Sometimes I wonder why I still write.
Because I have something to say. Because wish to inspire people with my words.
That’s the narrative I tell myself. But lately, it hasn’t rung true.
Did I have anything worthwhile to say?
I attended a writing workshop in the fall, hoping to revitalize my motivation and to get my writing groove back.
Every Thursday, we would meet downtown in-person and share our writing, then we would receive feedback from the instructor, an established author with several published works under their belt.
Going in, I felt pretty good about my ability. I had published a few short stories over the years and was on my way to finishing my novel. I guess you could say I had a pretty healthy level of confidence about my writing.
But as the weeks wore on, and I listened to works by other students, my confidence began to take a nosedive.
Some of the writing was good. Like, really good. I began to question whether I had an inflated sense of the quality of my own writing.
I started the class hoping to feel energized and invigorated. Instead, I finished that final week feeling demoralized and defeated.
And because I wound my identity so tightly around being a writer, I began to equate my writing failures as my own personal shortcomings.
I didn’t like my writing, and thus, I didn’t like myself.
Worse still: my manuscript still wasn’t finished.
In the spring of 2023, I received a grant from the Toronto Arts Council to help with the writing of my novel. Well, 6 months came and went, and I was barely any closer to accomplishing my goal; in December, I had to go to my program coordinator with my tail between my legs, begging for an extension.
So that is the mood I carried with me into 2024. Racked with feelings of inadequacy, writing became a psychological struggle. Every morning I sat in front of my laptop, I battled with my own thoughts, questioning why I even bothered to continue this endeavour. Wondering that if I were to miraculously accomplish my goal and eventually publish this book, would anyone even care.
I was in a funk. I took a pause from writing to focus on other pursuits. I became reacquainted with the library of games saved on our Nintendo Switch (as an aside: I highly recommend Dave the Diver, it’s the quirky lil’ indie title cure for what ails ya). I focused on personal development, taking yoga classes and learning about programming languages. I went back to reading, both physical books and audiobooks.
It was through audiobooks that I listened to A Paper Orchestra by Michael Jamin. In my pursuit to become a more effective writer (and to break the two-year long streak of rejections I had been receiving by literary journals), I went all in learning proper story structure, culminated in the purchase of Jamin’s screenwriting course.
When it comes to screenplays, I’m an extreme novice, but I still found value in Jamin’s no-nonsense, easy-to-understand approach to storytelling. So when I received the email about his upcoming book, using one of my Audible credits to show my support seemed like a no-brainer.
When it comes to nonfiction, I tend to gravitate toward self-help and memoirs (in fact, my most recent listen was a memoir by Reggie “My Body is Ready” Fils-Aime, former CEO of Nintendo of America). I was trying something new by listening to Jamin’s book, which was a collection of personal essays.
Similarly, Jamin also plays against type with A Paper Orchestra. Known for his work writing on such hit comedy shows as King of the Hill and Maron, Jamin shows his range to deliver an earnest, heartfelt window into his psyche.
I say earnest because I’m struck by how much emotion is packed into this audio. Jamin himself is narrating, and as he recounts some particularly heart-wrenching moments of his life, you can actually hear the lump in his throat as he expounds genuine anguish and sorrow in his breaking voice which makes for a profoundly immersive experience.
Some of the standout stories of the collection include “4th and Long”, “Rapid Italian”, “The House on Witherspoon Street”, and “Melrose Last Place”.
But the thing I genuinely enjoyed the most about “A Paper Orchestra” was learning about the man behind the words. It was refreshing to see how vulnerable, how fallible Jamin portrays himself despite being the main character. At several times he portrays himself as petty, immature, inappropriate and just downright inadequate.
In other words, Jamin reminded me a hell of a lot of MYSELF.
It gave me immense hope, listening to this audiobook. Here is a man who is crippled with neuroses and anxiety – to the point where it alienates his own two daughters – and yet, through his trials and tribulations, still accomplished his dream of becoming a television writer.
Did it happen right away? No; in fact, as mentioned in “The House on Witherspoon Street”, though Jamin was accepted into Princeton, he could never achieve a spot in the coveted creating writing program, citing lack of skill.
But that’s precisely what gives me hope. I feel like I’m in the creative doldrums of my writing journey, but I also realize that the only way to escape it is to keep writing.
Write more stories that interest me. Write more outlines to finally beat my understanding of story structure into submission. The prescription, clearly, is more discipline, not less. If I truly love writing – and I do, clearly, I still do – then I have to soldier on when the voice inside me says I’m not good enough or I have nothing clever to say.
Perhaps it’s true now…but it won’t be true forever. Life is an illustrious tapestry of highs and lows, and it’s up to me to embrace them all in order to get back to where I need to be in my writing.
THAT is what I think Michael Jamin is going on about in his new book. A Paper Orchestra is the perfect companion piece to anyone currently undergoing a creative crisis of self. It is also a perfect choice for anyone who simply values a good story, but to truly appreciate the collection, I recommend purchasing the audiobook version.
I’m glad did, as it helped me believe in myself again.
A Paper Orchestra is available in print, ebook, and audiobook format at MichaelJamin.com.
Wow, very relatable. Thanks for sharing!