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A Village

Every once in awhile, I think I should, must, no other option available, quit writing. It isn’t that I don’t want to write, it’s that I think I can’t write well enough, basically that I suck. On my really dark days, I worry I’m like one of those contestants on a reality talent show who thinks they’re the next Adele only to be told they’re delusional and shouldn’t leave their day job

Recently, I had one of those days after having submitted my latest work-in-progress to my critique group. When word came down—go back, it’s not good enough—no hyperbole, I was DEVASTATED, CRUSHED, a snivelling, whimpering puddle of pathetic doggy dodo.

Never before have I worked so hard to come up with—what I believed I was hearing—such a shitty piece of writing. How could this be? How could I have gotten it so wrong? I’ve quit my day job to give myself the time and space to create literary masterpieces for GD sake.

Then something wonderful happened. My writer friends rallied around me—more than one carrying a sharp stick happily aimed at my ribcage. Some of the very people who were (politely) telling me they weren’t feeling a connection to my characters and didn’t care to turn the page, were the very people who sent me private emails, called me on the phone, offered to look at my re-writes before I re-submitted and took me out for tea. They helped me realize that when I thought I heard, it’ll NEVER be good enough, you loser, what was really being said was, it’s not good enough YET. Who were these wonderful folks? They were my tribe, my peeps. I’d reached out my hand and they’d pulled me away from the cliff. My tribe believed in me. Maybe I didn’t suck

People, all people, need connection in the same way as they need food and water. Connection is a necessity not a luxury. Every one of us, not just writer, but I think especially writers who by the nature of the beast spend a lot of time in their heads, need to know they aren’t alone. This week, I was reminded I’m part of a village.

So, to those of you who are at the early stages of your writing careers, I would suggest you join a writing group and work on building your own tribe. Step away from your computer and introduce yourself to your village. Because if you’re serious about becoming a writer, you’ll absolutely have a dark-night-of-soul somewhere along your journey, and you’re going to need that village. It’s going to take courage and a spirit of adventure, but I promise you will get back tenfold what you give to your tribe and your village.

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It Takes a Village to Raise a Writer

Cottage Office

Last fall, I thought I should quit being a writer. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to write anymore, it was that I thought I couldn’t write well enough. I worried I was like the American Idol contestant who thought they were the next Celine only to be told they were delusional and shouldn’t quit their day job.

Trouble was, I had quit my day job.

This past June 30th I began my ‘break’ from a pay cheque and on July 1st arrived at my mom’s cottage with my laptop, thesaurus (I’ll use the internet version, but nothing beats my dog-eared Gage Canadian Thesaurus), a bullet point goals, strategies and writing schedule and, dare I say it—okay I’ll say it—a suitcase of dreams. As luck would have it, the cottage was empty for one glorious week. I set myself up in the screened in gazebo, dialed in CBC Classical and I wrote, most of it pretty good, I thought. When the week was over, I returned home to my home office. As the summer weeks fell away, I continued to write and by the end of the summer, I’d edited 45,166 words—150 pages, of my original 70,000 word first draft. Not bad, I thought again. To keep myself on schedule, I’d arranged to submit twenty pages to my first reader, and either over peppermint tea at one of our houses, or via Skype we worked through the fruits of our labours. (Off for most of the summer, she worked as hard to submit her own twenty pages to me.)

In September, my bi-weekly writing circle resumed and I began another U of T creative writing course, Novel Writing Master Class. Confidently, I emailed out the first instalments of my new and improved chapters. Between both groups, fifteen fellow writers, the word came down—it sucked.

No hyperbole, I was DEVASTATED, CRUSHED, a snivelling, whimpering puddle of pathetic, worthless doggie dodo.

Never before had I worked so hard and never before had my writing received such harsh critiques. How could this be? How could I have gotten it so wrong? I’d quit my job for GD sake. You know what they say; when you hit rock bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up. But like the Tin Man, my joints had rusted with all the ugly-cry tears I’d split. I needed help getting up.

Lucky for me, my village rallied around—more than one carrying a sharp stick happily used to poke me with. Some of the very people who were (politely) telling me they weren’t feeling a connection to my characters and didn’t care to turn the page, in other words that my novel sucked, were the very people who sent me private emails, called me on the phone, offered to look at my re-writes before scheduled submission and took me out for tea.

Who were these good Samaritans? They were my tribe, my peeps and most of them, the really good ones, had all been where I now found myself, in the pit of despair. Without fully realizing what I’d managed to do, I discovered that over my early writing years I’d built a strong foundation of tribe members who genuinely cared about me and about my work. Equally important, I’d also managed to leave behind a trail of wet blankets, those naysayers who didn’t value my artist view of life.

Wow, I began to think. I really am clever. If all these wonderful writers (and close, supportive non-writing family and friends) thought I could fix my work, then I owed it to them to pull myself together.

This was fixable. It was doable. I’m woman writer, hear me roar.

Not so fast Sparky.

The hard work was yet to come. Since my breakdown, I’ve spent vast amounts of time, sitting at this chair (most of it writing, although I’m pretty wicked at spider solitaire). Some days I’ve had to have harsh conversations with myself and other days recognized I needed to pull out my gentle grandma voice (okay, I’m a young grandma, by Grammy I am). As we speak, I’m now preparing seventy-five pages to submit to my one-on-one instructor and ultimately to the Continuing Studies panel who will deem whether my work, whether I am, certificate worthy. I now feel confident that I am.

To those of you who are at the early stages of your writing careers, I strongly urge you to join a writing circle, go to conferences, take courses, network and build your own tribe. Step out of your writing space and introduce yourself to your village. Because if you are serious about becoming a writer, you will eventually have a dark-night-of-soul somewhere along your journey and you’re going to need your village.

A special thanks to my tribe, but please don’t shut off your phones. I’m up for submission soon and I might be calling!

If you live within driving distance of Durham region, have a look at what the WCDR has to offer new and not so new writers.

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