Don’t listen to Philip Roth.

Have you heard this story yet?

In short: Julian Tepper just published his novel, Balls. He decided to approach Philip Roth, a regular at the Jewish deli where he worked, to tell him of this success and offer him a copy of the book (though Roth has said he doesn’t read fiction anymore). After complimenting him on the title of the book, Roth said this:

“Yeah, this is great. But I would quit while you’re ahead. Really, it’s an awful field. Just torture. Awful. You write and write, and you have to throw almost all of it away because it’s not any good. I would say just stop now. You don’t want to do this to yourself. That’s my advice to you.”

My first reaction to this is: What a cranky dick.

Those of us who pursue writing already know it’s a difficult business. Hell, the fact that it’s a business at all nauseates us. But, we have to write. It’s not a choice. It’s a drive. Is Mr. Roth trying to tell us to just deny who we are? He could have just said, “Ignore all that business crap and write what you love” with a polite smile.

There are many writers like Roth who talk about writing as a tortured life. Styron said, “Let’s face it. Writing is hell.” Mailer said, “Every one of my books killed me a little more.” Balzac said, “I am a galley slave to pen and ink.” Sometimes I wonder if this cynicism is more rooted in depression or other mental illnesses that plague many writers (related post to come) than it is in the actual lifestyle of writing. Yes, being creative in a world that does not always reward pure creativity can be hard, but writing itself is fun. I can escape the world within the confines of my own mind. Isn’t that a luxury?

Tepper thinks so:
“And though I have only one novel published—and experienced none of the success of Roth—I still feel strongly that the one thing a writer has above all else, the reward which is bigger than anything that may come to him after huge advances and Hollywood adaptations, is the weapon against boredom. The question of how to spend his time, what to do today, tomorrow, and during all the other pockets of time in between when some doing is required: this is not applicable to the writer. For he can always lose himself in the act of writing and make time vanish. After which, he actually has something to show for his efforts. Not bad. Very good, in fact. Maybe too romantic a conceit, but this, I believed, was the great prize for being born … an author.”

All of us–writers or not–struggle with the balance between obligations and dreams, needs and wants. Most writers think Roth hit the jackpot by becoming wildly popular and making a life for himself with writing, essentially merging obligation and dream, need and want. Personally, I can see the strife in that. In my early twenties, I landed my first agent and one of the first things she said to me was, “Your writing is great, but you should have a normal career too.” I resented it at the time. I had romantic notions of paying all my bills via fiction. Now I see she was right. Having a day job with biweekly paychecks keeps me stable and secure enough to enjoy my writing, pressure-free. So, I feel for writers like Roth whose writing isn’t so pressure-free, but, still, they don’t have to be cranky dicks to aspiring writers who idolize them.

Author Elizabeth Gilbert issued her own response to the Tepper/Roth incident, challenging the notion of writing as a tortured life:

“In fact, I’m going to go out on a limb here and share a little secret about the writing life that nobody likes to admit: Compared to almost every other occupation on earth, it’s f*cking great. I say this as somebody who spent years earning exactly zero dollars for my writing (while waiting tables, like Mr. Tepper) and who now makes many dollars at it. But zero dollars or many dollars, I can honestly say it’s the best life there is, because you get to live within the realm of your own mind, and that is a profoundly rare human privilege. What’s more, you have no boss to speak of. You’re not exposed to any sexual abuse or toxic chemicals on the job site (unless you’re sexually abusing yourself, or eating Doritos while you type). You don’t have to wear a nametag, and–unless you are exceptionally clumsy–you rarely run the risk of cutting off your hand in the machinery. Writing, I tell you, has everything to recommend it over real work.”

Whether the life of a successful writer is torturous or not probably depends on the writer. Some of us have more self-doubts, stresses, expectations than others, or we interpret them differently than others.  Still, none of us needs a naysayer like Roth. After all, writers are adept at being their own naysayers. We need a comrade, someone to pull us aside and tell us to write what makes us happy and ignore the rest. I hope that’s what Mr. Roth himself is doing, behind closed doors.