I started taking creative writing seriously at the beginning of 2012, which means I’ve passed the 5-year mark. I had planned on pulling together a whole host of statistics and making a fancy report, but life has a way of getting away from me (though I might still do so if I dredge up some spare time). Instead, I wanted to talk about 5 reflections from these past 5 years.
1. My writing is still evolving
Looking back, I’ve noticed that I’ve begun developing my own type of writing style. Now, whether this writing style is acceptable to others or even understandable to others is another thing, but I think it’s important not to focus too much on that. Just like when you walk into a museum and can identify the artist of a work at first glance, I think everyone who works in the creative arts eventually distills their style down to something that is purely them. For instance, Picasso is known for his Cubist work, but it’s not like he only created in the Cubist style because he couldn’t do anything else. In fact, one of my favorite paintings by Picasso isn’t Cubist at all. He could be a very traditional painter if he wanted to, but he chose to work and develop his Cubist style. I think every good writer can write in any number of styles, but they choose to work and develop their own signature style. I think I’m still in the middle stages of developing my style. As I learn more about the technical aspects of good writing and keep working, I know my writing style will still change and evolve, hopefully for the better.
2. Rejections still sting
After hundreds of rejections, one would think I’d be used to it. In a way, I am. It’s not so devastating. I don’t question my very existence anymore. I don’t question whether or not I should even be a writer. I am a writer, even if my work hasn’t found a good home yet. I know all the reasons for why my work could have been rejected (e.g., submitted to the wrong venue, not strong enough yet, doesn’t appeal to a particular editor, too many similar stories), and I’ve received some very encouraging rejections from editors who took the time to let me know that I was close to publication. However, rejections still sting. But instead of feeling like someone has taken to my heart with a cudgel, it’s become more of a prick of a needle: a sharp pain that bothers me but something I can quickly move on from.
And yes, those rejections certainly make the rare acceptance that much sweeter to receive. Whenever I receive an acceptance, I am truly humbled and honored that someone could enjoy a piece of my writing enough to take a chance on it.
3. Writing communities are important
The traditional view of a writer is that they toil alone in some drafty garret, but even back in the “romantic” past, writers still held salons and invited each other for dinner to discuss all sorts of interesting topics. Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein because of a contest between a group of bored writers. After a couple years of writing, my husband encouraged me to find a larger writing community. I tentatively signed up for a local writer’s conference, afraid that my social anxiety and natural introversion would cause me to spend the entire weekend hugging the walls. Instead, I met people who were just as passionate about writing as I was, people with day jobs who wrote in the little corners of their lives who understood the difficulties and loneliness and ecstasy of writing. “You get me,” I exclaimed more than once.
And again, when I felt that my writing had started stagnating again, my husband encouraged me once more to throw myself out there, not just for a one-off event, but something more regular. I went to social media this time, finding LinkedIn groups and Facebook groups full of encouraging people who still “get” me. I took an online fiction class and made an effort to connect with a few people who would be willing to read my work and give me their honest opinion (and after enough rejections, honest opinions really don’t hurt at all). Not only did it open up a flood of information, it opened my eyes that there are people all around the world who love writing as much as I do. For me, it’s important to know that, when I really am toiling away alone at the kitchen table, my baby daughter gurgling in the background.
4. Changing expectations
When I first started writing, I would dream at night of writing a novel, winning a MacArthur Genius Grant, achieving fame and fortune (a la J.K. Rowling), and retiring to a life of pleasure where I would wake up each day and write for a living. Ha! Five years down the line, my expectations have adjusted quite a bit. Now, I dream of finishing a novel. That’s it. Whether or not it gets published by a traditional publisher or is self-published, that’s fine. Whether or not it makes any money, that’s fine. And I certainly don’t expect any special awards or even a life beyond writing in the nooks and crannies of life in between my day job, my side job, my family, and the few scattered hours I scrounge up to read a good book. And, you know, I’m not disappointed at all. Because before, writing was a means to an end, the most enjoyable way to reach a goal. Now, I write simply because I have stories to tell. And this makes me much happier in the end. Of course, I wouldn’t turn down a six-figure advance and that Genius Grant if it came my way.
5. I still love writing
Which bring me to this point: I love writing. Still. After five long years of toil and the tiny fruits of my labor popping up randomly. Which is kind of amazing. Growing up, I was the girl who wanted to be thirty different things growing up, changing my mind every few months. As a teenager, I launched a ton of different enterprises, all destined to fail once reality set in and I became bored and things weren’t as easy as I had expected. One look at my resume will tell you that almost every single job I’ve had, I’ve stumbled into without much preparation, and then I stumbled back out of when it was time to move on to other things. So, to have something in my life that I still love after years of work and slog and angst, something that I still wake up excited to pursue, that really says something as to its staying power.
The funny thing is that I never expected this. When we were kids, I used to make up little stories to tell my sisters whenever we were bored, but then life intervened, and I shelved that part of my life away. It was never something I really thought about pursuing. I wasn’t that kid who edited the literary magazine at my high school (I didn’t even know it existed until we all received a copy). I wasn’t that student who argued about literature in college. I did take a beginning fiction writing class my first year, but when I was denied a spot in the advanced fiction writing class, I focused back on my science-heavy classes. And then one day, I met a homeless man on the street in 2012, and that experience was so moving, I was compelled to write about it, spinning it into a story called “Joseph.” I submitted it out, and Vine Leaves Literary Journal took a chance with it, and I turned to my husband and told him, “You know? This could be something I would like to do.” He told me to go for it. I did, and I’ve never looked back since.
+1. Thanks to my loved ones and loyal readers
As you can tell, a running theme through my reflections is how much my husband encouraged me throughout it all. Each day, I wake up amazed I’m married to such an amazing man. He doesn’t really read the kind of writing I do, but he promised me he would read everything I published, and he has. Every single piece. He’s the one who listens to all my rants and all the convoluted storylines that whirl around in my mind (there was one long drive in which I regaled him with a random plot of a potential novel for two straight hours). He’s the one who holds me when the rejections are too much to bear, who pushed me forward when I couldn’t see myself writing again, who celebrates all my successes as if they were his own. I would never have found the initial courage to pursue writing without him.
I’m also blessed with an amazing family. My parents will tell me random ideas they have for possible stories. My sisters read everything I’ve published and publicize my work to their friends. My daughter (who can’t read yet) happily accompanies me while I write. My inlaws cheer me on whenever I let them know of another success.
Finally, I am so thankful to my loyal readers, especially the few I know of personally, who read every single piece of my work they can get their hands on, who leave me encouraging comments and words of support. Whenever I hit a tough spot, I think of them and keep going.
Moving forward
I have decided to take a step back in 2018. I started focusing on writing short stories (even though I’d never really read a short story outside of English class before) in order to practice the art of writing. Also, I’d read that if I could receive some publishing credits, then agents might take a writer more seriously once I got around to submitting out my novel. Well, that novel was abandoned after a couple rewrites, and I became focused solely on short stories. Five years on of constantly writing and submitting and revising and resubmitting, I feel like I’ve ended up on a hamster wheel. So, I’m taking a break from submitting out stories in order to give myself the time and space to take that next step in my writing. My aim is threefold:
- I want to take a deep look at my remaining unpublished short stories and do a thorough revision of them, instead of the reactionary incremental changes I’ve been making.
- I want to finish a few short stories/novellas (depending on the final length) that I haven’t had time to focus on.
- I want to finish a novel (or two) and spend a good amount of time revising them to where I need them to be.
I’ve signed up for that same writer’s conference I went to however many years ago. And this time, I want to arrive armed with a novel that I’m proud of.
To another 5 years of writing!