Please be patient. I will get to David Foster Wallace in a minute, as I believe he deserves his due as a very accomplished writer. For now, I need to put into context why I chose this essay instead of tackling one of his more famous works. What makes “The Nature of the Fun” a significant essay to focus on during this particular week? The answer is one that exists not even in the subtext but the central premise of his argument.
At the time of writing this, I am not even 24 hours removed from a very big and personal accomplishment. It may not seem like it because to outsiders, it’s just another stop in a bigger journey. But for me, I finished my first draft of my second novel (release date TBD 2021) and there is something profound about reaching that point. I will not experience it on my second or third draft, maybe even my fifth. I won’t feel it again until I read it and have the instinct to say “Okay, this is the best that it can be.”
On the one hand, it will never feel as great as when I set out to tackle “Apples & Chainsaws,” which was more of a freeform, unwieldy novel jam-packed with ideas. For me, it was a moment where I NEEDED to put my whole self into it, for I would regret not having a novel that genuinely reflects my aesthetic. As nerve-racking as it is to have the public see it for the first time, it felt more like a chance to prove that I could do it.
In that respect, “Among the Crowded Air” is a simpler beast. I didn’t have to throw my entire self into it. I learned how to outline and pace my writing process more. It’s a move that helps you become more sympathetic to writing as an art form. I can appreciate the intent of the artist because I’ve had that struggle, going years on an idea that you want to build to its best form.
Ironically, I wanted my second novel to be more streamlined, and I am proud to say that it may have already proven that. Clocking in at under 300 pages, it took me less than a year to go from the outline stage to a complete first draft. I know that may come across as unimpressive, but sometimes ideas just flow through you, a vision comes together with an eagerness that refuses to leave you alone. There are definitely hurdles and future drafts will need major rewrites, but for now, I am here. I have a first draft in my possession, and it means much more than you could expect.
The act of creating is much harder than editing. That is just a simple fact. Ask anyone who has been pregnant, raised a child, tried to start a new business or relationship. You have no idea how things will go, and yet there is that optimism to try. Getting started is scary because of how much commitment there will be. You will need to make sure that your child doesn’t fall and hurt itself, that you’re doing what you can to make your business grow. You will make mistakes along the way, but hopefully it wasn’t a mistake to try in the first place, to bring something substantial to this world.
A book is a baby, cropped full of ideas that are (hopefully) meticulous in the collection and presented in a way that appeals to a reader. You need to shape it and create something meaningful. Editing is easier because at that point you can see its face. You can move the mole around the cheek, turn the hair blond, and extend their height by six inches. Small details can be changed. After all, most of your audience will do this job for you eventually. Why not make your baby look the best that it can?
Which brings me to Wallace. In a lot of respects, I could never be a writer on par with him. Even if I admire the maximalist structure of “Infinite Jest” that continues to encourage thought years after I’ve read it, I don’t know that I have that gift. Frankly, I’d be exhausted trying to even imitate him and his ability to mix sports and drug addiction narratives as effortful as he does. It’s what helps to make him a genuinely unique writer, and someone whose insight I greatly appreciate, even if I love making fun of his bizarre obsession with footnotes.
Among his shorter essays is “The Nature of the Fun” from 1998, which finds himself exploring the exact thing that I described. Starting with a quote from Don DeLillo’s “Mao II,” he explores the idea of writing on an insular level. Wallace claims:
The best metaphor I know of for being a fiction writer is in Don DeLillo's "Mao II," where he describes a book-in-progress as a kind of hideously damaged infant that follows the writer around, forever crawling after the writer (dragging itself across the floor of restaurants where the writer's trying to eat, appearing at the foot of the bed first thing in the morning, etc.), hideously defective, hydrocephalic and noseless and flipper-armed and incontinent and retarded and dribbling cerebo-spinal fluid out of its mouth as it mewls and blurbles and cries out to the writer, wanting love, wanting the very thing its hideousness guarantees it'll get: the writer's complete attention.
It’s quite a bold image and one that may be a bit more crass than my own sentimental take. I think of ideas more structurally, like blueprints for a building as I carry around notebooks and fill in the gaps while laying in bed late at night. I see it more as precious, but there is something to the idea of seeing writing in this light because it feels more honest. A book doesn’t exist in a notebook. It exists in your heart and mind until it is finished. Even then, you’re left with personal criticism and thoughts that carry for the rest of your life. If not the plot, then the idea that you can do better, improve upon your younger self.
This is only one aspect of his essay, but it feels like one that speaks directly to the artist, eager to make their work look the best that it can. Because it’s not there yet, it will always bother you. It will demand that you give it your undivided attention until it’s as beautiful as you, creating an offspring worthy of your name.
I’ll admit that I’m not doing his words justice. He goes into lengthier detail that would be criminal to just copy and paste. He has this way of mixing in humor and insight in such a way that draws the reader in, helping them to understand a perspective that they likely haven’t experienced personally. Given that Wallace spent years perfecting “Infinite Jest,” it makes sense that he pulls from firsthand experience, knowing exactly what it’s like when his five-page rant about drug paraphernalia is just that little bit off. He’s likely more of a perfectionist than I’ll ever be, and yet here I find that we’re copacetic.
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| Not from this essay, but still good advice |
The ideas branch out from there. With an essay broken up into multiple sections, he eventually goes from the deformed baby analogy to the author themselves. He talks about what it’s like to be a writer in terms of “the fun.”
Contrary to most people’s perspectives, I find writing to be “the fun” in my life, able to preserve my thoughts and ideas in ways that are hopefully accessible to the world. I started The Memory Tourist for very similar reasons. While some days have been less fun than others, the satisfaction it brings me every week is undeniable. While it doesn’t compare to writing fiction and novels, I recognize my eagerness to always be producing work as a tool that fits into my self-esteem, my reason for being. I need it for me because it’s fun.
Wallace sees it the same way. However, he complicates things when suggesting that “the fun” becomes less fun when you bring in success. Suddenly there are standards to compare to, the desire to impress and possibly lose your own authorial identity. It’s all a bit draining and “the fun” goes away. As a writer, I have yet to fully experience it for more than one or two projects at a time, but I understand his point. It’s one thing to be the parent of a deformed baby that you help beautify, it’s another to present it to the world and have it be understood. The idea of acceptance is incomparable. Hell, I would love to imagine “Among the Crowded Air” achieving that and I’m still a year off from any major announcement.
So what do you do? How do you make writing fun again? It’s about humbling yourself and understanding what drew you to it in the first place. While there are days where the unknown pressure of others impact my mood on writing, I always come back around to understanding that this is for me. It’s my way of communicating with the world and once I accept me for me, I can produce work that I’m proud of. If I’m not proud, then it will never be fun.
I promise that I will write a less selfish take on Wallace in the future. While he’s not a writer that I know that much about, he has continued to inspire me. There’s even something about his quiet and reserved nature that speaks to me, like in his interviews where he shares his personal views on the world. I recognize his shyness, his ability to be wise even if he seems like he’d rather be at home alone. He’s a writer with a soul so sensitive, eager to observe, and bring his own touch to things. I frankly wish that I’ve read more of his essays and will hopefully be changing that fact one of these days.
For now, I take his advice on what makes writing fun and try to apply it to my own life right now. As I finish the hard part of writing, I enter “the fun” where I get to look at my creation and reshape it into something that I think will be the most meaningful and substantial form of itself. I’m proud of it already, but I know where the flaws lie and how much I need to fix in the structure. Still, getting it out of your head requires an effort and patience that most aren’t willing to put up with, especially if they feared rejection to such an incredible extent.
I hope that this novel is great. Every writer in the process of a project should feel that way. While there are days where it feels like every word was painfully taken from my fingertips, it was all worth it to get to something more pain-free, more recognizable of what a novel is. I’ll continue to struggle with every step of Wallace’s “The Nature of the Fun,” but I’ll take his advice to heart, hopefully reaching breakthroughs as a result of his encouragement.
No two writers are the same, and to some extent, we need to stick together. Even if he’s not here in person, it does feel like he’s already left behind something worthy of discussion. I can only hope to do the same with my work.
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