy. The problem is when you’re writing for public
consumption, as with a blog, and trying to balance the therapy aspect with
the idea of offering service to your readers. Still trying to work that
balance out.
Thanks so much for visiting and commenting!
~LaVonne
You LaVonne I reckon there’s more than just a book here, more like a documentary. 🙂 Do you know you could even produce something like a radio doc for BBC Radio 4, they love that sort of thing. You should look into it. But your writing – missy, good stuff. GOOD stuff.
Aww, I should have known you’d come and read this. Thank you so much! I really don’t think I’m up to rehashing the experience again, however. I want to move on and explore new things. 🙂
LaVonne, That story feels finished to me.Incomplete, but done. Unfortunately they don’t all live happily ever after. And by the way you are a writer, a helluva writer, down to your bones.
Yes, it’s finished. Thank you for seeing that. And my God, thank you for the
amazing compliment!
See you in Action Studio,
~LaVonne 🙂
Sometimes, when someone inspires me and just to be funny, I sing (in a loud, off-key, obnoxious kind of way)… “Did you ever know that you’re my hero? You’re everything I wish I could be….” (you get the idea, right?) You, my dear, are indeed the wind beneath my wings today and, more importantly, the fire beneath my booty (which I need infinitely more than wind). All this to say – THANK YOU! And keep writing. You’re really good at it.
Aww, thank you! I have to confess that I feel the same way about whoever wrote that — it couldn’t be me, could it? I guess it could, so maybe I should just start writing every day again. That seemed to work once. 🙂