Category: Writing Life

Writing Books or Blowing Glass, It’s All a Process

 

photo910We spent a few days in Seattle last month and one of the highlights was visiting the Chihuly Garden and Glass Museum at Seattle Center. Dale Chihuly is something of a phenomenon in the glass world. His blown glass –everything from single bowls to massive sculptures and chandeliers in complex shapes and dazzling color combinations – is shown around the globe. Some of it remains in private collections, but much of it is displayed in places like the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, England, and in the lobby of the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada.  If you ever watched the 1990’s sitcom ‘Frasier’ psychiatrist Frasier Crane had a Chihuly piece on display beside his fireplace too.

Chihuly has faced many challenges in his life (the death of his father and brother while he was in his teens; a head on collision as an adult that left him blind in one eye) and, like most artists, he’s not without his critics (who debate whether his work is art or craft; who criticize his move to hire others to blow the glass after a body surfing accident left him unable to do the heavy work). But Chihuly presses on, coping with his limitations, and ignoring the naysayers and critics.  His job, as he sees it, is to show up and simply do the work.

The museum visit was inspirational. It reminded me that whether you’re creating a beautiful glass sculpture, a full-length novel, or a four course dinner, the real reward is in the doing.

Some pictures from our museum visit and some quotes from Dale Chihuly:

 

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I never actually consider what I am, nor do I reflect much on what I’ve done, nor do I think too much about what I will do.

 

 
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My well of inspiration never runs dry. Just working with the materials seems to bring forth the ideas.

 

 

 

 

 


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I can’t worry about how the world will be received. People will respond in many different ways. If you could record the reactions, there would be tremendous variation.

 

 

 

 

 

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I can’t understand it when people say they don’t like a particular color. How can you not like a color?

 

 
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I want my work to appear like it came from nature.

 

 

 

 

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Spontaneity is the one element I most strive for in my work.

 

 

 

 

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I think all artists have to overcome criticism. Most artists who are successful, somebody’s there waiting to give you a hard time. I tend not to read a lot of the reviews.

 

 

 

 

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Yeah, you have doubts. But you don’t want those doubts when you’re making the work. If you have doubts about work while you’re making it, it’s hard to make it. So you have to have some kind of vision about what you’re trying to do, and then while you’re doing that, you have to be very confident.

 

 

It doesn’t make any difference to me if the work is called art or craft or design. To me, the best of chihuly-museum_01everything is an art form. A movie can be wonderful art or it can be poorly made and purely commercial. If it moves people in some way, that’s what’s important.

 

 

 

 

Just take things as they come. We’ll see how this works out. It’s like a lot of good things. If you follow your heart, sometimes you get lucky.

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The Ancient Art of Placement

41-How2-FengShuiForWritersI was reminded of Feng Shui recently as I restructured my office to fit in the treadmill desk. Feng Shui is the ancient Chinese art of creating harmony in living spaces. Its literal translation means wind and water.   It’s based on the principle that, like wind and water, you and your environment are two forces of nature, constantly interacting and influencing each other.  When they’re in balance, chi or positive energy can flow which positively impacts our health, wealth and happiness.

As simple as it sounds, the art of Feng Shui is surprisingly complex and doesn’t lend itself to a superficial approach. Feng Shui masters spend their entire lives studying the principles and helping others apply them.  There are also various schools of Feng Shui which interpret and apply the rules differently.

I didn’t know any of that when I picked up a book on Feng Shui years ago.  Back then, my office was a mess, and I thought perhaps the Chinese principles of Feng Shui could help. After all, as the book pointed out, many of us utilize the principles of Feng Shui without even realizing it. We arrange furniture in a certain way, decorate our living rooms artfully, and design gardens and ponds so they flow.  Why not bring that same sensibility to the space where we write our books?

Here are some of the Feng Shui principles I introduced into my office years ago, and still utilize, to a greater or lesser extent, today.

* Simplify and declutter. Active chaos or temporary clutter (reference books or the visuals that pile up as we write) is the result of creativity in motion.  But passive chaos or stagnant clutter – outdated papers or books not being used, old magazines and journals – needs to be eliminated.

* Your desk should be in your office’s commanding position. Ideally it should face the room’s entrance, but angled to the left or the right and not directly in line with the door. If that’s impossible, use a mirror to reflect the entrance door or, at the very least, hang a bell on your doorknob so you’ll hear someone approaching.

*Put the materials you use regularly within arm’s reach of your desk. If that’s impossible, gather whatever you need at the beginning of your writing session and have everything close.

* Avoid having an abstract painting on the wall in an area where you want to focus.

* Watch out for doors that stick. Feng Shui believes they can create sticky situations.

* Make sure your work area engages all five senses. This is critical for us as writers too.  When you look up from your desk you should see something you love on the wall.  Create a soundtrack for the book you’re writing. Add a scented oil diffuser to the shelf.  Toss a throw rug with a beautiful texture onto the floor.

* Hang a crystal over your desk to stimulate the thinking chi and improve your work habits.

* Surround yourself with colors that personally resonate. The color blue activates the fifth chakra, or throat chakra, and can inspire creative writing. If that color appeals, put a few blue touches in your office. I’ve added red in my office to kick start my thinking. My desk is black and grounding, which is good for persistence.

* Keep a plant in your office and make sure it’s healthy.

* And finally, if you want things to change, relocate (or get rid of) 27 things in your working area. This is a powerful Feng Shui tool that can be used to sweep out the old and bring in the new.

Overheard This Week

140474989Achoo. Hack, Hack. Sniffle. Moan.

Yes, it’s cold season.  I fought the good fight for about three weeks, battling a sore throat with Echinacea spray, drinking lots of fluids, staying home and resting.  I was determined to be well for a day of author talks at Shaughnessy Elementary School in Vancouver.  And I was.  The day went well. The kids were fabulous.  The sore throat receded. I felt pretty good. But four days after I came back to Victoria, the cold hit. And it’s a doozy.  I haven’t had one this bad in years.

My normal tendency is to push through, continue writing, keep up the routine. And I tried. I really did. But this frigus et caput (Latin for head cold – way more descriptive than common cold, don’t you think?) will have none of it.  Sitting at the computer is too hard on my eyes. My body aches. My concentration is shot.

So I’ve been tucked up on the couch, a cup of rose hip tea beside me, Team Sheltie at my feet. I’ve been resting, reading, and thinking. Taking notes on One Good Deed, my work-in-progress, when I feel inclined. And here’s a funny thing – this cold seems to have shut down the logical, analytical left side of my brain.  The ‘that-wouldn’t-work-editor’ is flat lined. The only part of me that’s thinking (and not too clearly at that) is the ‘why not?’ part of me.

Yesterday I had a thought, admittedly a feverish and fuzzy one, about a possible plot twist in my current WIP.   It was the kind of twist that would force the protagonist to do something so far out of her comfort zone it would either leave her guilt-riddled forever, or force her to grow and change the way she needs to in this particular story.  It would push my boundaries too because it’s a scene I’m not sure I’d be comfortable writing.  Will I run with it? I don’t know.  I’ll have to wait until the mucus clears. In the meantime, I’m writing down all the weird and wacky thoughts that float my way. Drinking lots of tea.    And cuddling Team Sheltie.

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Walking My Way to ‘The End’

feet-on-treadmillI’ve wanted a treadmill desk for years. Writing books requires a lot of sitting, and though I go to the gym regularly, do yoga, and walk Team Sheltie daily, that sitting wasn’t doing me any good. I could feel it in stiff hips at the end of the day. I could see it as my pants got tight. With a family history of heart disease, obesity and diabetes (both my mother and my grandmother) getting off my butt was a priority.  Each passing birthday seemed to underscore my slowing metabolism and my need to increase my activity level. Yet I needed – wanted – to keep writing.

I tried standing up to work for a while. It was incredibly fatiguing and my low back didn’t like it. A treadmill desk seemed a wise solution. Since I read on both the elliptical and stationary bike at the gym, I didn’t think I’d have trouble adjusting to moving and typing.

I started looking at manufactured treadmill desks, but my budget was low and they were expensive so that option was out. Unfortunately the budget wasn’t the only thing that was low.  I also have a low ceiling.

My office is in the basement.  It’s a lovely L-shaped room with charming nooks, a little bay window with an upholstered window seat overlooking my herb garden. But it’s a small space with a ceiling clearance of about six feet.   Treadmills have a base anywhere from five to eight inches off the ground before you step onto the walking surface and I’m 5’4”.  That meant finding a low height treadmill with a reasonably compact set up.   I needed it to fit into my office in such a way that my existing desk remained. I wasn’t sure how I’d adapt and given that I work for about seven hours a day, I wanted the option of toggling back and forth between two work stations. That also meant two monitors, possibly two keyboards as well. As the potential costs and complications ratcheted up, my enthusiasm and determination plummeted.

Enter Mr. Petrol Head AKA The Man I Married who not only loves cars but also loves a challenge. And he yields a mean hammer. He built my window seat and he took it upon himself to figure out a way we could make a treadmill desk work.

He measured and mulled, finally concluding that we could squeak one in if I would move my existing sit-down desk closer to the window seat, if I was willing to buy a low height treadmill, and if I could find one with arms that were short, straight and wouldn’t get in the way of a keyboard (not as easy as you might think).

After a lot of on line research and in person looking at new and used models (and passing on several too-big Nordic Tracks which I seriously coveted), we decided on a mid-range Tempo model from Canadian Tire. The bottom-of-line line model seemed too flimsy and the high end version had bells and whistles I didn’t need. I began saving my pennies and went to work relocating my sit-down desk. At the same time, a good friend switched from a PC to a MAC and she sold me (for a ridiculously low price) her (nearly new) monitor, keyboard and mouse. Thank you, Lea Tassie.    My long-held dream was close.

imgtreadmilldeskstandaloneA few weeks before we were going to purchase the new treadmill, the same model showed up on Used Victoria. It was a year old and had been used maybe a dozen times (funny, that nearly new trend was rampant in virtually all the used treadmills we looked at). We hustled out to take a look.  It was just what I wanted. Same model and in beautiful shape.  I was ecstatic. “We’ll take it,” I told the seller though a niggle of doubt crept into my mind. It looked a LOT bigger by itself than it did in the store beside all the other behemoths.

“Get on,” the seller urged.

So I did. I stepped onto it, raised my arms like I was typing, and I stared straight ahead at a monitor position. They turned it on. And I almost fell off.    “Slow it down.” I grabbed the arms and steadied myself. “I need it on the lowest possible speed if I’m going to be able to work on this thing.”

The seller looked at Mr. Petrol Head. Mr. Petrol Head looked at me. “It’s on the lowest possible setting,” he said. “It doesn’t get any lower than this.”

I didn’t believe him. (Mr. Petrol Head lies). He wasn’t lying then.  It was on the lowest setting.  It was also destined to be ours.  We brought it home that afternoon.

Next week: how we set it up and how it’s working.

 

Gifts of the Season

158585589Winter solstice. Hanukkah. Christmas.   Winter’s celebratory season is here and for many that means gifts. Gifts given and gifts received. I’ve received many wonderful writing-related gifts through the years: beautiful pens, lovely calendars, a leather briefcase. One of my most memorable writing-related gifts was from my grandmother. Just before she died, she introduced me in a whisper to one of the hospice nurses as ‘my granddaughter who writes books.’   I hadn’t written my first book yet, though I wanted to.  Her unwavering belief that I could do it was a gift that carried me until I wrote and sold my first novel. Whether they’re intangible or lovely and practical, gifts specific to writers cover the gamut. Here a number of other writers share some of the special gifts they’ve received.

Karen Autio:  “At the 2002 BC Festival of the Arts I met fellow delegates from around BC–all children’s writers–and we formed an email group. Five of us continue to correspond regularly, critique each other’s work, and get together as often as we can. Having their support, insights, and encouragement is my best writing gift. Truly priceless.”     Karen Autio is the author of “Sabotage” (Sono Nis Press)  www.karenautio.com

Irene Watts:  “A few years ago my granddaughter Rebecca gave me a journal, bound in real leather, with my name in gold letters inscribed on the cover. At the time I was going through a dry spell between books. Inside she had written, Happy Writing, and whether it was that or the feel and smell of the leather and the way the journal felt in my hands, but it became filled with ideas for a new book.”   Irene Watts is the author of Touched by Fire and the Omnibus, Escape From Berlin. (Tundra) http://www.irenenwatts.com/author.html

Helen Mason:  “The best writing gift I ever received was a copy of The Reader’s Encyclopedia (New York: Thomas Y Crowell Company, 1955). The gift was from my Aunt Marg, who was a high school English teacher. This gift reinforced my interest in language and showed me that she thought I was interested in it. Before the Internet, it was also a useful reference that saved me hours of research. I still have it on my reference shelf, even though I haven’t used it in years. It’s a symbol of my aunt’s confidence in and love of me.”   Helen Mason is the author of Weird Nature and Agricultural Inventions: At the Top of the Field (Crabtree) http://soundsforfun.ca/category/parent-notes/reading-chair/

Caroline Woodward:  “I used to write unselfconsciously in high school, one draft wonders, really. I even wrote a weekly column for two years and did special “youth” assignments for the Alaska Highway News. Not bad work for 75 cents by the line inch in 1968–70. Then came university and struggling with Paradise Lost for three months in honours English. My writing style clumped, clotted and clanked, unsure of itself, let’s be honest, my writing was a turgid pudding, festooned with ibids and opcits, and I was a writer afraid of emitting an original thought unless some dead guy had okayed it first.

But I kept at it, reading voraciously and writing sporadically, because it was my only hope of synthesizing my own life experience, of living an examined life. I wrote in isolation, working as a caretaker and gardener and substitute teacher and other jobs which allowed me time to hole up somewhere and write. But I lacked real confidence and mentors and a savvy, supportive writing community. Finally, I attended one glorious year of writing school in Nelson, BC, where real writers taught us and where visiting writers dropped in to read to us and to give workshops in nearly all genres. I discovered contemporary Canadian magazines. I played with form, tinkering with my backlog of content, still feeling like a prissy Victorian governess was in control of my writing until one day Paulette Jiles, poet and friend circa 1985, said to me: “Why don’t you write like you talk?” It’s the best writing advice I’ve ever had. Whenever I battle my perfectionist self to a standstill, I haul it out and remind myself that I have a distinctive voice and many more stories to tell!”  Caroline Woodward is the author of“The Village of Many Hats” (Oolichan Books: 2012) www.carolinewoodward.ca

Leigh Carter:  “The best writing gift I ever received was a blackboard, coloured and white chalk and an eraser so that I could ‘play’ school with my dolls. I was about 8, and it was what made me want to write, and to try to encourage others (my dolls) to feel the same as I did about words.”  Leigh Carter is a senior corporate communications manager and freelance editor/proof reader.

Fiona McQuarrie:  “The best writing gift I ever received was feedback from people who were honest enough to tell me when it could be better, and kind enough to show me how it could get there.” Fiona McQuarrie is the author of Industrial Relations in Canada (Wiley).  www.allaboutwork.org

Lee Edward Fodi:  “I think one of the best writing gifts I ever received was a thesaurus for my eleventh birthday from my best friend. He knew at that time I wanted to be a writer, and so he gave me quite a serious gift (not what you would typically expect one eleven-year-old boy to give to another). And, of course, this was before the time of computers and electronic dictionaries. It was a gift I actually needed, as we didn’t have a thesaurus in our house. I still have the thesaurus.”  Lee Edward Fodi is the author of the Kendra Kandlestar series including Kendra Kandlestar and the Box of Whispers (Simply Read Books).  www.leefodi.com

Gisela Sherman: “Many years ago when I was a teacher, and first dating my now husband, I found it hard to tell him my secret dream of becoming a writer. Would he think I was crazy? Would he like the stories I was writing out in longhand every chance I got?  A month later on my birthday, he showed me his support – my own electric typewriter, the latest technology at the time. As I happily typed out my stories and articles, I knew he was the man for me.”  Gisela Sherman is the author of Snake In My Toilet (HIP Books, April 2014) and a past president of CANSCAIP (The Canadian Society of Children’s Authors, Illustrators and Performers).

Nikki Tate:   “Hands down, the best gift for me is some time to get away and focus on writing. Running a small, mixed farm, this is NOT an easy thing to accomplish. I am SO grateful to friends and family who have, over the years, stepped in to handle tasks ranging from goat milking to turkey wrangling to poop shovelling so I could slip away, hole up, and just write!” Nikki Tate is the author of Down to Earth: How Kids Help Feed the World (Orca) www.nikkitate.com

Sylvia McNicoll:  “The best writing present I ever received was probably in 1999 (exact date is fuzzy) when my husband took it upon himself to create a website for me. No one had one in those days.  As a computer programmer he didn’t know anything about design but he knew me and my books and proceeded on his own.  Even back then writers wanted to work on their books not on promotion so I really appreciated the fact he didn’t bother me about content. The finished product was beautiful and the Quill and Quire wrote an article talking about the three (I think) authors who had one, me being one.  Ironically the tool of promotion became an object which was promoted. Since then I’ve had several redesigns by visual artists but none with as much impact as that first.”  Sylvia McNicoll is the author of Dying to Go Viral (Fitzhenry) www.sylviamcnicoll.com

Come back next week for more of our favorite writing-related gifts.

 

Giving Thanks

thankful 2 When I do author talks or school visits, one of the questions I’m often asked is what I like best about being a writer.  The question came up again the other day.  Until now, my answer has usually been twofold. I’m most thankful, I generally say, that I can write in jeans and slippers (there’s something incredibly freeing about not having to pluck, mousse, iron, and endure heels before plonking down at the desk). I also admit that because I’m a writer I feel entitled to spy on people at the grocery store. I do. Character is truly revealed in the generally mindless acquisition of food (is my subject buying Kraft dinner or quinoa? Wearing sweats or silk? Do they stack and toss? Smile or glare? Rush or linger? Treat the cashier with kindness or indifference?)

With American Thanksgiving now upon us, I’ve decided to ponder the question of thankfulness more deeply.

I am most thankful to be a writer because:

I can ask questions of anyone, anywhere, and at any time, all under the guise of research (Although I do refrain at weddings, funerals and during bikini waxings).

I have a valid excuse for an extra twenty pounds since writing requires sitting for many long hours (given that I’ve just set up a treadmill desk, this sentence is subject to revision).

I get to read. A lot. And this I can do on a treadmill or an elliptical. At a stop light even. Until the guy behind me honks.

I can write anywhere and at any time. Though I don’t recommend mixing laptops and hot tubs. Especially after midnight. Trust me on this.

I set my own hours which means I can get a root canal in the middle of the day or take off to watch a movie do heavy, intense research. And I don’t have to ask my boss.

I am always learning. Fun, neat facts like ‘intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair’ and ‘women blink twice as many times as men do.’  Without these random bits of trivia my life would be seriously incomplete.

I’ve met many wonderful people through my writing, and I’ve made lifelong friends too.

I get to experience the thrill of the unknown twice a year when the royalty checks land in the mailbox. Sometimes I even get to shop afterwards.

I am allowed to daydream. Staring into space for long periods of time is mandatory. And my family understands that even when I look like I’m paying attention, sometimes I’m not.

I play every single day. And that, really, is the thing I am most thankful for. I play with words, with worlds, with people and emotions. In my slippers, on my laptop, at the gym or in my office. I play. Only everybody else calls it work.

 

A Block or a Blessing

writers-block (1)The subject of writer’s block came up a few times this week.  One friend is writing again after a long bout of being blocked. Another writer asked a group of us for our suggestions on overcoming writer’s block so she could compile a list for a writing course she is teaching. I also had a conversation with a third friend about the gifts inherent in writer’s block.

Yes, gifts.

Taken in literal terms, writer’s block is an inability to get to the writing, to move forward with it. But that’s not my personal yardstick.  There have been times in my life when I’ve put the writing aside, sometimes willingly, sometimes with regret.  A few years ago, I was ill for three months and couldn’t do much of anything, never mind write.   I took time away from writing in those months after both my children were born too . . . and before and after the death of my stepfather as well.  Even though I may have wanted to write back then, circumstances made it difficult.  I wasn’t blocked. I chose to put my attention elsewhere.  Life comes first for me, then writing, otherwise there’s no life in the writing.

Having said that, writing is my job, and barring illness, birth or death, I show up pretty much every day.

My writer’s block is when I show up and the words don’t flow. Luckily it doesn’t happen very often, maybe because of my training in journalism.  As a reporter in the field, I’d sometimes have fifteen minutes to put a story together. As a news announcer I was on air hourly, and I needed fresh content for every newscast. I wrote or I lost my job. It’s amazing how unblocked you get when the clock is ticking and you need to eat.

That training comes in handy. Still, there are times when I’m working on a novel and I get stuck. Blocked. Sidelined. Enticed by Twitter, the squirrel outside my office window or the oven that suddenly needs cleaning.

Dennis Palumbo, author of ‘Writing From the Inside Out’ suggests writer’s block isn’t always bad. It might be a signpost, he says, of something we need to pay attention to.  He explains it in psychological terms as a call from our subconscious.

I agree. And my subconscious usually calls because something in the story isn’t working.  When I step back, I’ll often realize something’s off in the plot or the pacing, or I’m missing something about the character. The block is a blessing, a gift, a way of calling my attention to an issue that needs addressing. It’s an amber light that says, ‘slow down, wait a second here.’

But waiting can be hard, especially when you aren’t sure why you’re waiting in the first place. So, while I wait and ponder and try to uncover what this particular gift means, here’s what I do in the meantime (aside from whining, moping, cleaning the oven or spending too much time on Twitter) :

Work on another piece of writing for a day or two.

Do something with my hands – dig in the garden, cut vegetables, paint a wall.

Get physical – walk the dogs, ride my bike, do yoga.

Feed my muse by watching a movie, reading a book, listening to music.

Reread what I’ve written, paying careful attention to the small details I’ve randomly thrown in.  There is gold in the details. Perhaps something can be fleshed out that will add depth or new perspective to my story.

Interview my character. Or write stream of consciousness stuff, in long hand, from the main character’s point of view (and sometimes the secondary characters too). What are they trying to tell me that I’m not hearing?

Finally, if all else fails and I still can’t fathom why I’ve come to a sticky place in the manuscript, I make myself write anyway. Even if it’s garbage.  Garbage can be turned into compost. Words can be revised.  Remember the words of Natalie Goldberg: “The only failure in writing is when you stop doing it. Then you fail yourself.’’

 

 

Transitions: Make Them Powerful, Not Harsh

152537949Here in the Pacific Northwest, it feels like we’ve gone from summer to winter in the space of a week. One day we were sitting by the pond enjoying 16 degree sunshine and two days later we were inside by the fire as a fierce windstorm brought plummeting temperatures, hail and a power outage. The transition was harsh.

Though the weather has stabilized to more fall-like norms, I’ve been thinking about transitions lately. I’m in the middle of revising a YA novel due out next year. As part of the process, I’m making sure the transitions from scene to scene, location to location, and from one point in time to another, are seamless.  But it occurred to me as I worked that if you want to get technical, novels themselves are one big transition. At least most of them are.

Transition, by definition, is the process or period of changing from one state or condition to another. In my novel, The Art of Getting Stared At, the teen protagonist must come to terms with a disease called alopecia areata and the subsequent loss of all her hair.  In the process, Sloane learns about judgement – the way she judges herself and others – and she changes significantly.  She literally transitions from one state of being (both externally and internally) to another.  While the editor was pleased with the way the story flowed, she felt Sloane’s journey from discovering the disease to accepting it – and accepting a particular truth about her own character – should have one big exclamation point somewhere. In other words, she wanted a recognizable point in the story where the character makes that leap, that transition, to realizing she isn’t who she thought she was.

I do have that. It’s a big, black moment kind of scene, and I quite like it. But since I’m more of a gradual girl myself (I don’t like going from summer to winter in a week) I built up to it. And in the process something was lost. So now I’m back in the story, refining and revising so the transition is seamless but the point of no return is clearly recognizable. I don’t want a harsh transition. I don’t like power outages, plummeting temperatures or hail and my character doesn’t either. I’m trying for powerful instead.

Wish me luck. And please pass the cocoa. It’s cold in here.

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Filling the Well

 

2 Harb FerryI’m in noodling mode these days, working on a couple of projects, but mostly wanting to be outside enjoying the weather. We’re lucky – unlike so many places in North America, we’ve had a wonderful summer with great temperatures and lots of sun.

Last weekend I stole away to appreciate some local and nearly local attractions.

 

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Dungeness Spit, 9 kilometres of heaven

 

 

 

 

 

4 tiny treasures

 

Tiny treasures walking the spit . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

5 Company

 

In good company . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

10 Lavender field

 

Searching out fields of lavender

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Peek a boo, harbor view

 

 

 

 

 

And night falls . . .

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Pride Gets Me Every Time

strawberriesandpeonies 002The strawberries are great this year. My patch is lush and green . . . and crowded with berries. Berries that drip sweet juice down your chin when you bite into them; the kind that stain your fingers red.  Berries that entice me outside early in morning, while I’m still in my housecoat, to pick for breakfast.

“You must be very proud,” my neighbor called over the fence one morning last week when she saw me bent over the patch.

Her comment made me uncomfortable (and that morning I was dressed so it wasn’t my clothing that made me squirm). It was the word pride. It gets me every time.

Inevitably when I have a book published, someone will say the same thing: ‘you must be very proud.’  And inevitably I cringe.

Pride, according to Oxford, is a feeling of pleasure from one’s own achievements.

I get a lot of pleasure from the strawberries in the garden, from my garden itself. I get a huge amount of pleasure from the books and articles I write too. I’m totally on board with pleasure.

But pride in my own achievements? That sounds a lot like taking ownership. And there’s the catch. In my heart of hearts I truly don’t believe I do anything creative on my own. I can’t will those strawberries into form or make the peonies bloom (though I can and did rescue a pile of long-neglected peony plants and I babied them for a long time before they bloomed again).  So I can plant and dig and weed and hope, but something larger than me is in control.

For me it’s the same with writing. I can plot story landscapes and string words together; I can revise and polish, and polish some more. But there’s something much larger than me at play in the creation of a story. I’m not talking about all the people I depend on for help along the way, although those critique partners and editors, cover designers and marketers play a vital role as well. I’m talking about that unseen something many of us creative types tap into when we sit down to work. Call it the Muse or your Inner Voice or the Girls in the Basement. Call it the Kid Who Refuses to Grow Up. Whatever. All I know is that it exists, and it exists independent of me. On a good day, I touch it. On a great day, I’m part of it.

And whether I’m growing strawberries, babying peonies or writing books that makes me feel humble rather than proud.

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