First craft, then art

"Art stands on the shoulders of craft." — Ann Patchett

Ann Patchett

Richard Russo quotes this bit of wisdom from novelist Ann Patchett in an essay called "Getting Good" in his book The Destiny Thief. The advice seems sounds, no matter what you are doing. It's actually just a fancy way of saying what we've all said at one time or another: You learn from your mistakes.

Russo goes as far as to say, "You come to understand that rejection, at least for a period of time, is indeed your friend." The early stories of J.D. Salinger were rejected regularly by magazines, including those magazines that would later welcome them. The same was true of Donald E. Westlake and most other writers who would later become successful. The "first novel" of many authors is actually their third or fourth, but just the first one accepted for publication. The earlier ones were rejected. They were just learning experiences.

The publication of Go Set a Watchman did no favors for its author, Harper Lee, for it was an early version of To Kill a Mockingbird. It just wasn't good enough, and so she put it aside and went back to work. When she had mastered the craft, she went on to produce art. It was unfair to later publish what was essentially a rough draft.

Russo's inclusion of the phrase "at least for a period of time" is important, for none of us can easily handle endless rejection. Something has to give. Most of us will move on to something else.

Among the saddest of literary stories is that of John Kennedy O'Toole, who in frustration at repeated rejection committed suicide at 31. Eleven years later, thanks to the efforts of his mother and novelist Walker Percy, A Confederacy of Dunces was finally published and went on to win a Pulitzer. What makes this story even more sad is that O'Toole had mastered his craft and produced art, yet still found only rejection. Percy himself admitted that when O'Toole's mother thrust the novel at him, he didn't want to read it and hoped it would be bad enough to discard after a paragraph or two.

It makes one wonder how much art might lie ignored at the bottom of publishers' slush piles.