Write Something
Every once in awhile, I stumble upon a day when the writing doesn’t come easily. I struggle with forming sentences into paragraphs. An hour of work ends up under a big, huge X. It’s cut. Because it’s wretched. I groan and sigh and roll my eyes at my own inane words.
On days like those, I go to bed still satisfied.
Because I put in the work. I wrote something. Anything. I showed up, even if what I did that day was less than okay.
Writers have to develop a strong work ethic in order to finish novels/poems/essays/plays.
Can I tell you that I write every day because if I don’t I transform into a grumpy mama monster?
And I write every day so that I keep myself sharp. To keep myself from getting out of the habit.
I write every day because I love it.
I’ve learned that I have to hold myself to a high standard of work ethics. No one is supervising me. I don’t have to punch in a time clock. If I don’t write, I won’t get fired (because I’m my own boss).
But, if I don’t write, even a little, I’m missing a grand opportunity. I’m neglecting my craft.
And, if I choose not to write, I’m choosing for characters not to come into being. I’m shutting down stories that need to be told. My neglect would mean the production of nothing.
It would be disobedience to the calling I feel God has for me.
Even if, on the tough days, all I write is “Something”.
What do you do every day? What keeps you motivated? I love to hear from you. And I super love getting ideas for how to keep moving along.
Not My Flavor
I love coffee. You all know that, I’m sure. And I really like it with flavored creamers. I know. I know. They’re full of chemicals and fat and sugar.
Still, I really enjoy them.
The other day, my hubby went to the store for a few things. Toilet paper, cheese, and coffee creamer.
All very important items.
Now, my hubby picked up a few of the Girl Scout Cookie flavored creamers. The Thin Mints (oh, if heaven was on earth…it would taste like Thin Mints) and Caramel and Coconut (which we called Samoas when I was a kid, right?).
The Thin Mint creamer didn’t last all that long. It. Was. Fabulous.
The Caramel and Coconut? Blech. I declared it not fit for consumption after the first sip.
“Honey,” I said. “Don’t buy that one again, please.”
“Why not?” he asked, looking devastatingly handsome.
“It’s gross.”
“Um, Sooze, you aren’t the only one who drinks creamer.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“And, I like it.”
At first, I contemplated questioning his sanity and sense of taste. Surely his tastebuds were damaged by all the Spaghetteos and hotdogs.
Then, I remembered something I heard Agent Ann say*.
“It’s not my flavor.”
See, I might think that creamer is the nastiest thing in all the world. Someone else might believe it is delicious. Same with liver pate or sea food. We like different flavors. And that’s okay.
It’s even okay if you like something I don’t.
You know, it’s the same for music, art, film, and literature.
Wouldn’t it be something if, instead of saying that a book was “meh” or “bad”, we said, “It’s not my flavor”. Or, “My tastes are for something a little faster paced”. Instead of trashing another’s work with a “blech”, we admitted that it might be better suited for a different reader/viewer/listener?
So often, I read reviews (mostly on Amazon or Goodreads) that include negative things about a book. It was too slow moving, too fast. The characters weren’t likable or were melodramatic. And on and on. The reviewer gives a low star rating and declares the book “not all that good”.
Many times, the same book has 5 stars from other readers and really positive comments**. The reviewer truly connected with the book and enjoyed it. They emote about the book.
So. Who is right?
I don’t think there is a right or wrong here.
It is a matter of taste.
I’ve heard from both reviewers things like, “Did we read the same book?”
Yeah. You did.
But you are different people.
What moves me isn’t going to move my best friend. What I think has merit, another person will think is worthless.
My flavor isn’t your flavor.
You know, it’s okay. In fact, it’s great. The world is full of different flavors, genres, writing styles, types of movie and music and art. If we all enjoyed the exact same thing, the world would be boring and the realm of art narrow.
So, I say, Three Cheers for different flavors! Huzzah to different tastes!
Just, let’s be kind and polite and remember that our differences are good.
*My agent’s name is Ann Byle. Here at my house, we call her Agent Ann. Sometimes I sing, “Secret Agent Ann”.
**Now, I understand that moms and uncles and bffs are going to give overly-glowing reviews. And that some books solicit reviews that are more than generous. I’m referring to honest reviews. Especially those written by folks the writer doesn’t know.
On Feeling Like You Just Aren’t All That Good.
The other day I looked at my computer and read something so very, very, VERY discouraging. These things happen. And they’ve happened to me more recently.
There’s just something about putting your work into the public that is vulnerable-making. Especially with this one reality:
Not Everybody’s Gonna Dig It.
My writing style isn’t for everyone. The books I’ve written aren’t 100% loved by all the readers in the world. In fact, I’m sure that out there is someone who sees me as a hack. Somebody who fell on this publishing novels thing due to some fluke.
That I’m not as good as another writer.
Guess what. They’re right. I’m no Shakespeare or Steinbeck (swoon). I’m not going to write as well as Austen or…well…the list could go on for a good long time.
I’m not the best writer in the whole world.
I’m learning to be okay with that.
What I’m not okay with is the feelings of inadequacy. That little voice in my head that says,
You
Aren’t
Good
Enough.
I HATE that little voice. Because it doesn’t stay quiet long. It crescendos until it’s no less than a scream. A banshee of discouragement. It makes my fingers seize up. My brain shuts down. Creativity cowers in the corner. Inspiration shrivels.
You’ve had that happen to you? Oh. Isn’t it good that we aren’t alone? Isn’t it refreshing?
Let’s be a different voice for each other. How does that sound? Let me get a sip of coffee. I’ve got something to share with you.
YOU
ARE
GOOD
ENOUGH.
In fact, you’re better than good enough. You, my friend, are fearfully and wonderfully made. You were handcrafted in the Image of the most creative Artist and Author in all the world. And He’s promised to keep working on you to make you even better. Every single day.
And all of the good promises of God come true. He never goes back on them. He is honest.
Part of that constant work is that He helps you realize that good work that you were made to do.
Are you a teacher? An artist? Accountant (thank you for being an accountant. I would be in HUGE trouble without accountants)? What is it that you DO that makes you feel fully alive?
Do that. Teach. Create. Account (please account…or whatever it is you money geniuses call it). Put all your all into it. Do it as worship. Prayer. Life lived for God’s glory.
Banish the Banshee.
Seek out the Voice of the Good Shepherd who says,
You
Are
Mine.
Oh. And listen to the voices of those who speak His words. Those friends who encourage. Offer hugs. Speak truth in love (even when it stings a little or a lot).
Remember, not everybody’s gonna dig you or your work.
That’s okay.
Because your Abba Father thinks you are pretty fantastic. And He loves you enough to keep making you even more of who you are meant to be.
He promised.
A Question From My Daughter
Friday I spoke at a writers conference in Grand Rapids called Jot. When my good friend Josh Mosey suggested I speak on characterization, I was excited.
Then nervous.
I had 15 minutes to unload one of my very favorite things about writing. Characters.
I decided that, to keep myself inside the time constraints, I would boil my talk down to the very most important things about writing characters.
1. Getting to know them: Interviewing them, writing from their perspective in pre-writing
2. Add complexity: Ask deeper questions of your characters. First feeling of betrayal, loss, fear. Secret fears and dreams. What brings them pleasure and pain. What makes them feel most secure and most rejected. Most recent hope or let down. Also, beware of making the protagonist (the good guy) 100% good and the antagonist (the bad guy) 100% bad. Add depth to keep characters from being cardboard cutouts.
3. Develop empathy: Literature evokes empathy. Makes it grow in our hearts. We need to have empathy for our characters so that our readers will, too.
All in all, it is our job to suspend the disbelief of our readers so that they believe in our characters and that they forget about the paper and glue (or Kindle) and get absorbed in the story.
Needless to say (but I’ll say it anyway…what’s with that phrase?), I’ve been focused on characters and what makes them real to us.
A few days ago, my daughter finished reading Little Women (the Great Illustrated version) for the third time.
“Mom, can I ask you a question?” she asked.
“Of course,” I answered.
“When you read Little Women, did you cry at the end?” Her little voice was so full of emotion.
“Yeah. A little.” I looked into her beautiful eyes. “Did you?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “It’s just sad. You know. That part. Where the sister dies.”
I nodded in understanding.
“It seemed real to me and made my eyes wet.” She sniffled. “I really love that book.”
That, my friends, is the stuff of good writing. And, when a story can so draw in a seven year old and move her beyond anything a video game or TV show could, that is gold.
And that is done when the writer suspends the disbelief of the reader by putting bone and blood and muscle and fat and skin on characters. When those characters are endowed with motivations and fear and joy and pain.
And, in so doing, the author gives the reader a gift. A gift that makes us all more human and feel less alone.
First Person
Friday, I had the opportunity to present at the Jot Writers Mini Conference here in Grand Rapids. If you missed it, you can check out the entire event here. My presentation begins one hour into the evening. To keep updated on all things Jot, go on over and give their Facebook page your like!
It’s no secret. I’m working on writing my third novel. I’m also in this place of considering my career, how I go about writing, next steps.
I’m analyzing my writing a lot at the moment.
Recently, I was reminded of something that I’ve heard many times. Something that has caused me to question myself and my novels.
Novels written in the first person are often considered lower level literature.
Both Paint Chips and My Mother’s Chamomile are in the first person (which means that the narrator utilizes the “I” and “we” instead of “She” and “them”). I wrote them from that point of view because I wanted the reader to feel intimately connected to the characters. I wanted to engage them.
Does that make me a lower level writer? I don’t know.
Here I am, writing a third novel that will probably grow into a series (at least 2 books), dreaming up a novel (that might also grow into a series) to write after these two are done.
What I hear as I dream of these novels all comes in the first person.
And I think that’s fine and good and a-okay.
Why? Why wouldn’t I try to be like this author or that one who have attained the height of literary prowess?
Because I’m not this author or that one.
I’m me. And I write the way I best know how.
Will my seventh or eighth novel end up being in third person? I don’t know. Those ideas haven’t presented themselves yet.
For now, I’ll just let the characters have their way. I’ll give them a voice. I’ll use that voice to tell their stories.
And I’ll find great joy in writing the way I can.
On Waiting
It’s been a long winter. Oh, I know, Smarty Pants, it’s been no longer than any other winter. All winters are about 90 days. But, really, it’s felt like years.
The snow. The cold. The cold snow. The ice. The back and forth. The VORTEX!
THE SNOW DAYS!
Okay, Canada, laugh it up. I know you think we’re wimps. Go ahead. I’m not ashamed.
I just want spring. Now. Sunshine and birds and grass. Now.
{Here’s where I insert some clever transition. But I’ve got a sick kiddo and am still on my first cup of joe. So, pretend that this is a smart connection.}
The writing life is all about waiting. Did you know that? It totally is.
We write and edit and write and edit and write some more. Then, we wait. For our beta readers (the first eyes on the manuscript) to go through to tell us all that we missed or what didn’t make sense. Then we edit. Next, we wait for our agents (lovely, beautiful, wonderful, amazing people that they are…I’m not kidding) to read it and tell us if it’s something that could sell in the publishing world. Then we work on the edits they suggest. Then they send the words off to editors.
That’s when the nervous ticks start. The jumping every time a new email comes into the inbox. The doubting we’re good enough. Remembering all that stupid things we’d written into what was sent. Counting the ticks and tocks of the clock.
It’s been 15 minutes! Why haven’t I heard back????
So, what do I do when I’m in the winter of waiting? I keep writing. Put in more and more work. Read so I become a better writer. Force myself to stop obsessing.
When waiting for winter to be over, we never know what kind of spring we’re going to have. If it will rain so much that my neighborhood floods. Or if it will be chilly up until summer begins. Perhaps it will be a sunny spring with early blooms and frisky squirrels.
When waiting to hear back from readers or agents or editors, I never know what reaction I’ll get. If I’ll hear that the whole body of work is “eh” or confusing. That it’s not quite good enough. Or that it’s good and with a bunch of work it could be great.
I just don’t know.
So, I wait. Let myself sit with the anticipation. And try to convince myself that I love this part of the writing life, too.
How about you? Are you good at waiting? Are you sick of winter? Or are you the kind who prayed for snow? Is there something you’re waiting on? How do you cope?
The Day I Was Mrs. Finkbeiner
March is reading month. Yeah! Really! So, get a book off that shelf and get crack-a-lackin’! You’ve got some reading to do this month.
Is it bossy if it’s for the good of literature? Hm.
Anyway, because schools are celebrating, many are inviting authors to come speak to the kids.
And, goodness me, my daughter’s teacher invited me. My girl is in 1st grade where it is still cool to have your mom come in.
I thought it would be fun to talk about the tools writers need. So, I got my hands on one of my husband’s tool boxes.
And packed it with all kinds of things that writers need.
I included a coffee cup (of course), a journal, pens, a banana (representing brain food), an eraser, my Alot monster (made by Kristi West…representing buddies who can encourage you), flarp (that toot sounding goo stuff to symbolize sense of humor), Peter Pan (protagonist), and Captain Hook (for the antagonist).
I also included a book. Charlotte’s Web, of course. Because I wanted them to understand that masterfully written books are among the most important tools a writer has. That, my friends, is why I read so much. I’m building my writing muscles.
I enjoyed myself so much. The kids were great and engaged listeners. I was paid in hugs and toothy smiles.
And I got to look into the faces of kids who, one of these days, might write a few books of their own. Wouldn’t that be something?
I hope that, through my little talk, a few of those kids can hold onto their dreams. Carry them into their adult years. Knowing that it’s possible.
Believing you can do it is a pretty great tool.
All the TEARS!
Almost daily I get a message that goes something like this…
I’m in the middle of reading My Mother’s Chamomile. I want to throw the book at your head. I’m bawling. My face is puffy from my sobbing. My EYES HURT! You’re breaking my heart.
I love it.
A college friend told me that she almost hated me. A cousin let me know that she’d reached the “I don’t like this phase” of the book. Another reader told me I owed her a box of tissues.
I’m being completely honest when I say that I had no idea this book would evoke such powerful emotions in others. I mean, I can’t even think about certain scenes without completely losing it. I made my family leave the house while I wrote the end because I didn’t want to scare the kids with my sobbing.
The writing made me fold over in my office chair, sick with grief. I’m not kidding.
But I never expected it would happen to my readers, too.
So, I’m sorry. And thank you.
And…if you need a little pick me up, watch this. It might help.
My Favorite Reader
I’ve got a favorite. I do. I know we aren’t supposed to have them. But, pooh pooh on that.
There is one person who I am giddy to have read what I write. Well, I get giddy about him for other reasons, too. He’s one heck of a looker.
Jeff is my favorite reader. Why? Because he knows me like no one else does. He watches as I sit and click and delete and agonize and try again. He is the one who cheers loudest and with the biggest smile when I succeed. And he’s the one who tells me to keep going when I feel defeated.
My favorite reader finished My Mother’s Chamomile last night. He’s an intentional reader. Plus, he’s got me spying on him as he reads, asking him where he is in the story. Poor fella.
When he finished, he looked at me and told me that it was a good book. And that I’m a good writer.
Friends, I know he’s obligated to say these things via the “you best do these things” clause of our marriage license. But, if you know Jeff, you’ll know that he never says a darn thing he doesn’t mean.
Guess what my favorite reader’s words did. They made me want to keep writing.
Ah. It’s good to have such a good favorite.
Your turn. Who cheers you on? Who do you love to have encourage you? Are you that person for someone else?
My Mother’s Chamomile
So grateful to be at Jessie Heninger’s blog today! Brew up a cup of tea and join us!
susiefinkbeiner.com 