Definitions

Words are such amazing things—tricky, too.  The very fact that we've used these arbitrary symbols to create such a complex system of communication is fascinating.  Language seems so simple now, right?

And wonderful.  How do you feel when someone utters three easy words, "I love you?"

Except think of the trouble words get us into.  The misunderstanding, the confusion, the anger. 

One of the first things people do when trying to belittle someone is to call them names—to attempt to re-define the other person. A key strategy in controlling others is to manage their language and how they are defined.

Any way we label a person, place, situation, thing, idea, etc. limits how others will view it.  That's true even if it's labels we give ourselves.  How many words do you use to define yourself?  My "twitter" definitions says I am a "wife, mom, college professor, travel planner-extraordinaire, and wanna-be-middle-grade writer." 

What would it mean to move from wanna-be to "writer?"  When is it okay to define yourself as a writer?  Obviously, this isn't a question limited to writing, but as it's the first Wednesday and the month, it seemed like an appropriate topic for the Insecure Writer's Group.

In this case, I think I equate using the label as a definition with being successful at it, not just the act of doing the writing.  That's not something we do with everything right?  I'm a mom even if I'm not a very good one (and I think I'm okay there). 

This is a little nudge to us all that as upset as we can get at the labels others put on us, the ones use on ourselves can be just as problematic. 

Writers, when are you willing to call yourself one? 

Falling

The first Wednesday of the month brings another Insecure Writer's Support Group Post.

I just finished a book I loved from start to finish.  I've read around eight books this summer, and I liked several quite a bit, but this was the first one that I did not want to end but couldn't stop reading at the same time.

It wasn't a terribly complicated story—a very standard contemporary YA (my favorite genre to read though I’m still struggling to write it) with family drama, personal growth, and a little love.  I don't even know if I can explain why it was so much better than the others I've read this summer.  Words, characters, plot.  That's all it is right?  So, why these words, why this plot, why these characters?  

When I finish a book like that, I tend to get a bit contemplative.  First, gosh, I love books.  There is nothing quite like falling into a world someone else created and connecting with everyone in it.  

But then I think, "I could never write that so why bother?"  (Have I said that before?  Seems like it's a common theme in my mind) Or I try to figure out how to adapt my writing to be LIKE that writing which is sometimes like trying to bakery bagel into a toaster.  It's a close fit, but you're bound to burn or break some part in the process.  I just want to figure it out thought so I can give readers the same experience.  

I know I talked about variety last month, and how being authentic is important, and this is along the same vein, but it's more about that magic.  I think that for anything in life to move us the a good book moves me, we have to let go; we have to fall in.  One of the reasons NaNoWriMo has always worked for me is that forces me to stop analyzing and just write.  It puts me into the story more like a reader than a writer.  Of course, that means much editing down the road.

It's not just a writing thing.  My husband is a perfectionist, and he obsesses in advance of every project, so worried that he's going to get it wrong.  He'll tell you that delays the process and gets him so worked up that he sometimes misses the forest for the trees as a result. Then, he's too frustrated with the things that don't go according to plan to enjoy a finished product.  Even when everyone else sees the beauty. 

In the end, passion doesn't lie in thinking about how to do something.  It's in doing it.  

In letting go.  In falling.  

Does reading inspire you or cripple you?  Do you over think process?  If there are non-writers reading, are there ways in which you get tripped up in the process of doing something about which you're passionate?  

Repetition versus repetitive

I've been binge reading the words of a popular author recently.  Obviously, I generally enjoy the books or I would have stopped after the first one.  However, now that I'm like 5 in, I'm seeing patterns that have begun to annoy me as a reader—for example, a very controlling mother and a very fast resolution (too quick to resolve big issues, IMHO) among others.  Readers, viewers, listeners generally like repetition.  People enjoy the familiar and appreciate knowing what to expect.  It's why formula works so well in TV and movies. 

However, it's a fine line, though from repetition to repetitive.  Once that line is crossed though, we move from expectation to boredom.

Doesn't that sound a little like the workplace?  It's nice to know what you're supposed to do from day to day.  It's great when you can feel like you've mastered things, but there's got to be a little zing in there or it becomes so mind-numbingly boring that you spend your days dreaming up extravagant ways to quit.  Or at least watching YouTube videos of people who really did it with flare.  This woman is most certainly, "Gone," for example.  

Or how about your exercise routine?  Why do you think I have umpteen million different work out DVD's in my house AND a gym membership? I bore way too easily.

I'm not saying that life has to be all glitz and glory all the time.  One of the most important lessons I'm constantly telling my kids is that you have to go through some of the boring to get to the good stuff.  Routine ballet class with its focus on skill and repetition must precede winning at dance competitions. 

For that reason, I expect some repetition when reading and writing and even living.  I know there are boring parts to everything we do.  

But as soon as repetition feels too repetitive, the audience is probably lost.  

What are you ruts?  If you write, what are your repetitive habits?  

Variety and the imperfect perfection

I used to be a part of a monthly blog hop called the "Insecure Writer's Group" but I'd been letting that slide.  I valued that experience so I'm "hopping" back in. One of the things I've found most valuable over the years is the way in which my writing lessons have connected to life lessons.  Learning a new skill has given me so much perspective on everything else I've already learned, and I'll carry on that perspective today.

Aspiring writers are told to be voracious readers.  Agents, editors, and fellow writers insist that reading improves writing—makes sense, right?  It gives authors an understanding of market and genre, helps them notice concepts of voice and story development which may either subtly or directly influence one's own writing.

Potentially, reading also changes perspective about your own writing. One of the things that happens when you read a lot is that you don't like every book.  You might even hate some.  It's possible you'll even despite a book that everyone in the world things is the best thing ever written.  You might really enjoy a book or an author who "serious" critics say is too formulaic or sophomoric (or YA or fanfic or "trashy" novels). 

The point is, we all have different expectations and different preferences, right?  As a writer, it lets me off the hook a bit.  Perfection is relative ... to what?  Good is relative to what?  Now, that doesn't mean I advocate writing crap, but it's a good reminder.

As a public speaking teacher, I constantly tell my students that good speaking isn't one-size-fits-all.  It's about being an authentic communicator, about your ethos.  You need to be the best YOU possible even if you have some delivery flubs and or your voice is high-pitched.  It may be what audiences most like about you.

The same goes for writing, it goes for your job and your relationships and your art and your music and your bathroom remodel and everything else under the sun.  The more variety you experience, the more you're able to find yourself in the process. 

Your imperfections are an important part of your voice.

Stitch in time

I had exceptionally high hopes for my run on Saturday. Weather was optimal—a little over 60 degrees, not too sunny, but bright and cheery. I anticipated I'd have a nice 5-6 mile run. Things were going well—nice pace, enjoying the sights and scents of late spring. Then, not even half way though, I got a stitch in my right side. Ouch. I'll just keep going a bit, I thought. 

Sometimes it goes away. It didn't. 

I didn't want to stop and walk because I was coming up to a spot on my path where folks could see me, and I didn't want to admit defeat. Embarrassment can be such a powerful motivator. 

The pain was not subsiding. I decided to walk for a bit. Then the worst happened, the stitch multiplied. I got a second one on my right side. Then, another on my left. With each step, my abs crunched and my whole body tensed. I wasn't sure how I was going to make it home if walking hurt that much. 

 The pain subsided just enough that I started run again—I told the stitch it didn't own me. Now, pissed off, the stitches game back. Of course, at that point, I was in the middle of a bike path. If I called someone to pick me up, I'd still have to make it at least a mile. 

So, I keep going. I ran some. I walked some. I stopped and did some tricep dips. I ran some more. Etc. Eventually, I made it home. No stellar time. Probably more like 4 miles total. But I tried. And again, I made it home. 

There are always going to be stitches. They'll make you change goals and re-assess your vision. Sometimes, for the better, sometimes not. It's okay to go slower or to change direction to work around those challenges. Whether you're writing book, teaching a class, learning a language, baking a cake, building a deck, or fighting for your dream, sometimes, you'll have to start over. 

Sometimes, you'll have to add more flour or delete a whole chapter. 

Eventually, you get where you need to be, if you keep going.

Get by with a little help from some feathers

So, I recently bought myself in a winter coat in which I’m pretty sure I look a little like an over-roasted sta-puffed marshmallow woman (the coat’s black after all).  I’m undecided about whether purchasing such a coat, weather rated to -45 degrees, means that I have finally conquered winter or that it’s actually bested me.  At the end of the day, I don’t care because the dang thing makes me feel like I might possibly survive another year living in Frozen Land (which wouldn’t be so bad if it were like Disney and had talking snowmen and singing trolls).

The thing is, I’m not sure why I held out so long buying a ginormous coat.  Seriously, the thing comes below my knees, and I’m 5’ so it’s kind of comical.  Ask anyone and they will tell you, it’s not like I put on a brave winter face or feel the need to be “tough” about it. I whine and complain ALL THE DANG TIME about how cold I am.  Why wouldn’t I have sought out better ways to manage it sooner?

The more I think about it, the more I realize how often I see people taking the same approach on other things in life.

“I have a headache.”  Did you take anything?  “No.” 

“I’m not sure how to write this paper.”  Did you read the instructions?  Have you gone to the tutoring center?”  “No.”

There are probably a million different reasons why we don’t seek the right support or utilize resources available to us when faced with a problem.  Maybe we’re lazy.  Maybe we don’t care enough.  Maybe we’re afraid to admit we can’t do something alone.

My coat and I are here to say that’s probably not the best way.  I can’t believe how much it has lifted my mood to get in the car and not feel like my entire body was going to turn into an icicle and then break into a million pieces.  Being able to find the right tool to support me has lifted a burden in a way. 

It’s also served as a reminder that we all sometimes need a little help.  Maybe from friends and family.  Maybe from co-workers. Maybe from fellow-writers.  Maybe from a therapist. Maybe from 600 fill-power down insulation.

Whatever you need, maybe it’s time to accept a little help.    

Be a tree.

Every once a great long while, I write a little letter to one of my kids and save it.  I had always intended for it to be this great volume that they'd get to read on graduation or something.  All kinds of life wisdom imparted as well as a general sense of knowing how loved they were through the busyness of life.  Well, my volume is pretty thin as I seem to remember about once a year, if that.  I managed to set some words to paper last week, and I came across this nugget for several years back written for Grace.

11/24/04

“Sometimes it’s good to be the tree.”

The other night, we read The Giving Tree. As usual I cried.  I’m not sure I have ever read that story without tears streaming down my face.  I don’t think I’d read it since becoming a parent though.  Bill looked at me and suddenly said, “Oh he wrote that book about his mom, didn’t he?”  It made so much sense. 

Later, we put you to bed.  You were fighting it, as always.  At one point, you grabbed my head and pulled me close so my head was resting on your face.  I admit, I wasn’t very comfortable.  I looked over at Bill, and said, “Sometimes it’s good to be the tree.” 

Some people get mad when they read The Giving Tree.  It's easy to focus on how much the boy takes the tree for granted.  And I know as a parent, I sure empathize with that sentiment.  But at least in the month of Thanksgiving as we move into what I hope is a reflective and joyous time of year, I am going to focus on being grateful for the trees in my life.  A mom who never declines a request to pick up my kids and folds about 90% of my laundry.  A husband who puts up with all the ways I add "busy" to our lives. Friends who are always willing help with the kid shuffle.  Without support none of us would grow into strong trees ourselves.  To be there for our kids and friends and other family members when they need us.  As strange as it sounds, at least today, I'm also going to appreciate the opportunity to be taken for granted.  

I like being a tree. 

And if we are all trees, then we become a forest. 

"And the tree was happy."