This morning I was running in the hills around my house. I should say that I do not run. Did not run. But lately, I’ve gotten hold of this new app: Couch to 5K and so I am running. And walking. And running. Yes, I’m on week 3 of the program and I’ve been doing it for about seven weeks, but we do what we can. And this morning, as I who do not run was running in the hills around my house, I was listening to a Forum interview with Berkeley Rep Artistic Director Tony Taccone. Because one of the great things about this app is that you listen to your own music or podcast, and it just tells you what to do: “Walk. Run. You’re halfway through.” (i.e. turn around). And Tony Kushner was quoted as praising our Berkeley Tony for having the ability to do great theater, which is to say, to take insane risks. I paraphrase.
So as I ran up and down, my heaving intakes and raspy outflows of breath filling the peaceful wooded streets with machine-like noise, I thought about risk. Art is risk. Asking yourself questions whose answer you don’t know, although the answers matter to you a great deal, and then sitting down before the blank page, day after day, to answer those questions–and not in simple verbal fumblings, but in scene and character and story–that’s a risk. A big risk. I remember in the eighties some crazy social scientist did a study that showed that people’s number one fear is appearing foolish. Their number two fear was nuclear war. Alice Walker wrote something about how people will do anything to avoid appearing foolish–they will even remain fools.
Our job, as writers, artists, parents, lovers, activists, people who get up in the morning, our job is to support risk-taking. To make it feel possible. To reward it.
In our preschool parent-teacher meeting today, it was suggested that a goal for one of my kids might be to encourage him to take more risks. Since I’m often yelling/ warning, “Don’t run into the street. Don’t burn yourself on that stove. Don’t get hurt,” I am likely part of the problem rather than the solution. I see keeping my kids intact to be a key part of my success as a parent, though of course, this isn’t always possible. And so we circle back–risking everything or risking nothing. Or just leaning into the impossible. Being part of the problem and part of the solution simultaneously. Sending mixed messages: take risks; be safe; take risks; be safe.
But as writers, we have to find ways that our troubled imaginations, our trembling psyches can feel safe while taking enormous risks. Otherwise, we balk. We clean the house, make phone calls, jump on the internet; we might even exercise. But we won’t write. What do you do to make it feel safe–or perhaps just wonderful–to take creative risks?
Hi Elizabeth! I can just see the lovely hills where you are running (so great!) and breathe in that eucalyptus air! I was just talking about risk and art and falling in the face of it in my own art, and a writer friend of mine suggested the book “The War of Art.” She said she carried it around in her purse for about a year to remind her to keep writing, to keep risking. I’m going to take it off my bookshelf and finally read it. Yes, risk. Looking foolish. So hard. And so hard to keep doing it. . . Maybe we talk next about the rewards AFTER risking? Not sure we always can see them clearly since so many of us writers are instead talking about just keeping on risking.
Thanks for your inspiration! xoxo
Syda–The rewards after risking–a great topic. My first thought: there has to be a way that, finally, the risk is the reward, the writing life somehow the place we mine for pleasure rather than the hours we put in for a reward. I think even at best–with all the external success possible–in the end, one spends so much more time and energy at the labor itself, that that is the place to develop a sense of reward. What do you think?
Such an interesting blog. I don’t really have an answer, just an observation. I find it’s easier to take risks when my sense of self-worth isn’t totally tied up with my writing. I can take a risk and fall flat on my face if it doesn’t work, then erase it or delete it with no loss of self-esteem. I have a healthy self-image to come back to. This to me is a goal that I haven’t quite reached yet; there are days when the pages in front of me seem empty, worthless, crudely written and I start to be down on myself. It’s hard to break that habit. We need to take our writing seriously, but not too seriously. Anyway, you’ve provided food for thought once again.
Wonderful blog. I am enamored of risk takers, because I usually take the safe route. Lots to think about.
Thanks, Maud Carol. But since you are published writer, I know you’ve not only taken the safe route! Syda asked about rewards after risks, but I think publishing is perhaps the greatest risk of all! 🙂