Category: creativity

Gifts of a Writing Life

Gold-giftIt’s the season for giving and receiving so it’s probably no surprise that I’ve been pondering the topic in some depth over the last few weeks. In particular, I’ve been thinking about the gifts I’ve received from having a writing life.

There have been many. Everything from the mundane (a love of really good pens) to the profound (a lengthy and life-changing interview with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross years ago). But three gifts stand out above all others.

First, writing allowed me to work and stay home with my kids when they were young. It wasn’t always easy juggling deadlines and revisions and (occasionally) book tours, but, for the most part, I was there before and after school, I was at the end of the phone if there was an emergency, and with a little bit of juggling I was able to pick up the odd volunteer shift for pizza day or the school fair. Speaking of fair, it’s only fair to point out that I did it with considerable support from Mr. Petrol Head who was as close to a hands-on parent as one can be when working out of the house.

The second gift writing has brought into my life is the ability to understand the (sometimes poor) behavior of people. Admittedly, I have a natural tendency to analyze people and try to figure out where they’re coming from anyway, but writing helped me grasp on a far deeper level how character and motivation can sometimes lead to choices and actions that are, well, less than ideal. Life can be challenging. People don’t always behave heroically. An awareness of what makes people tick hasn’t always prevented me from being hurt but it has helped me make sense of things and gain perspective.

Finally, writing has brought me wealth. Not money or new cars or the ability to travel on a whim, but wealth in the form of an abundance of friends. I’m incredibly lucky to have a community of friends and colleagues who get this gig in way non-writers don’t. They’re willing to celebrate the successes and commiserate over the challenges. They understand that writing may look easy but it’s not. That the lifestyle may look glamorous and carefree but that, too, is false. They know that many people have stories to tell but not many people are willing to put in the time and dedication needed to tell them, and tell them well. My writing friends are on the path beside me. Their very presence is a gift. A gift that continues to give and give and give some more.

To them I say thank you. And Merry Christmas.

Filling the Well

The dog days of August are here which means many of us are kicking back and relaxing. The importance of having regular down time has been well documented. It improves our physical and mental health, it encourages productivity when we return to work, and it fires our creativity. With that in mind, I thought I’d ask other writers how they fill the well. Stop by on Wednesday for the next three weeks as writers share what hobby or activity inspires, informs or deepens their writing.

JoanstiltsCanada Day 2015 - HawainJoan Marie Galat: As an author and freelance writer/editor, I spend way too much time on the computer. After a number of hours each day, I feel I simply can’t stare at the screen any longer. That’s when I strap on my stilts and go for a walk around the neighbourhood. The act of staying balanced clears my head more completely than any other activity. I return to the screen refreshed and often find a creative writing problem solved just by having taken my concentration off the topic. Joan Marie Galat is the author of Branching Out, How Trees are Part of Our World  (Owlkids)  http://www.joangalat.com/

Frieda Wishinsky: I love gardening. It’s a lot like writing. You start out hopeful, there’s a lot of waiting and editing and you never know what the results will be. Weather, insects and critters may damage your hard efforts. You need to respect “white space” and not overload the garden with “stuff”. But when it’s working, it’s magical, although ever changing. But even when things don’t work out as you’d planned (and dreamed), there’s always the hope of tomorrow, or next week– or next year. Frieda Wishinsky is the author of Avis Dolphin (Groundwood Books) http://www.friedawishinsky.com

Gisela Sherman: For some years now, I’ve really enjoyed acting. Like writing, it makes me dig into character, backstory, motivation and even dialogue. It’s also a nice change to get out from my writing desk and meet other interesting people. I come back replenished. Gisela Sherman is the author of The Farmerettes (Second Story Press) www.giselasherman.com

Ellen Schwartz: My other passion is dance. It’s non-verbal, so it gives me an escape from the words and sentences churning through my brain. And yet it’s expressive in exactly the same way writing is. Dance feeds my creativity. Ellen Schwartz is the author of Avalanche Dance (Tundra Books) www.ellenschwartz.net

Kristin Butcher: A hobby which is as addictive for me as writing is genealogy. I can spend entire days searching for family members—poring over parish records, scouring old newspapers, digging through photos, or tramping through cemeteries. In a way, trying to piece together the lives of people who died hundreds of years ago is like solving a mystery, and each time I stumble across another piece of the puzzle, I get super-excited. Since my favourite books to read for pleasure are mysteries and historical fiction, genealogy fuels my writing fire too. I am forever expanding my historical knowledge and the techniques I’ve learned in genealogy help me to create fictional mysteries. In fact, my most recent book (In Search of Sam) is about an 18-year-old girl who travels British Columbia trying to uncover her father’s past with nothing to guide her but a photograph, an old letter, a half-heart necklace, and a name. Kristin Butcher is the author of In Search of Sam (Dundurn) www.kristinbutcher.com 

 

The Lost Land of Re-entry

DSC00073Coming home was wonderful. I had an amazing gift waiting. Mr. Petrol Head had dug and turned and weeded and prepped all the garden beds. It took him two weekends and most of a week of evenings to get them ready for me to seed and plant. I hadn’t expected it and I was incredibly grateful as I’d pretty much resigned myself to a smaller garden and a much later start this year. But before I could get outside, I had a few last minute copy edits to finish for Stepping Out, royalty statements to sort through, a number of business issues to deal with and critique pages to read for a writer’s retreat I attended the weekend after I got back.

Re-entry and getting back to the writing routine was taking longer than normal. I didn’t question it; I expected the first week back to be busy. But as I planted the garden, it occurred to me that my resistance was about more than having too much on my plate.

I had some heavily pot bound tomato plants to get into the ground. As I broke apart the root ball, set them into rich, loamy soil and watered them in, I thought about how much they’d appreciate their new digs. Once they got over the initial shock of being transplanted, they’d be quick to take advantage of the unlimited space to grow, sending out new shoots and eventually – hopefully – setting luscious tomatoes we’d gorge on all summer long. Being unconstrained would result in a significant transformation.

I realized I needed a transformation of my own. My trip away wasn’t a rest by any means, but it was enough of a break to point out that I was feeling pot bound too. Boxed in by the never-ending demands of the publishing industry . . . by demands I’d put on myself. I’ve been writing for two decades. My twentieth book will be published next year. The publishing landscape looked quite different when I started out. There was no twitter, Facebook, Instagram or LinkedIn. Blogs were a thing of the future. So were e books. Marketing and promotion was done, for the most part, by publishers. A book a year was considered a respectable output. These days it’s not unusual for writers to produce two, three, even four titles a year. Some of those might be shorter books but the goal is clear: get your name out and keep it there. While you’re at it, make sure you have a social media presence, engage with your readers, market and promote yourself. And make sure you’re reachable by email 24/7 too.

I love to write. It’s as necessary to me as breath. I appreciate email. It’s fun to share on social media. And the changing landscape of publishing is creating opportunities I couldn’t have dreamt up two decades ago. It’s all good.

Except when it isn’t.

Opportunity and possibility often bring growth. Slow, steady growth is a good thing. Wild, exuberant growth may be exciting to watch but it can lead to trouble. When potted plants grow too fast and their roots don’t have enough space, they become pot bound. Eventually the soil becomes so compacted that the roots can’t take up nourishment and they fail to thrive.

The market demands writers grow quickly these days: set daily word counts, produce more books, maintain a mailing list, attend conferences. Do, do, do. Go, go, go. And without enough down time or space in our days to fill the well or feed the muse or simply refuel, we risk getting pot bound ourselves. We risk burnout.

Root disturbance can be a good thing. It leads to change and growth. So now that my outside garden’s planted, it’s time for a little inner root disturbance. It’s time to regroup, rethink, reprioritize. To examine my boundaries and look at what’s important on both a personal and professional level. To incorporate a little more reading time, puttering time, beach time, alone time.

A plant needs space in which to grow. People do too. So this summer I’m giving myself the gift of space. I’ve always seen it as a bit of a luxury. But thanks to another lesson from the garden, I realize it’s a necessity.    root-bound-tomato-plant-224x300

 

Every Writer Needs a Lizard

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Every writer needs a lizard. Or maybe a frog or a spider or, in my case, a golden ladybug.

We need a mythic animal or a symbolic touchstone where we can park our doubts when they get in the way of our writing. My friend Rachel has a lizard painted on the wall of her office. Lise has a stained glass frog hanging in her window. I have a golden ladybug. She sits on my desk as a symbol of luck. One day when luck seemed about as attainable as a trip to Mars, I looked down and there she was: benign yet strong, a little hopeful even. And perfectly capable of swallowing my doubts like her live counterpart swallows aphids in the garden.

Doubt is different than disappointment. In the aftermath of an immediate bad news moment like a rejection or poor sales figures or a difficult conversation with an editor, chocolate is a quick fix. So is triple cream brie or a bracing gin and tonic or a head-pounding workout if you have no hedonistic qualities at all. A walk & talk with a writer friend or a good movie help too.

I’m not talking about disappointing news. I’m talking about those ugly doubts that linger like the nasty cough that won’t go away after the cold is gone.  The doubts that say ‘you aren’t good enough,’ ‘this story bites,’ ‘the odds aren’t in your favor,’ or ‘find a real job.’

Doubt like that doesn’t belong at the desk.

In his outstanding book ‘Writing from the Inside Out’ Dennis Palumbo says writers need doubt in the same way we need faith.  It’s a mistake, he says, to strive to banish doubt, to see it as the enemy. “Just as courage has no meaning without fear, faith has no meaning without doubt. They’re the yin and yang of all aspiration,” Palumbo writes.

Most of us, however, want faith to win over doubt. We’ll take whispers of inspiration, encouragement, and hope over shouts of doubt any day of the week.  Not so fast, says Palumbo.  The more willing we are to mine our doubts, the truer and more recognizably human our characters will be

He has me there. Anything for the writing, right?

Okay, not so fast, Dennis. There’s a fine line between doubt and despair. And despair, taken to the extreme, doesn’t serve me.

Although, I have to be honest, doubt does serve me sometimes. That niggling seed of doubt telling me the plot twist isn’t quite right or the character motivation isn’t strong enough, that’s healthy doubt. Welcome doubt. But when doubt is so strong that faith is a distant memory, I have a problem.

That’s when I hand it over to my ladybug. ‘Take it and hold it and let me write,’ I say. ‘Just for today, let me have faith.’

 

 

This Writing Gig . . . It’s Complicated

complicatedThere was a visual posted on Facebook last week. You know the kind – some of them are funny, others are motivational, a few are designed to drag you out of your writing cave to comment. This was one of the latter. It was a quote by Kurt Vonnegut and it read:

“Swoopers write a story quickly, higgledy-piggledy, crinkum-crankum, any which way. Then they go over it again painstakingly, fixing everything that is just plain awful or doesn’t work. Bashers go one sentence at a time, getting it exactly right before they go on to the next. When they’re done, they’re done.”

People commented, declaring themselves in one camp or another, either a swooper or a basher. I came to the party a day or so late, and without much time to spare, but I quickly popped in to declare myself a swoopsher.   Tongue in cheek? Not really.

Honestly, I’m a hybrid. I pretty much write both ways.

I wrote Exit Point and Hot New Thing in one quick spurt, not really stopping until I had that first draft done.  Only then did I go back to revise.  I swooped out the first three or four chapters of The Art of getting Stared At too and I was on a real roll, only to slow down and bash out a good part of the middle before I did a little swoop-bashing at the end.

For me, it varies book by book. Deadline by deadline.  And by what’s going on in my life at the time.   My writing process is exceptionally fluid. That’s not a good thing or bad thing. It’s simply my thing. It is the way it is. More important than my actual process, is my acceptance of it. Though it would be nice to fall firmly in one camp or another, if I get down on myself because I don’t, or if I try to force myself into taking an approach that doesn’t feel right, I am doomed.

My  name is Laura. I’m a swoopsher. And I’m okay with that.

 

Giving Thanks

thankful 2 It’ll be Canadian Thanksgiving in a few days and my thoughts are turning, as they usually do in the fall, to the things I’m most thankful for. This time last year, I blogged about why I’m thankful to be a writer. And many of those same things (the joy of playing with words; the ability to ask endless questions; regular and mandatory reading; wearing yoga pants and slippers to work) still apply.

But I’m feeling more serious this year and it occurs to me that even though I work alone, I don’t work in a vacuum. In fact, I couldn’t do what I do without a pile of people in my corner. And for that, I’m profoundly, extremely grateful.

My long suffering partner, Mr. Petrol Head (possibly to be rechristened My Squirrel Slayer – watch for an upcoming blog) has had my back, along with the rest of me, since I started this gig way back when. Not once has he questioned my sanity, my ROI or my need to bounce endless (and I mean endless) questions off of him.  He cooks, he designs my business cards, he listens to me rant, and he laughs. I love him for all of it. Mostly I just love him.

My kids – Uptown Girl and Teen Freud (the latter needs a rename since he’s left teen hood behind forever; sob) – have made me the writer I am. They’ve helped me become more patient (they may not agree with that), more disciplined and more creative. They’re bright, funny and truly the best kids a mother could ask for. I love them more than life. Even if they weren’t mine, I’d want to spend time with them. Yes, they are that cool. Mr. Petrol Head pointed out the other day that my career has, to a large extent, followed the trajectory of their growing up years. When they were young, I started writing picture books. As they grew, I segued into middle grade fiction. And now I write for teens and adults.

My web guy keeps my site up to date. Thank you Miles Barr for achieving the seemingly unachievable . . .  for returning my panicked emails . . .  and for reassuring me that glitches can be fixed even when they seem unfixable.

My fellow authors who follow the publishing road.  No one else gets it the way you do. I’d be a whole lot crazier if I didn’t have friends like you with me on my path.

The editors I’ve been blessed to know. I’ve been hugely lucky in the editorial department over the years and it shows in all my books. You might want to thank those editors, too. Trust me.

My readers.  A reader was the impetus for this blog. Not a reader of my books, but a medical technician who reads science fiction and fantasy. I was in for a test recently and when he found out I was a writer, he spent about ten minutes talking books with me. Not in the ‘how do I get published? sense’ but the ‘have you read this author?’ and ‘what do you think of this author?’ sense.  His passion was a sharp reminder of why I do what I do and for whom I write (it was also a good distraction from the task at hand but that’s a whole other story).

And last but not least – Team Sheltie.  They sometimes drive me nuts with interruptions and they bark waaaaay too much, but they get me out of the house for several walks a day, they always make me smile and they’re my soft place to land when I walk away from the keyboard at the end of the day.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!     dogswindow.jgp

The Creative Art of Doing Nothing

stock-footage-time-lapse-with-cloud-formations-moving-away-from-viewer-over-a-field-and-a-small-forrest-full-hdI don’t have much time for lying on the grass and watching the clouds these days. You probably don’t either.  Do you care? Or does some small part of you celebrate the fact that your life is busy, busy?  That it’s always go, go, go?

Benjamin Franklin said, “It is the working man who is the happy man. It is the idle man who is the miserable man.”  Most of us have taken that attitude to heart. We’ve also adopted the belief that “Inspiration exists but it has to find you working” (Pablo Picasso) and that ‘Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.’  (That quote is so rampant and has so many variables no one is entirely sure where it first came from).

In our culture we celebrate busyness. Busyness equals business.  If you aren’t busy, you aren’t doing business.

Except:

“To do great work one must be very idle as well as very industrious.” Samuel Butler

And:

“Imagination needs moodling – long inefficient happy idling, dawdling and puttering.” Brenda Ueland in If You Want to be a Writer

Moodling isn’t watching TV or seeing a movie. It’s not surfing the net or reading a book.  It’s not cooking a meal for someone you love or listening to a friend in trouble, or even walking the dog if that dog is anything like my youngest (lovable but demanding) Sheltie. Those things are all worthwhile. But they’re not  moodling.

Moodling is

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. . . watching a spider eat aphids on a rose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

. .  walking the beach with no agenda and only your thoughts for company. Witty's-Lagoon-022s

Blue Night Sky

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

. . . sitting outside after dark and staring at the stars not because you’re locked out but because you want to lock in. To inspiration. To creativity.  And to possibilities.

 

 

We all need a little moodling time. It’s the best way to let our imaginations soar.

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