part of the labor force.
5) The stakes for us are high and real. T h i s is a b o u t
survival, feeding our families, educating our children.
It's about eating.
6) We accept remuneration for our labor. We're not here
for fun. We work for money.
7) We do not overidentify with our jobs. We m a y take
p r i d e in our w o r k , we m a y s t a y late and c o m e in on
w e e k e n d s , but we r e c o g n i z e that we are not our j o b
d e s c r i p t i o n s . T h e amateur, on the other hand, o v e r i -
dentifies with his a v o c a t i o n , his artistic a s p i r a t i o n .
He defines h i m s e l f by it. He is a m u s i c i a n , a painter,
a p l a y w r i g h t . R e s i s t a n c e l o v e s this. R e s i s t a n c e
k n o w s that the a m a t e u r c o m p o s e r will never write
his s y m p h o n y b e c a u s e he is o v e r l y invested in its
s u c c e s s and o v e r t e r r i f i e d of its failure. T h e a m a t e u r
takes it so s e r i o u s l y it p a r a l y z e s him.
8) We master the technique of our jobs.
9) We have a sense of humor about our jobs.
10) We receive praise or blame in the real world.
T H E W A R
O F A R T
N o w consider the amateur: the a s p i r i n g painter, the
w a n n a b e playwright. H o w d o e s he p u r s u e his calling?
O n e , he d o e s n ' t show up e v e r y day. T w o , he d o e s n ' t
show up no matter what. T h r e e , he d o e s n ' t stay on the
j o b all day. He is not c o m m i t t e d over the l o n g haul; the
stakes for him are i l l u s o r y and fake. He d o e s not get
money. A n d he o v e r i d e n t i f i e s with his art. He d o e s not
have a s e n s e of h u m o r a b o u t failure. You d o n ' t hear him
b i t c h i n g , " T h i s fucking t r i l o g y i s killing m e ! " I n s t e a d ,
he d o e s n ' t write his t r i l o g y at all.
T h e amateur has not mastered the technique of his art.
Nor does he expose himself to judgment in the real world. If
we show our poem to our friend and our friend says, "It's
wonderful, I love it," that's not real-world feedback, that's
our friend b e i n g nice to u s . N o t h i n g is as e m p o w e r i n g as
real-world validation, even if it's for failure.
T h e f i r s t p r o f e s s i o n a l w r i t i n g j o b I e v e r h a d , after
seventeen years of trying, was on a movie called King Kong
Lives. I and my partner-at-the-time, Ron Shusett (a brilliant
writer and producer who also did Alien and Total Recall)
hammered out the screenplay for Dino DeLaurentiis. We
loved it; we were sure we had a hit. Even after w e ' d seen the
f i n i s h e d f i l m , we w e r e c e r t a i n it w a s a b l o c k b u s t e r . We
invited everyone we knew to the premiere, even rented out
the j o i n t next d o o r for a p o s t - t r i u m p h b l o w o u t . G e t
there early, we warned our friends, the place'11 be mobbed.
S T E V E N P R E S S F I E L D
7 1
N o b o d y showed. There was only one guy in line beside
our guests and he was muttering something about spare
c h a n g e . In the theater, o u r friends e n d u r e d the m o v i e in
mute stupefaction. When the lights came up, they fled like
cockroaches into the night.
Next day came the review in Variety: " . . . Ronald Shusett
and Steven Pressfield; we hope these are not their real names,
for their parents' sake." When the first week's grosses came
in, the flick barely registered. Still I clung to hope. Maybe it's
only tanking in urban areas, maybe it's playing better in the
burbs. I motored to an E d g e City multiplex. A youth manned
the popcorn booth. "How's King Kong Lives?" I asked. He
flashed thumbs-down. "Miss it, man. It sucks."
I was crushed. Here I was, forty-two years old, divorced,
childless, having given up all normal human pursuits to chase
the dream of being a writer; now I've finally got my name on
a big-time Hollywood production starring Linda Hamilton,
and what happens? I'm a loser, a phony; my life is worthless,
and so am I.
My friend T o n y K e p p e l m a n s n a p p e d me out of it by
asking if I was gonna quit. Hell, no! "Then be happy. You're
where you wanted to be, aren't you? So you're taking a few
blows. T h a t ' s the price for being in the arena and not on the
sidelines. Stop complaining and be grateful."
That was when I realized I had become a pro. I had not yet
had a success. But I had had a real failure.
7 2
T H E W A R
O F A R T
F O R L O V E O F T H E G A M E
T
o clarify a point a b o u t p r o f e s s i o n a l i s m : T h e p r o -
fessional, though he accepts money, does his work
out of love. He has to love it. Otherwise he wouldn't devote
his life to it of his own free will.
T h e professional has learned, however, that too much love
can be a bad thing. T o o much love can make him choke. T h e
seeming detachment of the professional, the cold-blooded
character to his demeanor, is a compensating device to keep
him from loving the game so much that he freezes in action.
Playing for money, or adopting the attitude of one who plays
for money, lowers the fever.
Remember what we said about fear, love, and Resistance.
T h e more you love your art/calling/enterprise, the more
important its accomplishment is to the evolution of your
soul, the more you will fear it and the more Resistance you
will e x p e r i e n c e f a c i n g it. T h e p a y o f f o f p l a y i n g - t h e -
game-for-money is not the money (which you may never see
anyway, even after you turn p r o ) . T h e payoff is that playing
the g a m e for m o n e y p r o d u c e s the p r o p e r p r o f e s s i o n a l
S T E V E N P R E S S F I E L D
7 3
attitude. It inculcates the lunch-pail mentality, the hard-core,
hard-head, hard-hat state of mind that shows up for work
despite rain or s n o w or d a r k of night and s l u g s it out
day after day.
The writer is an infantryman. He knows that progress is
measured in yards of dirt extracted from the enemy one day,
one hour, one minute at a time and paid for in blood. T h e
artist wears combat b o o t s . He looks in the mirror and sees
GI J o e . Remember, the Muse favors working stiffs. She hates
prima donnas. To the gods the supreme sin is not rape or
murder, but pride. To think of yourself as a mercenary, a gun
for hire, implants the proper humility. It purges pride and
preciousness.
R e s i s t a n c e l o v e s p r i d e and p r e c i o u s n e s s . R e s i s t a n c e
s a y s , " S h o w me a w r i t e r w h o ' s t o o g o o d to take J o b X
or A s s i g n m e n t Y and I'll s h o w y o u a g u y I can c r a c k
like a w a l n u t . "
Technically, the professional takes money. Technically, the
pro plays for pay. But in the end, he does it for love.
N o w let's consider: What are the aspects of the
Professional?
T H E W A R
O F A R T
A P R O F E S S I O N A L I S P A T I E N T
R
esistance outwits the amateur with the oldest trick in
the book: It uses his own enthusiasm against him.
R e s i s t a n c e g e t s u s t o p l u n g e i n t o a p r o j e c t w i t h a n
overambitious and unrealistic timetable for its completion.
It knows we can't sustain that level of intensity. We will
hit the wall. We will crash.
T h e professional, on the other hand, understands delayed
gratification. He is the ant, not the grasshopper; the tortoise,
not the hare. Have you heard the legend of Sylvester Stallone
staying up three nights straight to churn out the screenplay
for Rocky? I don't know, it may even be true. But it's the
most pernicious species of myth to set before the awakening
writer, because it seduces him into believing he can pull off
the big score without pain and without persistence.
T h e professional arms himself with patience, not only to
give the stars time to align in his career, but to keep himself
from flaming out in each individual work. He knows that any
job, whether it's a novel or a kitchen remodel, takes twice as
long as he thinks and costs twice as much. He accepts that.
He recognizes it as reality.
T h e professional steels himself at the start of a project,
S T E V E N P R E S S F I E L D
7 5
reminding himself it is the Iditarod, not the sixty-yard dash.
He conserves his energy. He prepares his mind for the long
haul. He sustains himself with the knowledge that if he can
just keep those huskies mushing, sooner or later the sled will
pull in to N o m e .
76
T H E W A R
O F A R T
A P R O F E S S I O N A L S E E K S O R D E R
W
hen I lived in the back of my Chevy van, I had to dig
my typewriter out from beneath layers of tire tools,
dirty laundry, and moldering paperbacks. My truck was a
nest, a hive, a hellhole on wheels whose sleeping surface I had
to clear each night just to carve out a foxhole to snooze in.
T h e professional cannot live like that. He is on a mission.
He will not tolerate disorder. He eliminates chaos from his
w o r l d in o r d e r to b a n i s h it from his m i n d . He w a n t s the
carpet vacuumed and the threshold swept, so the Muse may
enter and not soil her gown.
S T E V E N P R E S S F I E L D
77
A P R O F E S S I O N A L D E M Y S T I F I E S
A
pro views her work as craft, not art. Not because she
believes art is devoid of a mystical dimension. On the
contrary. She understands that all creative endeavor is holy,
but she d o e s n ' t dwell on it. S h e k n o w s if she thinks
about that t o o m u c h , it will p a r a l y z e her. So she c o n c e n -
trates on technique. T h e p r o f e s s i o n a l m a s t e r s how, and
l e a v e s what and w h y t o the g o d s . L i k e S o m e r s e t
M a u g h a m she d o e s n ' t w a i t for i n s p i r a t i o n , s h e a c t s i n
the a n t i c i p a t i o n o f i t s a p p a r i t i o n . T h e p r o f e s s i o n a l i s
acutely aware of the intangibles that go into inspiration.
O u t of respect for them, she lets them work. S h e g r a n t s
them their sphere while she concentrates on hers.
T h e sign o f the a m a t e u r i s o v e r g l o r i f i c a t i o n o f and
p r e o c c u p a t i o n with the mystery.
T h e p r o f e s s i o n a l shuts up. She d o e s n ' t talk a b o u t it.
She d o e s her w o r k .
T H E W A R
O F A R T
A P R O F E S S I O N A L A C T S I N T H E
F A C E O F F E A R
T
he amateur believes he must first overcome his fear;
then he can do his work. T h e professional knows that
fear can never be overcome. He knows there is no such thing
as a fearless warrior or a dread-free artist.
What Henry Fonda does, after puking into the toilet in his
dressing room, is to clean up and march out onstage. H e ' s
still terrified but he f o r c e s h i m s e l f f o r w a r d in s p i t e of
his terror. He k n o w s that o n c e he g e t s out into the
a c t i o n , his fear will r e c e d e and h e ' l l be okay.
S T E V E N P R E S S F I E L D
A P R O F E S S I O N A L
A C C E P T S N O E X C U S E S
T
he amateur, underestimating Resistance's cunning,
permits the flu to keep him from his chapters; he
believes the serpent's voice in his head that says mailing off
that manuscript is more important than doing the day's work.
T h e p r o f e s s i o n a l has l e a r n e d better. H e r e s p e c t s
R e s i s t a n c e . He k n o w s if he c a v e s in today, no matter
how p l a u s i b l e the p r e t e x t , h e ' l l be twice as likely to
c a v e in t o m o r r o w .
T h e p r o f e s s i o n a l k n o w s that R e s i s t a n c e is like a
t e l e m a r k e t e r ; i f y o u s o m u c h a s s a y hello, y o u ' r e fin-
i s h e d . T h e p r o d o e s n ' t even p i c k u p the p h o n e . H e
s t a y s a t w o r k .
T H E W A R
O F A R T
A P R O F E S S I O N A L
P L A Y S I T A S I T L A Y S
M
y friend the Hawk and I were playing the first hole at
Prestwick in Scotland; the wind was howling out of
the left. I started an eight-iron thirty yards to windward, but
the gale caught it; I watched in dismay as the ball sailed hard
right, hit the green going sideways, and bounded off into the
cabbage. "Sonofabitch!" I turned to our caddie. " D i d you see
the wind take that shot!?"
He gave that look that only Scottish caddies can give.
"Well, y e ' v e got t' play th' wind now, don't y e ? "
T h e professional conducts his business in the real world.
Adversity, injustice, bad hops and rotten calls, even good
b r e a k s and lucky b o u n c e s all c o m p r i s e the g r o u n d o v e r
which the c a m p a i g n m u s t be w a g e d . T h e field is level,
the p r o f e s s i o n a l u n d e r s t a n d s , only in h e a v e n .
S T E V E N P R E S S F I E L D
8 l
A P R O F E S S I O N A L I S P R E P A R E D
I
'm not talking about craft; that goes without saying. T h e
professional is prepared at a deeper level. He is prepared,
each day, to confront his own self-sabotage.
T h e professional understands that Resistance is fertile
and ingenious. It will throw stuff at him that h e ' s never
seen before.
T h e professional prepares mentally to absorb blows and to
deliver them. His aim is to take what the day gives him. He is
prepared to be prudent and prepared to be reckless, to take a
beating when he has to, and to go for the throat when he can.
He understands that the field alters every day. His goal is not
victory (success will come by itself when it wants to) but to
handle himself, his insides, as sturdily and steadily as he can.
8 2
T H E W A R
O F A R T
A P R O F E S S I O N A L
D O E S N O T S H O W O F F
A
professional's work has style; it is distinctively his
own. But he doesn't let his signature grandstand for
him. His style serves the material. He does not impose it as a
means of drawing attention to himself.
This doesn't mean that the professional doesn't throw
down a 360 tomahawk jam from time to time, just to let the
boys know he's still in business.
S T E V E N P R E S S F I E L D
A P R O F E S S I O N A L
D E D I C A T E S H I M S E L F
T O M A S T E R I N G T E C H N I Q U E
T
he p r o f e s s i o n a l r e s p e c t s his craft. He d o e s not
c o n s i d e r h i m s e l f s u p e r i o r to it. He r e c o g n i z e s the
c o n t r i b u t i o n s o f t h o s e who h a v e g o n e b e f o r e him. H e
a p p r e n t i c e s h i m s e l f to them.
T h e p r o f e s s i o n a l d e d i c a t e s h i m s e l f t o m a s t e r i n g
t e c h n i q u e n o t b e c a u s e h e b e l i e v e s t e c h n i q u e i s a
s u b s t i t u t e for i n s p i r a t i o n b u t b e c a u s e h e w a n t s t o
b e i n p o s s e s s i o n o f the full a r s e n a l o f s k i l l s w h e n
i n s p i r a t i o n d o e s c o m e . T h e p r o f e s s i o n a l i s sly. H e
k n o w s that by t o i l i n g b e s i d e the front d o o r of tech-
n i q u e , h e l e a v e s r o o m for g e n i u s t o enter b y the b a c k .
T H E W A R
O F A R T
A P R O F E S S I O N A L
D O E S N O T H E S I T A T E
T O A S K F O R H E L P
T
iger Woods is the greatest golfer in the world. Yet he
has a teacher; he works with Butch Harmon. And
Tiger doesn't endure this instruction or suffer through it—he
revels in it. It's his keenest professional joy to get out there
on the p r a c t i c e tee with B u t c h , to learn m o r e a b o u t the
g a m e h e l o v e s .
Tiger Woods is the consummate professional. It would
never occur to him, as it would to an amateur, that he knows
everything, or can figure everything out on his own. On the
contrary, he seeks out the most knowledgeable teacher and
listens with both ears. T h e student of the game knows that
the levels of revelation that can unfold in golf, as in any
art, are i n e x h a u s t i b l e .
S T E V E N P R E S S F I E L D
A P R O F E S S I O N A L
D I S T A N C E S H E R S E L F
F R O M H E R I N S T R U M E N T
T
he pro stands at one remove from her instrument—
meaning her person, her body, her voice, her talent;
the physical, mental, emotional, and psychological being she
uses in her work. She does not identify with this instrument.
It is simply what G o d gave her, what she has to work with.
She assesses it coolly, impersonally, objectively.
T h e professional identifies with her consciousness and her
will, not with the matter that her consciousness and will
manipulate to serve her art. D o e s Madonna walk around the
house in cone bras and come-fuck-me bustiers? S h e ' s too
busy planning D - D a y . Madonna does not identify with
"Madonna." Madonna employs "Madonna."
86
T H E W A R
O F A R T
A P R O F E S S I O N A L
D O E S N O T T A K E F A I L U R E
( O R S U C C E S S ) P E R S O N A L L Y
W
hen p e o p l e say an artist has a thick skin, what
they mean is not that the p e r s o n is dense or
numb, but that he has seated his p r o f e s s i o n a l c o n s c i o u s -
ness in a place other than his personal e g o . It takes
tremendous strength o f c h a r a c t e r t o d o t h i s , b e c a u s e
o u r d e e p e s t i n s t i n c t s r u n counter to it. E v o l u t i o n has
p r o g r a m m e d us to feel rejection in our g u t s . T h i s is how
the tribe enforced o b e d i e n c e , by wielding the threat of
e x p u l s i o n . Fear of rejection isn't just p s y c h o l o g i c a l ; i t ' s
b i o l o g i c a l . I t ' s in our cells.
R e s i s t a n c e k n o w s this and u s e s it against us. It uses
fear of rejection to p a r a l y z e us and prevent us, if not
from d o i n g our work, then from e x p o s i n g it to public
evaluation. I had a dear friend who had labored for years
on an excellent and deeply p e r s o n a l novel. It was d o n e .
H e h a d i t i n its m a i l i n g b o x . B u t h e c o u l d n ' t m a k e
h i m s e l f send it off. F e a r of rejection unmanned him.
T h e p r o f e s s i o n a l cannot take rejection p e r s o n a l l y
b e c a u s e to do so reinforces R e s i s t a n c e . E d i t o r s are not
the enemy; critics are not the enemy. R e s i s t a n c e is the
enemy. T h e battle is inside our own heads. We cannot let
S T E V E N P R E S S F I E L D
external criticism, even if i t ' s true, fortify our internal
foe. T h a t foe is s t r o n g enough already.
A p r o f e s s i o n a l s c h o o l s h e r s e l f to stand apart from her
performance, even as she gives herself to it heart and soul.
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