Why do you write? (6)

... my publisher asked me.
In a round about way Paul Auster answered that question by telling a few short anecdotes, stories, that were just too good, or beautiful or special to remain untold. Once you see the stories around you, it is hard to keep them to yourself. Not because their meaning is so great, but simply because they are wonderful in themselves. Full of wonder. Or full of weirdness. May be they don't mean anything, but they make you look twice, you think again.
I don't write to thrill people. If a thrill is part of my stories, it is because it was there. The thrill is not the point. It is what happens going from A to B.
I also don't write for the plot or for solving the puzzle. Some of my plots are stronger than ohters, but I will not go out of my way just for the plot's sake.
So, that is what I don't do, and all I am proving is that if you approach something from the negative you can write forever without getting anywhere. Definition by negative only defines the negative.
I write because I know (I feel, I believe) that I have one really good story in me. World class story. And everything I write is my journey to get there. Sometimes I think I am getting close. Other times I feel I am nowhere near.

This is the dog

Why do you write? (5)

... my publisher asked me, and I realized that I haven't a clue. I write because I cannot imagine that I do not write. If I didn't write I would be lost, I would probably work all the time - I don't know. It is not that I am such a great writer, that is not what this is about, I know I am not, but writing is the only thing I really know. Not until this question had I realized how important it is to me and how little I know of the reasons why.
That in itself is rather revealing.
I write to tell about the thin line between reward and greed, how high reward leads to superiority and how superiority leads to self sanctioned greed. Once someone considers it a proven fact that he is better than others (because he makes a million or more a year) then anything goes. Once you are superior, right and wrong disappear as categories within yourself. Other people are wrong, you are right.
You have the money to prove it. Or the power.
I write about good and evil being in everyone and about crossing the line because often that is the only way to go.
At the same time, I never write about the motivations, about the inner thoughts, doubts, fears or barriers. I don't write about what happens inside you when the categories shift. May be I should, I guess, because that is also what happens.

Why do you write? (4)

... my publisher asked me.
Good question.
Do I write for myself or do I write to be read? Do I write to sell books? (Of course I do, every writer wants to sell books, but that is not the reason.) Do I write to make money? Do I want to be able to live off the income it generates? Or do I care?
Know what I mean?
Yes, I would love to be able to live off the money I make with my mysteries, my books, plays or screenplays. Yes, that is what I want, but I am nowhere near that. My latest book has now sold 1800 copies and sales are down to a couple of copies every month.
Realistically I should give it up. Maybe write another book once every five years and for the rest concentrate on something else. I have had my shot, I have published eight books and the financial result is pitiful. Sure enough, there are people who like my books, I even have a few fans, but the effort that goes into it is way out of proportion.
But does that matter?
"Why do you write?' my publisher asked me. And sure, I have to make a living. And sure, it would be convenient if writing and making a living could be the same thing. But the question is: would it be anything more than convenient?
Yes, it would. It would be very nice, too. But that is the same thing.
"Why do you write?" is like a hundred questions rolled into one. That is why it is such a good question. The answer can take you anywhere, and even when you think you have covered the ground pretty thoroughly there are still new angles to be found, new answers to be tried.
But at the same time I think of my own motto, the one on my homepage: "Ask not why people do things. Ask what they will do next."
Write another book. I guess.

Dog talk

I'm learning how to talk to the dog.
Stay. Down. Here. Good girl.
Deep stuff. The dog looks at me knowing I'm giving her life defining commands. Dog talk is easy, as long as you remember one thing: you have to mean what you say. Really mean it. Dogs have a built in bullshit detector. Never fails. You mean it, the dog will take notice. You don't mean it, she won't even look at you. It's a good system, but you have to keep the storyline simple.
Sit.

Why do you write? (3)

... my publisher asked me.
I was at a loss for words. Why indeed? What do I have to tell that others can't tell twice as well? It is a confronting question even though he didn't mean it like that. He simply wanted to know what drives me, what my interests are, my ideas, what my passion is (I hate that word!) - that sort of stuff.
The wish to be free of obligations and endless repetition. The wish to find a pivotal experience and to go through it. The idea that only in myself can I find the release of all structures, systems and rules and all that. Freedom is inside. Outside is luxury that most people can't afford - a country house with four acres of land (which is what you need if you want to keep the neighbors at a reasonable distance). And even if you can, you'll still find yourself wanting an extra acre or an extra couple of rooms, a basement or a second house where you can be free of all the obligations of the first.
Ah, the life of plenty.
"Why do you write?" he asked me, and the answer is that I write to be free. It is a state of mind that I am looking for.
The next question of course is this: is that enough to write good stories? Stories that mean something to those who read them.
Probably not.
Surely not.
But at least I got to first base. I find the freedom. It says nothing whatsoever about what I write and why I write that.
A, claro, as one says in Spanish.

Why do you write? (2)

... my publisher asked me.
'Because it is there', I wanted to answer, but I didn't. I sat and thought, trying to find another way to say the same thing without its lack of intellectual commitment.
Not easy.
'Because it is there' is so tempting. It is why sir Edmund Hillary climbed Mount Everest. 'Why?' the reporter asked. 'Because it is there', Hillary answered.
'Why do you write?'
Because the story is there. All I have to do is sit down and write it. Give it a way to form itself, to grow, to come into existence. Just like climbing Everest further defines the mountain, so does writing prove that the story exists. Even more so.
That is the beauty of it. It is not the creative part that is so attractive, it is helping the poor bugger that cannot speak for itself.
The story is there. It always is, funny as that may seem. It is just a question of finding it. Once you have spotted it, sitting there all huddled up, trying to hide itself from prying eyes, it is almost impossible to leave it alone. You want to care for it, raise it, feed it. Before you know, you reach out your hand and you start tugging, slowly and carefully at first, not wanting to inflict injury by pulling to hard. If it doesn't respond, you start teasing it, trying to tempt it out of its hiding place, working all the tricks and techniques you know.
Then, suddenly, it starts to move, and it comes to you like a neglected and undernourished dog that at first does not know if he can trust you, until he crosses the line, and throws itself at you and just loves you to bits.
If that's not why I write I don't know what is.

Why do you write?

...my publisher asked me, and it wasn't a loaded question.
'Because I want to tell stories', I answered and while I said it I realized there was something wrong. It isn't that I don't want to tell stories no, the statement I made was correct. Very much so. Telling stories is probably what I like best about writing. Once the pen starts to move I am able to tell things that I didn't know I had in me to tell. I am not much of a talker, I need the isolation to get me started. Writing is a way to open up a part of myself that would otherwise go largely unnoticed. So that wasn't it. If there was something wrong, then it had to be something else.
It may have been the ease with which I said it, too eager to say what I always say. There is nothing wrong with that, except that my publisher was talking shop and he expected me to do the same. As I gave my answer, I realized that I wasn't responding to his question in kind. He asked me why I write to find a way into the story of my next book. I had sent him a one page synopsis, which he liked, but he thinks the story has more potential than I may get out of it if I go about writing it in the way I am used to.
Does this make sense?
It does. You see, my stories tend to happen. They are good stories (most of the time), they are pretty well written (most of the time), they have a good plot, or at least an interesting one, the characters are okay, there is always some of the unexpected to keep the reader on his toes, but... they happen.
'Why do you write?' my publisher asked me and what he wanted to know was: what lies beyond the happening of my stories? He is convinced there is something there.
There is, but at the same time he is asking about something that lies beyond my visual reach. I know what he is talking about, I recognize it, but I can't see it. I can't reach out, grab it, pull it towards me and look at it.
'Don't you think there is a way to make it more personal?' he asked.
That is what he means.
Why do I write? To have stories happen or to load stories with something that hits the reader in the chest? My publisher is saying that I will never hit my readers in the chest as long as my stories just happen.
And it isn't a trick, a specific writing technique that I can learn, pick up or copy from someone else. 'Why do you write?' It is such a simple question. And the answer is simple, but it is not an easy one. Stories don't just happen. They always have an impact on the things that people believe and hold dear. If I don't talk about that impact then I will remain stuck in the happening.
'And I am sure you will write it well', my publisher said. 'I am sure it will be a really good story, but you have to bring it home. And home is where we feel what you write.'
Thank you very much.
The title I have in mind for my next book is strangely fitting. I am not going to say what it is just yet, but it has everything to do with the borders we set for ourselves and the borders that keep us where we are.

Gezondheid

Het schrijven gaat traag de laatste tijd. Alles gaat traag de laatste tijd. Sinds begin april - dat is alweer een maand - slokt mijn gezondheid een deel van mijn aandacht op. Dat gaat ongemerkt. Ongewild, zelfs. Lichamelijk voel ik me precies hetzelfde als ik me al jaren voel, maar door de uitslag van een biopsie weet ik nu iets wat ik daarvoor niet wist, dat ik prostaatkanker heb.
Toen ik het hoorde van de arts, wist ik het eigenlijk al. Het was geen verrassing. Ik hoopte natuurlijk dat het niet zo zou zijn, maar die kans werd steeds kleiner. Eigenlijk waren de mogelijkheden wel zo'n beetje uitgeput.
Maar goed, nu weet ik het dus en bereid ik me voor op de behandeling die gaat volgen. Opereren, waarschijnlijk, als alle verdere controles goed uitpakken. En dan na de operatie herstellen en opnieuw leren plassen. Dat soort dingen. Mijn zomer begint een heel andere vormen aan te nemen dan ik begin dit jaar had gedacht. Dat is niet erg. Ik doe wat er komt en in de tussentijd probeer ik nog een beetje te doen wat ik wil.

Leven zonder management

Langzaamaan begint de samenleving genoeg te krijgen van managers. Na de aanvankelijke algemene verbazing over het gemak waarmee deze nieuwe soort mensen zich in het bestaande milieu vestigde, schijnbaar zonder de verhoudingen ernstig te verstoren, is de soort uitgegroeid tot een plaag.
Nu pas blijkt dat manament zich in leven te houdt door te parasiteren op andere soorten, andere vakken. Management holt die andere vakken uit, waardoor de prestaties in dat vak na verloop van tijd gaan tegenvallen. De remedie van management is dat vak nog verder dan te overstelpen met managementinstrumenten, regels en procedures, waardoor de vakinhoudelijke prestaties noodgedwongen nog verder zullen dalen. Daarop volgen nieuwe ingrepen, die weer resulteren in verdere daling. Enzovoort.
Het doorbreken van de negatieve spiraal wordt steeds moeilijker, omdat er steeds meer managers komen die allemaal datgene wat ze hebben geleerd in praktijk willen brengen. Het is niet eens tegen beter weten in; de managementbeweging heeft zoveel momentum dat hij niet meer te keren is. Alle managers geloven heilig in management. Dat is niet zo verwonderlijk. Een manager kan zich het leven zonder management niet eens voorstellen. Toch zou dat juist een van de belangrijkste opdrachten van een manager moeten zijn. De salarissen van topmensen in het bedrijfsleven mogen van mij best verdubbelen, als daar tegenover een evenredige afname van het aantal managers staat. Dan maken zij hun primaire opdracht waar en daarvoor mogen ze worden beloond.