WE’RE ALL PROS ALREADY
All of us are pros in one area: our jobs.
We get a paycheck. We work for money. We are professionals.
Now: Are there principles we can take from what we’re already successfully doing in our workaday lives and apply to our artistic aspirations? What exactly are the qualities that define us as professionals?
We show up every day. We might do it only because we have to, to keep from getting fired. But we do it. We show up every day.
We show up no matter what. In sickness and in health, come hell or high water, we stagger in to the factory. We might do it only so as not to let down our co-workers, or for other, less noble reasons. But we do it. We show up no matter what.
We stay on the job all day. Our minds may wander, but our bodies remain at the wheel. We pick up the phone when it rings, we assist the customer when he seeks our help. We don’t go home till the whistle blows.
We are committed over the long haul. Next year we may go to another job, another company, another country. But we’ll still be working. Until we hit the lottery, we are part of the labor force.
The stakes for us are high and real. This is about survival, feeding our families, educating our children. It’s about eating.
We accept remuneration for our labor. We’re not here for fun. We work for money.
We do not overidentify with our jobs. We may take pride in our work, we may stay late and come in on weekends, but we recognize that we are not our job descriptions. The amateur, on the other hand, overidentifies with his avocation, his artistic aspiration. He defines himself by it. He is a musician, a painter, a playwright. Resistance loves this. Resistance knows that the amateur composer will never write his symphony because he is overly invested in its success and overterrified of its failure. The amateur takes it so seriously it paralyzes him.
We master the technique of our jobs.
We have a sense of humor about our jobs.
We receive praise or blame in the real world.
Now consider the amateur: the aspiring painter, the wannabe playwright. How does he pursue his calling?
One, he doesn’t show up every day. Two, he doesn’t show up no matter what. Three, he doesn’t stay on the job all day. He is not committed over the long haul; the stakes for him are illusory and fake. He does not get money. And he overidentifies with his art. He does not have a sense of humor about failure. You don’t hear him bitching, “This fucking trilogy is killing me!” Instead, he doesn’t write his trilogy at all.
The amateur has not mastered the technique of his art. Nor does he expose himself to judgment in the real world. If we show our poem to our friend and our friend says, “It’s wonderful, I love it,” that’s not real-world feedback, that’s our friend being nice to us. Nothing is as empowering as real- world validation, even if it’s for failure.
The first professional writing job I ever had, after seventeen years of trying, was on a movie called King Kong Lives. I and my partner-at-the-time, Ron Shusett (a brilliant writer and producer who also did Alien and Total Recall) hammered out the screenplay for Dino DeLaurentiis. We loved it; we were sure we had a hit. Even after we’d seen the finished film, we were certain it was a blockbuster. We invited everyone we knew to the premiere, even rented out the joint next door for a post-triumph blowout. Get there early, we warned our friends, the place’ll be mobbed.
Nobody showed. There was only one guy in line beside our guests and he was muttering something about spare change. In the theater, our friends endured the movie in mute stupefaction. When the lights came up, they fled like cockroaches into the night.
Next day came the review in Variety: “. . . Ronald Shusett and Steven Pressfield; we hope these are not their real names, for their parents’ sake.” When the first week’s grosses came in, the flick barely registered. Still I clung to hope. Maybe it’s only tanking in urban areas, maybe it’s playing better in the burbs. I motored to an Edge City multiplex. A youth manned the popcorn booth. “How’s King Kong Lives?” I asked. He flashed thumbs-down. “Miss it, man. It sucks.”
I was crushed. Here I was, forty-two years old, divorced, childless, having given up all normal human pursuits to chase the dream of being a writer; now I’ve finally got my name on a big-time Hollywood production starring Linda Hamilton, and what happens? I’m a loser, a phony; my life is worthless, and so am I.
My friend Tony Keppelman snapped me out of it by asking if I was gonna quit. Hell, no! “Then be happy. You’re where you wanted to be, aren’t you? So you’re taking a few blows. That’s the price for being in the arena and not on the sidelines. Stop complaining and be grateful.”
That was when I realized I had become a pro. I had not yet had a success. But I had had a real failure.
我們已經(jīng)都是專業(yè)人士了
我們都是一個領域的專家:我們的工作骤宣。
我們有工資译株。我們工作是為了錢各淀。我們是專業(yè)人士。
現(xiàn)在:我們是否可以從我們在日常生活中已經(jīng)成功地做的事情中吸取一些原則奋献，并將其應用到我們的藝術抱負中?我們作為專業(yè)人士的特質(zhì)到底是什么?
我們每天都來森书。我們這樣做可能只是因為我們不得不這樣做，以免被炒魷魚。但我們做到了朝聋。我們每天都來。
無論如何我們都會出現(xiàn)囤躁。無論疾病還是健康冀痕，無論遇到什么困難荔睹，我們都搖搖晃晃地走進工廠。我們這樣做可能只是為了不讓同事失望言蛇，或者出于其他不那么高尚的原因僻他。但我們做到了。無論如何我們都會出現(xiàn)腊尚。
我們整天都在工作吨拗。我們的思想可能會飄忽不定，但我們的身體仍在工作婿斥。當電話響的時候劝篷，我們接起電話，當客戶尋求我們的幫助時民宿，我們幫助他娇妓。汽笛一響我們就回家。
我們的任務是長期的活鹰。明年我們可能去另一個工作哈恰，另一個公司，另一個國家华望。但我們還會繼續(xù)工作蕊蝗。在我們中彩票之前仅乓，我們是勞動力的一部分赖舟。
我們面臨的風險是巨大而真實的。這關乎生存夸楣，關乎養(yǎng)家糊口宾抓，關乎教育孩子。它是關于吃豫喧。
我們接受勞動報酬石洗。我們不是來玩的。我們工作是為了錢紧显。
我們不會過分認同自己的工作讲衫。我們可能會為自己的工作感到自豪，我們可能會加班到很晚孵班，周末也可能會來上班涉兽，但我們意識到我們不是自己的職位描述。另一方面篙程，業(yè)余愛好者過分看重自己的愛好和藝術抱負枷畏。他以此來定義自己。他是音樂家虱饿、畫家拥诡、劇作家触趴。抵抗喜歡這件事。抵抗知道渴肉，業(yè)余作曲家永遠不會創(chuàng)作他的交響樂冗懦，因為他對交響樂的成功過于投入，對它的失敗過于恐懼仇祭。這位業(yè)余愛好者如此認真地對待這件事批狐，以致于他癱瘓了。
我們掌握了工作的技巧前塔。
我們對工作有幽默感嚣艇。
在現(xiàn)實生活中，我們會受到贊揚或責備华弓。
現(xiàn)在考慮一下業(yè)余畫家:有抱負的畫家食零，想成為劇作家的人。他如何繼續(xù)他的職業(yè)生涯?
第一寂屏，他不是每天都來贰谣。第二，無論如何他都不會出現(xiàn)迁霎。第三吱抚，他不是整天都在工作。他沒有長期的承諾;對他來說考廉，賭注是虛幻而虛假的秘豹。他沒有錢。他過度認同自己的藝術昌粤。他對失敗沒有幽默感既绕。你不會聽到他抱怨:“這該死的三部曲簡直要了我的命!”相反，他根本不寫自己的三部曲涮坐。
這個業(yè)余愛好者沒有掌握他的藝術技巧凄贩。他也不會在現(xiàn)實世界中暴露自己的判斷力。如果我們把詩給朋友看袱讹，朋友說疲扎，“太棒了，我愛它”捷雕，這不是真實世界的反饋椒丧，這是我們的朋友對我們很好。沒有什么比現(xiàn)實世界的驗證更能賦予人力量非区，即使它是為了失敗瓜挽。
在經(jīng)歷了17年的努力之后，我的第一份職業(yè)寫作工作是拍攝一部名為《金剛歷險記》的電影征绸。我和當時的拍檔Ron Shusett (Ron Shusett是一位才華橫溢的作家和制片人久橙，也曾制作過《異形》和《全面回憶》)為迪諾·德勞倫蒂斯(Dino DeLaurentiis)設計了劇本俄占。我們愛它;我們確信我們成功了。甚至在我們看完這部電影后淆衷，我們也確信它是部轟動一時的電影缸榄。我們邀請了所有認識的人來參加首映禮，甚至還把隔壁的酒吧租了出去祝拯。早到甚带，我們警告我們的朋友，這個地方會被包圍佳头。
但是沒有人來鹰贵。在我們客人旁邊排著隊的只有一個人，他在咕噥著關于零錢的事康嘉。在劇院里碉输，我們的朋友在無聲的麻木中忍受著電影。燈一亮亭珍，他們就像蟑螂一樣逃進了黑夜敷钾。
第二天傳來了各種各樣的評論:“……羅納德·舒澤特和史蒂芬·普雷斯菲爾德;為了他們的父母，我們希望這些不是他們的真名肄梨∽杌模”當?shù)谝恢艿钠狈渴杖腴_始增長時，這部電影的票房成績勉強達標众羡。我仍然抱著希望侨赡。也許只是在城市地區(qū)，也許在郊區(qū)玩得更好纱控。我開車去了一個邊緣城市辆毡。一個年輕人操縱著爆米花攤√鸷Γ“金剛怎么樣了?””我問。他反對閃過球昨《辏“沒看。這糟透了主慰∠荩”
我崩潰了。在這里共螺，我42歲该肴，離異，沒有孩子藐不，放棄了所有正常的人類追求去追求成為一名作家的夢想;現(xiàn)在匀哄，我終于在一部由琳達·漢密爾頓主演的好萊塢大片中嶄露頭角秦效，接下來會發(fā)生什么呢?我是個失敗者，一個騙子;我的生命毫無價值涎嚼，我也是阱州。
我的朋友托尼·凱珀爾曼(Tony Keppelman)問我是否要辭職，以此讓我擺脫了困境法梯。當然,不!“快樂一些苔货。你現(xiàn)在就在你一直想去的地方，不是嗎?當然立哑，你受到了一些打擊夜惭。但這就是在賽場上的代價。不要抱怨铛绰，要心存感激滥嘴。”
就在那時至耻，我意識到自己成了一名專業(yè)人士了若皱。我還沒有成功。但我真的失敗過了尘颓。
