Real Artists Ship

In 1983, Apple was pushing like crazy to get the Macintosh done. They had been losing market share to competitors and Steve Jobs wanted to create a product that would reverse this trend. The Mac wasn’t the only thing Apple was working on. They had another personal computer called the Lisa, which you probably haven’t heard of because it’s been long forgotten. Jobs was (rightly) convinced that Macintosh was the company’s future and he brought his considerable energy to the project.

As the January 1984 launch date approached, however, his team begin to push back. They were trying to make a product that was, in Jobs’ words, “insanely great” and the enormity of this task made their deadlines start to look impossible. The coders suggested that the first batch of machines have a version of the software labeled “demo,” just to give them a few weeks to catch up. In response to such grumbling, Jobs responded by saying, “Real artists ship.” After a bracing call in which he refused their pleas for extra time, they pulled a string of all-nighters and got the work done.

Real artists ship.

Jobs used that mantra throughout the Macintosh project. He wrote it on chart paper as a guiding theme during corporate retreats.

It’s great to have high standards. Jobs was famous for them. He irritated his engineers by insisting that circuit boards – which the consumer would never see – be aesthetically pleasing. And yet his perfectionism did not lead to paralysis, as evidenced by the staggering number of products he brought to market.

Since this blog’s theme is the writing process, what’s the connection?

When you see a wall of books in a bookstore, they are there because those writers shipped. Not just once, but over and over.

They shipped unfinished manuscripts off to early readers, soliciting feedback.

When the manuscripts were ready, they shipped query letters to agents (probably many query letters, in the teeth of much rejection).

After obtaining an agent, they turned around and starting shipping to publishers.

And once they found publishers, they finally got paid and now the publisher is doing the shipping, on their behalf, to the very bookstore in which you stand.

But that book is on the shelf only because those writers had the courage to ship. If this courage broke down at any point in the process, their work would not be a tangible thing you can hold in your hand. It would be a half-finished file in a computer. Something they tinker with on occasion. Something that is in a perpetual state of “almost done…. just a few more edits.”

As writers, our goal should be to ship. What that looks like will vary, depending on where you are in the process. But when shipping is your goal, it makes you pragmatic and tough-minded. You’re a craftsman, putting your stuff out into the world, whether or not the world is ready for it.

And it doesn’t have to be flawless, just 85% as good as you can make it. The Macintosh did indeed turn out to be insanely great, but it wasn’t perfect, either. After the coders had finished their marathon session of all-nighters, they presented the final product to Jobs, informing him about a glitch that still existed. He said it wasn’t a big deal. Then they shipped.

 A couple notes:

• I got these anecdotes from Walter Isaacson’s biography of Jobs. Not that this book needs my help, but here’s the link. Fantastic read.

• I find Jobs fascinating, but this entry shouldn’t read as though I put him on a pedestal. He was a complex guy. His brilliance, drive, and devotion to aesthetic simplicity should be emulated. The way he treated other people… less so.