My daughter, Mudra, sent me a book on writing, which consists of many 1-3-page essays that return to the same theme again and again. The book is in its 14th edition, so it can’t be bad, and my daughter likes it, and she writes and graduated a communication major.  But I found the book ticked me off from the first few pages, so much so that I rebelled against it right away, and that meant that I decided to carry it in my backpack until I finished it. I am three-quarters through it, and things don’t look like they are going to get any better. If it does, I’ll be sure to do add a “part two” to this essay.

But, let me begin on a positive note and talk about some good advice I received on writing from a bestselling author, Gary Zukav, who I have known for over thirty years. Mudra and I were his guests for a few days recently, Mudra meeting Gary for the first time, and myself playing catch-up with Gary and his partner Linda Francis, neither whom I hadn’t seen in over a decade.

Gary and I share many interests which include philosophy, psychology, love of nature, Buddhism, and so forth. I wasn’t visiting Gary and Linda specifically for a fresh insight into my writing, but when you meet with bestselling author for a few days it is bound to happen. And, it did.

I enjoy writing essays and even wrote a guide book to Nepal and a Nepali phrase book, but I always wanted to write a real book, a novel, or story of my life, basically something more substantial. My father had said to me on several occasions, and my friends, too, that I should write a book, and when I asked, “what about,” replied, “your life.” So, maybe that is where the genesis for writing a book comes from. If it is, it is not enough. That is what I learned from Gary.

The four of us, Gary, Linda, Mudra, and I were having one of our multi-hour “teas” absorbed in conversation that ran the gamut from physics to meditation, when it turned to writing, an interest of all of us. I entered the conversation as Gary, Linda, and Mudra were discussing a book she is working on tentatively titled, “The Monk’s Daughter,” and said, “I would like to write a book,” to which Gary replied without missing a beat, “What makes you think you have something to say?”

And, Gary didn’t stop with that one-liner. He pressed his point and insisted that writing is not just an exercise to prove you can, but writing is the expression of something welling up inside that you just can’t keep out. You feel a part of you has something to say and demands you to say it. You have no choice.

Gary’s enthusiasm and honesty really has me thinking about my motivation to write. Am I writing to write a book, or am writing to say something? And if so, what? You want to write a book that is read because it has something valuable to say. And, I suppose, taking an artistic stance, if you are going to describe a scene, landscape, flower garden, hot rod, pastry, or whatever, describe it only if it truly moves you, and not just to display your craft as a writer.

Now, let’s turn to the book that ticked me off. It probably ticked me off, surprise, surprise, because it echoes my own thoughts on writing. I have often sat down for a writing session with no idea what I am going to write about and randomly chose some thought swimming in my head, probably one which has swam by many times before, and perhaps was the subject of an essay of mine. Or, I will make an exercise of describing a personal viewpoint on celibacy, frugality, yoga, diet, Tantra, Mahamudra, shopkeeper Wisdom, Enlightened Master Wisdom, and so forth.  If I am really desperate, I may write about wherever I happen to be sitting, the scenery, flowers, sky, cliffs. I am challenging myself to create something interesting even if I don’t feel it, just as the “tick-off” book recommends. Is it not like making love when you don’t feel it?

I learned something from Gary and that is that the reader must be valued. I should want to say something from the bottom of my heart to the reader, something I truly feel is of value, that I must communicate, and that I must be understood. Gary didn’t discourage me to write, but to reevaluate an author’s responsibility to himself and his reader.