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Wallpaper of the Writer’s Prayer NOW AVAILABLE.
You’re so close to the end. It’s almost over. You can taste it. But you’re scared. Lip quivering. Hands milky with sweat. Britches stained with the fluids of fear. Hell with that. Time to slap on your ass-kicking outfit, whatever it may include (cowboy duster? stiletto heel boots? red velvet Fez? something with denim fringe?). Now you must wield your chosen weapon: a cherry red electric guitar with a neck that’s also a Turkish kilij scimitar and the power to strike a metal chord and launch a 40mm grenade — foomp! – into the crotch of your enemy, and then the grenade explodes into a shrapnel of fountain pens and searing hot ink. Finally: crank the music that boils your blood into your brain: a ratta-tatting snare, some Guns n’ Roses, a little “Don’t Stop Believing,” a dollop of Wu-Tang, or maybe Tom Jones’ “Sex Bomb.”
Then, stand in front of a mirror. Douse yourself in gasoline. Light yourself on fire.
And repeat after me.
This is the Writer’s Prayer. This is the Penmonkey’s Paean.
I am a writer, and I will finish the shit that I started.
I will not whine. I will not blubber. I will not make mewling whimpering cryface pissypants boo-hoo noises. I will not sing lamentations to my weakness.
My confidence is hard and unyielding. Like a kidney stone lodged in the ureter of a stegosaurus.
These are my adult pants. The diapers have burned away in the fires of my phoenix-esque rising.
I will burn down the forest. As the conflagration rages, all my excuses shall come scurrying forth like syphilitic rats whose backs smolder with the smoky scent of my coming victory. When my excuses bound, shrieking and squealing, toward my feet, I shall use my mighty wordhammer to squash them all, ‘asploding each like a sausage stuffed with self-deception and disillusionment.
This book is not the boss of my shit.
These characters dance when I tell them to dance. They leap, cackle, fuck and punch because I jolly well told them to and if they don’t do as I say I will have them nibbled to death by marmots.
This plot is knotted tight in the configuration I demand. With it I shall tie a noose, and with that noose I shall hang my fears and uncertainties by the neck until they void their bowels and their legs quit kickin’.
These words march in the order I choose. They are my little bitches, cobbled together of letters and made to carry heavy notions and lofty ideas and character motivations and bad-ass non-stop mad ninja action. In this way they are like ants, carrying more than they should rightfully be able to carry.
They can even be forced into sentences that no one has ever written before. “Betty Scarpetti can take pictures with her robotic hoo-hah, and those pictures will steal your dreams and sell them to goblins working the Secret Carnival down in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly.” See? Nobody has ever written that before. Every word journey is a Journey West. I am Lewis, and I am Clark. I am not the Donner Party.
I recognize that writing a novel is hard. And I don’t give a lemur’s left foot. I don’t give a good goddamn. I don’t give two shits in a wicker basket. The best things in life are hard. Like hunting pterodactyls. Like getting married. Like climbing a mountain and building a ladder to the moon. Like raising children. Like raising robotic children. Like making a golem who will build a robot who will raise your robot children.
Writing a novel is hard because it needs to be hard. If it was easy, every jackalope with chalk dust on his fingers would write an epic masterpiece on his cave wall.
I am like a crazy mountain goat, clambering to heights no man should go.
I can almost see the top now. The pinnacle awaits.
This book is almost complete. But challenges shall dog my every step.
My hamstrings might snap like high-tension cables and take out one of my eyes. My back may bend and bow until my scoliosis allows me to pleasure myself with my mouth. My knee caps might shoot off, striking a Yeti in the eye which makes him really mad and so he comes over and tears both of my arms off and beats me about the head and neck with my own gore-spewing limbs. My mind may crumble under the assault, driven to the very precipice of sanity, staring down into the deepest yawning yawping abyss and as the Yeti howls and my synapses fire I will smell the scent of funeral flowers wafting up from that abyss and I will find it peaceful and comfortable and will realize how easy it would be to just pivot my hips just-so and go tumbling down into that satisfying darkness, the darkness of ease, the darkness of acquiescence, the milk-livered niddering darkness of sweet sweet cowardice.
But I will do no such thing.
I will soldier on.
I will grab one of my severed arms in my teeth.
I will flail my neck around until I slug the Yeti in his Yeti balls with one of my own dismembered limbs, and I will watch as he cries, “MROOOOOooooo!” and pirouettes into the chasm of shadow, clutching his junk.
I will reattach my arms with the duct tape I wisely brought from home.
I will hammer my spine straight with a rock I found on the ground.
I will tie my busted-ass hamstrings around my recently-reattached arms, and I shall puppet my own legs as if I am a Marionette, and I shall puppeteer those legs so that they step over the yawning abyss.
I will sally forth until I have this book by the balls and by the throat.
I am the Commander of these words.
I am the King of this story.
I am the God of this place.
I am a writer, and I will finish the shit that I started.
About The Author
ChuckWendig
Chuck Wendig is equal parts novelist, screenwriter, and game designer. He is the author of the novels DOUBLE DEAD, BLACKBIRDS, and MOCKINGBIRD. In addition, he's got a metric boatload of writing-related e-books available, including the popular 500 WAYS TO BE A BETTER WRITER. He currently lives in the wilds of Pennsyltucky with wife, dog, and newborn progeny.
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- This tweet made me wince. Just imagine it. Eeesh. RT @sabrinaogden: OUCH! I paper cut my paper cut. It really hurts now! Really!
- And no, no context for you.
- Very important email from agent @StaciaDecker contains the text, "hahaha -- your daughter's one of those filthy hobos! The shame!"
- Three e-books. Five bucks. 1,250 things. Cheggity-check it, word-nerds: http://t.co/66K8R88w #terribleminds
- RT @dboshea: Self-publish or e-publisher - how I made my decision for OLD SCHOOL http://t.co/DDXYm4br
- Transmissions From Baby-Town: “Nine Months” February 22, 2012
- 25 Things I Want To Say To So-Called “Aspiring” Writers February 21, 2012
- Now Available: 500 More Ways To Be A Better Writer February 20, 2012
- Flash Fiction Challenge: Making A Sandwich February 17, 2012
- What’s The Poop, Wendig? February 16, 2012
81 Responses and Counting...
Amen!
Man alive! Mine is usually something like: Dear Lord, Please help me not to suck today. Amen.
I lurve yours much better. Shout it out, preacher man.
Amen and Hallelujia.
Amen, broseph.
Let the church say Amen.
A to the fucking men.
Can I get a witness!?
Okay, how about someone who will testify?
No? What if you get into witness protection afterward?
Erm… maybe just an anonymous written a statement, a bottle of Thunderbird and bus fare to a sheltered overpass?
Amen! *holding up my skirt and dancing in the aisle while my muse fans herself with the program*
I think I just ovulated.
Hell, Joanna–I think *I* just ovulated!
this. Exactly this. Amen sir, Amen. I may print this off and stick it next to my computer when I start pounding at keys to finish my novel again.
inspired. cowed. will march on.
BRAVO!
Thank the gods you didn’t mention mimes. I’d have to edit before I glued this to my wall.
A frame. And a nice mat. To go by my desk. Because this, this is awesomesauce.
I am printing out several copies of this and hanging them up in strategic locations around my apartment. Thank you!
Hell yes!
I’m going home to wrestle my novel to the ground like the ungrateful musk ox it is and show that bitch who is boss!
Thanks for the reminder.
Thank you, sir! *scurries off to find duct tape*
This is the only thing I’ve found worthy enough to grace the front page of my journal.
I WILL finish the shit that I start….and make it not shit. I AM A WRITER!
Love it!
Preach it, Brother Chuck.
[...] had to re-post this. I got it from the most excellent blog Terribleminds. Chuck is my new God. I bow to Chuck because he is as true master wordsmith with no [...]
I’m sending this to all of my classmates. And all my friends that are writers. Because all writers must see this. And know this, deep in their balls. Or ovaries. Somewhere on the human body.
Because, seriously, there is so much truth in this.
[...] go say the Writer’s Prayer seven times backwards. November 23rd, 2010 | terribleminds | No [...]
[...] 3. Until they do that, I’ve got a lot of other things I need to put my energy into. Like getting you guys Heroes ‘Til Curfew. And, to that end, I’m leaving you with a link while I go work on finishing the shit that I started. [...]
Thanks for that. I will continue to write, regardless of the blood oozing from my eyeballs, and I will love it.
Awesomesauce indeed!
Every time I come here, I think your post is the best screed (as in leveling device) I ever had the pleasure of reading. I have been known to weep with joy at your frolicking turn of phrase, and dead-on-balls-accurate metaphor. Then, I return to find you’ve written something even better.
This, God of all wordsmiths, is a masterpiece suitable for framing. I will spare no expense, I will print and share.
Thank you so much for these words. This is on my wall now, NaNo or no NaNo, it’s something to keep in mind. I too, am like a crazy mountain goat.
may i please reblog this?
@Mari:
My preference would be that you quote from it (a portion) but link back here? A tantalizing, titillating hook back?
Thanks!
– c.
[...] The Penmonkey’s Paean (The Writer’s Prayer) [...]
I love you Chuck. You made my day with this.
[...] This here is quite possible the best prayer ever! Here’s an excerpt: This book is not the boss of my shit. [...]
Amen. amen amen. Mandatory repetition required before commencing any Creative-writing MFA, just to separate the writers from the wussies
[...] Chuck Wendig over at terribleminds.com has posted “The Penmonkey’s Paean” and it is amazing. Go, read, enjoy. [...]
Fun that catchy tune whistling past the graveyard. The invocation of the muses is a common device to Pump you Up. Great wordsmithing!
This encourages me to fight, being a first time author. I know my plan to attract a Print Publisher with an eBook version will succeed.
I just learned that my idea to make solar cells out of plastic is a reality. Though another idea profitted by others, it encourages me that my mind is credibly fertile enough to write about my concepts. My first book is being read for an endorsement, now. I hope for hardcopies to support optional college courses and translations, too.
Yes.
Let me guess – you wrote this instead of what you should have been writing?
@Torsloke –
No, not quite accurate. The daily blog posts are part of what I should be writing. They’re also not the sum total of my day’s word tally — I’m a full-time freelance writer who writes 2-3k a day. Not including the blog posts.
– c.
Sorry, didn’t mean that to sound snarky (and kudos on both the prayer and the output!) . It just sounded like something I would have written while putting off writing something else. I have a whole drawer of poems, song lyrics, first scenes of TV pilots that I’ve written to keep from writing what I’m supposed to.
@Torskole:
Oh, no worries! Trust me — I can at times be very good at procrastination, but being freelance means that if I don’t write, I don’t get paid.
Glad you liked it, and thanks for swinging on by.
– c.
I would have had an exceptionally hard time finishing this if I were you.
[...] I will burn down the forest. As the conflagration rages, all my excuses shall come scurrying forth l… [...]
[...] motivational speech for us all this [...]
FTW. I thought this was superb.
[...] The Penmonkey’s Peaan. “I will not sing lamentations to my weakness.” Damn but I needed to read this today. [...]
Amen. Thank you baby Jesus.
Okay, I needed to read this today. Boy, I needed to read it! Thanks.
Damn, woman, now I’m gonna write like my panties are on FIRE!! You ROCK!! I’m putting this on the fridge. That’ll keep the hubster good and scared.
[...] writer friend Annie recently pointed me to a great poem for writers called “The Penmonkey’s Paean.” If you’re looking for a little humor or inspiration, give it a read. You might [...]
A-freakin-men & hallelujah!! I’m printing it out and putting this on my bulletin board.
BRILLIANT POST!
You’ve pretty much made my day.
Fucking. A.
“I am a writer, and I will finish the shit that I started.”
Love this line. I so fear closure.
Cocaine is a helluva drug.
A-fuckin’-mening this like all the other good little penmonkeys.
[...] Repeat after me, writers: “The Penmonkey’s Paean” — A writer’s prayer. (Via a mailing list I’m on.) [...]
I am standing at the yawning, yawping precipice as i read this. Its so nice to know I’m not the only one who fears denoument.
I would like to have this tattooed on the backs of my eyelids.
[speechless but not wordless]
TESTIFY!!!!
(okay, that was a bit much, but this thing just made me really excited)
(and I mean that in a non-icky way)
o.0
I’ve read a lot of encouraging words, but none of them went BANG!! like this.
Wake-up call. I has it.
ayyyyyyyyy-MEN!
now. where my stiletto boots, because i feel like wearing the SHIT outta those.
[...] Because you need this, yes, you do: The Penmonkey’s Paean. [...]
I just slogged through The Chapter From Hell, dragging my hero’s half-paralyzed body out of the pit of nightmare, and now I’m literally crying with laughter at this.
Amen, brother!
Chuck, I keep encountering this post, out in the Interwilds, linked back by author after author. It keeps popping up again and again. It’s wonderful.
Yeah, that’s it exactly.
[...] ”I recognize that writing a novel is hard. And I don’t give a lemur’s left foot. I don’t give a good goddamn. I don’t give two shits in a wicker basket. The best things in life are hard. Like hunting pterodactyls. Like getting married. Like climbing a mountain and building a ladder to the moon. Like raising children. Like raising robotic children. Like making a golem who will build a robot who will raise your robot children.” [...]
[...] My new mantra! This is going up, in a frame, right next to my sword and yeti hammer. Repeat After Me, Writers: “The Penmonkey’s Paeanâ€. [...]
[...] In 2011, I’m going to finish the things I start. [...]
[...] blog of awesome, Terrible Minds. I recently discovered him on Twitter through this post called The Writer’s Prayer (The Penmonkey Paean), which is so full of win that he totally hooked me to his blog. After reading that, I moved on to his [...]
[...] of my writing group friends posted this link on the group forum recently, and I had to share it with [...]
*ROFMFAO* Perfect! I think I ovulated, too! (that was a good one).
I have dedicated it to friends who have written or attempted to write books, and bookmarked it for my next writing venture.
Spot on, bravo, a-freaking-men and hallellujah! Love this! (thanks to stephen Dedman who shared this)
[...] minns säkert den här? Om hur skrivande är som att jaga pterodaktyler och som att vara en galen bergsget? Nå, den går [...]
[...] to be clear: this is praise. I first discovered Wendig when Jay Lake linked to his Penmonkey’s Paean. This is a manfiesto about the craft of writing that contains such gems as: These words march in [...]
Wallpaper of the Writer’s Prayer now available:
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/05/27/penmonkey-bonus-content-in-the-form-of-tasty-ass-wallpapers/
– c.
Wow. I had no idea there were so many writers. (Sitting around reading blogs when…)
Chuck, I have printed this off, because it’s not only damn funny, but because my mind works the same way and it’s good to know I’m not… ahem… unusual.
And I’ll retweet it.
A toast to all the Yeti wrestling, duct tape weilding Golem Makers, Queens, Kings and Commanders.
Further proof that you, the writer, have final say over how your characters behave and what they accomplish … even if they should get a little unruly.
Andy Breckman as interpreted by Steven Brust: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=myDBSfJlehs
Fuck that shit. It’s not a prayer. It’s a manifesto. I have some people I need to direct to this site. Usually, I just play Bjork’s “Army of Me” over and over again. And dance. Then listen to it some more. And write. But now I will have this to read as well.
Amen! It goes for writing history, too.
[...] Do’a ini saya dapatkan dari: http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2010/11/22/the-writers-prayer-the-penmonkey-paean/ [...]
[...] Wendig’s Writer’s prayer should be compulsory reading for all writers. Go read it, read it now. I’ll [...]
[...] An easy solution to rid the feeling of guilt and insanity: just don’t do it. Don’t drop out. In the words of Chuck Wendig: you are a writer and you will finish this shit that you started. [...]
[...] needs to be over 2000. Check in next week to see how things went. To quote Chuck Wendig, “I am a writer, and I will finish the shit that I started.” This entry was posted in Uncategorized by Seth Swanson. Bookmark the [...]