My father and mother planted me in the middle of the dense woods in the Adirondack foothills. My childhood was spent staring up into maples, birches, oaks, firs, and even some plucky apple trees that had scrambled onto our land from nearby orchards. I grew up believing that trees embodied wisdom and that likewise, leaves embodied language. My parents were avid readers, but neither delved into creative arts. That was a craft I picked up from listening to leaves tell their secrets. And speaking of secrets, here’s mine: I don’t find writing to be difficult.
Now, please hear me out. I don’t mean that writing is easily accomplished or painless. I also don’t mean that I believe my own works to be flawless or divinely inspired. But the moments spent writing, those which I give myself to be only, entirely, perfectly and imperfectly myself throughout that process, are the kindest, most rewarding, and simplest moments of my day.
Writing is the sap-flowing part. The fun, fruitful, heady part that with courage and resolve, transforms into sweetness. But being a writer? Much of the time, it feels like my hands are covered in pine pitch. So for all you writers out there suffering from imposter syndrome, anxiety, or just plain nerves, I offer my encouragement and my celebration of what it means to be a writer. And be sure—I do mean you, yes you, the mere mortal you.
Writers are generous. No matter what fear or insecurity we may carry about our writing careers, when we’re deeply immersed in the creative process, we’re too content to be stingy. We strip down the very paintings that decorate our mental walls and put them out on the curb at garage-sale markdown prices, knowing all along we’ll give those thoughts away for free at the end of the day if need be.
Writers are honest. We tell the truth even when it’s messy, because it’s truth that tethers readers to the human condition, and it’s truth that makes fiction real.
Writers are wise. We know life is finite and that no one person can tell every story. We encourage our friends to write, because writing isn’t a closed system, and like love, there is always more than enough to go around — enough good ideas, enough amazing characters, enough success in its varying forms, and enough joy in the process.
Writers are brave. We strip ourselves naked and kill our darlings in front of the world. We know that many of our mistakes will be publicly and immutably recorded, and that others will judge us, at times fairly, at times harshly, and at times even gleefully. And yet writers are still idealistic. We believe in magic and alchemy. We are hopeful. We understand that one person’s pain can bring joy to another in the form of compassion and shared experience.
Writers are strong and limber and vulnerable and forgiving. We know that words are imperfect and that growth and revision are crucial to the process—not only of writing, but of living. We exist in the moment. We listen when our characters speak. We are present.
As we develop all of these traits and skills for the love of writing itself, I believe we become better humans. It takes courage and resolve to continuously devote those tens of thousands of hours towards mastery of our craft; to persevere despite rejections and form responses and worse yet, silence; to publish and tempt the Furies, be they professional critics or trolls swarming blogs, public comments, and reviews; to market ourselves, promote our work, and ask for compensation; and to share our experiences and guide others by offering articles and podcasts and workshops.
It’s so easy to let one negative voice or review or bully drown out the chorus of golden voices in your head. Don’t let yourself be daunted. If you are writing, then you are on your path.
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I feel comforted and inspired. Beautiful writing.
Just beautiful.
And exactly what I needed.
Thank you.
Thanks! And you’re very, very welcome.
I second Avigail, a lovely and loving ode to the writer. Thank you for sharing your optimism and resiliency.
I also don’t find writing difficult. Some of my most productive and joyful moments are spent writing. I’m doubly blessed to have a spouse who understands the value of my work and allows me time and space to pursue my craft. Thanks for the inspirational blog.
You do sound blessed, then, as I think it can be hard for significant others to understand how much time and privacy some of us need for our art.
Your comment got me thinking about my own process. I can compose fiction in a busy cafe, but I cannot seem to compose a new song unless no one is home and I am sure the neighbors cannot overhear me working out lyrics and melodies and chords (as if they care!)
I guess we writers are lucky that no one can see our first drafts unless we want them to!
I loved your website and that you write on local topics (also a fan of lavender).
No…no, it isn’t.
I thought I could walk away without saying anything (I’ve reread the post many times and thoughtfully considered my options), but I just can’t let this go and am sure I’ll be lumped into your last few paragraphs above, but Writing is writing and Writers are people.
Is all writing unicorns and rainbows?
Are all writers unicorns and rainbows?
No!
*Some* of what you have said may be true in *individual* instances, but to lump it all together as you did is incorrect at the very least and perhaps naively irresponsible at best. I don’t mean to be demeaning or disrespectful, and if you or anyone takes it that way for *that* I apologize, but I can’t allow your above portrayal of the industry to stand without counterpoint.
This stance simply is not true and I have to say something unless a brand-new writer reads this and gets an absolutely false idea of what they may be getting into.
It’s a JOB. Like any other. A profession. It has both good and bad people putting words to paper. Period. People can make of any job–profession (and wordplay hairs can be split here)–as they like, but the “nobility” in this field has long ago worn itself out.
Please, this just isn’t right. You may feel it’s an opinion, but it’s based on nearly 60 years of dealing with writers, editors, and even some publishers. No I’m not traditionally published, but I have dealt with hosts of publishing professionals in my career, both one-on-one and through correspondence. Some on intensely personal levels. I used to work at PPWC for some 20 years as a moderator and presenter and behind-the-scenes helper and have interacted with many, many writers (and other industry professionals) of all ilks. This post is very, very misleading, and my own integrity cannot allow this to stand.
I say all this respectfully to both you and your position, and to all those writers out there who ARE trying to embody the lost nobilty of this profession. I WISH it still existed (if it truly ever did) as you’ve stated.
Hi Frank!
I’ve no doubt your 60 years of experience in the industry have afforded you some important insights about it, and I wish you luck in your continued career. Congratulations on your Best Book Award!
I’d like to clarify that my post was not about the industry as much as experience of Writing itself. I like to envision that with a capital letter, like a sort of Platonic ideal or Narnian “further up and further in” destination. I maintain my general stance that when we are writing, creating our art, we are our best selves. Yes, this is an opinion, for certainly no one can say what our best selves even are (and here I offer my favorite ee cummings poem, if I can make the link work here?) Ah, nope — I’ll try this: https://newrepublic.com/article/119831/ee-cummings-lectures-about-his-parents-and-poetry
Sadly, I’ve not (yet) met any unicorns, and despite the pastoral setting depicted in my post, my life experiences have never afforded me the luxury of naivete. I appreciate what I can, when and where I can, and my optimism is hard won. I’m extremely proud of it, and so very much of that is because of the arts! I will continue to champion that outlet for others.
Cheers!