Sharing is caring

Looking back on when I first decided I wanted to be a writer at age 19 or 20, I realise I had it all wrong. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with my writing per se, sloppy and juvenile though it was, but that the idea I had of what it meant to be a writer was completely warped.

I think a lot of what I was reading and watching at the time was responsible for the weird, reductive archetype of “the writer” that took shape in my head. The TV series Gossip Girl, for example, has a lot to answer for.

Should you have slept on it for whatever reason, Gossip Girl was a rather melodramatic affair, produced by The CW Network, which centred around an anonymous blogger chronicling the often iniquitous exploits of a group of hyper-privileged Manhattan teenagers. While most of the show’s characters were presented as being old-money rich and chiefly preoccupied with pushing each other into fountains and/or cakes (yes, really), the pursuits of one particular character landed a little differently.

Dan Humphrey is introduced to us in Season One as an aspiring writer and, perhaps most crucially, an outcast. As time goes on, he has a story published in The New Yorker (without his consent, but he’s happy about it); a tell-all novel published by Simon & Schuster (also without his consent, only he’s not so happy about it); and, in what must be one of the best cameos of the entire series, he even spends a summer assisting an alcoholic writer played by Jay McInerney of Bright Lights, Big City fame.

“I think a lot of what I was reading and watching at the time was responsible for the weird, reductive archetype of “the writer” that took shape in my head.”

But, as I’ve hinted at above, arguably the most important feature of Dan Humphrey as a character is that he is always alone — so much so that “Lonely Boy” becomes his alias. While the others gallivant about the Upper East Side, ostensibly attending Ivy League universities but never actually going to class, Humphrey sits at his desk in his Brooklyn loft, surrounded by first-edition Mailers and Pynchons, hating the world he has been ostracised from whilst simultaneously wishing he could be part of it.

Now, if you’re wondering what any of this has to do with, well, anything, stay with me. Although I am relieved to inform you that I never threw my friends (or my father) under the bus in a fictionalised exposé à la Dan Humphrey, unfortunately, several other aspects of his “the artist must stand alone to observe the crowd” schtick did seem to rub off on me. I stopped showing up to social events, not because I didn’t care, but because I believed I should always be working. I dropped out of university the first time round because, really, what was the point in a Modern Languages degree and a year abroad when all I wanted to do was write? I spent huge amounts of time alone, either at my desk or at a coffee shop somewhere, frantically crossing things out and balling up pieces of paper ad infinitum, because I thought that’s what you were supposed to do.

In the end, none of this really served me very well. I realise that any writer needs a certain amount of time alone in order to execute whatever it is that needs executing, but being alone all day, every day, never really seeing or talking to anyone? I’m sure it works for some, but it definitely doesn’t work for me.

It is worth acknowledging, however, that a lot of this behaviour will have come about as I was interested in writing fiction at the time. I wanted to be the next Bret Easton Ellis, only female. (I’m not sure how I thought I was going to pull this off, but never mind.) I even had a subscription to The Paris Review, and I was especially interested in their The Art of Fiction feature. When, in issue 195, I read that Jonathan Franzen would often drink so much coffee that he practically made himself sick, I thought I had better do the same. I wish I was joking.

“Being alone all day, every day, never really seeing or talking to anyone? I’m sure it works for some, but it definitely doesn’t work for me.”

Around this time, when I was working on what I thought would be the new Less Than Zero and consuming so much caffeine that my extremities would visibly twitch, I received an unexpected Twitter message from a boy I’d gone to high school with. He also wanted to be a writer, and was reaching out to tell me about an event he was involved in, and if I would like to come. He ended the message with a cheery “it’s nice to network!” Networking?!, I remember thinking, in my severely small-minded brain, isn’t that for, like, salespeople or something? Regrettably, I ignored the message, so sceptical was I of this belief.

But, you know what? He was absolutely right.

Not only is it nice to network, I would now argue that it is essential. In fact, I probably wouldn’t be here writing this were it not for networking with other writers. (Obviously 2020 has been a weird time for networking, so I am of course referring to the virtual, Zoom-assisted kind only.)

At the end of June my good friend Ellen Forster, who runs her own copywriting and web design business Content By The Sea, forwarded me the details of a webinar she was attending and thought I might like to attend, too. It was called Write about your life: how to start and get published, and it was being delivered by the writers Tiffany Philippou and Nicola Slawson. Unsurprisingly, I had nothing planned for the evening it was set to go ahead, so I followed Ellen’s lead and got myself a ticket. And I’m so, so pleased I did, because attending was a real turning point for me.

“Not only is it nice to network, I would now argue that it is essential.”

I made a lot of notes, covering everything from the universally soul-destroying process of pitching to the importance of knowing what stories you want to tell, and why. And a few weeks later, when I attended a travel writing and pitching workshop with the freelance journalist Grace Holliday, I saw a lot of the same faces, which was oddly reassuring — almost as though I’d stumbled upon a ready-made community of writers. Even in the “chat” boxes, writers both published and as-yet-unpublished were sharing experiences and encouragement with one another, and of course the hosts themselves did a wonderful job of sharing their routes to getting published.

Thanks to these people giving up their time to put on such sessions, I’ve been feeling more inspired than I have in a long time. And, after hearing their success stories, I feel newly compelled to go after some of my own.

Which I suppose brings me to the point of this piece (which, believe it or not, was never intended to be an analysis of Dan Humphrey): when it comes to the lonely vocation of writing, sharing really does matter. Were it not for the sharing of knowledge, ideas and experiences, or for those who have experienced success “paying it forward” in the ways described above, I doubt any of us would get very far.

Even away from platforms such as Zoom, hearing and reading about the experiences of other writers, or anyone whose work involves writing in some capacity, has been a huge help. For example, each episode of Emma Gannon’s Ctrl Alt Delete podcast seems to inspire me in a different way, while her brilliant book The Multi-Hyphen Method: Work Less, Create More, and Design a Career That Works for You is what finally persuaded me to give freelancing a try. The more I enjoy other people’s work, the more I want to contribute to such enjoyment by doing good work of my own.

“Were it not for the sharing of knowledge, ideas and experiences, I doubt any of us would get very far.”

I’m sure there’s something to be said for standing alone to observe the crowd in certain disciplines, but that certainly isn’t where I’m at right now. Maybe one day in a vague, far-off future I’ll revert to wanting to write fiction again, and maybe I’ll go full recluse and shun everyone and everything including Wi-Fi connectivity but, for now, I strongly believe that sharing is where it’s at. So I’m going to keep listening and reading, participating and pitching, and indeed sharing. Oh, and I promise I’ll try to keep my coffee consumption below vomit-inducing levels.

This piece was originally published on alisonlaurabell.com in 2020.