Rome, December 23rd, 1903.
In response to a letter from a struggling young writer named “Mr. Kappus,” poet and novelist Rainer Maria Rilke wrote:
“I know, your profession is hard and full of contradiction of yourself, and I foresaw your complaint and knew that it would come. Now that it has come, I cannot comfort you…”
Rilke, a man considered one of the preeminent mentors of writers during his time, said it plainly: “I cannot comfort you.”
The words have sealed themselves within me over the years. We writers can become attached to those who support our craft and feed our emotional needs. At various points in my own career, receiving a sliver of positivity from a certain professor meant more to me than the words I wrote over top the drops of sweat that trickled from my eyebrows on those hot summer days spent writing in the garage.
Who holds your hopes? A family member? The editor who just asked to see your first chapter? Another writer you’re in secret competition with? Stand under a cold shower – warm is too comfortable. Rinse off your misplaced hopes and watch them rise within you by the thousands in the form of goosebumps.
As a writer, one can have the greatest support system surrounding them but the you is all that matters when faced with the music of silence and the hum of the blank page. You are what matters when fatigue after the day job makes the mere idea of writing feel like it possesses its own weight. You are what matters when the remote control teases you with the promise of zoning out by tuning in. You are what matters when the dog’s bark reminds you of the mailman which reminds you of rejection letters. You are what matters when the queries go unanswered, when revision number thirty-two looms, when you receive the notice of insufficient funds in your bank account.
Never stop absorbing support from outside sources, but always be aware of those times when your outside seeking must cease. Come on in. Stay awhile. In this world of Siri and cities and Skype, one of the most radical acts one can take is to purposefully shut out the outside distractions. Call it what you want – meditation or alone time – but know its value has not been lessened simply because it’s been disregarded by the go society.
We speak often of lighting the fire within. As writers, the craft is often what both lights and sustains our fires. So we must know that the struggle is coming, that it’s masked as self-doubt or burnout, as fatigue or other responsibilities. Our only constant is ourselves. The editor’s advice may be way off; the pen will certainly run dry. Lean into yourself, Writers. Do the work to make yourself stable enough to bear your own weight.
There is no greater confidence than that which comes from knowing you can rely on yourself.
The world will swirl on around us. We can’t stop it. In fact, we’ll often swirl with it.
I cannot comfort you.
Cameron Conaway is a former MMA fighter, an award-winning poet and the Social Justice Editor at the Good Men Project. His international investigations into child labor and human trafficking can be found in publications such as The Guardian, The Huffington Post and the Women News Network. Conaway is the author of Caged: Memoirs of a Cage-Fighting Poet and Bonemeal: Poems.
