Making new work for the world is anything but selfish.

In fact, I’d argue it’s an act of wild generosity.

Just look at those two bright faces. Those are the faces of people who never wasted one minute worrying whether their art was worth sharing with the world. They just got up every morning and got to it. Let’s make Walt Whitman and Lady Gaga our North Star when it comes to knowing we’ve got something of profound value to share with the world.

The other day I received an email from a delightful writer, a member of one of the online writers workshops I’m now teaching. It was a really simple email but it contained one detail that leapt right out and slapped me across the face. So I knew I’d have to hop on Extra Criticum to get this off my chest.

Two of the online writers workshops I teach are winding down in the next month or so. Over the course of our months together inevitably, some workshop members write less than they’d hoped to. Others write more. And so as the final sessions approach there’s always a certain amount of negotiating to try and find time to address as much new work as possible before it’s time to say goodbye. I always remind everyone at least a month ahead of time of the last session date and I make it clear that anyone who wants to claim time during our last workshop simply has to email me to say so. If we have too much work for the 2.5 hours scheduled, we’ll just squeeze everyone a bit to make sure everyone’s stuff gets heard and addressed.

The email in question came in from one of the most prolific and focused writers in any of my workshops. This woman writes a lot. And she manages to churn out a pretty impressive variety of material. Not only that but it’s clear to me from her comments on the work of others that she also reads the work of her fellow workshop members with great care and curiosity.

She was writing to let me know that she’d definitely like to reserve time in our final workshop session. And she used a word that I hear artists use all the time to describe themselves.

…being selfish, I’d like to claim time on our last day together. Do I need to know now what I’ll be presenting?

I must admit I, too, have often suffered under the punishing delusion that my passion for my own work is somehow selfish.

But think about it.

When you sit down to create some new work of fiction, theatre, film, music, what have you, you are engaged in one of the most generous acts a human being can undertake. You’re making something new that is no doubt intended to feed the souls of your fellow members of the human race.

How many people spend even 5 minutes attempting anything remotely as noble, idealistic, hopeful and, yes, generous?

It’s maybe not too surprising that writers would have learned to see their efforts as selfish. Just look around at all the walls the culture erects to protect people from the writing that’s brand new and untested. There are so many constructs that send a clear message to creative souls that writers are a dime a dozen.

The truth is: people who call themselves writers or dream of being writers are a dime a dozen. But those of us who actually produce brilliant new works of literature, theatre, film, music, poetry? Works that change people’s lives? Well, that takes guts, nerve, perseverance, hope, passion and a willingness to continue on and conjure up the illusion that the world is actually waiting for us despite all the evidence to the contrary.

So the next time you feel the habitual impulse to shrink away from an opportunity to tell somebody a little bit about what it is you’re cooking up these days, try to remember that if the work is as wonderful as you hope it will be, the world should be grateful. Of course because you’re often deep in a process of editing, sharpening, dissecting, and fine tuning the work, it’s natural to be a bit shy about it because until you’re satisfied with its quality sharing it with the world certainly wouldn’t feel like giving a gift and might feel more like unloading a burden.

But if you’re serious about your talent and your vision, you know better than to short-change the work by rushing through the essential steps necessary to not only polish it, but to properly position it for maximum impact.

When you do so, when you honor your next project with the care and attention to detail its ambition deserves, you are doing the world a favor. Yeah, okay, maybe you’re doing yourself the favor of not attaching your name and reputation to crap, but that really is eclipsed by the path you’re carving out into the culture.

Make something new that only you could have possibly imagined and you’re doing the world an enormous favor. And occasionally, if the cultural winds happen to be blowing just right, you might just get a thank you for your efforts. But don’t count on it.

Of course, that is not why we do what we do. If all we were chasing was appreciation, there are countless other occupations to choose from, each of which offers a far more reliably consistent diet of gratitude for one’s service in the form of hugs, thank yous, money, applause and anything else the world tosses our way when we seem to have done something worthwhile.

Making your art answers to a far more powerful standard. How can we be certain this other standard is truly more essential to our well-being as artists? Well, for one thing, we keep it private. It exists within us and it’s really none of anyone else’s business. And unlike applause or money or a bouquet of roses, we know we will carry it with us to our graves.

Roland Tec teaches filmmakers, playwrights and producers of musicals. Browse his innovative workshops for creative masterminds at: rolandtec.com

Originally published at https://www.extracriticum.com.