“Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and ‘fall into a vortex’, as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace… She did not think herself a genius by any means, but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh… The divine afflatus usually lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her ‘vortex’, hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent.”
Someone said that art reveals much more of the artist than it ever does of the subject. That is especially true when it comes down to writers. Being that literature is not a visual art, every sentence that we read or write, every place, every character is ultimately filtered through the author’s own unique perspective. We may look at a painting and find it ugly, boring, or see no meaning in it whatsoever. However, in literature, we find whatever the author describes as beautiful, beautiful. No matter how plain the thing may actually be, once it is put into words, we have never known or experienced it any other way. As words are laid out on the page, the writer has exposed a piece of their own heart, by showing us the things that they find are the most valuable.
For that reason, writing is the truest, most direct form of communication. Every single person who has read Lord of the Rings knows Frodo’s exhaustion as he climbs Mount Doom, and every Harry Potter fan knows the slippery, silky feel of an invisibility cloak. Even if you’ve never had Turkish Delight, you know after reading The Chronicles of Narnia that it’s pretty much the most delicious thing ever. Writing is the great equalizer in art; it creates an experience that everyone can share, something that we can all understand the same way. Most importantly, it connects our hearts to everyone who has ever held the same book in their hands. So while writing, as an art, does expose the heart and mind of the writer, it also provides an experience that connects all of its readers. The subject, the truth of the story itself, lies somewhere between the perception of the writer and the interpretation of the reader.
There’s an old New Year’s superstition that whatever you do on January 1st will set the theme of what you do for the entire year. The truth of this has yet to be determined; however, on the first of every year I have faithfully avoided touching the laundry, doing the dishes, or paying any outstanding parking tickets.
This January 1st, I’ve decided that I’m going to spend as much time as I can writing, and recommitting to my goals as a writer and as a person. I’m absolutely committed to finishing the revision of my novel. I may still have to do laundry this year, but I do believe that by determining now, you can set a new tone for the approaching twelve months. That starts today, with you deciding to make a change, no matter how small it is.
[Let me preface this article by saying that usually, I can take criticism, and I can take it well. I took it in college. I took it (in bushels) in graduate school. I took it from studios and producers who later ended up not giving a shit. Hell, I even take it at my job...every day. And usually, I take it with a smile. Or at least a half-hidden grimace. Because most of the time criticism helps more than it hurts and is an essential part of being a writer. Okay. Now that we're clear...]
For most of my writing career, I’ve entered contests. While some of them are designed to take your money and nothing more, a lot of writing contests – espescially the ones that include feedback – are a good way to actively let the world know who you are and what you do. They can be great resume boosters, and sometimes even lead to contacts.
These days, I still enter the occasional contest, but have also started to work for a few, providing the oh-so-important feedback. So I know how it works. I know that sometimes readers get slammed with entries and have to juggle their judging along with their own work. I know that sometimes, most of what they have to wade through is awful. I know they often do it for so little pay it’s laughable. But I also know that they freely sign up for all of it.
Which is why I was so pissed when I received coverage on a script of mine from a certain contest that shall remain unnamed. Actually, pissed is an understatement. Slamming-cupboards-looking-for-nothing-in-particular-kind-of-angry is more like it. Read more »
Jealousy scares me. It scares me in relationships, and it certainly scares me when it’s connected to my career. It’s a sneaky emotion; silently climbing into my chest and then sticking it’s claws in when I least expect it. I’ll be walking along, enjoying my goodness and my dedicated moral compass, when all of sudden I’ll read about someone else’s success and feel my knees buckle under the weight of envy.
I was born with a nice, thick jealous streak. But you know what? Jealousy can be undone. It can’t be un-felt, but it can be lessened. Because after all, isn’t jealousy just a quick way of saying insecure?
As artists, we’re freely entering into a world full of people who can do it better. They can schmooze better, they can land deals better, they can just plain write better and will most assuredly become successful before us. Now that we know the slight craptasticness of this world, let’s allow a thought to seep into our brains: just because someone else achieves their dream, doesn’t mean there isn’t room for us. Read more »
How much would you pay for this adorably bedraggled kangamouse? A dollar? Less? What if it was a gift from a soldier in Vietnam to his two young sons back home, a gift that they worshipped alternately as “The Great Faa,” and as “Mr. Peepers” — and a gift that ultimately divided the family and lead to an exorcism via toilet? That seems worth a little more than a dollar, right? That’s because there is a certain value to stories, to histories; this is why people pay thousands for certain baseballs or comic books, this is why experts on Antiques Roadshow can tell people with a straight face that their ancient button collection from the civil war, with letters to prove its authenticity, is worth more than my car.
I’m nearing the end of my first year of graduate school, where I’m getting my M.F.A in writing. Needless to say, I have lots of reading and writing to catch up on. My long-distance partner is gone for three weeks, which is the longest we’ve ever been apart (I know, we’re terribly spoiled). My refrigerator is broken so I haven’t been doing my beloved nightly routine of relaxing through cooking. (I know, I know, you’re wondering why all this has anything to do with literature. Patience.)
So what does this all mean? It means that for the last two weeks, I’ve been spending a lot of time alone. I’ve been eating mediocre take-out. I’ve been ending my nights without my partner. I’ve been catching up on tons of reading and writing as I near the end of my semester.
And I’ve been wildly productive. My to do lists have been shrinking as I check off items that had been stagnant for weeks: do taxes, fill out the FAFSA, revise my workshop submission, pitch my story idea to a local magazine, read for my Russian poetry class, write a response to Wolff’s memoir for my family matters class, the list goes on.
All this and I should feel great. But, honestly, I don’t. Read more »
Writing about heartbreak is supposed to be the writer’s forte. It’s something most people just expect. Writers have the unique ability to turn a heart-smashing, psyche-damaging event into something beautiful and moving. Right?
Well, maybe. But we’re also human, so we have to go through that heart-smashing, psyche-damaging event just as much as the next person. We have to get through the days where we can’t get out of bed, where we can’t listen to the radio because a specific song might remind us of someone or something…basically, a writer’s time frame of emotional healing is not superhuman. Perhaps we notice tiny details and jot them down so we can remember them later, but writing about the heartbreak while it’s still fresh is probably not something even the greatest Writers can manage.
Because, imagine it. Imagine trying to take something that feels so one-sided, so close to you, and putting it down on paper objectively. It wouldn’t be possible. The small injustices would still be crawling underneath your skin, blinding you to how things really went down.
The question then becomes, when is it okay to write about heartbreak? When is it okay to turn our deepest tragedy (or even a minor one) into our greatest work? Read more »
There comes a magical time in many young writers’ lives, generally a few months after they graduate college and move to the “big city”, where they find themselves temping for some huge corporation, alone in a tiny cubicle, filling invoices or entering numbers into an Excel document. Most writers mitigate the depression that comes with this by telling themselves that they are secretly biding their time until they can just finish their novel, screenplay, poetry compilation, psychedelic pop-up book, whatever, their masterpiece that will catapult them out of this awful white-grey world of coffee and horrible inside jokes into a trendy, intellectually stimulating lifestyle where they get laid far more frequently. My advice though, if you find yourself working in a situation, is to take a deep breath and relax. It could be worse. In fact, in one way you’re incredibly lucky, because you have a magic portal that can take you out that office window, up above the clouds, past the city to anywhere you want to go.
Oi vey, getting published. That’s the elephant in the room here in my graduate writing program. We’re all working on becoming better writers, critiquing one another, reading a ton — it’s incredibly valuable time spent on self-improvement. But let’s be honest, to what end? Why are we all doing this? Because we want to be published. We want the validation that our work is worth something. We want to be able to add some italicized names of magazines to our biographies. We want to write…drum roll please…a book.
Whether or not connections are actually necessary to get published is a separate question. But if you want to do something other than self-publish, you might have a tough time if you assume that the all-knowing, all-powerful internet can help you find a publisher. Read more »
Jealousy scares me. It scares me in relationships, and it certainly scares me when it’s connected to my career. It’s a sneaky emotion; silently climbing into my chest and then sticking it’s claws in when I least expect it. I’ll be walking along, enjoying my goodness and my dedicated moral compass, when all of sudden I’ll read about someone else’s success and feel my knees buckle under the weight of envy.
Writing about heartbreak is supposed to be the writer’s forte. It’s something most people just expect. Writers have the unique ability to turn a heart-smashing, psyche-damaging event into something beautiful and moving. Right?
