On Being a Minor Writer...and why all writers are minor

...it somehow makes his instructive admonitions -- gently-delivered as they are, supported by a smorgasbord of excellent literary quotables (bravo for that, B.!) -- all the more impactful.

The Short, "Minor Writer," is an exquisite tour-de-force example of what makes the B.H. Rogers' canon so goshdarned compelling. As far as this here reviewers is concerned, I shall be picking up several more Rogers titles in the meanwhile, already shifting off to the Amazon Wish List to tack on some more titles to the long list -- I sometimes wish I had an extra set of eyes.

Within this tight 21pp. of work, not to mention with a signature five-pointed delectable flourish which has become BHR's calling card and signature, Rogers hammers away with an unharmful foam implement on the various salient thrusts for why we, we legions of "minor" scribes, must aspire to our hallowed state of "minor-dom."

Being "minor" must always remain our steadfast calling, in his view, because it's the very thing that GETS US WRITING. This in comparison to lusting after chimeric visions of grandeur, often with heaps of frustration -- what Rogers calls being "major." "Majority" stardom yanks us clear away from what we, as chronicler's of our era, really do best. We pen lines, baby!

Another point: we must pledge allegiance to not being mediocre -- rather, we must always strive to live up to those halcyoned ideals which set us along the writerly path in the first place. Being a successful writer is tricky, because it keeps you locked into the rat-race of always being fantastic, to spin "golden yarns" as Bruce explains. If writing's what we're supposed to do, then do it we must! Becoming successful from what we do, is merely icing on le gateau, not the full enchilada, as it were.

These are Rogers' structural high points -- the sinews of the matter, the marrows, the tendons, and the ample and yummy flesh, full of vitamins and minerals -- all these are contained within the body of this fine work.

How something this convincin can cost only half a US buck -- I'm left thinking about long after the read (the several self-administered boots to my keyster in reminding myself about its goodness were enough to hurt even Lyle Alzato at his apogee on the Raiders' front line as a linebackers). I digress...

I liken author Rogers to the sort of person who is a "do it" can-do dude. He doesn't pine away thinking what life would be life if...he gets down to the brass tacks of the business, and writes his Northwestern heart out. I admire him for that and aspire to emulate the fashion and form. Methinks what plagued the tale he weaves in his piece about the wealthy Crichton, well, Hoss, it exemplifies the problem writers have when they finally decide that they "wanna write." All bollocks if you ask me, as our friends from the Grand Isle can say.

Writing isn't about aspiration. It's about action, baby! It isn't about *wanting* to make something sing -- it's about singing, warming up your voice, and taking the risk of sounding bad, terrible even.

In that spirit, I'm reminded of a comment ascribed to Woody Allen's script partner -- "it might be a crappy first draft, 'Wood, but at least it's out there. It's a draft." Rogers cajoles us with a similar a propos line to "get down and get busy." We don't *have* to be perfect.

What seems to plague most non-creatives -- amateur writers must count themselves as part of the former group -- is that they think everything has to be perfect. The pros don't. They understand that to make a living from your writing is the ultimate goal. Praise is a passing fancy. "I can't write," will come the usual hue and cry, "it's useless."

No, it's not useless, says Rogers. It's that you're obsessing about the final product.

My opinion? Pretend like the world is coming to an end as soon as you're done -- and you're on a time limit, bubs (end of the day, and that's it!). People will "remember your legacy" only for what you've just written today. Do you want to waste time thinking about how to fashion your sentences or do you want to be remembered?

I dunno, different strokes for different folks...

Two final points:

1) Canadians cherishing its writers, asks Rogers. Seeing as I am one of the former, I can posit that it's perhaps because we don't have nearly as many as our US cousins. Recall, Canada possesses one tenth of the US' population, therefore, we don't have as many scribes -- arithmetic, arithmetic. What ones we do have are in generally in the good to great category. Proc/Warum/Pourquoi/Porque? I like to think it's the conflux of our cultural attitudes (notice, did ya?), and the fact that people take the "hyphenation thing" very seriously, which permits our writers to pen lines from a certain cultural authority of perspective that our US counterparts are not necessarily drawn to.

That French thing? I don't know...I doubt it plays much of a significant role for our British Columbian-based writers, who are geographically cut off from Quebec -- bigtime.

Canadian writers also know the domestic publishing industry is such that you're not going to become "major" in BHR parlance. Effectively that means you're going to be holding onto a second job, and that your writing (even if you bravely choose to call yourself a W-R-I-T-E-R, toots) is never going to be your main line. So you often write like there's no tomorrow. Publishing in Canada comes at a premium. Therefore, you want to do it to the best of your ability. Makes sense?

2) BHR scarcely mentions the word "talent." Can writers be forged/made/created? Can I -- some minor writer with more than a Baskin-Robbins Rocky Road-sized dollop of discipline and a desire to match, fuelled by smallish cans of amazing Czech canned corn -- convince someone to work hard at it, that soon they, aussi, will learn the tools?

I have a theory on that, Mr. Kotter...I say the difference between the writers who are "born," and those who are "made" are that the ones who born -- be they sage observers of their era or not -- continue to write well after their limelight has worn off.

People will ask: "Why do you write?" I respond: "Why do you eat?" I guess that means that we writers "need to." I don't want to take ownership of that just-mentioned statement, for it's got more than its fair share of melodrama in't. But, I think you all get my point...

What does BHR have to say about the writer's talent? A question to him.

P.S. Another great book about the bane of getting out that first draft doldrum is none other than your cited Nathalie Goldberg's "THUNDER AND LIGHTNING." Have you read it?

Peace out,
ADM in Prague

The main thrust of this brief but dense essay is that you are a minor writer, you know it, and you need to embrace that standing. Because only when you embrace yourself as a minor writer are you able to set aside high-flown notions of what you ought to be doing in favor of the work that only you can produce. Professor Rogers phrases it much more eloquently and in more detail, of course.

Consider: John Updike has to keep on being John Updike until the day he dies. One misstep and he will be roadkill on the superhighway of our media-dense culture. On the other hand, because you are small beer, you are free to try new things, expand your horizons, build new writerly muscles, and shoot spitwads at the heavens. Because each new work you write is considered and criticized individually, not as part of your c.v., nobody minds if you bet on the occasional bad pony, and you're free to try again next time without other people's previous bad judgement hovering over your sholder.

Professor Rogers, who is both an acclaimed writer himself and a teacher of other writers, lays bare how you have challenges and opportunities available to you that literary demigods do not. You can change, you can grow, you can become a better writer and a better human being. For a mere half a buck, the advice in this essay is a steal, considering that you will keep it on your desk next to your copy of Strunk & White and the Writer's Market to remind you what you're doing and why.

Set ego aside and make your best contribution. If you do that, you will participate in something greater than yourself, and maybe connect to someone other than yourself. That's what I got from this inspiring essay, and I'll read it again and again.

Bruce Holland's message in this essay echos my own words, written in 1997 and still part of my 'home' page: "I write mainly for my own enjoyment.... The main thing is to have one heck of a time whenever I sit down at my computer." I'm a minor writer, and proud of it now.

Mr. Rogers finds a way to explain the inexplicable in this wonderful essay on writing. When you stop understanding that what you have is a gift, and one that most others do not possess, and start treating it as if it's only a business asset, the gilt finish of talent fades fast. Also, the urge to stand up, puff up and scream LOOK AT ME is not in any way helpful to a writer, unless you are looking for distractions to keep your fingers off the keyboard. Well done.

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