ARROGANCE IS GOOD
by Tony Richards

 

 

“Greed is good,” said Gordon Gecko famously in Wall Street.

But when it comes to writing, arrogance is better.

A couple of years before his death, the great science fiction writer Isaac Asimov published an article – possibly in the same magazine that bears his name – that put forward the following proposition:

There’s this guy out there called Ordinary Joe. He’s married and he has three kids. His house has a big mortgage, there are bills to pay. And so our Joe – being a responsible kind of guy – gets up at six o’ clock each weekday morning, showers, shaves, has breakfast, and then endures the long commute in to a job he absolutely hates. It bores him silly, leaves him wholly unfulfilled. His boss is a real jerk into the bargain. But Joe sticks with it, putting in his forty or so hours each week, not counting that infernal commuting.

At the end of the month, Joe finally gets what he’s been enduring this living hell for … his paycheck. Except it isn’t very big, and by the time taxation has whittled it away it’s even smaller. Of what’s left, much goes on the mortgage and on household bills. And by the time Joe has gassed up his car, paid for his groceries and bought that brand-new pair of shoes he desperately needs, there’s almost nothing left, a small handful of paper money.

And what you are assuming is that Joe will gladly part with some of that extremely hard-earned cash simply to read a piece of fiction that you’ve written.

And that – said Asimov – is a pretty arrogant assumption.

He’s right. Writing for yourself is art. Writing for the market is art too, but it’s also an act of arrogance. That being the case, though, don’t apologize for it. Embrace it.

Once again, don’t get me wrong. The history of literature is full of writers who, on a personal basis, act like Big I Ams. If you attend conventions regularly then you’ll sooner or later come across some well-known author – quite possibly someone whose work you admire – whose behavior ranges from aloof to quite obnoxious. But I don’t mean behave arrogantly, I just mean bring that power to your work.

And I didn’t pull that one word – power – out of thin air either. Arrogance has muscle and vitality and punch. It’s an uncompromising attitude, and really tough.

Meeting with would-be writers at conventions, answering their questions when I’ve sat on panels, what I’ve noticed most is their timidity about the whole matter of writing. They’re doubtful and uncertain. They are often downright nervous.

And on one level, that’s understandable. Trying to write a full-length novel is a massive, daunting task. And trying to write one for the very first time is a step off a cliff and into the unknown.

But it isn’t merely that. What these fledgling writers are feeling is the stern, judgmental gaze of the whole world upon them. And the whole world has its eyebrows drawn together and its forehead furrowed too. You there! Who the **** do you think you are? Think you’re something special? Think you’re cleverer than anybody else? Why should anyone be interested in what you want to write? Pay money to read it – who’d you think you’re kidding? Why would poor Average Joe shell out a single penny? Are you nuts or sumpin’?

To a large extent, that’s understandable as well. But if you’re going to keep on writing, you need to drop those concerns as rapidly as possible. The stern gaze of the world is on all writers all their lives. What the successful ones do is stare back with a comparable ferocity. No, I have something worth saying and I want people to hear it! I have a great story inside me and I want people to share in it! When you sit down at your laptop, you should do that boldly, or at very least with grim determination. “You should be your own hero,” opined British sf stalwart Brian Aldiss.

Ramping yourself up psychologically is obviously important. But I came here in the first place to give you practical advice on improving your work. And there’s certainly a further way that arrogance will work to your advantage.

In Chapter 2, I described how when you write a piece of fiction you become a character called The Narrator. But for the purposes of your story or novel, you transform into another figure too. You become the God of the imaginary world you have created.

Is your power absolute? Some might argue ‘hardly’. Characters certainly do take on a life all of their own, suddenly behaving in ways that you weren’t expecting. And your storyline can take on its own life too, abruptly heading off down channels that surprise you. This, once again, is your subconscious at work, the secret part of your mind telling you what your story really is. Should you yell halt and impose your own will? Possibly not.

But as I discussed earlier, writing is a process where the conscious and unconscious minds come together and work symbiotically. Your will is a 50-50 partner, and so it should have its say. Because the unconscious mind is largely uncritical. It will give you a great story, but it will also throw up dross and debris by the barrowful. Overly long descriptive scenes. Asides that have nothing to do with the main story. All manner of detours, flourishes, and wild diversions. The unconscious mind, to tell the truth, is horribly self-indulgent.

Let it be that way through your first draft. As I’ve already said as well, that is the wrong place to start editing. Once that’s done with, though, you become God and put your Mighty Foot down. No detours, except the ones that really work! Cut down that descriptive scene at once! Your unconscious mind is madly in love with what it has created. You must be a lot more cold and harsh.

And that especially applies to your characters. I mentioned in my introduction that I’ve worked with (dined with, nattered with) several book editors of special note. And – quite independently of each other, in two cities separated by an ocean – two of them decided to pay me the exact same compliment.

“You’re not afraid to kill characters off.”

Which might surprise you, but they really liked that, seeing it as the mark of a writer who’s in control of his work just as much as anyone can ever be.

But I LOVE that character! screams your subconscious.

Shut up, fool. I’m the one in charge here.

And with one click of your Mighty Fingers, that poor character is pushing up the daisies. It’s the way it has to be.

 

This article forms part of my book HOW TO IMPROVE YOUR WRITING: THE ART OF CREATING PROFESSIONAL FICTION available as a paperback or eBook from Amazon.