We all have our stories. In fact, we’ve pretty much lived for stories since we figured out how to communicate. One of my most treasured memories is sitting in the passenger seat of our beat up hatchback as a kid while my mom told me the story of how the goats were able to get across that dang bridge with the troll protecting it. Sometimes, if I was really lucky, she’d recap an episode of a show I was too young to stay up for.
That woman could build some tension, let me tell you.
In elementary school, I played “teacher” with my stuffed animals. Sometimes I would even force my friends to be my students (waves at the ones who still speak to me). When I was done “teaching,” I would sit at my old-fashioned, garage sale school desk and write stories. Words have always had power over me and, as I look back, I can see that even if I tried to move away from them, they always brought me back. In fact, if I really look, stories have been at the heart of everything I’ve ever been interested in.
In his book, Living Myth, Personal Meaning as a Way of Life, D. Stephenson Bond speaks of a core experience and how it “is the foundation of a personal myth.” He says the experience usually happens in adolescence or early adulthood but can occur at any time, and I’m willing to bet those car rides with my mom or the writing sessions at my desk are mine. We all have a personal myth, and we writers depend on ours to help us find and sustain our creativity well.
Most people see a myth as an ancient story told to some long-forgotten society to explain why things are the way they are. That’s not how I’m defining myth here. For our purposes, a myth is simply what we believe to be true, regardless of its factual value. There are many people in the depth psychology field who can explain it better than me. Or is it better than I? Meh, you get me. I. Ugh.
A personal myth moves beyond cultural and familial stories, although those play a part in how a personal myth develops. Even the mythology of a workplace, town, or group of friends influences how we create our myth. Look at it like a personal paradigm only we can see through. Let me illustrate with a popular myth.
A long time ago, Ancient Greeks and (eventually) Romans told a tale about this smokin’ hot dude called Narcissus. The Greeks told it one way, but I’m going to use Ovid’s version for our example. Anyway, this guy wasn’t just Khaleesi’s hubby/Aquaman hot. Flowers bloomed when he walked by. Girls swooned. Polar ice caps melted. His parents were understandably worried he’d grow up and pick some arm candy without a dowry, so they consulted the oracle, Tiresias, who told them he’d be fine as long as “he didn’t get to know himself.” Well, along comes Echo, a darling little wood nymph, as he’s walking through the forest one day. She takes one look at his beauty and falls madly in love. The poor child follows him around like a middle-schooler with a crush just repeating what he says until she ceases to exist.
He literally ghosted her.
An early feminist, the goddess Nemesis isn’t too pleased with Mr. Cutey-pants, so she allows him to Know Thyself. As he comes to a pond, he is enraptured with the beautiful image he sees reflected back to him, the image of himself. Alas, he perceived the gorgeous thing floating on top of the water as a beauty he couldn’t possess, so he killed himself. Some say he’s still staring at his reflection in the Styx.
I know, that’s all fine and good and you’ve heard it all before. So what does it have to do with creating our own myth? Two things, actually.
When Narcissus reaches the pond, he is thirsty and alone. Maybe even lonely. Dennis Slattery, in his book Riting Myth/Mythic Writing, reminds us that water is the only element of the four that allows reflection of what is in front of it or above it, but it requires a “stillness, both in the person and on the water’s surface.” Swiss Psychologist Carl Jung amplifies the water’s surface as a symbol for where our consciousness meets our unconscious.
Think about it.
We are aware of everything on and above the surface of water if we look around long enough to notice it. But underneath is an entirely new world. Jung argued that our unconscious harbored our deepest memories and experiences we’ve long since forgotten about; but they are there, forming what we do and how we think, even if we don’t know why. He says “whoever looks into the water sees his own image, but behind it living creatures loom deep…harmless, if only the lake weren’t haunted.” These shadowy images need not be haunted or even bad, but they do exist in the places we can’t see.
As writers, we study how people communicate their anger, desire, and every other emotion. But we do this through our own lens, like a goldfish sees its environment through the water without recognizing what he’s looking through. Like the fish, we can’t help it.
Looking at the surface, Narcissus sees his reflection, much as we see ourselves through the responses of others to our words and deeds. And nine times out of ten, we react in the same manner, grasping at what isn’t real or what we perceive to be the perfect versions of ourselves only to be disappointed when we come up all wet and empty handed. (I’m looking at you, social media.)
Writing, however, can be a way to examine our personal myths and express them in ways that resonate with others. I don’t know about you, but I internally scream “SAME!” or “WHY IS THIS ME?” a lot when I read books. We long to see ourselves in the Other, and stories help us do that.
To sum up, Narcissus often gets a bad rap because he became fixated on what he thought he couldn’t have. The truth is, he had what he longed for the entire time, he just looked for it “out there” when it was really with him the entire time. As writers, we have to embrace our personal myth and work it so we can tell a better story.
The kid riding in the car with her mom depends on it.
Deborah Maroulis is a mythographer who writes young adult novels and teaches literature, composition, and mythology at San Joaquin Delta College. She has a master’s degree in English and is pursuing her Ph.D. in mythological studies with an emphasis in depth psychology at Pacifica Graduate Institute. Her first novel, WITHIN AND WITHOUT, will debut in the spring of 2019 from Lakewater Press. She loves visiting schools and libraries and offering workshops inspiring students to read and write, all while having a little fun. You can contact her through her website, deborahmaroulis.com, and follow her on Twitter at @yaddathree.
“Write Every Day” is excellent advice.
I came to my writing habit five years ago, and I can clearly remember the first author event I attended with my new writer mindset. In the Q&A at the end someone in the audience asked for the author’s advice to writers, and the answer was, “Like many before me, my best advice is ‘write every day.’” Stephen King said it, Anne Lamott said it—but it really sunk in for me, hearing it from this author right in front of me.
My writing took off after that. I followed the advice and found my writing routine. Often it was just 20 minutes on my lunch break, but I put words down every single day. Even while working a demanding day job. I didn’t give myself the option to procrastinate, to skip a day—suddenly I had the better part of my first draft! I knew that if I ever published and got the honor to speak on my own author panel, I would give the best advice out there: “write every day.”
“Write every day”… except when you shouldn’t.
Then I started rehearsals for a play (I’m a freelance professional theatre director, directing one or two shows a year). When I’m in rehearsals, the play takes all my energy—besides the energy I must reserve for my day job. And life. My “write every day” commitment to myself became stressful. Each time I sat down to write, I felt like what I really should be doing is preparing for my next rehearsal. I realized that one part of my life was suffering because of my goal to keep at the writing. The play was just as important to me as writing, so I broke. My. Commitment.
I stopped writing every day.
The unexpected benefits.
My life became a little less crowded, and the play opened successfully. A week or so after the show closed, I felt the itch to be creative again. I didn’t need to wait for the next play rehearsal—I had my manuscript ready for me! I wondered if it would be difficult to get back to the “write every day” habit. It absolutely was not. I loved writing even more after a break. I discovered two unintended benefits of my writing break:
- It gave me perspective on my manuscript. After some weeks away, I saw the story with fresh eyes.
- My new life experience informed my writing.
The work that kept me away from writing was interesting and personally challenging, and that helped me to add new depth to my main character’s journey! I could use my experiences to improve my novel—experiences I might not have had if I were always writing. I found that “living every day” is a good alternative to “write every day” when it comes to crafting a novel.
When is it time to take a writing break?
If you always have a reason not to “write every day,” then you’re just not writing. How do you know when to break your writing routine? That’s going to be different for each person, but here are some questions that help me:
Do I look forward to writing time? For me, the answer better be yes four out of seven days a week.
Is something in my life suffering because of my writing time? The answer will probably always be yes, but…
Is the thing that’s suffering more important to me than my writing goals? This is difficult to figure out, but it’s an important question. My house being spotless is not more important to me than writing, but my relationships with my husband, family and close friends sure are.
Does my struggle with time for writing have an end date? If it’s a temporary time crunch it can be a writing break. If it’s your new normal, then you must evaluate if writing is a priority or if it’s bringing you joy.
Whatever works for you, please forgive yourself if you need a break! My writing advice: writing advice is not one size fits all!
Abbie Fine is a storyteller and nonprofit manager from Northern Virginia. THE LAST FIRST DAUGHTER is her first novel, but she has directed more than 20 professional theatre productions. Abbie added writing as a storytelling outlet in 2013 and hasn’t looked back.
Abbie works full-time as the Managing Director of NextStop Theatre Company, a professional theatre company in the Dulles Corridor. She loves serving this company whose mission is to present theatrical performances and educational programs that are uniquely ambitious, intimate, and accessible both to and for her community.
Abbie enjoys going to theatre, traveling—especially in the single engine airplane her husband pilots—hiking, teaching management, and of course, reading. She is an obsessive reader of fiction, particularly young adult fiction. www.abbiefine.com
Do I really need an agent? What do they do for me anyway? Why can’t I just apply directly to publishers? Why is it all so complicated?
The best way for me to answer these questions is to talk though my own experience. Do you need an agent? That entirely depends on what you want. Self-publishing wasn’t really an option for me for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I just want to write and not spend what limited time I have investigating self-publishing options and how to do it. I found the idea intimidating and marketing isn’t my forte. If you self-publish – it’s two full time jobs. One for the actual writing, the other for the promotion. But if you do get traditionally published, you will still be expected to be involved in marketing, no matter how big the publisher. This can be anything from school tours (For YA in my case) to book signings, conferences and panels, and often teaching. I feel, with the backing of a publisher, much more confident in handling this. And as for applying directly to publishers? Some of the smaller ones have open submission periods, but the larger ones don’t want to know unless you have an agent.
So, several years ago, when I was pregnant with my third child and after I had written my disastrous first book that will never see the light of day, I came up with a new idea for a novel. A trilogy, actually. After having completed a Writer’s Bureau course on novel writing, I felt I was in a better place to make this book better. And it was. But I was a newbie. Twitter wasn’t really out there yet and Facebook was just for finding old friends, not connecting with other authors. I had no one to give me advice or tell me what a query letter was. I got myself a copy of the Writer’s and Artist’s Yearbook, scanned the list of agents, and sent off my second draft (!) to everyone.
My query letter consisted of a lot of information about why I write and the time of day I favoured (oh dear), and not much about the book beyond a sentence.
Which, I guess, in hindsight, was the elevator pitch and, luckily, seemed to draw some interest.
Magically (I realise that now) I received a few full requests. One ultimately ended in being signed with my first agent. (whoop). I thought I had it made. This was it. She put me in touch with a freelance editor she used, we did three months of edits, and off my book baby went into the world while I started writing book 2 & 3. After a year, it was time to face the reality that my book wasn’t going to sell. But I had a new series, and could we try that too please. But my agent didn’t like that book, despite fabulous support from beta readers.
Needless to say, I was crushed. What happened to all those pre-empts and six-way auctions? Didn’t they know this was the next Hunger Games? How can you say Dystopia is dead when so many people are reading it?
After a further three books died out on sub over the next three years, it was time to figure out what the hell was going on.
During that time, I did a few more courses, met my tribe on Twitter and my writing rocketed up a few levels. So did my understanding of how the literary world works. Looking back on my relationship with my first agent, I realised she was all wrong for me. Being a very well renowned agent but also a one-woman band, she out-sourced the editing to freelancers. Which is fine. But (A) I wasn’t pushed hard enough to improve my craft and (B) my agent never really read the books again before sending them out on sub, but took the editor’s word for it. (Red flag). Secondly, my agent didn’t really do YA. So why was I with an agent that didn’t understand the YA market? BECAUSE IT WAS MY ONLY OFFER! AND A BAD AGENT IS BETTER THAN NONE. Or so I thought. It took me three years to cut the tie that I thought was going to launch my career and realise I had to start over. Also, communication. She wasn’t a hand holder. And I don’t need 24/7 contact, but answers to the odd email would be nice too.
As bad as all this sounds, we split very amicably and remain in touch. I was despondent for a while and determined to get my first book ready for self-publication while I queried agents with my others. (I had written 15 novels by this point).
Hiring a US editor (where the book is set) made me realise there was still a lot I could improve in the book. It had a big saggy middle and was nearing 100k. (uh-oh). Plus, she taught me a few things about craft and what to look out for.
(An aside – the more people you expose to your work for feedback, the more you will grow. And you will never stop learning).
A few weeks after I’d edited it, I pitched it at a live event to an agent (Freaking scary – but yay, I did it!). We hit it off. Separately, I got a few offers from small US publishers and managed to put the whole querying thing on fast forward (And by this time, damn, I knew how to write a query letter). Note: it didn’t get me a bunch of offers, it just sped up the whole process. But I ended up with the agent I wanted. And she made me cut another 10k from the book. Now, after 12 drafts, the book is finally ready and is out on sub. But I also fully except there will be an editing round when/if it gets picked up. I say ‘if’ not because I’m a pessimist – actually you have to be an eternal optimist with a bottomless determination to stay in this game – but because I know, no matter how ‘well written’ my book may be, it also depends on whether the editor is in the right frame of mind, doesn’t have something similar on their books, is still looking for my genre, feels that YA is still selling, had the appropriate amount of chilli flakes on their breakfast eggs, and that there’s a blue moon and mercury is in retrograde, for it to get to that next stage. And then you have to start all over again with book 2.
Having one published isn’t a free ticket to success.
I can feel you reeling right now. (Why do we do this to ourselves?) I do it because it’s my dream and I will never give up. Never.
My advice about finding an agent: It’s not a guarantee for a publishing deal, but they will protect you from the rejections, they will hold your hand and be your cheerleader, they will give you good advice about the market and the timing for your book, they will take you out for a drink when it all goes wrong, or right. But you do need to find the right one. I learned the hard way. And yes, self-publishing is always an option if you want, but hire that editor, make sure you know your stuff about marketing so your book stands out from the ones that haven’t put in that necessary effort.
More about Marisa Noelle –
I have completed a Writer’s Bureau novel and short story writing course, Curtis Brown’s acclaimed three-month novel writing course for children (London), Aaron Sorkin’s online master class for screen writing, and Writers HQ Plotstormers 1 plotting course and Plotstormers 2 editing course. Plus the Writers HQ Characterisation master class and short fiction courses. I have been short listed for both #peerpitch1 & 2 (2017) competitions, and shortlisted for #1st 50, and longlisted for the #peerpitch Q1 2018 competition. I have been longlisted for Adventures in Fiction New Voices Competition and Flash 500 Novel Opening Competition. I am a member of SCWBI and have completed a mentorship at the Golden Egg Academy with Matilda Johnson. I hold a BSc in psychology. I have written 16 YA novels in the urban fantasy/light-sci-fi genre and I also tackle mental health.
Twitter & Instagram: @marisanoelle77
No, this post is not going to give writers bad advice.
It’s going to talk about all the bad advice writers are getting.
Ever since I started publishing novels several years ago, I’ve noticed (via Twitter, blogs, and other sources) the sheer volume of writing advice that’s dispensed online. You know what I’m talking about: “How to Build Your Platform,” “How to Increase Your Twitter Following,” “How to Make Your Writing So Gosh-Darn Good Everyone in Hollywood Will Line Up to Option Your Manuscript-in-Progress.” More often than not, these solicitations come with a price tag.
I don’t have a problem with such services. It’s a legitimate business to dispense writing advice. (I’m doing it here.) It’s also a legitimate business to charge for it. I teach at a college, and one of the things I teach is writing. So I am, in fact, getting paid to deliver writing advice.
I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s even legitimate to scare writers with horror stories, and charge for it, if those stories are true. I do it all the time with my students. As in: “If you don’t work harder in this course, you’re going to fail.” That’s a truthful statement. Ignore it at your own peril.
But it is never, ever, ever legitimate to mislead writers, to scare them with misinformation, in the interest of selling them your services.
So, for example, this piece of advice, which I read in a blog to remain nameless, starts out with a legitimate claim but ends on a note that is completely illegitimate:
When it comes to building your author platform, there’s no question that the more visibility you have, the greater your chance at building relationships, gaining visibility, and potentially, greater sales, more reviews, and stronger word of mouth about your book. Also, if you want to have an agent represent you or sign with a publisher, know that they will expect you to have a minimum of 10,000 followers on Twitter (I’ve met with two agents and a few pubs — it’s true.)
Actually, it isn’t.
Oh, maybe it’s true for the two agents and “a few” publishers this particular blogger met with—though if that’s the case, I’d advise said blogger to meet with a broader and more reputable pool of agents and publishers.
When I, as a rookie writer with little experience and even less social media savvy, shopped around my debut manuscript to scores of agents, no one asked if I had a Twitter account. Which was a good thing, because at the time, I didn’t.
Ditto with the editors who saw the manuscript. No one asked me how many Twitter followers I had. No one gave a damn.
Can it be any coincidence that the above blogger is in the business of promoting fee-based services to grow one’s Twitter following?
I still don’t have anywhere near 10,000 Twitter followers. I probably never will. Apparently, the three novels I’ve published were figments of my Twitter-starved imagination.
Writers, as a group, are vulnerable people. They’re not as vulnerable as, say, homeless children, but they’re vulnerable: insecure, facing steep odds, lacking in confidence. To offer legitimate services to such people is fine.
To lie to such people in an attempt to get them to fork over their hard-earned money is inexcusable.
So please, if you’re just starting out in the writing business—or, heck, if you’ve been doing it for twenty years—be on the lookout for bad writing advice. Don’t fall for it, and certainly don’t pay for it. If you’re feeling really feisty, contact the dispenser thereof and give them a piece of your mind.
That’s what I did to the aforesaid blogger. I still haven’t heard back. They must have blocked me on Twitter.
Joshua David Bellin has been writing novels since he was eight years old (though the first few were admittedly very short). He is the author of three YA science fiction novels: Survival Colony 9, Scavenger of Souls, and Freefall. Josh loves to read, watch movies, and spend time in Nature with his kids. Oh, yeah, and he likes monsters. Really scary monsters.
How do you know when it is time to shelve a completed MS?
Congratulations on finishing a manuscript! Ninety percent of aspiring novelists never make it to this stage in the process. (I made that figure up, but it sounds correct to me.) Now, you’ve got this pile of words and nowhere to go with it. This is a difficult question to answer because I feel like I need more information to give you good advice. Therefore, I’ll give you a few different situations and hope that one of them fits your scenario, a kind of flow-chart for whether you should do battle for your story or surrender it.
Sitch 1: You know your story’s not working as it is, but you don’t know why.
Here, you could employ the services of a good content editor or assemble a critique group to go over it in a roundtable discussion with the goal of telling you why it’s not working. Tell them to be tough with you and take your lumps gracefully because it’s a big investment of time and energy for anyone to try and figure out why a story isn’t working.
Most things can be fixed in revision, but not all. If at the end of this process, you feel your story is salvageable without changing your original intent, then the rewrite process begins. You may find you need a couple of months away from the story in order to come back to it fresh. You may also decide that trying to fit your existing manuscript into your revisioning is more work than it’s worth. That’s okay too. Sometimes, starting from scratch is easier than trying to “fix” a manuscript. It sounds scary but know that all of those beautiful descriptions and lines of witty dialogue will be available to be cut and pasted into the new story if it makes sense.
Sitch 2: Your story is working, but nobody wants to publish it.
By “nobody,” do you mean mainstream publishing? If so, don’t take it personally. They are so gosh-darned picky these days. All they want are guaranteed, instantaneous bestsellers, right? Where does that leave the rest of us? Luckily, this day and age, we have options.
There is a plethora of small and independent publishers out there who might want your story. Part of your job is researching who might be interested in your particular genre and theme. Also, submitting an excerpt from your story to relevant publications, either online or in print, is a good way to build up your reputation.
If mainstream doesn’t want it, and the indie pub route doesn’t appeal to you, then there is always self-publishing. Our corporate overlord, Amazon, has made it easier than ever for writers to self-publish their works via Kindle Direct Publishing and Kindle Create (the paperback affiliate that supplies the service CreateSpace formerly did). I recently went through this process (pulling out my hair during the formatting bit), and at the end, had a swell-looking paperback, a Kindle e-book that gives me 70% royalties, and a spot in the Kindle Unlimited subscription program where you get paid according to how many people read your book (and how many pages). Profits remain to be seen, and you’re going to want to make sure you have a good proofreader and cover designer to make your product the best it can be, but it can be done! To be clear, I’m not saying this is the best or most advantageous way to go; I’m simply saying this is an alternative to shelving it.
Sitch 3: Your story is not working, you know it, and what it would take to fix it would completely destroy what you set out to do, and you would end up hating the story and yourself by the end of it.
Then, yes, you need to shelve it. But don’t lose heart. I’ve had to shelve projects before and characters have a way of coming back to you, 10x stronger. This may not be the right story for you to work on now but shelving it doesn’t mean abandoning it forever. More like the story is away on vacation, and the two of you will be reunited when the time is right. That’s why you’d better back your stuff up. You never know when you’re going to want to go back to a former project and breathe new life into it.
For those of us who can’t travel to conferences/afford to go on MFA courses, what would you recommend is a good expenditure for aspiring writers to invest in their craft?
I feel you. Conferences are expensive, and the results vary. The only thing you can be assured of, is spending ton of money. But that doesn’t mean you can’t become a better writer. Here are a few non-expensive ways to better your craft:
Hit up the library.
There are a ton of books on the craft of writing. Writers LOVE to write about their craft and many of them have done so. Google search “best books on writing fiction,” and the usual suspects will turn up. I also recommend scouring the web for some great writing resources. Here are a few of my favs:
This site is a great resource for plotting and learning to create Beat Sheets, which is what screenwriters use to write screenplays and can be translated to novel writing as well.
Alexandra has great tools for writers on plotting their novels and a lot of free downloads as well.
Kristen has a great blog that is part therapy, part craft. She covers everything you could imagine regarding not only the craft of writing, but also the route to publication. She’s also very funny.
Also known as Fiction University, Janice has been around the block, so to speak, and often features literary agents and editors on her blog, so the information is always current.
Writer/Editor James Scott Bell has a ton of resources on his site and has written or contributed to more than a dozen books devoted to the craft of writing.
But books and websites can’t replace the expertise and feedback of real, live people, so I would also encourage you to…
Make writer friends.
Facebook is a great way to meet other writers and join groups particular to your genre. One of my groups was instrumental in helping me navigate the self-publishing process. And there are often people looking to trade critiques and get/give feedback on projects. Once you find a good critique partner, hold onto them for dear life. And if you find someone you just don’t jive with, let them go. Life’s too short to deal with people who don’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish as an artist.
Form a critique group.
Building on the above, you might want to consider having a regular meet-up, either in person or online for you and your writer friends so that you guys can have ongoing discussions about each other’s’ projects. The consistency, accountability and relationship-building of these types of groups can be instrumental to you as a writer, not only in improving upon your craft, but also in navigating the highs and lows of publishing.
The most important thing is to not lose heart. Most of us writers are struggling (read: broke), so we are always looking to lend a hand.
Have a question for Laura? Fill out the form below for a chance to be selected for August’s #DearLaura post!
Laura Lascarso is the author of several young and new adult novels including THE BRAVEST THING, which won a 2017 Rainbow Award for best gay contemporary romance and COUNTING BACKWARDS, which won a 2012 Florida Book Award gold medal for young adult literature. If you have a burning question about writing or publishing, please tweet @lauralascarso and include the tag #dearlaura
Learn more at www.lauralascarso.com
Calvin Coolidge said, “Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent.” Genius will not, unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan PRESS ON! Has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.”
Eight years ago when I began my writing journey, true to my type-A personality, I made a to-do list, believing that my path to publication glory would be swift and complete in no more than two years. I made a timeline, color coded and neatly labeled.
I might not have started on this path had I known that the last decade would be a long and humbling exercise with no monetary remuneration wrought with rejection and despair. Webster’s Dictionary defines persistence as the firm or obstinate continuance in course of action in spite of difficulty or opposition. Determination is explained as firmness of purpose; resoluteness.
Little did I know how much persistence and determination I was going to need. At one particularly low point, after a graduate degree, oodles of agent rejections, and years on submission, I was overcome with doubt, sure that I was a talentless fraud. I found myself at a crossroad: I could quit and put my book in a drawer. Or I could try again (and again), and press on.
Nevertheless, after a few good cries, I persisted.
Writing stirs something deep in my soul that I can’t access through any other channel. I like the arrangement of a sentence, the musicality and rhythm of good prose, the connectiveness of ideas—the thrill when a reader reaches out to me to say what I’ve written has helped or touched her in some way. In the words of Albert Camus, “Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.” It is my way of saying this is what I know about the world—my way to talk about first love, bullying, sexual assault, self-image, and alcoholism. It gives me a sense of purpose.
Yet despite my noble writing intentions, 99% of the literary gatekeepers I have encountered on the way have said, “No! We don’t think what you have to say is of value. REJECT.”
The road has been dark and lonely.
Even now, after I can legitimately call myself a published author, if I’m honest, the odds of literary success are stacked against me: I’ve started late on this second career—I’m not a hot, under thirty or even under forty, up and coming voice. Plus there are 600,000+ books published every year so breaking through the crowded space is like trying to secure a private audience with the Pope.
Still, I continue. (Maybe, I’m partially insane).
But this did happen:
On February 11, 2018 at the GoggleWorks Center for the Arts, I stood before a couple hundred people at my book launch celebration. Black Rose Writing had published my book and people were lining up to buy it, to read it, and they’d come to celebrate this moment with me.
In that moment, before my family and friends, I knew what my life’s work is supposed to be. That I am to press on in this direction.
And those two celebratory hours, after 3000+ days of turmoil, are and will be the fuel to power me through the next leg of the journey as I grind out the draft of And The Valley Wept (book two in the Millington Valley series), as I face my critics, as I go back on submission to secure a second book deal, and as I hunt for my first book’s audience and find readers who align with my creative sensibilities. That’s the hardest part for me to accept—that not everybody is going to love my writing (what, three stars?)—alas, I must proceed.
My message, my hope, is that if I can touch one person with this blog today who is working on a dream and if I can give her (or him) a little push to keep going, I am a literary success.
- Block out the naysayers.
- Read the rejections once and then delete them.
- Hop over the stumbling blocks
- Take a sledgehammer to the brick walls.
Remember I am living proof, that if a middle-aged, real estate selling, married, mom of two teenagers, can step in the direction of her dreams, if she can make a dent in them, then you can, too. May I bestow upon you: persistence and determination in the pursuit of your goals. May you be firm. Resolute. Whether you are building a business, starting a non-profit, writing a book, going back to school, crafting your life’s vision, my message is PRESS ON—sometimes that will be all you have: those two mighty words. May we be so lucky as to meet farther along up the road, the wind with the soft whisper of Calvin Coolidge at our backs.
Yes, my friend, please press on.
Heather Christie grew up in rural Pennsylvania and, at age seventeen, took off for New York City in hopes of becoming a movie star. Flash forward several decades, a couple degrees, a bunch of cats, two kids and one husband later, she’s back in Pennsylvania a wife, mother of two teenagers, writer, real estate broker, amateur cook, exercise freak, and avid reader. She holds a BA in Literary Studies from the University of Texas, Dallas and an MFA in Creative Writing from Pine Manor College, Boston, MA. She loves to read, run, drink tea, and make Sunday dinner. Kirkus Reviews calls her debut novel What The Valley Knows, “A taut, compelling family tale.” (1/25/2018 by Black Rose Writing) Heather’s non-fiction work has been published by Writer’s Digest, Scary Mommy, Elephant Journal, Mamapedia, The Good Men Project, Grown & Flown, Parent.co, Bon Bon Break, Her View From Home, the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, Sammichs and Psych Meds, and The Lighter Side of Real Estate. Follow her blog at www.HeatherChristieBooks.com and say “hello” on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Heather was a member of the 2017 Listen To Your Mother cast.
Sometimes I think it’s my mother’s fault I started writing.
When I was young, long before I could read, she got me books-on-tape and because I’m ADHD (read: ‘can’t fall sleep’) I’d listen to stories long into the night. The earliest books I remember are full of magic and beauty, of hope, love, and loss, of longing and good-versus-evil and the gray in between.
I think that built up who I am inside. I’d like to imagine I’d be me without it—that without those words I’d still be who I am. But I think, in a way, I wouldn’t exist. Because those words not only taught me to think as I do, they made me crave a ‘moreness’ I could only half see—a sort of pocket of truth hovering just out of reach. And they reminded me writers can reach out and touch it, bring back an echo of truth to those who read their work.
I also blame my mother for the misguided notion that I couldn’t write myself because the industry was closed—a notion I warped not to mean I couldn’t get in but that the story I told needed to open doors through its utter perfection.
Now I don’t mean perfection in the strictest sense.
I’m not sure I ever thought what I read was flawless, but I saw in stories an undeniable truth, something the author could see in a way I couldn’t.
It took me to age fourteen to realize I was wrong.
I’d been visiting my grandparents and was bored out of my mind because I’d finished all my books and their TV lacked channels, so I’d finally picked up a novel my mother had packed. (You see a theme developing? It was her book not mine.) But the book was—well—boring, quite appallingly bad. The characters hung flat. The plotline ran dull. There was no magic, no spark, just an excellent idea that had died under poor writing. And I realized in that minute, I could do that too.
Because if that story was published then why shouldn’t mine be?
I know, I know—that’s awful, right? Never say, “Well, if that book…” and expect logic like that to justify your own poor writing, but as a teenager dreaming that wasn’t the point.
I didn’t need to know how not to write.
I just needed to know I had permission—to write, to dream, to find a ‘moreness’ of my own. And I needed to realize ‘perfection’ wasn’t perfect. Which was an immense relief: I’d never wanted to be perfect.
Well, time went by and I got some degrees, first in journalism, then in history, all the while writing and studying and working myself so I could finally get there.
You all know what I mean: to that nebulous ‘there’.
I think we, as writers, all define our ‘there’ differently.
My ‘there’ held two meanings, one I’ve realized, one I’ve not. The first was a ‘there’ that surrounded my concept of beauty—of darkness slashed with light, of hope rising from sorrow—so my first attempt at ‘there’ was simply writing that story, that one in my heart that held beauty for me.
My second ‘there’ is something I haven’t accomplished, and I know beyond doubt I never will because my second ‘there’ isn’t a thing or a place I can get to—it’s finding utter perfection in the strictest sense, that one perfect story that will answer all of my questions and fulfill all of my hopes. And that’s far too big a thing for me to ever reach, which means, practically speaking, I’ll always be challenged, always have something to learn, always have better stories to write.
I suppose, in a way, that’s how I like things. Just a little beyond me. Just a little too big.
So maybe I would have become a writer after all.
Because I needed a career that would always somehow elude me.
That’s one of the paradoxes of being a writer: the inability to catch what we see in our eyes. That dream—that story—may be as solid as anything, but when we approach it turns to an elusive mist. I think what I saw as perfection as a child was really that mist—someone else’s ‘there’ or ‘moreness’. And I suppose that’s part of why we writers write: there’s this shadow of potential encased in our words, but that shadow is never the same book by book. My ‘moreness’ isn’t your ‘moreness’; our perfections are different, yet we’re all on a quest to create beauty and worth.
My second ‘there’—that goal of getting to utter perfection—is so much less a thing or a place I can reach and so much more a part of my deepest longings because while I don’t want to be perfect, I do want to find it. I want to reach into that ‘moreness’ and hold onto that mist, which means as long as my grasp falls frustratingly short, that ‘there’ will always elude me, and there’s beauty in that.
Several months ago, at a used-book sale at my local library, I happened upon The Mystery at Lilac Inn, by Carolyn Keene. I scooped up the dark blue volume, with its orange silhouette of the famed “girl detective,” and paged through it. I realized my good luck on the copyright page: I had scored a first edition! But after that first page… it wasn’t the story I remembered from middle school. And more than once, it made me cringe.
This was 1930s Nancy Drew, created by a syndicate of ghostwriters. In the late 1950s, she was remade by a new syndicate of ghostwriters. (And in recent decades, she’s been remade by other syndicates of ghostwriters.) 1930s Nancy, I discovered as I read the first edition, was bold and sassy—with mortifying drips of racism clinging to her like a vestigial tail.
1950s Nancy, the one I knew as the “classic,” was rewritten to be more ladylike and naturally good at literally everything. And the manifest racism was gone… if only because any characters of color were erased and replaced with white ones.
What’s to be done with books like these—books with racism stitched into their bindings?
Some say we should consign such books to a literary dustbin: that classics like To Kill A Mockingbird and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn are fundamentally flawed and should be replaced, especially in schools, with works by marginalized authors. Others argue that removing historical books with racist content is tantamount to censorship, a slippery academic slope.
As a writer, I’m fundamentally concerned with how my work will be consumed by present and future young readers. As author Malcolm Jones puts it, “the troublesome thing about books is that they never completely go away. And a lot of the books with offensive material are in fact classics, so the whole [children’s publishing] industry is saddled with an ugly past that keeps breaking in on the present.” To build a better literary landscape for the future, then, I think we can and must learn from the past.
Examples of racism in children’s literature persist on bookstore shelves and in classrooms. Some, such as the Nancy Drew series and Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, have been updated for modern young audiences (the latter by eliminating the original description of Willy Wonka’s Oompa-Loompas as black cannibals).
Others—including Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird, and Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series—have retained their original material. Huckleberry Finn, viewed as anti-racist satire, is still taught in schools despite its controversial, frequent use of the “n-word.” To Kill A Mockingbird’s perennial place on school book lists has also been challenged, given its “white gaze” perspective on racism, especially as marginalized voices are now gaining long-overdue traction in children’s publishing. And the widely beloved Little House series bluntly presents Ma’s hatred of Indians and Pa’s participation in a blackface minstrel show.
Examples like these run deeper than the Nancy Drews and Willy Wonkas. They reflect the times in which they were written, racist warts and all. To eliminate them completely from classroom discussions does a disservice to students. Critical thought and understanding of historical facts are indeed critical elements in our country’s education of its children.
Attempting to sanitize books of their racism is often seen as an alternative to vetoing those books outright. Sometimes, as in the Nancy Drew series and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, this kind of “updating” can be done without impact to the larger story. But for books like Huckleberry Finn—where racism is a load-bearing wall—editing out supremacist ugliness amounts to whitewashing, an erasure of important historical lessons. In the words of African-American literature scholar Fatima Shaik, “Our kids need our protection but also our honesty. So books that describe a racist society as a racist society are not bad. They are necessary.”
So, how should we handle these complicated, not-going-away classics?
In a word: responsibly.
Educators who include historical books with racist content have a responsibility to their students: to provide context and the opportunity to process these works through an honest, modern lens. Conversations about racism are often difficult for students—for adults, too—but such conversations will never get easier if they are not constructively guided early on.
Parents who share beloved classic books with their children are responsible for helping them recognize outdated, offensive content. Newbery medalist Grace Lin compares books such as the Little House series to out-of-touch relatives: “You can still love that relative, and you can still let them be a part of your child’s life. But because you know they might say something you don’t like, don’t you try to keep an extra ear open, in case they say something in front of your child? And then, don’t you explain afterwards?”
Then, there are writers like me who hope to reach hordes of young readers. We have responsibilities as well, both to our own stories and to promoting the stories of writers whose words have been harder to hear in a system that was built to exclude them. Especially as a reader and writer who has never struggled to find representation, characters who are essentially like me, I need to write characters of different backgrounds respectfully and responsibly.
I also may need to engage the valuable services of sensitivity readers—as author Anna Hecker aptly calls them, “diversity editors.” For my work-in-progress, a fairytale retelling that features a diverse cast and a white supremacist antagonist, I know I’ll need to check my privilege and ask for help (more than once) to make this story complete and genuine.
In short, writers are responsible for producing and supporting the most authentic, fulfilling content we can for present and future readers. If we can do that, then maybe someday next-generation readers will scoop up first-edition copies of our books at library sales.
And maybe, hopefully, we won’t make them cringe.
Joy Givens resides in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with her fantastic husband, their two remarkable sons, and an impossibly lovable dog. Joy primarily writes “fresh, fantastic, fierce” young adult fiction. Her novel UGLY STICK, short story collection APRIL’S ROOTS, and nonfiction guide THE NEW SAT HANDBOOK are available on Amazon.com. Joy’s short fiction has also been published by WOW! Women on Writing and Cat & Mouse Press (BEACH LIFE anthology, 2017). In addition to her writing, Joy is the owner and lead tutor of Givens Academic and Preparatory Tutoring, a company serving the greater Pittsburgh area. She enjoys singing and listening to most genres of music, cooking for family and friends, and curling up with a good book and good coffee