A Marathon of Ideas

Writing advice often uses the marathon/sprint analogy, as in it takes a lot of time, practice, patience and endurance to complete a novel. I’m absolutely on board with that! But there’s another element of the analogy that I think is misleading: the “just-do-it” mentality. This is the concept that, once you have an idea, you simply write and write and write until it’s done. 

Only, creativity doesn’t work like that. The idea isn’t the first part of the writing process, it’s the all-of-it part. In fact, the first idea you get is often the lowest-hanging fruit. It’s the first thing that comes to mind because it’s likely the most common. You just read a romance between two high school teachers? You’ll write a romance about two elementary school teachers! That’s not to say there isn’t value in that, but it’s predicated on what’s already out there. Good writing comes from idea evolution. Start with your two elementary school teachers; then expand, morph, change, grow that idea at each stage. In the marathon equivalent, that would be like starting over every few miles or changing routes—it seems counterproductive to just running a marathon. But it’s necessary for creativity to flourish. 

Which means it’s okay if you don’t feel you’re always moving forward. It’s okay if you stop and evaluate. It’s okay if you start over! Ideas don’t come fully formed, so don’t be afraid to let them grow. 

Elevator Pitch

My daughter’s friend is in business school. She explained a marketing assignment she’ll soon have: an elevator pitch. 

It’s a short, concise, engaging, convincing line that can be used to sell your product in a short period of time. Like, the amount of time you’re in an elevator from one floor to the next. In writing, it’s the pithy, brilliant answer when someone asks “What’s your book about?”

It’s hard! Yes, yes, yes, we’re writers, but novel/memoir writing and marketing writing are two vastly different skill sets, so it’s often much more challenging to come up with an enticing elevator pitch. Often, we succumb to patchy plot points or stilted summaries. 

But my daughter’s friend gave me a new strategy—one that is so glaringly obvious, I have to wonder at myself sometimes. 🙂

She’ll have to present her business idea to her professor in an actual elevator. Students must literally ride up a set number of floors with their profs and they have only that small, limited time to sell their product. 

What if we tried that as writers? Find a tall building. Ride the elevator. Practice your pitch. I’m not suggesting you snag every elevator rider as your audience, but why not bring a friend? Try a few different lines as you ride up and down? See what fits in the amount of time you literally have in the elevator? Doesn’t it seem like a fun way to tackle a challenging task? 

Going up, anyone? 

Our Worth As Writers

I might have told you this before… (I tell it a lot!)

I met Princess Diana. In person. The most famous woman on the planet at the time, and she talked to me! 

I was eight years old when she and her then-husband (now King) Charles visited Ottawa. I was part of a Brownie troupe that had been invited to greet the royals. She stopped in front of me and asked my name. I was giddy with excitement! (Until she asked my best friend what her name was. “Diane”, my friend answered. And, given the similarity of their names, that was the end of me in that conversation…)

I’ve “dined out” on that story of my brush with fame, often “winning” the game of who’s met the most famous person. 

Recently I met someone who also had met Princess Diana. Absolutely, I was impressed, and even felt a little proud that, at least I could hold my own by saying I’d met her, too, as if it were some kind of status game—until I realized I there was no reason to be impressed. This new acquaintance happens to live a life in which he comes in contact with famous people. Princesses aside, my life does not. It makes neither one of us better than the other. 

It was a refreshing reminder. Famous or not, we all have our own value. 

That goes for our writing, too. Famous or not.

Our Impact as Writers

I was watching a mindless police procedural TV show, of the variety where the bad guys are caught in 42 minutes. The climax was a warehouse fire and in one shot, a firefighter filled the frame. He was an extra; neither the character nor the actor had a name. He was there purely for the establishing shot before we focused on the victorious protagonists. 

And yet he caught my eye. I thought back to all the other innumerable hours of TV I’ve watched in my life, and all the other extras I haven’t noticed. I wasn’t expected to, obviously; no story can give life to every character. But still, they were necessary. 

We’re all the stars of our own shows, bit players in others, and merely extras in even more people’s stories, but like that firefighter, still necessary. 

Which means each of us, as writers, is necessary—whether we’ve yet to publish or not. If you share your story with only one other person, you’ve made an impact—whether it’s earthshattering or barely inconsequential. Yes, we’d all love for our stories to rock the world, but ripples and waves and tremors come in all shapes and sizes and intensities. 

Because as often as I’ve ignored the extras on TV, I did end up paying attention to this one individual. I don’t know the actor’s story, but I do know, for that one scene, he made a difference. 

So, too, as writers, no matter or experience level or output, do we. 

Writing Is About US

After years in the writing world, here’s what I keep circling back to. Writing talent/skill/effort is NOT the same as discoverability. 

The best books may not sell.

The best writers may not get published. 

The best efforts may not get rewarded. 

It’s endemic in all the arts fields (or, cynically, in any workplace or industry). We know this cognitively, logically, yet still we yearn for the conventional, traditional definition of success (often meaning we’re on the—or a—bestseller list). It’s not wrong to want this, obviously, and those who do make this cut should enjoy the fruits of their well-earned labour. 

But it simply can’t be a reflection of our own quality because too many factors of how to get discovered are out of our control (namely luck). 

It’s not an easy lesson to absorb, so it’s a message worth repeating. Publishing/making a name for yourself/earning a living as a writer is NOT the only criteria to determine writerly talent. 

Taking the time to learn your craft determines writerly talent. Putting in the effort to hone your craft determines writerly talent. Striving to improve determines writerly talent. 

And those things are, thankfully, all under our control.

Happy Writing. 

Happy Pub Day, Amaranth!

There’s an easy narrative about writers. So-and-so published their first novel in [fill in year], followed by their latest in [fill in a date often very soon after the first.] Perhaps this makes sense to non-writers, but it’s, at best, a misnomer, at worst an outright fib. Because many, many writers—who do get published—didn’t necessarily publish their “first” novel or story. They may have had the proverbial book in a drawer, the one never to see the light of day (I, ahem, might have one or more of those…) Or, they may have more luck publishing a later novel first, then the first one later. 

This is what happened to me. Evangeline’s Heaven was my first novel published, but my fourth written. Amaranth (OUT TODAY!!) is my second one published but my third one written.

When I first started writing, tales like these from other authors gave me hope. It was a refreshing and inspirational reminder that a life in writing is never linear. 

This holds true as much today as it did all those years ago. You may be working on your first book or your tenth. You may have been published before, or not. For all the structure we like to think exists in our world, it kinda really doesn’t in writing. 🙂 Everyone’s path is their own. 

What matters is practice and perseverance, and ultimately, a chance readers will take on you. For that last one, thank you, thank you, thank you. 

I hope you enjoy Amaranth.

A Piece of Cake

I had to shake my head at my own folly. I had two errands to run: buy a book and buy a cake. Coincidentally, both were the same price, about C$40. I winced at the cost of one and not the other.

Given my profession and how much I appreciate the value of the written word, you would think I blinked at the cost of the cake. 

Nope. I cringed at the cost of the book (hardcover, new release). When, later, I didn’t bat an eye at the cost of the cake (high-end, gourmet bakery), I had to stop and think. 

Books used to cost less. But then, so too did food. Did I wince because I didn’t know the quality of the book but I did know the quality of the cake? Was it because I was sharing the cake with others, but the book was all for me? I buy books all the time, but I don’ t buy gourmet cakes every day; was there no novelty?

Ironically, given my distaste of numbers, it was math that finally that made me see the light. This one cake, divided into eight pieces, would satisfy for the equivalent of, let’s say, 80 minutes (10 min of savory joy per person per piece.) But this book, at  more than 400 pages, would offer me savory joy of at least eight hours or more! And all for me. 🙂

I loved every bite of the cake, but I’m relishing every hour of entertainment even more.

Video Games and Writers

I love talking with teenagers; they have a perspective on the world that is refreshingly different than those of us who are older (and, as a result, perhaps more jaded…). 

My teen daughter: We’re just NPCs in the world.

Me: NPCs?

Teen: Non-player characters, you know?

Me: You mean in a video game?

Teen: Yeah. Characters that you can’t play; they’re part of the game, but they’re just… there.

I don’t play video games, but I know enough to appreciate that NPCs are important to the story but you don’t control them. Sometimes, the slang use of NPCs is to call someone out for being predictable or not thinking for themselves, but in this case, my daughter meant that in the wider world of eight billion plus people, not all of us are going to fundamentally change the world like Newton, Einstein or Shakespeare. 

Me: That sounds depressingly nihilistic.

Teen: (shrugs) Not really; we’re each just one part of the mosaic. 

Then I got it. She didn’t mean we’re all purposeless; she meant that we all play our part, no matter how big or small. It’s a great reminder that we writers most likely won’t become the next Jane Austen—and that’s okay. Our stories, no matter how big or how small, make up our world. 

Because even NPCs have their own backstories.   

It was a Dark and Stormy Night…

One spring day as I stared out at the dreary rainy weather, I reminded myself of the saying “April showers bring May flowers.” And I love May flowers (tulips, especially!) so a part of me told my melancholy self to suck it up, buttercup, because good things come from gloomy days. It’s a great analogy for writing, too, right? We get through the drudgery of whatever writing task we’re doing knowing there are good things to come from our gloomy writing days. 

Only, I got thinking about a friend of mine who loves rainy days. The darker, drearier, gloomier the better. She huffs at sunshine and heat, suggesting it’s because she grew up in a dry, hot, sunny environment where “nice” weather was monotonizingly constant and misty gray days were few. 

Which got me rethinking my own writing metaphor. Yes, gloomy days for me represent the slog of writing, but not for my friend. Which got me thinking how writing is meant to show us different perspectives, and that got me thinking how maybe the weather, should, too. If my friend loves the rain then perhaps I can reframe my own attitude. And if I can reframe my own attitude about dreary weather, then perhaps I can reframe my own attitude about slogging through my writing. Maybe, as they say, the best thing to do when it’s raining is let it rain.

Undiscovered Nuggets of Gold

One time when I was in the car with my daughter, she played clips of songs from Disney movies. I couldn’t see her phone; I could only hear the music. It sounded incredible—only I was surprised to learn they weren’t the professional singers. They were YouTubers, who’d recorded their own versions, and they sounded just as good. I’d never heard their names before, but I was reminded about the tunnel vision we often get when it comes to the arts. 

We admire the professionals—actors, musicians, artists, writers—and rightly so. They work hard with their talent to get where they are, but we often forget they’re not the only ones. Actors, musicians, artists and writers who aren’t household names also have the same drive, ambition and talent. But if they’re “amateurs”, we often dismiss them—oh, they’re not as good. And absolutely, there are not-good amateurs out there, but “amateur” isn’t the same as inept. It simply means they’re not (yet) getting paid for their creativity. 

Pick up a story that hasn’t yet been published, and you could be holding onto a nugget of writing gold. 

Which means, whether you’re published or not, you could be creating that very nugget of gold. 

I look forward to reading it. 🙂