Chutzpah Gets You in the Door But Skill Finds You a Seat.

Part of building skills is having doubts. They're healthy. Too much confidence too early is how mediocrity sets in.

Photo by Yoav Aziz on Unsplash

“Chutzpah gets you in the door but skill finds you a seat.” I came up with that quote so many years ago I don’t remember what prompted it, but I remember it now because for years I stuck a printed version to the bulletin board above my desk. I didn’t have chutzpah, though I wished I did, but ‘skill finds you a seat’ became my mission.

I wanted to be a better writer, and I think I’m better than I thought I could be. But better than what? The best? That won’t happen. The best I can be? I’m not the best I can be. Not even close.

I’m only as good as I am right now, but I’ve never thought I’m as good as I can be. I’m always working to be better. Not best, but better. I’ve been at this long enough to recognize the stages, and just when I think I’m pretty damned good, I flop. I either write something I love that nobody reads or I write something that shouldn’t have been published because I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t good enough.

It’s humbling. And that’s not a bad thing.

But why am I thinking about this now?

Because doubt is always lurking in the background. It’s the nature of every serious writer. It’s our signature, even when we’re feeling good about what we do, and it happens because for all our figuring and studying we don’t know how we got here or where our talent comes from. Or where it’s heading. If we’re doing it right that hesitation before sending our work off tells us we’re aware we’re not perfect. Good will have to do. Not good enough—good.

First there’s the writing, those moments when we’re trying to get it all down into versions of what it will be. Then there’s the final polish. Looking forward to that last crucial effort is what separates the good writers from the okay writers. The skill is in the rewrite, and so is the satisfaction.

If there is no pleasure, no satisfaction, then why do it? Why make writing a chore? The kind of writing we do—creative writing—speaks for itself. Though it can be a challenge, creativity isn’t work. Not even when we want the final outcome to be recognition, or even a sale. If they happen they’re the byproducts of the time we’ve spent tweaking, burnishing, making those sentences shine.

Finding the gold in our own words becomes a personal pleasure. If it doesn’t, we’re missing the best part. At the same time, that’s where skill comes in. I used ‘skill’ deliberately in that quote above because it’s a word meant to ground us, to take our heads out of the clouds, to keep us from thinking because we love the words we’ve written everyone else will love them, too.

Writing comes naturally to every literate human being. We’ve been writing since we learned how as children, so when we start out as writers we’re one step up from other would-be artists or crafters, in that we already carry our tools with us. We don’t have to stop and become familiar with words or sentences or grammar in order to start writing.

And there’s the danger.

That familiarity makes us think we have an edge. Add in a few sentences, a few paragraphs that surprise us with how good they are and we’re off and running. Because they came so easily, seemingly out of nowhere, we want to see it as natural talent, and the idea that we still might not be good enough hides away somewhere until real life—rejection—comes along and knocks us down a peg.

We learn soon enough that not everyone sees what we see. While writing may be natural for us, so is reading, and our readers have read some of the best. They’re not above judging us, as unfair as that may seem. But maybe by now we’ve been writing this way for a long time. Long enough for it to become habit, where the least effort becomes our only effort.

There are millions of us doing this. I’m not saying you’re one of them. If you’re not, my guess is that you’ve seen them, too. The world is filled with mediocre writers, just as the world is filled with good writers. The competition is fierce, maybe even more than it’s ever been, considering how vast the world of writing has become. Writing is an industry now, where everywhere you turn someone is luring you into believing they have the answer to your success.

And how is that working for you?

So how do we get to where we want to be? By seeing ourselves as artists. What sets creative writing apart is the artistry, the imagination, the thought that goes into making what we write wholly our own. That kind of artistry takes skill. We have to learn to be artists. Not just writers, artists.

You won’t be learning how to do that here. I don’t believe anyone can teach creative imagination. All I can do is encourage you to find your own voice and keep at it until it feels right. When you’re comfortable with the words you choose in the placement that makes them sing, your world will open up. I promise. But it won’t happen overnight. Don’t be in a hurry. Don’t give up.

Enjoy the journey. Find your seat.

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