The business of teaching creative writing is tricky, after all. Schultz readily admits, even enthuses over the fact, that contradictions mark the writing process. Even writers blessed with vocabulary, rhythm, and a sterling ear run into horrifying stretches of inability to make anything work. Schultz now understands that by burning his story Morris meant he had a facility for language. Dancers know they're going to have bloody feet.
Pianists know they're going to have to practice like crazy.
Conversely, many apprentice writers are lulled into thinking their art is less taxing because after all, everyone writes in the course of daily life, from term papers to letters. Schultz believes writing is not only a matter of constant practice. It depends on negotiating buried, self-defeating emotions that he thinks cause people to veer away from their strangest, toughest, and presumably best material. However, after moving to San Francisco, Dickey became unstable and killed himself in 1972. In a letter to Schultz, Dickey talked about hearing two sets of voices, one in each ear.