True Words

Anne Lamott said something like if people didn’t want to end up being made into bad characters in her books, they should have behaved better. I always thought that was kind of funny, not that I’d ever use pen as sword.

But recently I was talking with a writer friend and realized I’d totally done it subconsciously. I’d killed off this person (and not in a very nice way, I might add) that had definitely annoyed me. I felt bad. What struck me most was that I totally missed it.

That’s just part of the fun of fiction, I guess. How often do you read a book and wonder if the author knows what she is revealing about herself by being quite possibly unaware of that. Writers are brave people that way. They know that they reveal their truest essence in ways they may not see, yet they do it anyway.

This is true even in non-fiction. I’m working on a couple non-fiction projects and am noticing that staying neutral is a challenge. I wouldn’t have thought that. Fact is fact. Yet, we all have a filter of some sort and even interpreting fact moves through it. Movie critics are probably the best example of this. Their reviews feel very much apart of their core personality to me.

There’s only one answer. Be nice to the writers.

I Live With My Editor

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday morning my editor (aka my husband) comes downstairs with a varying report on my blog of the day. (Knowing for sure I have at least one consistent reader makes my heart sing. Thank you, honey.) He’ll say things like “there are some problems with today’s blog” or “I liked your blog today” or “just one fix today.”

Since the Monday and Wednesday blogs archive, I fix those changes. Thursdays I don’t save. Sorry for you that you have to see the less perfect version, but if you ever go back and re-read one, most likely my editor and I will have it all cleaned up.

My first reaction used to be from my ego. “Oh, great. Now I’m going to look like I don’t know how to use the word there.” This really speaks to my own tendency to judge companies/FB statuses/emails from adults/menus that have multiple spelling errors as lacking in intelligence somehow.

I’ve come to learn that this is often not true and in fact keeps people from bravely expressing ideas, comments, themselves. The judging thing is my issue, my own personal vulnerability. I’ve given over to firmly believing wherever you are on the spelling and grammar spectrum, putting down your thoughts and showing who you are is the most important thing.

So I’m following my own advice. What you always get from me is first draft thoughts. I don’t spend time editing myself (that’s my editor’s job) and trying to sound anything else other than what I am in that moment, speling errrrors and alll.

That’s funny!

Is it just me, or is this not hysterical on so many levels?

 

Creativity Blossoms

I’m mentally back on the creative process and you know what that means.

The creative process is not a thing reserved for a select few who convert their first names to initials and write about wizards. It’s a thing that we all have access to and use in many different ways.

How it blooms depends on each of our unique seeds. Where we plant it, how we water it, how we sun it, how we fertilize it also matter. We can amp it up or turn it down, but it’s there for all of us to play with.

This past weekend I was doing one of those things I love most–talking with people and getting to know some friends of friends. It had been a full weekend in Austin with wedding festivities and touristy things. This was Day 3, Sunday brunch out on a patio overlooking the beautiful Austin hill country with a lake in the distance. We got on the subject of creativity which came after that question you know I always get. Wait for it.

“What books have you written that we can read?” There it is, followed by “I hate writing.”

But then the man talked about a class he and his wife had taken. He was surprised he liked it, but found it a great creative outlet where he didn’t usually get a chance to dabble in his more technical job. The class was called “Painting and Merlot” or something like that and the concept was each person got a canvas, a prompt, and a glass of wine. The man said as they all began to paint their “trees” each very unique painting became more and more beautiful as they drank.

First of all, I want to take this class. Next, I wondered, “What is it about the alcohol (substitute chocolate, food, etc.) that helps the creator become more creative?”

There is obviously a trend here if we look at all our creative types lost to addictions of various types. I remember hearing a guy say the best thing you can do for your art is to drink. I remember another one saying that was a horrible thing to say. I guess my curiosity lies more in the question of the “why.” Why does it take shifting the chemicals in our brain in some way to let the creative process open up?

I think it’s because of the Gremlin. That inner voice that mocks whatever it is that is being created. The one that shouts out, “Really? You just published that blog with all those freakin’ ass mistakes? You used “are” instead of “our?” Pretty ballsy, aren’t you?” or “That’s a tree?”

But here’s the thing. We don’t create to be perfect and put out perfect product. We create because it nurtures our soul. We create because it’s part of our natural process that yearns to be activated. We create because there is something that is so uniquely us that it is meant to be shared with the world.

It’s really just part of our job here to go forth and create.Through this process, we blossom. On that note, if anybody finds that “Paint and Merlot” class, sign me up! I’m in the mood to paint a tree.

Oh, You’re a Writer?

“The one thing all famous authors, world class athletes, business tycoons, singers, actors, and celebrated achievers in any field have in common is that they all began their journeys when they were none of these things.”

~ Mike Dooley

I just never get tired of this subject. (Not!)

Here’s how it goes:

Nice lady at the Avon Walk: What do you do?

Me: Oh, I’m a writer. And a health coach.

NLATAW: (Ignoring the health coach part.) You’re a writer? What books have you written that I can find on the shelves of Barnes and Noble?

Me: (Wondering how long Barnes and Noble will hang on…) Well, I have one, but it’s an anthology. (Like I somehow have to justify having at least one thing on the shelves of B&N and the library before I dare call myself a writer.)

You writers understand. I know you do. Because we’re all at different points of the journey, but we’ve all started at the same place.

My snarky side secretly hopes Avon lady says something like “I’m a runner” so I can say, “Oh? When was your last marathon?” which of course would only play out in my fantasy mind.

This idea that to call yourself a writer you have to have writer badges in the form of books hanging all over your Girl Scout writer sash is just plain silly. But it’s running rampant, I tell you. I think I get this response 75% of the time I call myself a writer. It didn’t happen when I was a teacher. It didn’t happen when I was a law firm marketing director. (That one was just a head cock because nobody understood what the heck that meant.) Nope. this response is particular to calling yourself a writer.

What is a writer anyway? A person (usually male according to Google Images) who smokes cigarettes and drinks hot drinks while running his fingers through his touseled waves while staring with puzzled red eyes at the blank white? Add location–usually a dark room with lots of crumpled paper surrounding the small desk–and there you have it. Right?

Um, no.

I’m sitting out in the teen center which my son’s friend Bailey (currently going by Russell which he likes better) wants to turn into the “Fortress of Solitude.” I’m on the couch with the printer a whole building away (no crumpled paper). Indeed, this writing won’t ever involve any printing at all unless at some point my mother requests a copy because one of her friends reads it and tells her about it and she asks. I’m drinking Smart Water with Strawberry Lemonade fat burner hoping to knock off that late night peanut butter from last night. I’m sweaty, having just finished my cross training stint while simultaneously watching an interview by Dr. Lissa Rankin on what really happened in the documentary film, “Sacred Science” from her perspective…and I’m not even thinking about smoking. I’m not staring at a blank screen or demanding perfection (if you are a regular reader, you know I have a game called ‘Find Jamie’s at-least-one-mistake in each entry’.) Instead, I’m typing as fast as I can (think Joycian stream of consciousness with punctuation) so I can shower, go get my car from the mechanic, pick up my kids from swim practice, make dinner, and schedule this to go out tomorrow.)

Does this mean I’m not a writer? Must I write about character, or voice, or setting, or other writers, or other books, or metaphor, or ____________ (fill in a writerly word) to call myself a writer? And, when I do, must I have a book on the shelf in B&N to prove it?

Nah. I’m calling bullshit on that.

Writing What Matters

What makes you excited? Happy? Concerned? Passionate? What do you care about? That’s where your story lies. I would like to change that picture to the left to read, “If you wish to be a writer, WRITE WHAT YOU CARE ABOUT.” (I used it though because it’s so sunsetty-pretty.)

So often at writing conferences you have industry professionals tell you what’s hot and what’s so 2012. They let you know what their particular presses are looking for and what they’re tired of seeing. And, to some degree, you may be able to fit your story into one of those trending genres. It’s ever-changing. However, where your stellar writing emanates from is not the hot genre. Instead, it comes from what you care about. Your heart. Your soul. What matters to you. That one you’re thinking of right now. That’s the story you came here to Planet Earth to write.

What other people want you to write isn’t necessarily it. For example, a few weeks ago, a local lawyer contacted me because he was looking for a writer to pen a story for some clients. (He Googled and I came up. He liked my website and contacted me.) He was touched by their story which was pretty remarkable.

It’s a human interest story of love and perseverance. A man had reached rock bottom. He was severely injured, and while recovering, his wife had left him. He was thinking of taking his life. In a moment of desperation, he called 411 just to talk to someone. (Not 911, 411. Resourceful.) He asked the woman who answered if she would just talk to him and she said she couldn’t and hung up. He called back. He reached a different lady and she said, “I could get fired for doing this, but I go on break in 15 minutes. I’ll call you back and we’ll talk.”

Long story short, they fell in love and have been married something like 50 years. Their love even survived the time he clinically died, went toward the intoxicating light we hear people talk about, saw his wife weeping, and came back to be with her so she wouldn’t be alone.

When the lawyer told me their story, his eyes lit up. He was so inspired by them. He had, in fact, thought about writing the story himself, but just didn’t feel like his law practice allowed time for it. To me, it was so clear this was the story he was meant to write. And, it’s equally clear to me, if someone has a “great idea for a story,” that even though it IS a great story, I may be in charge of writing different ones.

I love to write stories based on true stories because I think the world is so interesting as it is. I don’t need to world build (fantasy style) because there’s so much here already that fascinates me.The stories that pound on my head and heart are the ones I know I have to write.

The sweet spot in all this is when those industry professionals are looking for the exact story you are telling. That’s where the magic lies. Even if it doesn’t, though, you will be doing your part when you write the story that really matters to you.

Here we go–and other dreams

All other blog posts were wiped clean from my brain (EVERYTHING was actually–just tabula rasa me) when I got the email. A series of them, actually.

But before that…

You may remember (this is NOT backstory) last week I was excited/nervous/giddy because my manuscript was all grown up and flying the nest? Destination: Editor-land.

So off it went and guess what? It landed! Immediate requests flew back. In multiples. Not one. Not two. Not three. Ready for it? Four requests within the first 8 hours. Woot! I don’t even know how to describe that feeling. I don’t even know what it means. Does that happen all the time? I’m a brand-spanking newbie at this.

And once again, I danced around the livingroom for a few minutes…

…before that voice in my head said, “Yeah, but…”

I told it I didn’t have time for it right now. I told it it’s not the boss of me. Right now, I’m just dreaming. Picturing the auction. What does that even mean? Are there number paddles involved? Will it be like the one down in Cottonwood on Fridays?

“Yeah, but…”

Shhhh.

This is how it’s gotta be. Let me enjoy the dance.

To be continued….

The Best Writing

I was at my youngest son’s swim meet today having a conversation with his buddy, Kyale, between races. Kyale said he liked to write. Called himself a “good writer.” This isn’t extremely common for a 14-year-old boy so I was intrigued. When I asked him what he liked to write, he said his favorite projects were when his teacher gave prompts that took them into writing about parts of their lives autobiography-style.

Thinking back, this was what I liked best, too. It still is. It’s not because I love talking about myself, just like I imagine that’s difficult for Kyale. It’s because this is a topic I know inside and out. I can access the dark parts and the sunny sides if I’m honest. I can feel it in my body if I’m off. Every single teacher from Kindergarten through my graduate work said my writing was tops when I could pull from those emotions. The same goes for agents, editors, mentors, writing groups, etc.  With that positive reinforcement, writing confidence builds and it becomes easy to announce like Kyale, “I’m a good writer.” I’ve heard him say it more than once and I love that he feels that way because so many young writers feel they are not.

Kyale’s source content is going to be his 14 years as mine was when I was that age. However, because I was a young single parent (had my first son at 23 and was still breastfeeding when the divorce ink was dry), my strongest emotion has come through my experience as parent. I pull on my experiences some, but mainly, my perceptions of my children’s experience. I’ve often recognized that I use writing as therapy to work through overwhelming emotion and help others benefit from my stress and God knows, single parenting while working full-time, traveling the globe, and dealing with a difficult ex had its challenges.

However, recently that layer has cleared. Because my first novel hammered through the emotional challenges I dealt with as a young parent, I am now finding I’m able to go back further and access emotions I had as a 14-year-old where there just wasn’t time before. Just picking up my son and his buddies at a popular teen spot this weekend flashed me back. I had frequented the spot at the same age, and wrote a scene about it some 5 months ago. Being there, I was able to test the scene against what I’d remembered. The smells, the sounds, the tastes. How it felt to be kissed in the corner by the pinball machine. The drama that went down when Janet put her head against the locker in a wad of gum and had to have her waist long hair cut into a bob.

I’ve been told over and over just because something is true doesn’t mean that’s how it should be written. In fact, anything that gets in the reader’s way should be let go. That’s why I love novels–they give me the room to access the emotion and insert it in  my choice of scenarios. Over and over I see the best writing show up when a writer is able to access those deepest emotions that he has felt and share them in vulnerable ink.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

 

Chasing Eagles

 When I was in high school, my English teacher, Mrs. Jones, was hated by many of her students. Not me. I loved her. I thought she was wise, and smart, and had enough persnickities to start her own Persnickety Store.

One of the reasons I loved her so much is  she made me believe in my writing. The way she did this was with “eagles.” (She was a staunch conservative and I see this now as subliminal training into the Republican  Party.) If a paper was returned with a gold eagle on it, it meant I was “published,” and she sent the papers out to everyone as an example of good writing. Extrinsic motivation at work right there in Anderson Union High School GATE English.

Flash forward MANY years…

Last week when my agent Rachael sent back my edits with a “GOOD FOR YOU” and “I’m so proud and pleased,” I got all eagly all over again. Gold star. A +. I started planning my first book signing. Boy, was I pleased with myself.

Then I had this conversation.

Ego: Ha! I nailed it.

Higher Self: When will you learn?

Ego: Learn what? Did you not see how she just said I brought the whole book up a level? Where’s the Cristal? Pop the cork!

Higher Self: We have so much more work to do with you.

Ego: Buzz kill.

My best work happens not when I’m trying to impress or seek validation or hunt down Eagle stickers. My best work happens when I’m opening myself up and allowing the story to flow through me from some place far greater than me. I am but a willing servant, a conduit. It’s SO not about me.

When I get all stuck in my ego and think I’m so clever (which is hard not to do when somebody says in one way or another, “You’re such a good writer”), my writing pretty much inevitably sucks eggs. It’s distracting, it doesn’t flow, it doesn’t honor the story. That’s not the kind of writer I want to be.

It’s important for me (crucial, even) to keep myself open and present to each moment as it passes by. To be an observer of the eagle and feel its energy as it soars through the sky serves me better than to covet the gold symbol that says I nailed it. If I can do that, while keeping my world in balance and joy–to serve people with what comes out of my fingertips in a way that makes their life better somehow–then that, my friends, is why I’m here.

Save the commas!

That’s really why they came about.

First language was in the oral tradition and it wasveryhardtoreadlettersthat wereslammedalltogetheralongwith sentences that had no form of punctuation because how was one to know where to stop and where to finish know what i mean

Exhausting, right? When you teach second grade, you see a lot of this. It’s hard for kids to get a feel of where to lay the reading road map. (The “where you take a breath” thing doesn’t really help them either, if you ask me. They just add breaths wherever and match them up to the commas.)

Early influences, specifically Christianity with St. Augustine at the helm, wanted to make sure Biblical passages were read correctly because, well, it makes a difference. I’m not a master at apologetics, but I can imagine. Punctuation came into being much the way street signs emerged; as traffic (language) became busier, more signs needed to be put in place so accidents didn’t happen as easily. Like Grandma getting eaten, for example.

The comma, though, like its cousin the semi-colon, is vulnerable to trends. During my 40 years of writing, it’s been out and it’s been in. Rule followers get very opinionated, too: it’s Bobby, Joe, and Sue NOT Bobby, Joe and Sue. (The Red, White, and Blue Rule has vascilated three times during my writing career. It’s hard to keep up.)

I wonder how that makes the comma feel… It is, it’s said, the most frequently misused form of punctuation.

We appreciate you, comma, we do. We’re not always sure how to use you (and behalf on all of us writers I’d like to say it’s not our fault) because the rules are always changing. One thing’s for sure, though. You play an important role, and we know it. While the trend may be to get along without you, I, for one, recognize your value and unique purpose in this world. You’ll always have a place in my stories.