By Steven Pressfield | Published: March 14, 2012
When we complete a work of art or commerce and expose it to judgment in the real world, three things can happen:
Vincent van Gogh, a Track #1 guy who got killed on Track #2
1. Everybody loves it.
2. Everybody hates it.
3. Nobody notices that it even exists.
All three responses present you and me—the artist or entrepreneur—with serious emotional challenges, and all three drive deep into the most profound questions of life and work.
It will not surprise you, I suspect, when I say that in my opinion all three responses are impostors. None is real, and none should be taken to heart by a professional.
When we work in any field that combines art and commerce, we’re working on two tracks. (I picture them as railroad tracks running side-by-side.)
Track #1, the Muse Track, represents our work in its most authentic, true-to-itself and true-to-our-own-heart expression.
Track #2, the Commercial Track, represents the response our work gets in the marketplace. In other words, points 1-2-3 above.
Track #2 counts for putting bread on the table and getting our kids through college.
Track #1 equates to our artistic soul.
The problem with Track #2 is that it also represents the siren song of riches and fame (or at least applause and recognition in the real world).
Did you see the post I did a few weeks ago called “Paul’s All Is Lost Moment?” My friend Paul had just finished writing a TV pilot. It was the first time he had really completed a project from FADE IN to THE END. He turned it in to a friend who is a serious producer and who was anxious to see it. Almost immediately Paul’s spirits went over a cliff. (more…)
By Steven Pressfield | Published: March 7, 2012
Each day I get one or two invitations to speak at events or conferences. People have read The War of Art, and the concepts of Resistance and “turning pro” have struck a chord. They’d like to hear more; they’d like to see who I am in-person.
Jean Dujardin in "The Artist." He knows exactly how I feel.
Maybe they’re seeking “inspiration” or “motivation” for their group or association. All the invitations are proffered out of respect and in the most generous and elevated spirit. They’re well-intentioned; the groups themselves sound interesting and fun; and I certainly appreciate the thought behind all of them. Some even come with offers of significant remuneration. But I say no every time.
Why?
If I wrote a book on the subject of self-sabotage, shouldn’t I be open, even eager, to speak about it? What’s the difference? Speaking and writing are the same thing, aren’t they?
No, they’re not.
There’s a type of communion that happens between a writer and a reader within the pages of a book that cannot be replicated in a public setting—at least not a large-scale one. In fact, the large-scale setting by its very nature corrupts and deforms the meaning of the material.
I wrote The War of Art in book form for two reasons:
1. So I wouldn’t have to talk about it, and
2. Because book format was, in my view, the only appropriate way to deliver this material to the individual who might profit by being exposed to it.
Writer-to-reader is private and intimate. It’s soul-to-soul. If I’m sitting on an airplane reading War and Peace, I’m in Russia, I’m with Natasha and Pierre, I’m with Tolstoy. As I read, I may start to cry. I might read a passage that changes my life. The passenger next to me reading Zen and the Art of Archery is in another universe as well. I can’t enter his sphere and he can’t enter mine. We’re sitting side by side but each of us is immersed in a private and intimate communion with other thoughts and other beings. (more…)
By Steven Pressfield | Published: February 29, 2012
[The following is a slightly-tweaked-and-updated version of one of Writing Wednesdays' most popular posts.]
I have a recurring dream. In the dream I’m invited to climb into the back seat of a limo that’s about to drive off to someplace fabulous. The dream always ends badly. It’s trying to tell me something.
Trust me, this baby is taking us nowhere
Publication day—or any date when we launch a project that we’ve worked on long and hard—is like getting into the back seat of that dream limo. Launch day gets our hopes up. We’re human. We’re prey to the folly of anticipating rave reviews or long lines outside the theater; we’re itching to check the grosses or the day’s sales on Amazon. I’ve been up and down with these expectations through ten books and a bunch of movies and I can tell you one thing:
Of the two possible outcomes—a flop or a hit—both are delusions.
Here’s my rule for publication day:
When Book C hits the stores, I want to have finished Book D and be deeply immersed in Book E.
Am I kidding myself? Yeah. It’s like trying to ignore the puff adder that’s slithering up your trouser leg. But the exercise is healthy. It’s good karma.
Krishna instructed Arjuna: “We have a right to our labor, but not to the fruits of our labor.” What did he mean by that? He meant that the process is its own reward. The only real reward.
Enjoy the success if you’re lucky enough to get it. You’ve earned it. But don’t take it personally and don’t let it go to your head. Hemingway said if you believe the reviews when they tell you you’re good, then you have to believe them when they tell you you’re bad. So don’t even read ‘em. (more…)
