Everyone who has ever attempted to “become a writer” is familiar with one commandment that outweighs all others: Writers must always be writing. Every time you step away from the keyboard to watch TV, walk the dog, or heaven forbid, take a shower, all the other hopeful writers out there keep banging out new work, improving their craft with every stanza and paragraph. Stop writing even for a moment, and you’ll quickly be left behind.

As one of those misguided humans who is pursuing writing, I have lived this rule, ignoring many tasks and pastimes over the years to prioritize composition practice. But now, I’m a failure. Since June I’ve spent over 200 hours exploring the land of Hyrule, occasionally fighting monsters, but mostly harvesting mushrooms. They’re not even very literary mushrooms, although one variety improves my attack score, which is invaluable when confronting a cave full of Horroblins.

For those who have never picked up a video game controller, Hyrule is the fictional land in which the Legend of Zelda video games are set. I’ve been exploring versions of this fantasy landscape since Christmas morning 1987, when Santa Claus dropped off the original Nintendo Entertainment System for my brother and me. I’d be curious (and likely horrified) to see my lifetime tally of hours spent playing video games. If I had attributed all those minutes to writing, by now I’d be Stephen King.

Oh well. But defeating Gannon at the end of each Zelda iteration is rewarding too, I guess?

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Every day I work with people who have also put an unfathomable amount of time into the pursuit of a goal: high school seniors. From the start of kindergarten to the day they are handed their diplomas, they will have spent about 19,000 hours sitting in classrooms. The minutes sequestered in English classes alone add up to an impressive 2,340 hours or 97.5 days. Just imagine what they could have accomplished in Hyrule had they spent all that time playing video games.

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Sometimes, when the journey is too long, the ending feels less like an achievement and more like another step to be endured.

ERIC RASMUSSEN
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I’m kidding, of course. But while some of them might not view all their English class hours as time well spent, I’m continually honored that I get to be present on their last days as public school students. Each year I prepare a little speech, something to commemorate the occasion and express my well wishes, which I deliver at the end of our final class period together. Most of the time, they’re too distracted to care. I pour my heart out while they pack their things and mob the door. I don’t blame them. Sometimes, when the journey is too long, the ending feels less like an achievement and more like another step to be endured.

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The funny thing about my video game habit is that I no longer finish the games. Before starting The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom, I played Metroid: Prime. After defeating all the aliens and progressing through the story, I saved my game on the doorstep of the final boss and never returned. Prior to that, I played Hollow Knight, and after fighting all the bug monsters and locating all the digital ephemera, I set the game aside without achieving the glorious end.

After I find one more ancient sage in Zelda, I’ll likely quit that game, too. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m trying to learn the other lesson writers are told to embrace: instead of focusing on a desired payoff, learn to appreciate the journey. Find happiness harvesting digital mushrooms, and you no longer have to worry about Ganon waiting to face you in The Depths. Most of the time, this feels like sound advice. Other times I wonder, if there’s no promise of a payoff, why start the journey at all?

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Eight years ago, to support local writers and connect with the newly-formed Chippewa Valley Writers Guild, I helped start the local literary journal Barstow & Grand, and this past November we released the seventh issue. I’ve never tracked the hours this project requires of the editorial team and me, but I suspect it’s a shocking number.

For this project, the rewards are a little easier to identify. Holding a copy of the finished journal each year feels great, as does imagining what our authors experience when they receive theirs in the mail. Best of all, though, is the release party. This year’s was held at The Lakely, and the place was packed. Authors drove in from St. Paul, Dubuque, Milwaukee, and even Chicago just to read their work for a few minutes in front of the hometown crowd. We had a DJ and our own specialty cocktail. It was a great party, and numerous people shared their gratitude for a memorable time. When it comes to payoffs, what more could I possibly hope for than that?

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Learn more about Barstow & Grand, the Chippewa Valley’s own literary journal, at barstowandgrand.com.