thoughts from a two-year-old writer

Recently I’ve been receiving this rash of wonderful wise words from established writers about the act of writing – everything from excerpts from John R. Erikson’s “Story Craft” …

 “My approach to writing has not been dramatic or romantic. It draws upon practical wisdom from ranching: Don’t pump your water well so hard that it goes dry; don’t overgraze your pastures; don’t milk your cow so often that she drops dead. The model I use in my writing is not the tormented genius screaming back at the storm, but a mule pulling a plow, around and around, hour after hour and day after day. Pulling a plow is a mule’s vocation. Mine is writing good stories for people who need good stories.”

to Stephen King’s On Writing…

“It starts with this: put your desk in the corner, and every time you sit down there to write, remind yourself why it isn’t in the middle of the room. Life isn’t a support system for art. It’s the other way around.”

Of course, early on in the multi-year process of deciding that writing was what I should pursue, I read Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water …

“You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.”

and Neil Gaiman’s View from the Cheap Seats…

“It is the writer’s job to explode, and the analysts to pick up the pieces and figure out what happened.”

I love reading about the craft of writing because whenever I dive into these things I feel this affinity for the person on the other side of the page – like I get this person deeply, like if I sat down with them they would get me too. Maybe I’ll get the chance. Three of them are still living…

I realized as I was reading through these accounts that I have some thoughts myself about the writing process that might be worth sharing. Of course, they would never (at this point) be as extensive or tested as these giants of storytelling – in fact, they’ll only be as long as this blog post – but I hope these thoughts are helpful.

And if not, well, I’ll have written them down for the day that I write my own book on the craft of writing. *crosses fingers*

There were some recurring questions I ran up against in the past two years of transition. Here they are, with what I learned from them.

Can you get rejected and keep going?

Notice I didn’t ask if you’re okay with rejection; no one is. It sucks. But rejection is a fact of freelance life – of any writer’s life – of any creator’s life. By last January I had sent out around twenty or so manuscripts and single pieces to different publications and publishers, and hadn’t received anything back. I was writing like mad so I had plenty of material, but I was discouraged by the responses I was receiving – all kind, but all “thanks-but-no-thanks.”

I remember reading somewhere about turning rejection on its head, making it a goal instead of a failure. Doing this shifted your priorities enough to push past the fear of it and keep sending out work. So I made my 2018 New Year’s resolution to get 100 rejections in a single year.

I made a list, with the help of sites like AuthorsPublish, Freedom with Writing, and Writers Weekly. I snooped around the bios of authors I liked to see where they were published and added those places to the list. And then every night, I submitted one to two pieces to a contest, blog, or literary magazine. While I racked up a decent number of rejections in the first half of the year, I also racked up a few acceptances. When it was possible, I asked editors for feedback, and I applied their feedback to my writing.

Shifting the game from accruing acceptances (a rare commodity) to accruing rejections (an abundant commodity) was what I needed to remind myself that rejection was going to be my norm. Without the understanding that disappointment was going to be a part of life and I needed to use it to grow, I would never have been ready to make the decision to dive into freelancing.

Can you set realistic goals and will you complete them?

Notice I didn’t ask if you could write well. That’s a good question to ask, but it’s complicated and personalized. What’s more important is determining whether you will make goals that match your abilities so that you can actually follow through. My goal of one submission a night was feasible for a dad with a full-time job and four kids five and under. It was small enough that I could definitely do it. Previous goals were writing-based – one post a week on a blog, taking one night a week to write for 2-3 hours, etc. Whatever the goal, small steps can and will turn into big steps, as long as you understand your limitations and realize you have to be in it for the long haul.

It’s the same thing with the Christian life, btw. We all need to be reminded that nothing we do will separate us from the love of Christ. But what we do matters – just ask the sheep and the goats. What so many consider to be inconsequential pieces of the Christian life are, according to Scripture, THE Christian life. Prayer, Bible reading, going to church, participating in the sacraments, living in community – these are how we talk to and hear from God. They aren’t big or flashy methods of Christianity. They’re lifelines that produce courageous faith, and they help us to mind our own business and work with our hands.

Start small, and follow through.

Do you know what you love to write?

This takes a while to discover, but having a general idea of what you really like to write about will stand you in good stead. Early on I realized that I loved story and creative writing much more than other types of technical and marketing writing. I also was passionate about the arts, particularly music and story. And finally, I loved writing for the worship of the church. These are all guideposts pointing me to what I’m good at writing.

I can fake a lot of other things. But the fact remains: if I’m not excited about something, it’s harder to write. This is not, as many people claim, a bad phenomenon. It is something to realize and use. Believable writing comes from an authentic place. I can write marketing copy. But it won’t be that great by comparison to a report about how God is working in the world, or a liturgy for confession, or a story for or about my kids.

And if you can’t find a readily accessible market for what you love, do three things in order: 1) Dig deeper. 2) Be patient. 3) Make one.

Are you and your community supportive of each other?

I believe strongly that the merit of what we as artists accomplish is based on the level of community we let into our process. Simply – the best art comes from community, and gives back to the community. This goes way beyond simply asking your friends if they know anybody who needs writing. It goes to the heart of why you’re even doing this writing thing at all, and if your answer is for yourself, you’re not going to succeed. Spiritually, an individualistic pursuit of a goal will dry you out and wear you down. Practically, without a cushion of encouragers, first-network fans or healthy support group, you won’t even get good gigs.

So consider this – how would you respond to your church family if they asked you to write something for them? How are your words pointing those around you to Christ? How are you giving of yourself – in all ways, not just writing ways – to love and care for the people closest to you? Dig into this community, not for what it gives you in return, but because they’re your family.

Who owns your words?

I have to repeat some big ideas to myself a lot, and the primary idea is that my identity is not “writer,” it is “child of God.” This reminds me that, of no merit of my own, and having done nothing to deserve it (not even writing a best-selling novel or a stellar blog post), I am accepted and loved and valued. Your writing is not the best writing in the world, but it is unique to you, because you are a unique child of God. Your voice has meaning and value, and God gave it to you for a reason. As you submit yourself to Him as a willing vessel, He will use you.

The second idea that needs a lot of repetition is that my work is not mine. Madeleine L’Engle captures this idea in “Walking on Water” when she says:

“The artist must be obedient to the work, whether it be a symphony, a painting, or a story for a small child. I believe that each work of art, whether it is a work of great genius, or something very small, comes to the artist and says, “Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.” And the artist either says, “My soul doth magnify the Lord,” and willingly becomes the bearer of the work, or refuses; but the obedient response is not necessarily a conscious one, and not everyone has the humble, courageous obedience of Mary.”

This is the other thing I need to bump into daily – my writing isn’t ultimately about me or my experiences. It is a window into something eternal. As soon as I clench my fist around what I’ve written and claim it as my own, the work is stillborn. But if I open my hand and let the words live and move and have their being in submission and boldness, the work is endlessly meaningful.

Your turn.

So I would love to know what wisdom you’ve learned about your vocation. Also – what books on the craft on the creative process would you recommend to me?