|  Love
& Work
by Christopher Meeks
Patience and persistence: First, you have to be patient in your writing, and if it comes out like crap, persist.
A lonely profession: Writing may seem solitary, but to be good, you must dive into your soul and let other people watch.Read, read, read: And not just this column; read the
stuff you're trying to write and find out what makes something "best."Julia Roberts, superstar, from across a crowded room, gazes into the eyes of her charming, self-deprecating Joe Everyman (played by Hugh Grant—nice average movie-star guy) and declares her love for him. He loves her! They embrace! The audience cheers! We cut to a park bench where he strokes her hair and she lies on her back, very pregnant and very happy. Hurrah! The end! Notting Hill
was a charmer because two opposites attracted so well, and beneath the highly doubtful scenario, there was an honesty of spirit. They were both loners in their own way, so their love for each other gave us all hope that we, too, won't be alone. Now comes the devil on my shoulder to say, "You are such a romantic. You look at the world—and at writing—in a certain impractical way." Yes, I want both love and writing to be easy. I wouldn't mind if a superstar whisked me away.
(Whoops—what about my family? Can my wife and son come, too?) We who are romantics also would adore sitting down at the computer to have everything spill out, perfect in one draft. Wouldn't it be nice, too, if we put it on-line, and the world clicked away to see the site? Maybe we'll even become billionaires like Jeff Bezos, the guy who founded Amazon.com. Yeah, and maybe my toes will whistle "Hotel California," too. Ah, but the world does work in good ways if you're willing to
listen. Are you listening?  Persistence & Patience
One word. No, not "plastics," but another P word, "persistence." Make that two P words if you add "patience."
Persistence and patience. First, you have to be patient in your writing. I want to write a novel, but it's not going to happen in a day. You might want to create a Web site. That won't happen in a day, either. As I mentioned in other columns, writing is rewriting. To begin, write your first draft. So what if it's crap. It's your crap. Give yourself freedom to write as I just did. You can edit it out later. Or not. But let your work
sit for a little before polishing it. You need to see your work with fresh eyes. All this takes patience. After you write it, you then get other people to read it. When it gets shot down—this is an art based on rejection, after all—then persist. Rewrite, polish, perfect. This, too, takes patience. (I'm on a roll here—hang with me.) Then you have to market it. If it's an article, a play, a screenplay, or a book,
that may mean sending your work off. If it's a Web site, you upload—and then try to get people to go to the site. Marketing. It takes work.  Passion
"Work." That makes writing sound hard. OK, so it is at times. Don't click me goodbye; it's true. We all know it. Julia Roberts isn't walking in, and our writing won't magically be great every time we push those buttons on the keyboard. I happen to love teaching, and the hardest teaching I do is to teach people who, at heart, are romantics. Anyone who takes a writing class is a romantic because you hope to meet the right person (i.e., the right
teacher) who will say the right things that will make incredible sense to you, and your life will change. From my end, however, learning about writing is to dive into your soul, and you can't do that by watching. Writing students as a bunch tend to be introverted—that's why they're writers and not actors. I quickly try to draw them out. Here on-line, I don't see you, so I can't learn about what excites or depresses you. I can't read your story about your
grandfather's hands or how your father whipped you or how you fell in love on a subway in New York. I don't see you roll your eyes to the ceiling when someone brings up science fiction, nor do I see you, head in your hands, engrossed as someone reads her story aloud. My point is that writing is more interactive than you might think. Find people to interact with. Critique and be critiqued.  Next biggest point
Read, read, read. The fact that you read this far shows you've got the idea. Don't only read this column, but also read the very genre you are trying to write. If you are writing text for a Web site about beneficial
bugs, explore a lot of Web sites. When you find one you like, ask yourself why? Why did you stop there and not elsewhere? (Maybe the picture of a naked person helped.) Figure out which text-based Web sites appeal to you, and compare and contrast that with a lousy site. What makes something "best"? If you're writing fiction, then read some great short stories. (My suggestion: Lorrie Moore's Birds of America or Best Short Stories of the Century.) If you are writing
screenplays, don't just watch movies; get the actual scripts. The bigger bookstores have them. The point is, read the kind of writing you are trying to do. Analyze what makes it work. Rather than reinvent the wheel, get the plans for the wheel and improve on it. 
Write with patience
Send off your best work persistently, and be proud of your best work—it's how you keep your passion. After all, in the end, you have to love what you do. Always remain a romantic.
About the author  Christopher Meeks writes for and teaches creative writing at CalArts, and he also teaches at Santa Monica College and UCLA Extension. He has published four nonfiction children's books and written many short stories. His stories have been published most recently in The Santa Barbara Review, The Southern California Anthology, Rosebud, and Writers' Forum. His plays--Fiveplay, Suburban Anger, and Who Lives?-- have been
produced in Los Angeles. Who Lives? earned several grants for its production, including one from The Pilgrim Project, a group that assists plays that "ask questions of real moral significance." For seven years, he was a theater reviewer for Daily Variety, and for two years he wrote a column for Writer's Digest. His screenplay, Henry's Room, won the Donald Davis Dramatic Writing Award.
Illustration by Rob Colvin for Artville
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