"I would write, but I can't take rejection."
"I always wanted to write but doubt I have the talent."
"I want to write but don't have the time."
"I don't have a good place to write."
"I would write if it weren't for my job."
"I'll write when I retire."
These are the excuses I have heard for a half century from people who claim aspirations of writing. They should read Nobel Prize laureate William Faulkner's 1956 interview in the Paris Review. Faulkner famously said, "An artist is a creature driven by demons. He don't know why they choose him and he's too busy to wonder why. He is completely amoral in that he will rob, borrow, beg, or steal from anybody and everybody to get the work done."
As a writer, Faulkner was ruthless, and his prodigious output proves that he did not suffer fools, failures, or frenzies to stop him from writing. Even our ego should be worthless to us once we write:
Interviewer: Then could the lack of security, happiness, honor, be an important factor in the artist's creativity?
Faulkner: No. They are important only to his peace and contentment, and art has no concern with peace and contentment.
Interviewer: Then what would be the best environment for a writer?
Faulkner: Art is not concerned with environment either; it doesn't care where it is.
Now if those aren't words to frighten away the pretenders, then I don't know what are. For the rest of us still hanging in there, we must remember Faulkner's point. There are no excuses. Just do it. Get to work.
