Dreaming

Several years ago I set five goals for my writing: write, polish, learn, attend, and send.

I’m a prolific writer so the first goal wasn’t a problem. I’ve always got a pen and paper—or laptop—in my hands. The second goal, polish, was a challenge. I’m a perfectionist and felt my work was never at its best. With the help of other writers, however, I learned that polishing a story, article, or novel is just that—polishing. Polish, by definition means to buff up. When I spray furniture polish onto my piano, it doesn’t automatically shine. There is, in fact, a dull residue which only after lots of elbow grease—buffing up—begins to yield results.

I began to understand that though my writing starts out needing lots of work to make it shine that doesn’t mean I am doomed to fail. It only means I need to work until I get the results I want—just like polishing the piano.

For me that was a great realization—a blessing.

Since fifth grade, I knew I wanted to be a writer. I just didn’t know it was okay to work at making that dream come true. When I was young I wrote with enthusiasm, then I followed my mother around reading my work. Her response was constantly harsh and to the point: “Lori, writing is not your forte.” She didn’t believe I could become what I dreamed of being, and she feared I’d embarrass myself; her fears became mine.

It took a long time for me to start believing in myself.

Knowing it was alright if my words didn’t shine the first time I wrote them, or when I rewrote them the second time, or even the third, I came to the realization that I could help myself by striving to learn more about writing in general. I began to read more, books on writing and books in the genres I wanted to pursue, thus helping myself meet my third goal. Attend, fourth on the list, involved writing classes and being part of critique groups. I met lots of other writers and would be writers who shared dreams and goals similar to mine.

I become conscious that early on in my life I’d been lead to believe that writing—being a writer—was something you either could or could not do, like walking or talking. When I understood that (just like playing the piano with any degree of proficiency) becoming a writer takes time, effort, and practice I was able to let go of old fears and enjoy the process of becoming.

The last item on my list, send, became easier as well. I analyzed, versus agonized over, rejection letters and resumed polishing before I again sent my work out. In time my efforts paid off. I found many opportunities and enjoyed writing for the newspapers and magazines that asked for my work; it felt good to have my articles, short stories and essays—my own words and feelings—appear in print.

But there was something more, something I dreamed of for a long time: I wanted to write children’s books and novels.

Gathering courage amidst continued opposition, both interior and exterior, I set out once more with my five writing goals. I still have a long road to travel but I enjoy being on that road, grateful to know it's okay to do more than just sit by the wayside and wish.

Be Not Afraid

by Terrie Lynn Bittner

I received The Rock That is Higher: Story as Truth for Christmas, which we had early this year. It is by Madeleine L’engle, the author of Wrinkle in Time. The book is about writing, but even more about religion. L’engle, who died recently, was a devout Episcopalian and this book was written shortly after she was in a terrible car accident that should have taken her life, and led to some intense thoughts about truth and scripture, as well as writing.

She spoke at Wheaton College, a place she loved and had agreed to donate her papers to. However, she was attacked by a group of Christians who objected to Wrinkle in Time. She could tell they didn’t want answers—they only asked the questions to make others hear their point of view, and in fact, interrupted her answers so she was unable to respond to them. They wanted only one perspective to be known. She was shaken by the experience and spent a great deal of time thinking about it. In the book, she writes:

“How do I glorify God in this matter? I think the only way I know is to continue to write what is given me, to write to the best of my ability. I wrote A Wrinkle in Time as a hymn of praise to God, so I must let it stand as it is and not be fearful when it is misunderstood.”

People don’t often think of writing as a career that takes courage. We sit at a desk all day. Other than carpal tunnel and the risk of being buried under the weight of our rejection letters, how dangerous can the job be? However, if we write things that matter to us, if we write about truth (as opposed to facts) and about great principles, we do indeed put ourselves at risk of attack.

When my first book came out, one reviewer was offended by the old-fashionedness of the book, of the idea of moms staying home, of a wife who combed her hair before her husband came home, that sort of thing that is no longer in style. (Who knew combing your hair was controversial?) But my portrayal of the typical homeschooling parent as female was actually factual, as well as truthful. I once accidentally encountered a furious debate (with no one defending me, so it was more of an agreement than a debate) online about me, because I suggested the various factions of homeschoolers stop attacking each other. They all agreed I was single-handedly destroying homeschooling, and furthermore…I was a Mormon. Who gave Mormons the right to represent homeschooling?

I felt intimidated for a bit. I thought I was preaching to the choir, as they say, so who expected my book to generate such intense anger? But I realized if I’m going to write about things that matter to me, I’m going to make people mad over the years. I heard that Mormons shouldn’t be allowed to represent homeschooling as often as Romney hears a Mormon shouldn’t be allowed to be president. Whether I’m writing that Sunbeams don’t need candy during class or that Noah might have been around for the Tower of Babel, I’ll generate controversy. And when I write about more intense things—the gospel, for instance—the emails can become downright scary.

But if my writing is a hymn to God, I must let it stand and not be fearful, as L’engle suggested. When I started my first writing career and was unable to sell anything, I prayed to know why. I was told my writing was fluffy and fun, which is okay, but it wasn’t my calling. My calling was to teach, and so my writing must teach truth.

Truth makes us free, but it also makes us targets. So, if you’re telling the truth in your writing (as opposed to facts), put on your armor and don’t be afraid.

Ten More Ways to Know You're a Writer

by Patricia Wiles

(Lori's post is so true for us! I couldn't resist sharing a few of my own quirks.)

10. You dream in stories, and when you wake up (even if it's the middle of the night) you grab something -- anything -- to write the dream down, because if you don't you'll forget it.

9. You have rituals you must perform or objects you must have on your desk in order to write. (I have my "Remember Who You Are" token from Terrie hanging on my desk at work, and I start my day with a soda and a bag of pretzels.)

8. Your friends are either imaginary (because they're in your mind) or invisible (because they're on the internet).

7. You may not recall the terminology used to describe proper grammar when writing, but find you know as if by instinct when something "sounds" right -- or when it doesn't.

6. You become so focused when working on a project you forget to do important things like eat lunch, feed the cat, blow out the candles you lit for ambiance, remove the laundry that's in the dryer ...

5. When you get a rejection letter, you cry. You swear never to send your story out again. You decide to pack up all your writing books. Then, a couple of days later, you realize if you just tweaked a couple of elements in your submission ... and before you know it, you're stamping another SASE.

4. You spoil movies and TV for your non-writer friends. When a character gets a book published and it goes on the market right away, you laugh and say, "That's so fake. That's not the way it is AT ALL." Then you proceed to tell them all about the submission and rejection process. Like they even care.

3. You realize a good book is the result of a good relationship between the author and the editor.

2. You get excited when a new office supply store opens in town.

And, the number one way (at least for me)...

1. You clean out your closet and find you still have copies of The Writer you bought in 1996, and you realize that after all these years, you still haven't given up hope -- and you're still writing.

What of the Children?

I'm going to be a bit vulnerable here. I can't tell you the amount of times I've felt guilty for sitting at the computer and writing. My children, it seemed, knew the back of my head better than they knew my face.

Project after project demanded my time. For you see, years ago I was the Stake Cultural Arts Director. This meant that my days overflowed with time spent writing productions for stake and regional settings.

Don't get me wrong. It was flattering to see my imaginings on stage, playing before hundreds of audience members. In fact, it was more than exciting to see one of my productions in regional committee discussions to become the "Hill Cumorah pageant-of-the-south."

But when your church calling demands so much time...what of the children? What of my children?

This question, "What of the children?", has haunted me at times. For nothing can compare with the quiet moments of looking into the exquisite eyes of my daughter. Her eyes speak of eternity to me, if I look in them long enough.

Nothing can compare with hearing my youngest son's peals of laughter when we get into a tickle fest. His chuckles move me like nothing else can.

Nothing compares with the deep discussions my eldest son and I are wont to engage in. His insights inspire me and aid me on my darkest days.

Thus years later, I've changed my pace. It's been a hard thing to do -- for in truth, I love nothing better than sitting at the computer creating stories and events, articles and book chapters. Those activities, along with my music compositions, have been rewarding.

But -- in truth -- nothing can compare with irreplaceable moments with my children. Therefore, I determined I would shift my priorities. Surely the Lord could help me work more efficiently and complete my projects more swiftly.

As a result, I soon learned the potency of delegation. I also witnessed that reducing perfectionism speeded completion. "Over-the-top" efforts were not required -- not when my children were present and deserved my love (which they seem to spell "a-t-t-e-n-t-i-o-n").

In truth, I may not have three books a year to show for my writing efforts, but at least my children are much more familiar with "Mommy's face!"

Writing for No Good Reason

For years, I was a desk drawer writer. I happily scribbled away, tucking the finished or unfinished projects away in a desk drawer. I was writing because it was fun, and I wrote anything I wanted without caring if it was publishable or good. Then my daughter’s mentor got to me and made me start sending my work out.

Things changed that day. The changes were both good and bad. The good is that I began to be more professional, carefully researching the markets and writing what was publishable, finishing and editing each project I started.

The bad is that I began to be more professional, carefully researching the markets and writing what was publishable, finishing and editing each project I started.

After a while I started selling what I wrote and a career was launched, but some of the joy disappeared in the process. I was no longer writing anything I wanted. I soon enough learned there were things I didn’t yet have the talent to write professionally, so even though I loved writing them, I stopped. My limited work schedule didn’t allow for unpublishable writing time. Writing was now a job.

After a time, the spirit instructed me to stop writing for publication, other than my weekly column. My family would be needing my undivided attention for a time, without the stress of a professional writing career. For the next eight years, I was a full-time homeschooling mom, but I wrote once again for fun. I nabbed rare moments to write things that would never sell because I was born about eighty years too late for them to be marketable. I fooled around with a mystery and made the characters intentionally silly beyond sensibility.

Writing was just for fun again.

Now I’m back at work and I’m trying not to lose sight of the real purpose for being a writer. The real purpose is to have fun. It doesn’t pay enough to write for any other reason. So, I want to balance my professional work with the just-for-fun scribbling I love.

Where did I put that silly mystery? I had an idea…