My World—and Welcome to It
What Walter Mitty has taught me about work habits
For years I spent countless hours researching and writing a book about Martin Van Buren, a forgotten president. My next subject is even more obscure. I’m not prepared to reveal who this mystery man is yet because I don’t have a contract. Once I do, I will pull back the curtain. Until then, you’ll have to trust me; he’s so little-known only a small group of academics know who he is.
Just because someone is obscure today does not mean that he was obscure in his own time, of course. In fact, he was rather famous. This prospect—of re-creating a long-lost world, of bringing the dead back to life—is what makes history so thrilling and what inspires me to go to my office every day, even when I feel hopelessly stuck and struggle with self-doubt.
When you write about an unknown, your task is that much harder. In addition to all the usual work that goes into putting a life story on paper, you must consistently demonstrate that your subject is worth the reader’s time and that his obscurity is, to some degree, undeserved. (You must convince a publisher of this as well, but that is another story.)
In order to achieve this, I must be in the proper frame of mind. This means creating my own fantasy world. Yes, I’m a regular Walter Mitty. James Thurber’s marvelous creation dreamed he was a fighter pilot and an expert card player; in my world, I’m rescuing someone from oblivion; I’m writing to a large, enthusiastic audience that will devour every page. The book will be widely read, reviewed, and admired, perhaps even win an award. I was reminded yesterday of what a fantasist I can be when I watched the live streaming of the Pulitzers. My heart raced a bit when the finalists in the biography category were read. Could I really win? A finalist, at least? Sometimes I wonder if Rupert Pupkin is the more apt fictional character I resemble.
Now, I don’t want you all to think that I’m utterly delusional (mildly, maybe). I’m aware of the challenges in publishing nonfiction in today’s market. Even so, I can only write with the hope that my enthusiasm will be rewarded in the end. I couldn’t do all this grueling work otherwise.
I often wonder why I’m drawn to those whom history has forgotten. I don’t think it’s deliberate. (Freud would say it’s deliberate.) In truth, I admire those who’ve found success writing biographies for a mass audience, even if I don’t always care for their books. More power to them. I’d be delighted if I ever wrote a New York Times best-seller. I want Hollywood to come knocking. I’ll take their money. I don’t want fame, mind you; I want enough money so that I can write full-time, travel, and spruce up my backyard a bit, which sounds modest but is quite expensive. All of this seems unlikely, however, given my interests and how the world works these days. But I can’t worry about that. I must pursue the topics that inspire me. And that’s not Elon Musk, unfortunately.
So every day (more or less) I go to my desk, clear my mind as best as I can, and write. Gradually the magic happens: words lead to sentences, sentences lead to paragraphs, paragraphs lead to chapters, chapters lead to books. All while I inhabit my world, which, as I’ve demonstrated here, you are welcome to. This bubble keeps me focused and allows me to enjoy my work. Even on my worst days, there is nothing I’d rather be doing.