Are You Working Hard or Hardly Working?
How do you measure your effort? Page count? Sweat? Tears? A sore butt?
What does “working hard” look like to you?
It was a sunny late-September morning in 2002, and what shows up in the mail? The October “International Musician,” the monthly newsletter of the American Federation of Musicians. This was an anomaly. The IM never arrives early! This is like it's March 18th, and St. Patrick is cleaning up, and the Easter Bunny pops his head in and asks, “Is it okay to start hiding the eggs?”
I turned to the audition ads in the back pages (Unemployed musicians read the IM like Jews read the Torah: right to left), and there it was, my second dream job: Bass Trombone, Lyric Opera of Chicago. (Los Angeles Philharmonic was my first.) My eyes twitched over the ad like scanning a weekly lottery ticket for the lucky numbers, and I found the email address to submit a resume. I anti-moseyed (whatever the opposite of moseying is) to my computer, composed a pleasant email, attached my always up-to-date resume, and pressed SEND. No more than seven minutes later, I received a reply with the audition requirements. In eight minutes, I had all the information I needed for an audition more than four months away. I began training for this grand opportunity like an opera-obsessed crazy person.
I listened to opera, watched opera, lived and breathed opera. I methodically practiced day and night, training my lips and lungs for the bass trombone opera Olympics. I sought the professional guidance of every teacher that wanted was paid to listen to me. I played the excerpts with sections of friends and colleagues. I knew this music backward and upside down.
My dedication to the task ran so deep that I promised myself that if I ever got a dog, I would name it “Fafner,” after the bass-voiced giant-turned-dragon from Wagner’s Ring Cycle!
There was nothing else in my life but O P E R A!
On the big day of the audition, I played three excerpts and was dismissed with a “thank you,” which really meant “No thank you.”
I worked my ass off and didn’t even come close to winning the job. (Cool story, bruh. What’s the point?)
Eight months later, I won my current job. There’s no question that I undoubtedly improved as a player and a musician during my training, bruh!
Twenty-one years later, that passionate musician is a writer, and he’s got a few goals. The artistic medium is different, but my self-competitive wired brain is the same.
I signed up for every newsletter, followed countless writers and agents on social media, joined two wonderfully supportive writing communities, bought a ton of craft books, I read voraciously, my body clock wakes me at 4:30 am every morning without an alarm so I can write without interruption…
And have I achieved my top writing goals? Not even close.
Is that the definition of working hard?
To me, to my brain, to my being, working hard has always been a Herculean feat. I’m an 80’s kid. My dreams were fueled by training montages from the big screen: Rocky, Karate Kid, Police Academy, Police Academy II, Police Academy III…
Shortly after my writing journey began, the Broadway musical, “Hamilton,” caught the world by storm. Of the 20,520 brilliant words in the libretto, the following line was the first one committed to memory because it hit me like a ship crashing into the harbor.
This line lives rent-free in my soul.
Perhaps my approach to working hard is wrong.
Instead of working on my writing with “Eye of the Tiger” playing in the background, what if I took a more zen approach?
As a member of the ADHD club (Where did I leave my membership card???), I am easily distracted. The dopamine rush of notifications, games as distractions, and feeding insecurity with pleasure (seasoned sunflower seeds make you better, and chocolate too, as well as Instagram Reels. I read that in a study somewhere) brings my brain joy. Not my productivity but just my brain.
What if I took the zen approach? What if working hard meant quieting everything? Less is more? Use the Do Not Disturb function on my devices, delete the apps of distraction, and clear off my desk of all clutter. I don’t know about you, but I am who I am. The games get re-downloaded, I can still check social media (Did anyone like my post???), and shit piles up on the desk anyway.
But during the quiet parts, I got stuff done… like write this post.
Quantity or Quality
The last time I read more than 20 pages in one sitting was the opening of the final book of the Harry Potter saga in 2007! Since then, I read in short bursts, knowing my attention will likely divert. Probably why I love micro-fiction so much. Does that mean I’m not a capable reader? Hardly. For the second year in a row, I surpassed my Goodreads annual challenge goal by 30%, and there are 31 more days to add more book! (Not a typo. I wrote “book” and meant it.)
And yet, I’m still frenetically working on my craft like the race is passing me by.
*Extra super-supportive side note*
If you are an annual competitor of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), and you didn’t meet the goal of creating 50,000 words last month, you did not FAIL, and you did not LOSE. It’s a competition with yourself, not anyone else. Therefore, the date is November 31st, 32nd, or 58th, whenever you read this. Keep going! That makes you a winner!🏆
Some truths:
Comparisons are pointless. I’m not you, you, or you, and you’re not me. If you state your accomplishment on social media or tell me in person, I will applaud you, and instead of seeing where you raised the bar, I’m going to search for wherever the hell I left mine.
Writing is not a sprint. Even if I can craft 1,000 words in the blink of an eye, it takes forever to edit them into something coherent the first time. They’ll get edited again and again, adding more time.
Growth is not a sprint. You will progress as much as you are supposed to. If you take the time to focus on one specific thing, which is perfectly acceptable, all the other parts will stay in place till you come back for them.
For most of us adults, writing takes place in the gaps of real life. Day jobs, family events, life events, etc. Unless you’re a full-time writer, you and I do this when we’re not doing all the other things.
Quality beats quantity every single time. 1,000 pages of crap doesn’t mean a thing. 10 pages of well-crafted prose is far superior.
Does this perspective change my outlook on the Hamilton quote?
Yes: I am doing what I am capable of doing right now as my life continues along its timeline. (Thanks to Loki, right? OMG, that finale!)
No: I’m still me, I’m in my 50’s, and…
🎵“There’s so many things I haven’t done. Just you wait. Just you wait!” 🎵
So, what do I do?
Write on!
Love reading your postings
"Growth is not a sprint." TRUTH!