Three Chords and a Story to Tell
I’m picturing Willie Nelson conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.
There he stands, his long braids hanging down the back of his tuxedo, a baton in one hand and his battered old guitar, Trigger, leaning against the podium. He’s played that guitar for decades. It’s scratched, worn, and has a hole in the front large enough to make you wonder how it stays together.
A hundred musicians sit before him, waiting for instructions. Willie surveys the violins, cellos, French horns, and percussion section. He scratches his head, puts down the baton, picks up Trigger, and says, “You folks mind if I just sing you a song?”
I think I know how Willie feels.
I’ve come to think of accomplished prose writers as symphony conductors. They understand the intricacies of their craft, the structure, the rhythm, and all the little things that make the pieces fit together. Many have spent lifetimes studying and perfecting their work. I admire them enormously, but I’m more like a fellow with a guitar, three chords, and a story to tell.
When I began writing, I knew there were accomplished writers out there and that it took years to publish. I’d been reading their books all my life. I understood that writing was a serious craft, but I had no background in it. Not enough to even scratch the surface. I had stories in my head, so I started telling them.
And before I quite understood what I’d gotten myself into, I’d blurted out two books.
That may not be the most elegant description of the creative process, but it’s reasonably accurate.
Only once I started writing did I meet people who had spent years studying the craft. People who talked about narrative structure, character arcs, pacing, point of view, and all sorts of things I’d never considered. I learned about writers who spent months developing outlines and years revising manuscripts. Some worked on individual passages dozens of times. I was awed.
I’m currently listening to an online class devoted entirely to secrets and lies in fiction. An entire class about secrets and lies! I thought I knew all about that topic. I’d always assumed characters lied because people lie. Sometimes to protect themselves, sometimes to protect somebody else, and sometimes because telling the truth would make the story considerably shorter.
You could spend the rest of your life studying the craft of writing and never exhaust the material—some do. I have serious author impostor syndrome (AIS). It’s not something I experienced once and overcame. It’s a fairly constant companion. I’ve written books. People have read them. Some have even told me they enjoyed them. Yet I can sit in a room with experienced writers and wonder what I’m doing there.
I have something in common with the cowboy who wandered onto the stage with a guitar and discovered he was sharing the program with the Chicago Symphony. But here’s something I’ve come to appreciate: the fellow with the guitar might have a pretty good song.
Joan Didion, whose writing I admired enormously, began learning her craft as a teenager by retyping Hemingway’s stories, word for word. Yet the two developed remarkably different writing styles. She learned from his writing without becoming another Hemingway.
You can learn the craft from other writers—even AI—but you can’t borrow the way another writer sees the world.
That brings me back to Willie Nelson. When Willie was establishing himself in Nashville, the professionals didn’t always know what to make of him. His phrasing was unusual. He didn’t necessarily sing on the beat. Sometimes he came in early, sometimes late, stretching a line or pausing where another singer wouldn’t. The producers wanted things done a certain way. Willie had his own way, and that unusual phrasing became one of the most recognizable voices in American music.
One of the most enjoyable things about writing has been discovering my own voice. I’ve written poetry. I’ve given inanimate objects personalities and allowed them to comment on the people around them. In one of my mysteries, a notebook has developed opinions about the people using it. I’m not sure what a professor of creative writing would make of that, but I’ve had a wonderful time doing it.
Sometimes I interrupt a serious scene with humor. Sometimes a character says something I hadn’t planned, and suddenly the story heads off in another direction. That’s the fun of it. I enjoy living in these imaginary worlds, spending time with the characters, and wondering what they’re going to do next.
Writing has changed the way I look at the real world, too. I love the research, particularly when I stumble across some obscure fact that sends a story in a direction I hadn’t anticipated. I’ve always had a bad habit of staring at people, wondering what makes them tick. What motivates them? What are they thinking? What might they be hiding? Now I understand why I do it. Still, I should probably be careful. Someone may eventually ask why that old man is staring at them.
I love imagining my characters, figuring out what they might say, and dictating their conversations. Sometimes I find myself talking to people who don’t exist, in places I’ve never been, about things that never happened. And having a wonderful time doing it.
Since stumbling into this world of writing, I’ve become an enthusiastic student of the craft. I read every book about writing that seems helpful, listen to lectures, and attend workshops. The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know, but I enjoy it.
I’ve always told my children, “Listen to everything. One piece of information can change your whole world.” I still believe that. Sometimes something I hear in a workshop changes the way I think about a scene I’ve already written. A small observation about dialogue or character motivation can open an entirely new possibility.
Learning gives me more things to play with.
I haven’t been on this writing journey very long. Recently, someone asked whether I thought I could keep up the pace at which I’ve been producing books. It was a fair question. I suppose I could burn out, run out of ideas, or simply lose interest. But I’ve always been something of a plugger. Give me a task, and I’ll work away at it until it’s finished. Then I’ll find another one. It’s how I’ve approached most things in my life, and apparently writing is no different.
Retirement has given me something I didn’t have during my working years: the time to explore a part of myself I never knew existed. I don’t know whether I would have enjoyed writing this much forty years ago. I was too busy doing other things to find out. Now I have the time to follow an idea wherever it leads, spend an afternoon researching some obscure historical detail, or dictate a conversation between two people who exist only in my imagination. Writing seems to fill something in me I didn’t know was missing.
I don’t wake up wondering how many words I have to produce that day. I wake up wondering what happens next.
I don’t know how long I’ll keep up this pace. But right now, I don’t see much reason to slow down.
Of course, I enjoy it when someone tells me they’ve read one of my books. It’s gratifying to discover that something I’ve created has given somebody else a little pleasure. At my age, being recognized for something new is pretty satisfying. But I’m beginning to think that if I write primarily for myself, I’ll come out ahead.
If somebody enjoys the book, wonderful. If it sells, even better. But if I’ve spent my time enjoying the company of characters I’ve invented, visiting places I’ve imagined, and having a good time doing it, I haven’t lost anything. I’ve already enjoyed the trip.
I suppose Willie Nelson could learn to conduct a symphony if he wanted to. But I doubt he’d trade his battered old guitar, Trigger, for a baton. I don’t have a Trigger, but I have something that’s become just as valuable to me: my own voice and the pleasure of using it.
I’m sure every writer understands that feeling. The pleasure isn’t just in finishing a book. It’s in the hours spent creating it.
I’ll keep reading, listening, and learning from accomplished writers. I’ll probably continue feeling like an impostor from time to time, but I don’t intend to put down my guitar while I study the orchestra. I’ve got characters waiting for me, places I want to visit, and stories whose endings I haven’t discovered yet.
And I’ve found some pretty good company to make music with along the way.
My favorite Willie Nelson song has always been On the Road Again. And that’s where I want to be.
Three chords, a story to tell, and making music with my friends.
Nashville songwriter Harlan Howard famously described country music as “three chords and the truth.” I’ve borrowed the three chords and substituted a story. I hope Harlan wouldn’t mind. Willie probably needs more than three chords anyway. (he used five in this song)