The Long Game

 
Among people training to run a marathon (especially those attempting to run one for the first time) there is a saying that carries a lot of wisdom: Respect the distance. (See here for a post about me literally applying this to a group of first-time marathoners… as well as to writers.)
 
And all the clichés around this are true: A novel is a marathon, not a sprint. Take it one step at a time. Don’t think about the whole thing, focus on the work in front of you at the moment. Etc.
 
But… “Respect the distance” also applies to the writing life in general.
 
Which is funny in light of how “Get Published Now!” is also the flavor-of-the-month when it comes to hot aspirations these days… both IRL and on social.
 
The irony is that if ever there was a long game, writing is it. It almost seems like the world’s worst activity to decide to “just do.” Right up there with “I think I’ll just buy a bassoon and be playing for the symphony this summer.”
 
First off, there are all the years of pre-writing training you’ll need to do to avoid (a) reinventing the wheel, and (b) writing badly. This pre-writing regimen is sometimes known by its technical term: reading. (Writing without a steady diet of reading behind you is analogous to aspiring to be a musician when you’ve never listened to music.) Besides a background of reading broadly and deeply, you’ll also want to read pretty extensively in your chosen genre (which—if you’re smart—is also your favorite genre, so you may have a leg up on this).
 
Then there is the small matter of learning the craft. I know we all learned how to put words on the page in grade school, but learning to write effective fiction is a completely different pursuit, similar to learning to play the violin or paint portraits or sculpt a figure from a block of marble. There is typically a lot of “student work” that comes before the work people will actually pay you for, and (if you’re like me or any other writer I know) you’ll likely end up writing a bunch of stuff that probably won’t see the light of day before you finally get a “yes” from an editor at a publishing imprint. All of which is fine, because that’s how we learn the craft—it’s our practice. But if we’re pinning our hopes on our first student-level efforts making publishers climb over each other for the chance to put us into print, we might end up a little disappointed.
 
“Respect the distance” means respect the craft, respect the practice, respect the artform, respect the journey.
 
And the best way to do that is to love the practice. Love the craft, the journey, the artform. Even love the distance.
 
Imagine a young couple, getting married. They (hopefully) aren’t thinking, I can’t wait until we’re retired and we can do whatever we want. No, they should enjoy every day they’re together and view it as a gift.
 
So don’t just focus on the destination. If we want to get there in one piece, with our artistic vision (and mental health) intact, we should do our best to enjoy every step along the way.
 
Yes, it’s a long game. And it’s dead serious—at least at times—and hard work. But it’s also play… it’s art… it should be something we love.
 
Being a writer isn’t something you do.
It’s something you are.
For the long term.
 
Respect the distance.