The Romantic Myth of Long-Form Writing

As a writer and a film lover, I've fallen into the trap of watching many movies about writers. It's not necessarily a bad thing; I find most of them enjoyable and interesting. That said, writers are almost always presented in the most romanticized version of the job possible. Sure, they might be struggling or impoverished, but they have that beautiful typewriter that sounds so pretty when it clickity-clacks along! And gosh does the time fly by... that novel they wrote, it only lasted for a twenty second montage. Lovely.Or not. Real life's not like that. Everybody knows it's not like that. But I still get amusing responses from people when I tell them I'm a writer. I don't always have to choose to tell them that, of course, for a variety of reasons, but when I do, I often see them envisioning the life of the writers they've seen on the screen tapping away at lightning speed with dim light and perfectly crafted sentences. The romantic notions are almost always reserved for long-form writers. Somehow journalists don't receive the same type of reverence. (I know this from testing out the theory from my various work over time. As a writer, it's imperative to occasionally use people for research subjects.)Now that I've spent more time on long-form writing, I have a different perspective. Long-form writing is hard -- and the rewards are generally delayed. I knew it wouldn't be easy when I signed my first book deal. I'd written enough longer articles to understand the process involved. I knew it would take time when I jumped back into screenwriting. But knowing it and living it are two different things.The daily life of the long-form writer involves a lot of research, rewriting, fighting inner demons, rewriting more, researching further, finding rare moments of inspiration and brilliance, then diving back into the slog, detesting the results, becoming frustrated, and calling it quits. That's most days. More rare are the ones presented in the movies where the writer emotes all over the keyboard, weeping or shouting with joy from amazement in her own work. That's not me anyway. I don't ever do that. Sorry. On the best day, I might give myself one satisfied smile at the end of a productive day, but then I become sad because I know the next day couldn't possibly be as productive. Such is the writer's life.Over the past four months, I've written a greater volume of material than I've written in years. It's taken a lot of dedication and commitment. And the only reason I've gotten that done: I sacrificed meetings and outings. I cut way back on appointments of any kind. I've been laser-focused on deadlines. I have incredibly detailed spreadsheets to manage my days and my work.But it can be lonely. It's not like the movies. It's a job. I get up, get ready to work, eat, start working, take breaks, eat more, work more, take another break, work more, then call it a day, sometimes returning to work after dinner. Once you dive into the world of long-form writing, you learn that everybody else who's successful does the same thing. I'm reading a biography about George Lucas. For much of his career, he apparently hated screenwriting. Yet he forced himself to sit down every day and do it -- for months and sometimes years -- to get the job done. Star Wars wasn't born from a fleeting flight of fancy; it happened because Lucas forced himself to stare at a piece of paper every day, writing his story out in pencil.Now here I am blogging about this because it's nice to take a break and change things up. It feels good to get away from the monotony, even though I love the long-form writing process. Blogging is the anti-long-form. It's instantaneous gratification. It's short and sweet. Don't get me wrong -- I love all forms of writing -- and I hope to continue having a varied career in this respect. But at the end of the day, the feeling you get from finishing writing a book or a blog post is the same thing. Sure, the feeling accompanying the book publication is absolutely magnified, but it's also a blessed relief that the thing's done.The bottom line for me is that I find a different kind of mental satisfaction from my work that's the result of significant intellectual effort. When I've spent time researching, interviewing people, sifting through ideas, working through content, rewriting until it truly sings, and coming up with something I can be proud of, that provides a real sense of accomplishment. I've only ever achieved that type of feeling from longer articles, book chapters, or scripts I've written. It can come from a collection of shorter works, but generally only when viewed in retrospect after time has passed.So for anyone who asks me if they should write a book (I get asked this a lot), I generally present the worst side of long-form writing: the long hours with barely any contact with others (except of course the editor, agent or producer, who's pressing constantly on deadlines). The topic of financial ROI is for another time, but the personal ROI is worth it.