Stealing the Fire — A blast from the past post 6.2012

Posted on by Sarah A. Hoyt

*I was going to do posts here and at MGC, but something came up last night, which kept me from even sitting at the computer till now (tough I did sleep!)  So forgive me the Blast From The Past post.  For those in England, though, let me remind you Wings is NOW on sale FOR YOU. And in the US, I think it’s up to 1.99, which is still one fifth the regular price, so…  And now I go deal with stuff.*

I just woke up from the weirdest dream.  In my dream, this choir of sweet-voiced children was singing “If you are right and we don’t belong, we’ll fall, don’t fret.  It won’t take long.”  There were other verses, but as I woke up most of it vanished, leaving only this and “If you are right and it’s beneath that we belong, if we are wrong, it won’t be long.”

It was such a vivid dream – let alone I don’t often dream of people singing – that for a moment or two I thought “wow.  I must find a site with those lyrics and post them on the blog, because that is totally the theme song of indie.”

And then I woke up and realized the song was sung to the lyrics of “Love lifts us up where we belong.”

And I realized the song didn’t exist and my post would be slightly different.

So, let’s talk about fate and duty and striving.

I grew up in a culture that believes strongly in fate.  I was rocked to sleep to songs about fate inexorably pulling people to doom or triumph as well as to songs about your fate being scripted all ahead of time and there being nothing you can do to escape it.

So I suspect this problem is more mine than other people’s.  But I know it’s other people’s too.

Nine times out of ten, when newbies approach me and stammer a question, it is a variation on “do you think this is what I’m supposed to do?”  (Why is it that the ones who instead TELL me “this is what I’m supposed to do” are ALWAYS the ones who truly have no aptitude and who ALSO aren’t making progress because they think they’re wonderful already?  No, don’t answer that.  Because G-d is an author and this is a funny book, I know.)

This question tortured me for years.  It still does.  The sense that I owe someone a life, that there is something I’m supposed to do, and that “is this what I’m supposed to do?”  “Is this the life I should be living?”

(In my case, it is complicated – of course – by my being religious and therefore believing that there is a part I should be playing.  But if you interpret my life in that way, He’s been plying the divine two by four against my thick skull since the sixties trying to shove me this way, while I bleated “should I be doing this?”)

Even for those who aren’t religious; even for those who didn’t get saturated in fate with an extra side helping of fortune telling and talismans to avert an evil fate, there seems to be this sense “am I making the best possible use of my life?  Is this what I’m supposed to be doing?”

This is possibly because humans are crazy apes, aware of our own, personal mortality, a thing we presume other animals aren’t.  (Presume perhaps wrongly.  I suspect cats know.)  So we know our time is finite, and we look at it as an asset to be used.  Hence we get young people wanting “meaningful” jobs and “to do something that matters.”

Writers are particularly prone to this sort of doubt, because we get hit on the nose early and often.  Unlike other skilled crafts, we don’t – most of us.  There are exceptions – get tutored by a master in the craft and then released into the world knowing we’re at least somewhat good.

No, even those of us who have worked and practiced and think – from what we’ve seen and what we read – that we can’t be wholly bad, can’t be sure.  And in the days before indie it was entirely possible to spend a lifetime being rejected by EVERYONE and never breaking in.  Particularly as we went towards the nineties and you had to go through an AGENT first.  “Get pre-rejected” as it were.  Look, if I didn’t write as fast as I do and not been as stubborn as I am, I might not have made it here.  I wrote eight – EIGHT – novels, one of them a goat-gagger and got them rejected by EVERYONE before one of them found an agent. And then she claimed she couldn’t sell it and didn’t send it out.  And I wrote a ninth, which sold.  Two of those books rejected everywhere have now sold.  One has done rather well for me.  Others were a case of my biting off more than I could chew and/or of trying to cram too much story into too few words because I thought I was supposed to do.

Writing books used to say things like “know when to give up.  If it’s affecting your life, breaking up your relationships and devouring your sanity and you’re still not published, it might be time to walk away.”

I suspect the indie path won’t really be any easier.  There will be stories you put up that sell barely a copy.  Some of these will be your heart’s darlings.  Some of the stuff that you put up almost cringing will sell and sell and sell.

And this is not even just for writers, but for everyone who ever tried to do something difficult and tried to reach beyond what they thought they were supposed to do or what they thought they could aspire to.  (One of the videos that came up for Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong was of An Officer And A Gentleman.  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the movie and I don’t remember whether the song was in it.  BUT the story is the quintessential story of reaching beyond what you thought should be allotted to you.)

So you’ll try – whether what you want to do is writing or something else you think would be wonderful and which seems just out of reach – and you’ll fail.  And you’ll try again, and you’ll fail, and you’ll start to get discouraged.  And you’ll lay awake at night, the thought rounding on your mind, like starving wolves outside a village during a killing frost “What if I’m not supposed to be doing this?  What if this is not what I’m supposed to do with my life?”

It is human, I think, to want to avoid pain.  I think that whole question is a way to allow you to walk away before you kill yourself trying for something.  After all if your ancestor Grog hadn’t limped away from the big mammoth he was trying to take on his own, with his stone ax, you wouldn’t be here.

On the other hand…  On the other hand…  If he had taken that mammoth the entire village would have eaten like kings for a month and there would be other humans here who weren’t because all the village except Grog died of starvation.  (Grog probably ate them and survived that way.  This is why I don’t study genealogy.)  And that mammoth?  It turned out that Grog had already wounded it fatally and it died not very far away, after Grog had stopped following.

So, what am I saying?  Am I saying that there is no destiny?  No preordained fate?  That there is nowhere we should be?  Nothing we should do?

Well, I do believe there is a purpose to our life – but then I’m religious – but I don’t believe our fate is scripted.  I also believe that our purpose might be something that… fails to occupy our entire life.  There is an Agatha Christie story that illustrates this beautiful – unfortunately I can’t remember the title, but it’s one of the Harley Quinn stories – in which someone is about to jump from a cliff, and someone saves him.  The person who is saved goes on to play an important role in something.  The one who saved him had, himself, contemplated suicide.  It is hinted he had to stay alive so he would pass this isolated spot in the dead of night and thereby save this man.

Yeah, I believe you have a divine purpose, but your chances of knowing it or understanding it are minimal.  You have to trust that if you do the best you can, you’ll be there at that moment when you need to do what you’re supposed to.  (Also, I presume that G-d, like a good programmer has backup loops and you might get re-directed somewhere else.)

But that’s my religious beliefs – and other people’s belly laughs – and not fate.  I don’t believe in fate, no.

I believe in people who want something and who want it bad enough to do it.  I believe in people who think “So, what if it’s against fate?  The gods of fate can stuff it.  I’ll still climb that mountain and steal that fire even if there should be hell” or eagle “to pay.”

But shouldn’t you take heed of failures?  Perhaps you don’t have the natural talent?  Perhaps someone is trying to tell you something?

Look, natural talent has precious little to do with it.   If my younger son wanted to be a singer, I’d tell him it would be hard as h*ll because of his sensory issues.  I wouldn’t tell him it was impossible and that he could never do it.  Deaf people – who want it bad enough – can learn to sing.  There are ways to magnify the sound vibrations, so they can feel music and imitate it.

In the same way I wouldn’t tell even the most pitiful beginner writer “you’ll never make it.”  I’d give him or her some gentle hints on how to start improving, then leave it up to them to succeed or fail.  Because, as that sweetly singing in choir in my dream said, if they don’t have what it takes, they’ll fall… eventually.  (Or not.  It’s none of my business, anyway.)  If they want it, it’s their business to try.  If we want it, it’s our business to try.

I don’t remember the rest of the lyrics in my dream, but I have a feeling it said something about kicks in the teeth.
The other day a friend on Face Book posted a thing about “How do you get to success?”  Answered with “Fail, fail, fail, fail, fail, fail, fail, fail, fail, fail, fail…….”

Make your own fate.  Climb your own mountain.

Your nails might be torn and bloody when you get there, and you might be down to one eye and one good knee.  BUT if you want it badly enough, you’ll get there.  If it’s a price you’re willing to pay, you’ll get there.  Don’t deceive yourself into continuing because it’s “fate” and don’t soothe giving up because “it’s fate.”  Make your own decisions, fate or no fate.

Yes, there might be hell to pay.  If you want it badly enough to pay the price, you can have it.  You can reach beyond what you were taught you could. The price is working beyond what you thought you’re capable of.  And to keep going after – by all reasonable thought – you should have been dead.  Sure, a man can take a mammoth down alone.  Even if the mammoth falls on him.  But what the heck, the village will eat well through winter.

You want the fire of the gods? Steal the fire of the gods.

And when the eagle comes to eat your liver?  Eat his.  Raw.

No one decreed it should be the other way around.  It’s up to you to make it the way you want it.

64 thoughts on “Stealing the Fire — A blast from the past post 6.2012”

  2. I think that some of the problem creative people have is the dementia that The Arts came down with in the 20th Century; the notion that if something is easily understood and popular it CAN’T be good. OK there is such a thing as too simple and popular can be crap. Nevertheless, there was a time when great works of painting, music, literature, etc were widely enjoyed by those that had access to them, and the creators didn’t pride themselves as being above popularity.

    A lot of Tom Wolfe’s non-fiction career has been spent exploring this.

    If you don’t have good writing, good painting, good music to compare yourself to, you can waste an awful lot of time trying to find your way. I wonder how many young writers waste years trying to be as obscure and uninteresting as the lionized “message” writers (who Steinbeck could write rings around)?

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  3. I find when I’m lying in the dark and one of those little voices pops up to question what I’m doing/where I’m going/why I’m here, and to continue down the list into my failures to date, and where the people around me are getting ahead…

    I find, in the dark of night, all alone in my head — that nobody can see me strangle that little f@#$er and bury his pathetic corpse out back beyond the wild edges. I’ve got acres in the wild imagination, and plenty of digging implements.

    If I ask nicely (and bring beer) I’ve found a few characters wandering around who’ll happily pitch in on hole creation.

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    1. This place _so_ needs a like button!

      You have to learn to listen to those voices, consider any useful comments or advise they have, then shake your head and go listen to the voices that say your story is good and Indie takes time, now go write another good story.

      Sometimes you have to start by creating those voices, but hey, characters are what we do.

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      1. I’ve got the critic voices and I listen, usually asking them to take notes or better yet — shoot me an email, as I shuffle them out the door. I know they’ll get back to me, they’re that sort.

        Then I have the ones wanting to sell me a lakefront cabin at the bottom of the pit of despair. Those get the grippy-neck treatment and warm loam blankets.

        The obsessive nature sucks, but the compulsive nature is dangerous. Best to introduce those voices to the joys of wild gardening as early as can be managed.

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        1. First I get a “Your comments are posting too quickly, slow down.” and then I get a winky face when I just wanted a smiley face. Harumph.

          I am not casting inappropriate winks, squints or stares in any directions. Please, no fish.

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          1. No worries, I don’t do fish. It’s been so dry out here that one of the local ranchers was down at the creek last week teaching two-year-old catfish how to swim. This is the first real water the critters have ever seen. ;) In fact, just last month he had to spray the fish for ticks and fleas.

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            1. You know, I’d heard how the catfish don’t take to the flea and tick collars so well.

              Glad to hear you’re getting some wet, cornmeal just doesn’t stick to those dryland catfish so well…

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          2. Please be advised that “squints” is in the process of being officially recognized as a Term Of Derogation and its future use may subject you to penalties.

            “Winks” also may be a banned term, but thus far only amongst Quadlings, Gillikins and Munchkins. Be cautious in its usage.

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            2. Should I perhaps go with lazy eyelid? Fluttering? Twitches?

              Or, just prostrate myself now?

              It’s so hard to keep up…

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    3. Every so often those not-so-little voices start going on about something that happened decades ago, trying to get in and wreak havoc on my psyche.

      I’ve been telling them – “Not a darn thing I can do about those at this point.” and politely ignoring them. They’ve mostly taken the hint and stopped bothering me.

      But after reading your response, I think it’s time to get the 3 lb hammer out and start swinging for the kneecaps. They want to cause me pain? They can damn well learn to live with it and leave me alone.

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  4. OK, I needed this. Between the usual sales taper following release, plus the daily water-removal from my office, plus trying to sort out some other things, the little mice of despair have been nibbling the past few days. Between this blog post and the lesson yesterday (1 Samuel, about how David kept tending the sheep even after Samuel had anointed him king), I think the Hashem Hammer just swished past.

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      1. That’s why I’m compiling and formatting the next short story batch right now. I don’t care to tempt Him to use a follow-up to the rump (as has been known to happen.)

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        1. Yes, same here. As soon as THIS novel is to Baen, I do enough of the Jarl serialization to release them at one every two weeks for two months or so, which gives me time to do the next, and the next…

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    3. I think the quarterly or bi-annual (and creatively incorrect) reporting of the traditional publishers has hidden a lot of the seasonal swings in book sales. I’m expecting a dip is sales with school letting out. Hopefully with in a couple of weeks people will have unwound and be looking for a good read. And then there’s September. Eeeee! Last year was brutal.

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      1. Most of September I will be without internet access, so I plan to release a Colplatschki novella in August and flee. What I can’t see I can’t fret about. And I’ve got two batches of Cat stories to get ready this month (my hand to Bog but I WILL learn how to make an active ToC), so that should help smooth things between now and the next Colplatschki novel release in July.

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  5. One of my co-riders in the Patriot Guard Riders is deaf from birth, never complains. Worked as a machinist forever and retired from the company. Rides his bike right in the middle of the pack, says the briefing prayer if a pastor isn’t with us. Is a hoot on Facebook. I don’t think he knows the word ‘Quit.’
    I’ve got this encyclopedia of failures and every once in a while want to whine; then I see Papa Roger, and that big ol grin.

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  6. For some of us, our purpose in life is to be a negative example for others.

    And I can’t help but wonder about a couple of critical decisions I made in my 20’s that could have changed everything.

    Am I doomed now to die alone and unloved in a dilapidated Airstream trailer on blocks in the Arizona Desert, the place looted by illegals until the Sheriff finally discovers my dessicated corpse? All because I didn’t give Nancy Gardener a second chance?

    Or would I be worse off now if I had?

    I’m not going to chuck my career now on the basis of two dozen sales of a short story. Besides I like building airplanes. But it has displaced all my other hobbies. And who knows, a lot of writers are older, probably because it’s something they do after retirement, when they have the wisdom, experience and time to do something with it.

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    1. Coulda, shoulda, woulda is pointless and leads one to a festering pit of quicksand like despair. You cannot go back, you cannot change what is, at most you can use the wisdom brought about by living through perilous times to hopefully make better choices comes the next.
      As gamblers and statisticians all know, after a shuffle the cards have no memory, the last roll of a fair die does nothing to affect the next.
      Chances are that Nancy would have cheated on you with your best friend, and, catching them both in flagrante delicto at which point you shot them both dead, you’d be serving life and making some cell mate a wonderful spouse. Or not. Thing is there is no way to know. The probability of any single event goes from vanishingly small to absolutely certain only at the passing wave front of now. Afterwards it’s just another data point.

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      1. Heh, with my friends back then, it probably would have led to a threesome….

        But alas, I have to add to my box of things I will never hear – along with “Congratulations, Mr. President.” – the words “I do.” and “Daddy!”.

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      2. There are times I regret not keeping up on my instrument after high school. On the other hand, I stopped because, at the time, I had no idea what to do with it. I only really started it back up again because I started hearing what was possible with it, and I’ve only really started to gain ground with it because I’ve finally found the right person to teach me how to get the most out of it.

        A far more productive regret is regretting not picking it up for an extra hour of practice this evening, and a more productive response is making sure that I put the time into it tomorrow.

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    2. Am I doomed now to die alone and unloved in a dilapidated Airstream trailer on blocks in the Arizona Desert, the place looted by illegals until the Sheriff finally discovers my dessicated corpse? All because I didn’t give Nancy Gardener a second chance?

      Hey! What’s the idea, parking out here next to me? Go get your own looting illegals!

      I’ve got a nice stack of my own what-ifs. But, interestingly, as I sort through them I have to follow the chain to the things I’ve done that I never would have experienced in a what-if. The life I might have had with the lovely lady of my youthful dreams (and she was, and is) might have been fine and well and happy, but it wouldn’t be this life. And I’ve grown rather fond of this particular life, even when I want to kick myself squarely in the cheeky end.

      Standing on the Hippodrome in Istanbul on a cool January night, listening to Turkish music and watching a joyous Turkish girl dance in the flickering light of a nearby restaurant only happens in this life. The dark spots and the what-ifs fade before a memory like that.

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        1. *snort*

          Wouldn’t bet on it. It’s just that massive WTF and why’d I? lead to some interesting places.

          The missteps, missed opportunities, misplaced moments and other missing variations are all there. The bitter moments and burn-out and turmoil still haunt the dark.

          But…

          I’d be somebody else if I’d gone a different way. And I’m not sure the somebody else would be somebody I’d want to hang out with. The scars and darkspots and rough patches make for more engaging moments of reflection, I guess.

          ‘Course, if I’d gone the different way and been the somebody else, I probably wouldn’t want to hang with this me, either.

          :D

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        2. Forks? I got a whole matched set of cutlery and t-shirts.

          Sometimes sheer stubbornness can take a situation and turn it around. I got took, and took bad, by several of the slime molds masquerading as human beings I tried to partner up with. Bankruptcy and other hilariousness ensued, needing a long time and some therapy to get over.

          But I didn’t stop trying, and after a week spent solo camping with nothing but waterlogged copies of ‘Moby Dick’ and the Koran, (long story…) I came to the conclusion that I needed to troubleshoot my life like I would troubleshoot a balky computer. If something wasn’t getting me the result I wanted, I needed to look at whether that something wasn’t screwing me up relationship-wise.

          Two months later, after changing criteria, I met and eventually married (at 37, fairly late…) a wonderful woman. We’ve been married 21 years, so something worked.

          I’ve also got a friend who had several bad dating experiences in his teens and pretty much gave up on the idea of ever finding anyone. He’d LIKE to find someone, but he’s not going to put himself out there to be hurt again. And it’s been close to 40 years for him. Nice guy, just couldn’t bring himself to try again.

          Whether Nancy Gardener was a good pick or not is anyone’s guess – but you sure can’t go back and retry. You just learn and go onward, and try for what seems worthwhile to you.

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      2. Three guesses which finger He writes with …

        “The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
        Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
        Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
        Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”

        That Omar, he was a real Khayyam

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      1. That was the “career” part of that paragraph. And writing refers to what has displaced my other hobbies. Clearly I need to work on that writing thing. Although eventually I would like to build a kit airplane. For now, I’ll just have to settle for sticking the tail fin on 787’s.

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        1. Guy where I work was teaching himself the necessary skills to build a full-scale P-51 Mustang.

          Until his wife gave him an ultimatum… and he realized after a divorce there was no way he’d be able to afford to afford the brake shoes for such, much less an engine. So the idea was, reluctantly, shelved.

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        1. Argh, cannot watch yet! I have just picked this up to watch with my 8-year-old daughter and I am spoilerphobic now. (also addicted. Also recovering from having my feels squashed into itty-bitty tiny splinters after “The Lost Days of Appa”, which got my 120-pound puppy two strips of bacon just so I could recover…)

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          1. Since a large part of the appeal is getting to meet everybody’s kids and grandkids, I figured that wasn’t much of a spoiler.

            His name is epic, though. *grin*

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            1. I have heard good things about “Embers” (mild fanfic addict here) and am looking forward to it, but not as forward as I am looking to THE REST OF SEASON THREE RIGHT NOW PLEASE.

              (except I am watching it with my child and she is on a strict two-episodes-a-night regimen. Argh.)

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              1. Double-argh!

                I’m a bigger fan of Embers than of ATLA– or even ATLA:TAS. (The Abridged Series. A youtube parody. NSFW, NSFC, NSFMajorFanboys)

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                1. Finding fanfic that outdoes the original is one of life’s rarer pleasures, yeah. :)

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                  1. What fandom is Embers in? What does ATLA stand for? Talking of fanfic, anyone want to rec some Green Lantern fic? I’ve found that it’s not the idea but the execution that makes for excellent fic. Although it is hard to find there is some truly good fanfic out there.

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          2. Voiced by Rufio from Hook.

            Also, his grandson in the “Next Avatar” show is sqee-worthy. Not that it takes much for me to do so, his voice is awesome.

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  9. I’ve faced my share of “should I be doing this?” and voices telling me that everything I do and everything I touch is doomed to failure. (One of the main reasons that Battlehymn doesn’t have a sequel yet.)

    Frak it. It’s time to get back on the horse.

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