Oh, sheesh. The following is taken from what started out as an email (and wound up an essay), and which I have decided to share here.
Before we begin, I find it prudent to make a few introductory remarks. The email is about writing and so is, in effect,
meta-writing. Meta-anything always gets confusing and is generally to be avoided. Furthermore, the essay stresses the importance of being interesting
without actually being interesting. There are several early indicators of this inconsistency, the most notable being it starts by making a mathematical definition. (Nothing opens an essay with a bang quite like dense mathematics.) But, on the other hand, it also emphasizes the importance of writing that which we want to write, and in the end, this is apparently what I felt like writing.
So, without further ado...
What is a book?Algorithmically, it could be defined as:
p(x) = "page x"
1. p(1) such that p(1) holds the average reader's attention for the span of an entire page.
2. p(n) such that Engaging(p(n)) >= Engaging(p(1))
3. Max n >= min number of required book pages.
My point being thus: it need not be smart, it need not be well-written, it need not be original, it
only must be interesting. Of course, a side effect of promoting interest is usually the promotion of some other attribute--for instance, to be "interesting" a book might utilize a great plot. But a deficiency in some or all writing mechanics need not kill the book or its ability to sell, so long as it somehow manages to compensate for these deficiencies and still be arresting.
I don't have a real good proof of how a book could, say, have poor plot, characterization, dialogue, and not provoke a blind rage in the reader. Yet plenty of books are published and sell well in which I can find no redeeming value. If
Transformers 2 teaches us anything, it is that quality has no strong correlation with profitability.
Forget being commercial, there may not even be any strict set of requirements for a book to be "good." Take Asimov, for instance. Flat characters, dull prose, and unfocused plots don't disqualify him as one of the masters; it is his
ideas alone that show sufficient genius to grip the reader. The abilities we naturally assume are mandatory for quality--I don't believe they're rigid. There may be purists who insist on some traditional forms but they're probably wrong and only put up mental blocks. The book snob within who insists, "You must fulfill such and such" is
wrong. Only on one point must we succeed, only one criterion must we fulfill: it must be interesting.
To achieve that goal it is imperative we be authorized to use
any means necessary. Stipulate some talent we lack and we are doomed to failure.
The point is this, mere diversion is not so very daunting a challenge. Each of us periodically has the capacity to entertain for a minute; we do this all the time with blogs and little creations. This is unnotable of itself, the ability is widespread and perhaps even common to humanity.
But the
commodification of our writing comes down to length. Anyone might occupy my attention for five minutes, but to hold it for hours on end is exceptional, and I willingly pay for it. The laws of supply-and-demand are at work here; the saturation of blogs cheapens all but the most exceptional, but interesting books are still rare enough to be valuable.
While I may be arguing we have no intrinsic deficiencies that preclude us from writing a good book, it still can be taken as an assumption that writing books is
hard. Again, that the market is not saturated, and books still have value, points to their relative scarcity. The only explanation for this is difficulty.
But from whence does this difficulty come? There are probably two basic explanations for this: first, most people haven't figured out how to be interesting, or how to stretch their scraps of worthwhile thoughts to the breadth of a full-length book. Second, at least for those of us who are not professional authors or journalists, the act of writing must be a taxing process. Many people, I would venture, simply don't have the energy to devote to the task, especially on top of the obligations of ordinary life.
While these are no meager problems, we have a leg up. Identifying the trouble goes a long way towards fixing it, and by clearly seeing the obstacle we have already have given ourselves an advantage.
As a solution, I propose the writing
itself should offload its own burden. If the act of composition is more engaging than all other pastimes, we will naturally prefer it over any competing hobbies. If the words we write are so exciting, enthralling, and alive that they are superior to all other competing activities, writing is
what we will do. People are naturally pulled towards doing what they enjoy most, so if writing is what we enjoy most it
will be what we do. And the act will be the means by which we gain energy, serving as a feedback loop to supplying its own impetus.
Furthermore, this is not only an answer to the second problem but also to the first (the matter of being interesting), so long as our tastes are disciplined and higher than average. If we self-filter, and create inspiring work, then we will not only be easily driven to completion, but when finished will have a product worthy of most men. Even supposing our tastes only ordinary, still we will have created a work that has worth to
us. If it was only wrought due to what we suppose as the inferiority of all other choices, then it was the single best use of our time, even if all others despise it.
The writing process seems a formidable challenge, which is why I am attempting to analytically deconstruct it.
Hopefully I have adequately supported my arguments, because my conclusions really are quite liberating. Writing need not fulfill
any criteria beyond being absorbing, and all other requirements are basically extraneous. Writing should only, only,
only ever be voluntarily attempted if it is fun. Else it will exhaust us in the pursuit, and, being only human we can hardly hope to accomplish that which self-defeats us.
If we are savvy, and play our cards right, the means are within our grasp.
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