The second time for the first time

This Slacktivist post tackles something I posted about a while ago: First times usually aren’t good, and getting good at anything takes practice.
My point was that not being good at writing (or acting, or anything else) when you start out isn’t anything to feel bad about. Slacktivist’s point, in looking at the movie Groundhog Day, is that this applies to virtue too: Bill Murray’s character is a grade-A jerk, but over hundreds of do-overs, he eventually learns to become a decent human being. Being good is a skill: If we’re not good at it now, that doesn’t mean we can’t find the way there.
One of the commenters raised an excellent point in response: If it takes thousands of hours to be good, we shouldn’t be motivated just by the end goal. We need to enjoy the journey (she suggests that this applies to virtue too—learning to do the right thing should include learning to enjoy doing the right thing).
I think this is amazingly true as applied to writing. I’ve read lots of writers over the years who say they hate the actual writing process, but they love to have written, to have something finished. For the life of me, I’ve never understood that. Writing takes a lot of work, a lot of time and for most of us it’s not particularly renumerative: Why would I keep doing it if I didn’t enjoy it?
(This reminds me a little of mystery writer Lawrence Block’s comment about the “discipline” needed to write—nobody ever talks about painting as something you need discipline to work at).
And enjoy it I do. Okay, maybe not writing eHows (but it’s still better than almost all the non-writing day jobs I’ve had), but writing fiction? Or one of my movie books? That stuff is a joy. Not always: When I’m stumped about how to proceed or I can’t quite make a sentence come out right, it’s frustrating. The convoluted, clunky early drafts are frequently unsatisfying to work on(though sometimes it’s a real kick seeing what’s going to come out of my mind next). But by and large, I love what I do.
I know plenty of people who work at jobs they’re not thrilled with because it pays for the parts of their life they’re passionate about (I’ve had a few of those myself). But writing (certainly not fiction) is not supporting any part of my life. I do think about the end goal—if I knew I’d never get a short story published again, I doubt I’d keep at it—but that’s goal is not the whole of the game. Otherwise, given how often I don’t sell things, I’d be pretty miserable.
Going back to the Doogie Howser episode I mentioned in the previous post, I think that’s part of the problem. Vinnie’s focused on the end goal, on the success; the making of the movie is just a step there. No wonder discovering his movie sucked disappointed him. The kids in Super 8, by contrast, are clearly enthused for the whole movie-making process. Some of them might be disappointed if they didn’t turn pro, but I think they’d still be able to look back on it with a smile.
If I never sell a story again (though I’m confident I will), I’d like to think I would too.