‘The War of Art’ versus ‘Ploductivity’
A two book duel for writers, doers, and gung-ho dreamers.
I remember when screenwriter Weiko Lin told my class of about thirty U.C. Riverside undergrads how to spot an amateur.
1) They work in coffee shops.
2) They never finish anything.
We laughed, even as the moment gave us pause.
While I’ll go on record as having spent a few hundred hours in third places over the years, sipping my coffee and tapping away, I grant the overall point.
It took a year and a half of closed coffee shops, (one small causality of the institutionalized panic that, as I’m writing this, seems poised to obliterate the social fabric all over again), for me to do my writing at home.
While I do miss working out, I’m increasingly finishing what I start.
As my M.F.A. comrades as far north as Idaho, and as far east as the Appalachian foothills know, there’s the myth of writing—play acting for that enchanted, just channelin’ the muse in my favorite café vibe.
Think Hemingway in Paris, Donald Miller in Portland, or even J.K. Rowling in Edinburgh.
In A Moveable Feast, Hemingway suckers us in:
“A girl came in the café and sat by herself at a table near the window… The story was writing itself and I was having a hard time keeping up with it. I ordered another rum St James and I watched the girl whenever I looked up…
I’ve seen you beauty and you belong to me… and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil.”1
So there’s that.
And then there’s doing it.
One stroke at a time, just like anything else.
With some of us now entering final draft season for our yearlong M.F.A. classes, this fourth Crocodile is all about the slog, the unglamorous but still sanctified packing it in right before the deadline hits.
With two books to compare, this one’s a boxing match, perfect for sloggers, or for those itching to roll their sleeves up and try.
First up is The War of Art by guru Steven Pressfield.
Then we’ll move on to the more jovial, theologically aligned Ploductivity, a short how-to by (you guessed it), reformed Calvinist Douglas Wilson.
It’s a fair fight.
I read both books last summer and I’d recommend either one.
As we go, I’ll be as mindful as I can to those who aren’t, at present, scrambling up some creative Everest. While most of this takes aim at writers, there’s plenty here if you run a business, design logos…or if you’d rather get a root canal than write a poem. If you’ve dreamt of doing something big and earth-shattering—only to watch it pushed to the margins—then read on.
You’re in the right place.
And in this corner… ‘The War of Art’
Steven Pressfield’s no Hemingway, sitting in the café as his story writes itself.
His routine’s all meat and potatoes, more like something you might hear about at an A.A. meeting.
“I get up, take a shower, have breakfast. I read the paper, brush my teeth. If I have phone calls to make, I make them. I’ve got my coffee now. I put on my lucky work boots and stitch up the lucky laces that my niece Meredith gave me. I head back to the office, crank up the computer. It’s about ten thirty now. I sit down and plunge in. When I start making typos, I know I’m getting tired. That’s four hours or so. I’ve hit the point of diminishing returns. I wrap for the day. Copy whatever I’ve done to disk and stash the disk in the glove compartment of my truck… I power down. It’s three, three-thirty. The office is closed.”
How many pages have I produced? I don’t care… All that matters is that I’ve put in my time and hit it with all I’ve got.”2
It’s a sound diet—and even for those with large families and maxed-out schedules, for whom quiet time to work is a five star luxury, it’s way ahead of daydreams.
Not one for the coddled, The War of Art is a Spartan boot camp; more or less what the title suggests.
And it’s surprisingly religious.
Rather than alcoholism, (Hemingway), or opium (Samuel Taylor Coleridge), Pressfield’s addiction, his original sin from chapter one onward, is Resistance. By Resistance, (capital ‘R’), he means all the physical, motivational, cognitive, or otherwise universal forces that stop us from doing the work.
From page one, he throws the gloves off.
“Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance…
Resistance is faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, harder to kick than crack cocaine. We’re not alone if we’ve been mowed down by resistance; millions of good men and women have bitten the dust before us.”3
If it reads like a sermon, that’s because it is one.
Like a grizzled exterminator, full of stories about that one vermin he finds Every Single Time, Pressfield catalogues manifestations in twenty-odd chapters, some as short as a sentence or two:
Resistance is Insidious
Resistance is Infallible
Resistance Never Sleeps
Resistance and Victimhood
Resistance and Being a Star
Resistance and Choice of a Mate
We get the idea.
So much so that when Pressfield weds the fight against Resistance to universalism and the Kabbalah, (turns out he actually prays to the Greek muses), The War of Art loses steam.
At his most hysterical, he label life drama—things like divorce, illness, death in the family—as just more Resistance. While it’s a bit much, there’s a hard truth there for those who can stomach it.
Regardless of what happens—and provided you’ve got the health, time, and energy to do so—your slogging can find a way.
It’s not for nothing that Pressfield gives no quarter to excuses, and has little empathy for novel-writing dreamers who can’t deliver. He knows from experience that the gatekeepers of publishing, entertainment, and most paid writing have even less.
Taking Ground
The rest of the book trains us for battle. With chapters like We’re all Pros Already, and The Magic of Keeping Going, he demystifies the way forward—sitting down and doing the work like any other day job.
You know, the one you that you…
A) Show up for every day, regardless of how you’re feeling.
B) Spend the whole day on.
C) Do for money.
D) Commit to for the long haul.
E) Master or fail, with real consequences.
Same goes—or at least, should go—for writing.
Whether you’re aiming to reach a dozen readers on Kindle Unlimited or a thousand units sold, hit it like it’s your job.
In telling us to suck it up, Pressfield’s roots as a former marine, and a lover of ancient Greek warfare shimmer through:
“The artist committing himself to his calling has volunteered for hell, whether he knows it or not. He will be dining for the duration on a diet of isolation, rejection, self-doubt, despair, ridicule, contempt and humiliation. He must love being miserable.”4
It’s a bleak prescription—tough love with no flattery.
But as far as Pressfield tells it, with shavings of wisdom from his own long-term failure, close calls, and eventual success, it’s the ugly truth.
And while shamanistic exhortation to beat Resistance bloody has its place, Douglas Wilson’s ‘Ploductivity’ is much more generous, integrated, and to no surprise, joyful. As we’ll see, he digs deeper than Pressfield’s do-or-die individualism, showing us that work, not will power, is soaked through with divine blessing.
And now… ‘Ploductivity.’
If Pressfield’s a drill sergeant, then Wilson’s family—an uncle or (in his usual case), a grandfather with a yarn to tell, and an eager audience around the dinner table.
Those who’ve read one of his many books will recognize a voice that’s clear, situated, and like G.K. Chesterton, ever-ready for delightful mischief.
“Plenty of sin accompanies technology. However, the basic driving problem is always in the human heart, always in our use of technology and that use is shaped and driven by our attitudes about it. Maxwell’s silver hammer did come down upon somebody’s head, but we go astray when we blame the silver hammer. The problem was in Maxwell.”5
If prose this clear, brief, and crackling is the end product of years of practice, of learning to serve the reader rather than batting around glib jargon, then Wilson’s book is a model of its approach.
At scarcely a hundred pages, ‘Ploductivity’ deals first with the dominion mandate, then posits Biblical optimism for things like work, tools, technology, media, and wealth.
Examining work as an embodiment of God’s common grace, Wilson keeps it practical, reminding us how frequently books like Proverbs praise good work and admonish laziness.
But he goes deeper, applying Saint Paul’s injunctions in Romans, chapter twelve to writing, retail, welding, or even coding:
“Now if my body is a living sacrifice*, that means everything it rests upon is an altar. The car I drive is an altar, the bed I sleep in is an altar, and the desk where I work is an altar. Everything is offered to God, everything ascends to him as a sweet-smelling savor. Faith is the fire of the altar, and it consumes the whole burnt offering…
The works that ascend before Him are the works that He prepared beforehand for us to do,(Ephesians 2:10). Those works include, but are not limited to, writing code, making birdhouses, repairing a carburetor, outlining a novel, or manufacturing microchips.”6
It’s a vote of confidence in everything around us.
And for those who believe that Jesus of Nazareth rose from the dead, a tingle of joy and fear.
While some—Tim Keller, pre-wokeness comes to mind—explore the Biblical duality of work’s joys and hardships, Wilson gets us stoked on creation itself, a world brimming with God-given tasks, work, and work-related materials, all purchased on a cross in the greatest transfer title in the history, (John 3:35).
Building on that, and reminding us that the finitude of our work should humble us, Wilson gives true encouragement.
“Recognizing that your labors have a place in God’s cosmic intentions for the universe will keep you from thinking that your tiny labors are stupid labors. They are nothing of the kind. Your labors in the Lord are not in vain, (1 Corinthians 15:58).”7
Knockout Round
Act two of ‘Ploductivity’ zeroes in on how to work fruitfully.
From having the right amount of ambition to taking responsibility for results and mastery, Wilson’s finds his stride in a chapter called ‘Work at a pace you can maintain.’ His example is that reading, (or writing) a little bit of that grand, sprawling novel today, and then doing that every day, is much better than binge working when the stars align.
Hence, plodding.
“The thing to take away is that brief but daily routines are capable of accumulating a large amount of whatever the work product might be. A man could take out the trash every evening, and while out there quietly lay one brick, and after six months present his wife with a brick wall along the alley—something she never even knew she wanted.”8
While this might lack the shrill trumpets of Pressfield’s calvary charge, the practicality makes up for it. Whether you’re reading a gnarly Russian novel, shredding nerves to get a business going, or just drafting that annual Christmas letter, why not start small, start early?
Why not go one brick at a time?
And rather that idolizing himself, the writing, the accolades, or—like Pressfield—his own will power, Wilson stays humble… usually with multiple projects on the burner.
Take it from one of his students. From Recovering the Lost Tools of Learning to Blog and Mablog, Evangellyfish, and Ride, Sally, Ride, the guy writes a ton.
An honorable mention… or three
Once again, I’ve maxed this thing out. That twirling finger from the sound booth means it’s time to wrap.
But before I set you loose or declare a winner, I’ll end with an honorable mention.
Every Good Endeavor by Tim Keller.
More so than Wilson or Pressfield, Keller takes a comprehensive, and at times, dualistic look at work’s goodness and it’s post-fall cursedness, (Keller’s metaphor is thorns and thistles). Though lean on take-away, it’s thoughtful reading—wind in the sails for beleaguered teachers, dogged business owners, or anyone struggling in heart and mind to keep their chin up.
For more on writing habits, check out Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird—or for the hard goods, Stephen King’s On Writing.
Joy to the work…
Coming around from that first screenwriting class, I’m taking cues from Douglas Wilson… and a few from Steven Pressfield.
To the extent that I overcome my own Resistance and plod decently, I’m indebted to God’s special grace—fellowship with other writers who have my back, good friends who know what I’m up to, and the dizzying votes of confidence from my wife, Mrs. Crocodile : )
Keller ends one of his chapters by quoting Joy to the World, reminding us that from here to grand finale, blessing wins out over brokenness.
Even us amateurs have cause to rejoice.
“No more let sin or sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make his blessings flow
Far as the curse is found, far as the curse is found.
Far as, far as the curse is found.”9
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Hemingway, Ernest. A Moveable Feast. Vintage, (page 5)
Pressfield, Steven. The War of Art. Black Irish, (page 1)
Pressfield, Steven. The War of Art. Black Irish, (page 2)
Pressfield, Steven. The War of Art. Black Irish, (page 68)
Wilson, Douglas. Ploductivity. Canon Press, (page 10)
Wilson, Douglas. Ploductivity. Canon Press, (page 68)
Wilson, Douglas. Ploductivity. Canon Press, (page 74)
Wilson, Douglas. Ploductivity. Canon Press, (page 64)
Quoted in Every Good Endeavor. Riverhead, (page 90)
Plodding? Sprinting? When it comes to work habits, what floats your boat?