But Striving for Satisfaction

Back in high school, after my first break-up, I despaired I’d never find another boyfriend—a dramatic reaction, perhaps, but not atypical for a heartbroken teen. Stop looking for one! My friends told me. Uh, not helpful. But of course, they weren’t wrong. By the end of university—and the end of a few failed relationships—I’d given up. Enough with this dating crap! In fact, I ended up confiding in a new friend about how much I did not want a boyfriend. He was so kind as he listened to me rant. 

He’s now my husband. 

So yes, I believe in the concept of not chasing happiness. It’s the same for the concept of success, too, particularly as a writer. We can’t control our conventional “success” (bestseller status, award winner); instead, we need to reframe success as a feeling. Something that just happens when we’re not striving for it, when we’re not paying attention to it. It’s about focusing on what we can do—write the best book we can—and letting the chips fall where they may. That’s not to say we sit on our laurels; we need to put in the work—and that’s what we need to enjoy. 

It’s not easy—just like my (non) search for my soulmate wasn’t an instantaneous switch in my brain—but if we’re going to be striving for something anyway, why not strive for satisfaction in the writing itself? 

Assumptions about Assumptions

My husband was chatting with a work colleague he hadn’t seen in a while. “How was your trip?” he asked, assuming she’d been on vacation, her normal routine at that time of year. 

“I wasn’t away,” she explained. “My whole house burned down. I had nothing left except, literally, the clothes on my back.” She paused. “Well, and my car keys because I went back inside to get my purse.”

Wow. How dramatic and tragic. What we’d assumed—she’d been enjoying herself on a beach—had been the exact opposite of how she’d actually been living—homeless, until she could make temporary arrangements.

It reminded me how easily we do that—make assumptions. It’s not that we have to walk around thinking darkness lurks around every corner, but it made me appreciate how we could ask differently. Though I would have done the same as my husband, now I’m wondering if a better question might have been “How was your time off?”

Being aware of assumptions is crucial to our job as writers. It’s how our own characters act and react. It’s how they get into—and out of—situations. It’s how they communicate with the other characters in your story. It’s how they think. But we are not our characters. We are the authors. We need to know more, see more, understand more. Maybe one place to start is to consider our own assumptions in our own world. 

Writing Fitness

I recently joined a gym. Normally, I’d sneak down into my home gym, alone, where there was no judgement. And I don’t mean no judgment from others—I mean no judgment from me about myself. 

Yet, buoyed by a desire for change, I ventured out. No surprise I was met with people who were way fitter than me. But I was here for me. I’d go at my own pace. 

And yet… 

It was hard to look at other people and not feel like a failure, no matter how objectively I knew that wasn’t true. I had two choices: return to my basement, or keep going and retrain my brain. 

I’m retraining my brain because the effort is just as applicable for writing. It’s so easy for us to compare ourselves to others. We don’t feel good enough or accomplished enough, no matter how much we know they may have had more time, experience, or luck. It still feels like we have to compete. 

Only we don’t. We can’t. No one has lived your writing life and you haven’t lived theirs. 

I’ll never be as fast or as strong as the other people in my new gym, but in only a little while, I am faster and stronger than I was before. That’s the measurement I’m going to stick with. 

Because writing, like fitness, is always going to be personal. 

When To Write

My two daughters have both moved out of the house for university. Besides the fact that I’m not allowed to turn their bedrooms into extensions of my home library (a policy we’ll have to revisit later… 🙂 ), I’ve adjusted to the empty nest. All my extra time can now go to writing. 

There were a lot of years when I couldn’t do that. Write. Or know what extra time even was. And I often berated myself for that. Why couldn’t I do it all? Intellectually, we know it’s not possible; emotionally, I succumbed to the guilt. 

In retrospect, it’s easy to see what I’d say to my younger self. Life gets in the way. That’s okay! I don’t know that I’d believe me, but I love the message regardless. Life did get in my way—but I wouldn’t have changed how much time and energy I poured into my kids. And now life isn’t getting in my way, so I’ll take advantage. I’d forgotten—or couldn’t see—that our lives ebb and flow and it’s the long game we’re holding out for. 

So if you’re in the crunch of your life, and you can’t find as much time to write as you’d like, that’s okay! I can’t promise you when or how the demands on your time will ease up, only that the odds are that they will. In the meantime, cut yourself some slack. You’re doing the best you can. The writing, like I’m rediscovering, will always be there. 

You ARE a Writer

A reminder: if you write, you are a writer. Not, “if you get published”. Not “if you’re on the bestseller list”. Not “if you’re an award winner”. You’re a writer if you write. 

You may write as a hobby or you may write because the incessant voice inside your head won’t quit until you do. You may write as a lark, because it’s fun, or you may write out of dark passion and desperate dreams. You may write because you have only your story to tell, or you may write because your head is filed with other voices. You may write to heal or you may write to hurt. You may write just-because-and-why-the-hell-not, or you may write because-your-sanity-depends-on-it. 

Your reasons are you own and whatever those reasons, they all lead to the same conclusion: if you write, you are a writer.

You may be a writer who wants to improve. You may be a writer who needs guidance. You may be a writer who is ready for a break. You may be a writer to whom the craft comes easily or you may be a writer for which the terms “herculean effort” better apply. 

It doesn’t matter, because the fundamental, foundational principle applies: if you writer, you are a writer. 

It’s as simple as that. 

(Isn’t it nice that something in the writing world is that simple? 🙂 )

Do What’s RIGHT for YOU

I read an article about a new author who had a breakdown at a writing conference and left after the first day. She’d felt the full force of imposter syndrome—everyone else seemed so much more accomplished and confident. She felt shame when she returned home; maybe she should have stuck it out. 

She’d thought that being invited to attend this conference was the thing that would make her feel accomplished—despite that she already had her book out there in the world. But instead, she’d felt small. Her point in her essay was that we can’t fill those emotional voids inside us with outside accolades; only we can do that. 

She’s not wrong, but I took something else away from her article: she did what was best for her. She may have felt like she was running away, but we can only ask so much of ourselves. In our writing world, there are very, very few pinnacles of success. On top of the publishing pyramid, there are only so many spots for runaway bestsellers and award winners. Absolutely, we should strive for our goals. But if the effort to get there causes too much distress, then maybe there are other ways to feel like we belong. Like writing for ourselves. Writing for our friends-and-family fan club. Writing for readers who want to pick up our stories. And the rest of it? 

Running away may just be the smartest thing we can do. 

Writing vs. Publishing

I’ve only ever participated in one official run, a 10k fundraiser. I trained and raised money, and was excited—until I got to the starting line and was overwhelmed with the people and the noise. I’d been running on my own so to be surrounded by hordes of others was a lot. Still, I was conscious not to go out too hard or too fast, even as a part of me wanted to keep up with the rest. I got into my groove and did my own thing. 

Until I was run over. 

The fundraiser was a run/walk/bike event. One cyclist, a kid not watching where he was going, slammed into me. He shrieked an apology as he kept biking, and dammit, I was so close to finishing, I picked myself up and kept running. 

But this story isn’t about perseverance, though I had that. This story was how much I ended up not liking the “official” run. Battered and bruised—literally—I was relieved when it was over. I’ve never done it again. 

But I still run. I run for myself. Some days I like it, some days I don’t. And this is the analogy about writing that I’ve comes to live by. For me, the publishing world is like that “official” run; noisy and crowded—and dangerous! But the writing world is about what I like to do: write. Some days I like it, some days I don’t. But ultimately, it’s all for me. 

When Life Gets in the Way

My husband was on a business trip when he called to complain that his meetings had gone awry. As the organizer, he felt responsible, but the errors were beyond his control. He was not in charge of the facilities, so when there was a problem gaining access, it wasn’t his fault. He was not the IT expert, so when the computer network crashed, it was not his fault. Of course, he did his best to fix the problems, but by then his carefully crafted agenda had long since disappeared. 

I commiserated, because his experience feels like a metaphor for my own writing life. I try my best to make time to write, but the kids need an unexpected drive. I sit down at my computer, but the power goes out. I’m on a roll, but my invalid mother calls. Life is always against us writers—at least that’s what it feels like. No matter my best laid plans, no matter my clear organization, my carefully crafted agenda flies right out the window. 

But then I do what my husband did. I take a moment to vent (him to me, me to him). Then I regroup. Okay, I won’t get as much done, but I’ll get something done. Okay, I won’t get anything done today, but I’ll get something done tomorrow. 

Writing often falls to the bottom of our priority list, not the least of which is when everything else gets messed up. It sucks, but it happens. 

And then after that? After that, you get back to writing.

Someone Else’s Agenda

My daughter had to prepare a presentation for her work. She put in the time, effort and practice, then, the day before, the meeting was cancelled, with no plans to reschedule. 

She was frustrated. She’d worked hard, yet no one would see it. I can relate. As a novelist, I sit and write. I type my words and slowly I end up with a product about which I’m proud. Yet, like my daughter’s experience, my work often goes unseen. It’s not because it’s bad—either my daughter’s work or my writing—it’s just someone else’s agenda didn’t match ours. We send out queries and literary agents reply that it’s not what they’re looking for. Or we get turned down by editors and publishers because our work isn’t the right fit. If we self-publish, we struggle to find our readers. We havewhat it takes: perseverance, skill, talent, a good story—but that’s not always enough. 

That’s a hard pill to swallow. No matter that we do everything right—the way my daughter did in her job—still, it doesn’t always work out the way we want. The lesson: at least you did it. It doesn’t always feel comforting in the moment, but when it comes to my writing, it’s what finally lives within me. Yes, maybe my writing doesn’t (yet) match up to someone else’s agenda, but at least I did it. It’s there, ready and waiting for when the time comes when the right fit does come along.

Give Yourself a Break

Ever seen a toddler race in the Olympics? Yeah, me neither. It’s a cute thought, right? But one we’d never expect in reality. How could a little person, just learning to walk, compete with grown adults, athletes, who have trained specifically for their event for years? 

And yet, we writers do it all the time. When we sit down to write our first draft—especially if it’s our first book—we think we should be able to keep up with the best. The books already out there, the bestsellers and prize winners. The published, finished products. 

But we’re not being fair to ourselves. When you’ve never written a book before—hell, even if you’ve written a dozen, you’ve never written this new one before—you’re starting out. Getting your race legs, if you will. You’re the equivalent of a little person learning a new skill. So why do we think we can go for gold the first time out? Why do we think our first draft has to be publishable quality from the start? 

Like a toddler, who grows into a child, then teen, then adult, who practices and trains, and works with coaches and fellow athletes, we, too, can get there. But not right away. Give yourself time. Give yourself training. Give yourself a break.