She Who Writes, Wins!

I am a writer.

It took me a long time to accept this truth. If you've reading my blog, you have seen this journey. I used to say I want to write. That I was going to write a book some day (even though I was in the process of writing it even then). That I want to be an author and be published. But I would never admit outloud or on paper that I am a writer.

What makes a writer? It's not publication. And if we're going to talk about publication, I need to remind myself that this blog is a form of publication.

Being a writer isn't about passion or desire. Sure, those are components but they aren't what makes a person a writer.

What I have learned through time, and the patient reminders of my good friends, is that a writer is a person who wakes up in the morning and must write. Where writing is like breathing, you just cannot survive without writing something. Anything. Whether it be a journal entry, a letter, a poem, a story, you must write.

If you don't write, the days are dark and something is missing. Something vital to your being. If you don't write, it's as though the joy is being slowly sucked from your soul.

But when you do write, oh, the sun shines anew! The world lights with color and texture and sound like never before. And that secret part of you is blessed and filled to overflowing.

These things hold true for me. I am a writer. And every day I write even a sentance I win because I am being true to who I am and who God has made me to be.

I am a writer. Are you?

This post was entered in the You Are a Writer contest by Jeff Goins.

7 Lines from the 7th Page

 A little fun from Kait Nolan's blog. The perfect fun for a day when I'm feeling anything like fun and games. Ha!

Instructions:

1. Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next seven lines as they are – no cheating
4. Tag 7 other authors

From page 7 of TIW (yes, it's a little more than 7 lines):

When I was a little girl I thought I could see fairies. Ethereal and menacingly beautiful creatures with feathery wings and shining auras. I would never engage them, never talk to them or attempt to play with them. But I could see them out of the corner of my eye. Waiting, watching. 

My mother saw me once, softening my gaze as I looked out over a fountain in the middle of the town we called home at the time. The fear on her face was enough to keep me from ever speaking about what I saw. My gaze has been clear and crisp ever since. 

I don't know enough people who will want to participate to tag anyone, so if you're reading this and you would like to play along, please do! And let me know in the comments so I can support you in reading your 7 lines on page 7. :) 

Who Says You Can't Go Home

Writing is going well. I have a lot of short vignettes that have nothing to do with any of my works in progress. They are part of my writing recovery. And they are slowly sparking the inspiration deep within me.

I'm also journaling. I used to journal all the time. I always had some type of paper journal, something with unlined pages and a soft, leather cover. Something I could slip into my bag or backpack and write in anywhere. I would work out my fears and anxieties within those pages, knowing that they were for me and me alone. It was safe. It didn't judge, nor did it try to offer ill timed advice.

I stopped journaling a few years into marriage once I started working full time. I was in full time school for my master's degree, working full time and was utterly exhausted every step of the way. I had no time to think, let alone journal. Funny, it was during this time I found myself writing fiction. Apparently I didn't want to deal with my own life so I made up fictional lives I could torture instead.

Writing fiction became my journal. At first, what I wrote had autobiographical qualities loosely disguised in a thin veneer of fiction. I worked through some deeply hurtful issues within those first stories. I was able to address certain things while still remaining slightly apart from them.  It was a balm and it helped me keep my sanity through a very chaotic time in my life.

I think a part of me missed my journal. Writing fiction instead of journaling was like moving away from my home town to the big city. It was exciting, different and yet had some of the same qualities I loved about that home town.  But even in the big city a girl can long for home.

Fiction is wonderful, but sometimes you need to focus on your life in this precise moment. Sometimes you need to chronicle events and decisions so you can look back at them and remember. And grow.

I'm writing fiction again. Some of it is still somewhat autobiographical in nature. Most of it is wonderful fantastical. I'm not trying to live my life and my issues on those pages. What a relief. That is for my journal. I haven't found that wonderful leather bound book to write in...yet, but I'm not letting that be an excuse. Last year, it would have been. I have an old notebook, worn and plain, but it's got paper and I have a pen and as soon as I start writing the pages become filled with my every thought. It's a little like coming home.

To Have Joy or to Write, That is the Question

I think someone up there is trying to tell me something.

Everywhere I have turned in the last few weeks, the same message has been occurring. It's about passion. It's about joy. And it's starting to impact my writing.

I've been challenged to let go of writing for the sake of publication. To let go of the drive to have my words in the hands of the masses. To stop focusing on pleasing the reader and to write to please myself. To find joy in writing again by writing only for me. Writing because without spending time writing, I am lost.

With my current work in progress, I have been trying hard to apply all the lessons I have learned on craft and to change how I write so I can write a story that is marketable. Many of the people I look up to as successful authors talk about writing to the market, writing to an audience and how that works for them. And it obviously works for them, so I decided to see if it could work for me. My end goal is to be published. Why not test out the process of those who are successful at what they do?

Sounds good on paper, but in reality it's caused me no end of self doubt and brain freeze. Am I doing things right? Will my concept even appeal to anyone? Who the hell do I think I am that I could ever be published? Why is this so hard?

I keep hearing that writing is hard. I won't lie, the initial draft for me is easy. The story just comes. It's not completely fleshed out. It has no end of flaws. But actually getting words on the page is easy. Revisions are hard. Revisions are hell. I'm learning to do some things differently so I can embrace the process of reshaping my story into something more cohesive and polished. But it is hell.

Recently, the entire process of getting words on the page has been hellish. After getting hit over the head with some blog posts and writerly advice from writers I had never even heard of before this week, I know why. I stopped writing for the sake of writing. I stopped writing for the joy of seeing words form sentences, sentences forming paragraphs, paragraphs forming scenes and scenes forming stories.

I stopped finding joy in creating.

There, I said it. It has shamed me for a long time that I didn't have the rush, the joy of writing anymore. It's chased me for years. I stopped writing for a while because of it. I started writing for fun instead of profit for a while and thought I was on the road to recovery.

That ended the minute I started trying to write something that is publishable. My joy fizzled out until I became a dry husk and the words no longer flowed freely. I had to fight for every last one of them.

You know what? I'm done. I'm writing for me again. I still want to publish, but I'm going to go about it differently. I'm going back to the beginning and doing two things. I'm going to take my current wip and keep everything that sings to me and scrap the rest. Then I'm going to start writing again, just to let the words flow and to make my heart burst with joy. I'm not going to put the pressure on this story to be THE story. I'm just going to let it be story. Just story.

I'm also going to focus on craft. Not publishing. Craft. There's a course I really want to take that has been recommended for years by Marjorie Liu - Clarion. It sounds amazing. While I wish I could go to Clarion this year and immerse myself into a writing community for six weeks, I can't afford the time off of life right now to do so.

Instead of feeling sorry for myself because I can't go to Clarion, I'm going to go back to a writing course I took by Holly Lisle back in 2007, or was it 2008? Anyway, I took How to Think Sideways by Holly and am a life time member of her novel writer boot camp. I have all the lessons and am going to start at the beginning. Not with my current WIP. I'm instead going to create a new story through the process. Just for fun and for knowledge.

Some day I will be a published author. For now I need to write for me or I'm going to lose writing altogether and that, I just cannot do. It would be like cutting out part of my soul, and who can live with only half a soul? Hmm, maybe there's a story idea there...

When It Gets Scary

 I'm a writer. I'm not published but I do write. And I've reached something of an impasse with my self-esteem. I'll be brutally honest - this story scares me.

I know why. I don't think I'm a talented enough writer to pull this story off. The complexity of this story shakes me to my core. It always has. I've attempted to write in various incarnations. In one I had the motivation wrong and threw in characters who didn't need to be there. In another draft, I attempted to downplay the portions of the story that truly frighten me. In a fast draft, I actually hit The End only to realize the story doesn't really end at this point and is likely a trilogy, I'm still not clear on motivation and my characterization falls flat.

I am now taking Discovering Story Magic with Laura Baker and wish the class was longer or my work life was less busy or I could be on vacation while attempting to get to the heart of this story. I went into the class willing to change everything. Every. Last. Word. Heck, I was willing to change my characters as well. Which is a good thing, because things, they are a changing. I'm still scared. Scared shitless that I will never be the skilled author I need to be to tell this story. But I'm working through the fear and not letting it get to me.

It would be really easy to walk away from this story and move on to something else. In fact, I may write another story while I continue to work on this one. I may have skills I need to develop before I can truly tell this tale. That's okay. I want to identify those skills and work on them. I think about authors I admire and I have to remember they all had a learning curve. Heck, Nora Roberts wrote shorter category romance before tackling Eve and Roarke or her more complex single titles. JR Ward started in single title and category romance before she started writing her Black Dagger Brotherhood series. Jill Shalvis wrote for many, many years before her latest series (which I love with a capital L).

What I'm trying to remind myself is this - writing is a learned skill. Every mistake, every misstep, every solid plot line and every completed book allows me to learn more about the craft and what it takes for me to write a book. I'm not my favorite authors. And I'm not where they are on their writing journeys. I'm me and I am where I am.

Yes, this story scares me. Does that make me a horrible writer? Only if I let the fear win.

I haven't forgotten to think about what I'm grateful for. This week, it's easy.

1. Laura Baker for her insight in plotting and brainstorming and her ability to understand what's in my head and verbalize it in a way that makes sense
2. Farrah Rochon and Cynthia Justlin for their enouragement as we all walk this road called writing
3. My favorite authors who continue to show me it can be done 
4. My mom, who has a birthday today! I'm so thankful she's a reader and taught me to love stories

Of Mice and Migraines

I'm not sure what triggered it, but I was down for the count Tuesday with a migraine. I can't take medication to help assuage the pain and suffering that comes on with a migraine. All I can do is lay still in a room devoid of stimuli and pray for the pain the stop. Fortunately, I don't get these very often.

As I was coming out of my migraine hell I was suddenly grateful for the pain. yes, this sounds really masochistic, but the pain in my head and the inability to do anything, anything at all, reminded me how blessed I am to be a relatively healthy human being. It also reminded my how thankful I am that I work somewhere that won't fire me for a periodic unplanned absence. And that I have the sick/vacation time to cover such incidents without financial implications. I have a quiet dog that will sleep through the day when he senses I'm in pain. I have a husband who encourages me to take care of myself.

I didn't feel so grateful while under the influence of the knife digging it's way through my eye or the searing pain that occurred whenever I moved my head. It was after the experience that I was able to look back and be thankful.

This got me thinking a little about failure and gratitude and how some of the most impactful lessons I've learned have been spawned from failure. How I wouldn't be the person I am today without those experiences. I would rather not have to go through the pain to find the gift, but I have a feeling that's part of the human experience. So after I'm through the pain of failure, I can be thankful. Not for the pain, that's crazy talk. No, thankful for the gift I found on the other side.

Which brings me to the mice. No, they don't really have anything to do with my migraines but they did offer me another opportunity to find a gift in a shitty situation. We had mice in our house years ago and would not have been aware of their presence if one of them hadn't decided to nest in my make-up bag. I'm not the most fashionable of women and I rarely wear make-up on a daily basis. One this morning, I had decided some of my feminine armor was imperative and I opened the drawer in the vanity only to find my make-up brushes had been desecrated and my make-up was now the foundation for some rodent's defecation. Disgusting did not cover it.

We cleaned out the drawer, set traps and Mountain Man searched the foundation for cracks or holes to plug. We eradicated the mutant rodent threat within the week, but that didn't fix the fact that on a day I felt I had needed it most, my urban camouflage had been gunned down by the enemy.

It took me a couple of weeks to figure out the gift in the situation. It wasn't the trip to MAC for the first time in my life to get big girl cosmetics. It wasn't the fact Mountain Man figured out how to keep malevolent mutant rodents from entering our house ever again. It was how I handled myself in the situation I thought I had needed my cosmetic armor for in the first place.

Without going into detail, I had a meeting with a woman who always looked chic and pulled together where I always felt dumpy. I was going to at least try to play to her level in an attempt to even out the field, but the mutant mice thwarted my plans. I was an emotional mess as I anticipated this meeting, angry at the mice, angry at the timing, angry, anxious, frustrated in general that it had to all coalesce on this one day where I desperately wanted everything to go right.

The meeting was about to start when I decided it wasn't worth it. If I couldn't persuade this woman that my ideas to more efficiently organize the volunteer program were brilliant, then she was just to narrow minded to see good ideas that weren't dressed up in designer clothing , expensive make-up and perfect hair. I pulled on my big girl panties and walked into that meeting with my charts and outlines and presentation. And she took one look at me with my pasty face, Target dress, and sneered. I pushed through, knowing I was right and I had a good idea and attempted to persuade her with reason.

My documentation was fantastic and when she stopped looking at me and looked at the numbers, she started to listen. Sure, she offered me the same snide comments about my appearance as she usually did, but she actually took me seriously and allowed me to implement some of my ideas.

Those mice, they started off the perfect storm that led to my realization that good ideas should, and can stand on their own. Would I want to live through the emotional roller coaster again? Hell, no! But what I learned after that experience has been invaluable to me.

Gratitude is easy when you're grateful for things that bring you joy or feed your passion. Gratitude amid the shit storms that occur in life is so much more difficult but is often even more powerful.

2012 In A Word

In January, a couple of fellow bloggers posted theme words for 2012. I loved the idea and set out on a month long journey to find my word for 2012. I wanted a word that would sum up what I want to focus on this year. A word that would both challenge and inspire me.

After much thought and reflection, my word for 2012 found me. It felt like this word, gratitude, was chasing me around the internet, popping up in blog posts, on websites, in the news. Gratitude even had the audacity to show up in books I was reading and be the topic of a podcast or two. I was looking for something flashier, something that appeared more of a challenge, so I ignored gratitude. It's concept is deceptively simple, surely this wasn't the word for me.

But gratitude would not be ignored. I did what I usually do when a concept niggles at me long enough - I take a good, hard look at it. And at myself.

I was challenged several times in 2011 to remember all the things in my life that I am truly grateful for instead of focusing on the things in my life that aren't quite so...wonderful. It's not that I lived under a dismal cloud or was faced with overwhelming hardships. It's more that over the year sI tend to find that negative headspace, hang pictures on the walls, dust off the furniture , and move on in.

It's one thing to be realistic. It's another to focus so completely on the thorns you forget the beauty of the rose. That was me - focusing so intently on each individual thorn and how I was going to attack it that I forgot just how amazing the roses of my life really are. Yes, as corny as it sounds, I stopped smelling the roses.

This weekend I stopped fighting it. Gratitude is my word for 2012. Gratitude is as much a discipline as it is a mindset. I'm not all that great with discipline (if you work with me, ignore that sentence. I'm wonderful with discipline at work!). As gratitude was pursuing me, I ran across this blog post  and zeroed in on the happiness equation.

Chip Conley encourages readers to do two key things:

• show your gratitude daily in a manner that is meaningful to the recipeint
• write a gratitude journal and/or have a gratitude buddy and answer thse two questions: "What gifts do you have in your life that are easy to take for granted?" "What was a recent gift that may have been wrapped up as a pain or punishment?"

I don't know if I'll go so far as to answer those questions every day on my blog, but my blog is a quasi-public way for me to chronicle my journey toward gratitude. My goal, since I need goals to keep focused, is to blog daily for the remainder of February if for no other reason than to record my gratitudes. I did this a little last year, but I wasn't committed to the journey. This time, I am.

Gratitude is my word for 2012. I wonder what changes I'll see when 2013 arrives.