Where's My Arc? or Writing Is Like Brushing Your Teeth

In one of my favorite TV shows, The Sopranos, Paulie Walnuts drops by to see his subordinate Christopher Moltisanti, who's riddled with depression and writer's block. Paulie asks what's the matter with him, and Christopher responds that everyone has an identity, except for him—even his deceased friend has a more concrete identity than him. He's asking himself, where is his arc that defines his existence?

He bought a screenwriting how-to book and a laptop in hopes that Hollywood glory will cure his ailment, but he can't seem to write anything. He assumed the computer would do all the writing for him. If only they had AI twenty-five years ago.

Paulie looks at Crissy, wondering why he's so blue. "What's the matter, Crissy?"

"You ever feel like nothing good was ever going to happen to you?" Christopher asks.

" Yeah. And nothing did. So what?" Paulie replies matter-of-factly. He goes on to say, "I'm alive. I'm surviving."

Christopher is desperate for an identity, for some type of recognition. As I get older, Paulie's advice isn't as cruel as it seems on the surface. In fact, both Christopher and Paulie are inside of us creatives. It doesn't matter if something comes of writing. We just have to do it. It's like brushing your teeth or walking each day. You don't score points for hitting keys on a computer, but it can be good for you. The more I create, the more I see it as a necessary part of my daily life maintenance.

Who cares if nobody reads my work or enjoys my art? It's not about that. It never was. It was necessary for my arc, even if it's done in secret. The majority of work is done in the shadows. We only ever see the finished product, and even that is superfluous. Treating creating like a basic necessary function of my life is perhaps one of the most important things I can do for myself.

Writing fiction for me is more rewarding and challenging. Non-fiction scratches my itch but doesn't quite nourish me. The process I liken to sitting near a pleasant window and a classy waiter bringing me tea that's only slightly too hot. I have the patience to wait and enjoy the scenery. My guest will arrive shortly.

On the other hand, I'm sitting in a foreign place waiting for tea when someone hits me over the head with a two-by-four and drags me outside. I'm bloodied, and they toss my body into the pool with bowling balls tied to my legs, hoping I drown. However, if I can get myself above water, I'm somewhere I didn't even know existed. A place better than a Hawaiian vacation. I completed a four-dimensional puzzle where I feel at peace.

A toast to completing many arcs in our lives.