Stories Are About WHO

What if you just have nothing to say? 

You want to write; you have ideas floating around your head, and maybe even that cursed cursor blinking disparagingly at you, your doc open, page blank. But it’s not a symptom of writer’s block—where you can’t figure out how to say what you want to say. 

It’s a slow-growing dread that maybe you have nothing to say. 

That all your ideas, however imaginative in, well, your imagination, are re-treads of well, everything else out there. That messages you had in mind, your why for writing, are cliché at best, redundant at worst. That everyone else can say—and has already said—what you think better than you’ll ever be able to. So why bother writing? 

But if you’re wanting to write, if there are ideas in your head, you do have something to say. It’s not the what of your story that is going to make it shine, it is the who: YOU. Your voice. Your choices. Your interpretation. Even Shakespeare borrowed his plots from tales past, so if it’s good enough for the Bard, it’s good enough for you. 

So when that cursed cursor is blinking, or the pen heavy in your hand, start with just one word. That word that got you thinking. Love. Jealousy. Sky. Airplane. Whatever. Write it down. Then walk away. 

There: you do have something to say. 

(Now you just add 99,999 more of those words, and you have yourself your story! 😊)

People, not Numbers

In the social media world—actually, in the real world, too—we’re judged on numbers. Numbers of followers, numbers of likes, number of subscribers, number of sales, number of readers…

For someone like me who is allergic to numbers (ah choo!) it can be disheartening. I get it: numbers are an easy, quantitative way to measure success. The more [fill in the blank] you have, the more influence/importance you (allegedly) have. 

As much as I’d love it to be otherwise (there are lots of things about our world I would love to be otherwise), the numbers game remains the harsh reality. 

If you play it. 

I’m not suggesting you not play if you want conventional success, especially to find your audience for your stories. 

What I’m saying is that not everything is about the game of finding the most. When I consider YOU, my blog post reader, I try to imagine each and every one of you. Because you’re an individual. A real person. NOT a number. If only one of you ever reads my musings, then I have made an impact. (Or not, depending on what I wrote!) My point is that we often get lost in the numbers racket and forget that the numbers are all people. 

And at the end of the day, I want people reading my work. Because it’s people—YOU—not numbers, who matter.

The Raw Material of Writing

Ideas are easy; writing is hard. 

Ideas are what live in our imagination. They’re what we spool out of our head into a plethora of directions. They’re fun to think about, to work with, to muse about. 

They’re also only your raw material. 

If that’s where you stop, because that’s all the time or energy you have, then great! Romp around in your imagination! Plan your next stories! There is nothing wrong with that. 

But if you want to communicate your imagination, if you want to share your creativity, you need to write it down. 

Which means an idea isn’t enough. Scribbled brainstorming about your idea isn’t enough. A rough outline of your soon-to-be-masterpiece isn’t enough. 

Writing is enough. 

But writing is hard, so even when we want to translate what’s in our head onto the page, it’s challenging to get—and stay—motivated. 

But, on the other hand, that’s what makes it so worthwhile. 

Engage your imagination, then take it out for a spin. Show off what you’ve got by putting words on the page. Your story deserves to be seen.

Write Your Own A+ Story

My daughter’s professor explained that the expectation for a “A” essay was to enlighten her with an analysis she hadn’t seen before. At first glance, it seems like a sound criteria for a high-level university essay. Except it’s not. It makes the criteria relative. A student’s mark is dependent on whether the prof has or hasn’t seen that analysis before, not how good the analysis is. A prof who has been teaching for 30 years and has “seen it all” will no doubt marker harder than a prof who has just begun. 

It’s an easy “mistake” to make when we judge writing (in this case, academic essays). If we’re surprised by the unexpected, we often think it’s good. But it’s also limiting. A writer can still write well if they craft a conventional story with conventional characters. 

Which is why, if you’re not getting traction in the publishing world for your story, it may have nothing to do with quality. It may have everything to do with the publishing industry (agents, editors, publishers) who have “seen it all”—so they’re looking for what they haven’t seen, not necessarily what readers have or haven’t seen. 

This possibility is heartening to me. I can’t possibly write the best story for everybody, but I can write the best story for the one reader I most want to please: myself. I’ll aim for my own A+.

Writing is Real Life

When I joined a community book club, I didn’t know any other members, but I’ve enjoyed getting to know them. It turns out one young woman had attended the same high school I’d taught at for nearly two decades. We dug deeper; she’d never been in my class, but her brother had. That’s when I exclaimed, “I remember your mom!” 

Of the thousands of students and parents I’d met over the years, how was it possible I could pick out one person? Because her mom had been so warm and open; she’d told me all about her daughter’s interest in horseback riding and when I said my own two (at the time) young daughters were interested, she invited us to visit the stables where her daughter rode. We took her up on that offer—and that got my kids into riding lesson. (For which my new book club friend apologized, given the cost!) This was not typical of a parent-teacher relationship, yet it was so generous on the part of their mom. 

It’s easy for writers to craft serendipitous moments when two characters reunite or find a distant connection. It’s even easier for readers to dismiss these moments as being “too convenient” or “too coincidental”. The writer has to ensure these moments are neither; there has to be clear cause-and-effect so the reader does buy that this scene could happen—but then my reunion with this former student reminded me how possible these moments actually are. As a writer, lean into them. 

Writing Is Its Own Beauty

We had a big snowstorm here recently, and as I was (inside, snuggly and cozy) staring out my back window, I noticed a tree had fallen and been caught horizontally among neighbouring trees. With the snow cover and sunlight, it was a beautiful sight.

That’s when it struck me that I own that tree. It’s on our property, part of a small forest, yet it seemed strange to think that yes, I “own” that tree. And perhaps legally, that’s true, but that tree was here long before me and, unless I take an axe to it, its fallen trunk will be here long after me. 

It reminded me of a phrase from the English poet John Keats. “How beautiful are the retired flowers? How they would lose their beauty were they to throng into the highway crying out ‘admire me, I am a violet! Dote upon me, I am a primrose!’” Keats’s argues that the flower is beautiful because it just is. Just as “my” tree is beautiful because it is. Not because I “own” it, or even because I’m taking the time to admire it. 

Our writing is the same way. Of course we want our writing to say read me! We want editors and readers to dote upon us, but our writing—like Keats’s flowers or my tree—has beauty in and of its own accord. Our writing isn’t about its reception, but its own inherent beauty. 

Your Identity As a Writer

The identity of “writer” isn’t conditional. It’s not an action. It’s a state of mind. It’s being a writer, not just doing writing. Can you be a writer and never set words to paper? Yes. Are you an imposter? No. If you have stories swirling in your head, but don’t have time to jot them down, how does that disqualify you? You may not be able to claim “writer” as a profession (then again, how many authors, published or not, can??) But you can claim it as part of who you are and how you see yourself. 

I was reminded of this when I told a new friend that I’m a swimmer, not a runner. Only, I actually spend more time running now than I do swimming. My time at the gym lends itself better to hopping on the treadmill than hopping into the pool. Yet, my heart, if not my body, will always leap first into the pool. So even though I’m pounding the pavement more than I’m gliding through water, I feel like a swimmer. 

That’s all you need. How you feel. So own that identity. No one can tell you otherwise. If you want evidence to prove to others, well, then, fine, get your ass in chair and write the next great Canadian/American novel. But if you don’t have time in your life right now, or you don’t have a book published, that’s okay. Call yourself a writer because you are a writer.

The Aura of a Writer

At university, my daughter was stopped by a friendly, random stranger to ask if she was an athlete. Surprised, my daughter wasn’t sure how to respond. She loves sports and used to play, but isn’t right now so she can focus on her studies. Her first reaction (besides what made you think that?) was hesitation. Normally, she identifies as an athlete, but she felt she couldn’t lay claim to the title because she wasn’t participating in sports at the moment. 

Eventually, she stuttered a “yes, but…” They chatted for a few minutes, then went their separate ways. 

Sports have always been an interest of hers; that doesn’t change just because her circumstances change. The same with writing. We want to identify as writers, but “I don’t write”. And you may not write because of your current circumstances. Or you may think you have no claim to the identity because you don’t have a book published. But the friendly, random stranger did not ask if my daughter was on any award-winning, sports team. They just saw an aura they connected with “athlete” and made a leap. 

Which is why you are as much entitled to the identity of “writer” as any NYT bestseller, award winner or even published author, no matter your experience. No matter if you’re even writing at the moment. If you write/have written/want to make time to write in the future, then you get to decide. Yes, I am a Writer.

Labels Can Be Important

How excited was I when I found out there was a name for me! A label! I “suffer” from tsundoku, a Japanese term for the phenomenon of acquiring reading material but letting them pile up in one’s home without reading them. 

That’s me! I have large to-read piles, and multiples of them, too. I love going to bookstores and stocking up, but always it’s accompanied with guilt. When will I ever get to these gems? How will I ever get to them all? And here comes a term that basically lets me off the hook. I don’t have to! I can collect! I can enjoy the look and feel, the atmosphere and mood that my piles of unread books give me. The pleasure and anticipation of potential. The plethora of choice when I do have a chance to pick one up. 

My daughter collects replica swords. She has a beautiful array of weaponry on her wall. Yet she isn’t using them (thank god!) My books are the same. I’ll read what I can when I can, but if not, that’s okay. They still bring me joy. 

Tsundoku. That’s me.

How You Think

You may have heard the phrase “how you live each day is how you live your life”. I like the practicality of that—what is life if not a collection of days, weeks, months and years?—but I also chafed at what I originally felt was some sort of judgment. If I wanted to be a writer, but I didn’t have time to write (thanks, day job, kids, husband, family responsibilities, domestic chores and more), if I wasn’t writing every day, then was I not living the life I wanted to have? As a writer? 

Now my day job is all about writing—my own and coaching others. So now I can buy into that phrase? But just because I had made changes in my own career didn’t mean that was possible for everyone, so were they not integrating writing into their lives if they didn’t write every day? I had trouble reconciling the statement. 

Until I realized it’s not what you do, specifically, on a daily basis, but how you think. If you think like a writer—you have story ideas buzzing around your head, you’re interested to pick up the next book off your to-read pile, you can’t wait to join your next book club discussion, you decide on a new direction for your plot—then it is part of your everyday life. 

Even if you can’t write for an hour, or even five minutes, you’re still living the life of a writer.