Letter to Young Writers

As outrageously vain as it may be for me to write this when I'm barely published myself, I'd like to share a few things I've learned as someone who's been trying to be a writer for several years now.

In order to have the best shot of being a successful writer, I've found that people need three things:

1. An interesting life

I can't stress this enough. Henry Thoreau put it best: "How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live." If you want to be a craftsman rather than an artist, by all means to go to journalism school or a creative writing program, and be satisfied with what you learn there. No disrespect -- there's a place for craftsmen in the writing world. But if your work is to be truly original rather than derivative, you'll have to go out in the world and take a few on the chin. Some people can have deep experiences sitting in a cave. Others, like me, only learn the hard way. But the best art requires a certain depth of experience, and it is often born of genuine struggle. This is, perhaps, why I enjoy Mozart but adore Beethoven. Mozart may be a genius, but Beethoven is a force of nature.

2. Humility

A writer needs a rare combination of confidence and humility in order to do well. If you do it right, confidence and humility are two sides of the same coin -- a realization that you are fundamentally no better than anyone else, but also no worse -- that you deserve the same respect as a child who's genuinely trying his or her best at something hard. You'll never see me disrespect a child who'd genuinely trying, so why should I tolerate myself or anyone else disrespecting me?

3. Doggedness

An anthropology professor told a class during my freshman year, "Every profession has its potsherds." Every serious profession, whether it's scientist, anthropologist, doctor, or writer, has aspects that are tedious and ego-destroying. But this is part of the fire that forges you into a more genuine person. Those incredibly rare prodigies who can sit down and dash out deathless prose are missing out on the hard work the rest of us have to do. For most of us, it's like any other difficult endeavor. No one expects anyone to come out and win a gold medal or play a concerto without hours and years of often tedious and humbling practice and, more often than not, failure. But if you love it, you know, and you keep on, confident, humble, dogged, and interesting.