Get Cracking

Granted, some of A Writer's San Francisco made me feel guilty. In one spot, Maisel writes, "It takes no special skill with words to tell some decent truths. ... You only have to stand up — that's the main thing." Ouch. In another, Maisel admonishes us to "honorably rewrite," which is much harder than it sounds. He insists that one must "Be incandescent — or nothing will happen." But what to do if the light's gone out? Rekindle, he says. If only that were easy. Perhaps that's the point: None of this is easy. You want easy, be a crossing guard.

There's a lot of humor and even a little anger in A Writer's San Francisco, especially when it comes to the sorry state of book publishing. One hilarious chapter tells the story of a party Maisel attended, at which he met an accountant who told him about the "fiction proposal" he planned to put together for his thriller. He quotes the fellow partier: "'I pity any novelist who thinks that he can make it on the merits of his novel!'" Maisel has the urge to push the palm of his hand up through the man's nose, but "How fortunate ... that I had my hands full with wine and cheese." Too bad, I say; this idiot deserved a firm slap, at the very least.

Maisel even goofs on himself. In one anecdote about a "fastidious, overbooked eye surgeon" working on his first novel, he tells the man that "Instruction ... is the wrong approach to novel-writing." But then, what is Maisel doing if not instructing? In a later chapter, he explains: By asking this question — that is, by refusing to submit to someone else's idea of how to do things — you free yourself to do things your own way.

I finished the book thinking about my existential dilemma. It seems to me that the goal isn't to matter to anyone else. It's to matter to yourself. You're not required to create the Great American anything; if you've made yourself happy, that's enough. Here's how Maisel puts it: "We ... let go of our longing that life live up to its reputation."

So here we are, at the end of the year. Did you create anything in 2006 that you're proud of? If not, read A Writer's San Francisco. You know what to do with those eggs.