A friend, discouraged and feeling pressured to justify her writing time, recently said to me, “Maybe I’m just not a serious writer.”

What does it mean to be a “serious writer,” anyway? Is it about how often one writes? Is it about whether or not one earns a living at writing? Is it about whether or not one is published? Or, is it simply tied to one’s ability to self-identify as “writer?”

The question of how serious she is can only be answered by her. I suspect she’s in a place of doubt and disillusionment just now. I suspect her confidence is flagging. I suspect she could use some encouragement from an agent or publisher; or, better yet, a voice from the heavens saying, “The world awaits your stories.”  Maybe she just needs a friend to say,”The process – the act of creation – is the only thing that matters. That is the only measure of time well spent. So step into that space wherein you lose yourself in the story and the writing of it. Step into it daily, if you can. Honor your gifts, and write.”

I am a writer. I say it out loud. I am a writer with a sometimes irregular writing practice. I live by the motto: nulla dies sine linea – never a day without a line (Horace); yet, I’ve been known to count my to-do list on a busy day as my line. Though I’ve taught writing, published short stories, essays, and articles, and I’ve been commissioned to write everything from letters to personalized pet poems, I have no income from my written works at the moment. I am focused on writing my first novel with no agent or publisher in sight. Yet, I am a serious writer.

As a serious writer, I read, open myself to new learning opportunities, and stay connected. I read novels, books about writing, and books about writers. I read poetry, pamphlets, and tea bags. I attend workshops, classes, conferences and retreats. I have a circle of writer friends with whom I stay connected. I wander and ponder and day dream. And I write. I put my seat to the seat, and I write.

Actually, I can’t not write. And I know my friend is the same way. She’s been writing most of her life: magnificent stories, delicious poems, and humorous letters. She wants very badly to be published and occasionally submits. She may lack a regular writing schedule. She may have a tendency to write mainly when inspired. But, she’s a writer.

Another friend said to me, “What if you spend a year on a novel and then it doesn’t get published?  That’s all that time wasted. How do you justify the time?”

To that, I say: That year will go by anyway. At the end, I will have had the experience of writing a novel, or not.

Seriously.

Okay, so you’re a writer and your seat is on the seat and you’re ready to begin.  Next comes the easy/hard part: get it down and don’t wait for it to be good.

I say this is easy because it means you let the writing flow.  You don’t stop to correct punctuation errors or re-attach dangling participles or edit an over abundance of adjectives.  You don’t worry about writing perfectly or keeping to a pre-conceived plot plan.  You don’t hesitate because you’re not sure what your story is about or where it’s going. You don’t backtrack because an unexpected character or happening shows up.  You don’t allow the English teacher or critic in your head to participate. You just let go and see where the act of writing takes you.  You explore without judgement.  You open yourself to discovery.

I say this is hard because, of course you want to write well.  Of course you want this to be good.  Perfect, in fact.  You don’t want to be wasting your precious writing time on something you’ll only cross out or delete.  You’ve been schooled to write with precision and clarity.  You’ve been trained to honor the rules and to punctuate properly.  You’ve been taught to get it right, not get it down. Or rather, to get it down only when and if it’s right — all presentable and respectable and logical. Thus, you’ve been hobbled from the outset.

I’m here to remind your hesitant self that re-writing comes later.  This is first draft time.  Rough draft time.  Rough is the operative word here — the free-you-up-so-you-can-get-it-down word.  “Oh, yeah,” you can say to yourself, “This is supposed to be rough.  I’ll fix it later.  Fixing’s another part of the process.”

Process.  Great word, process.  A sweet word.  It’s a word that reminds us to breathe and allows us to play.

Anne Lamott, author of bird by bird, talks about “shitty first drafts” and assures us that “all good writers write them.” She calls the first draft, “… the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later.” 

So for now, with the seat of your pants to the seat of the chair, get it down.  Don’t wait for it to be good.

—  What’s stopping you from getting it down on the page?  Share by commenting below.  —

‘Tis the season of gifting.  ‘Tis a time for wish listing.  You’re surely planning, buying, and stashing gifts for those you love (and even some you don’t but who have made it onto your list as the “shoulds” of the season).  You’re surely asking what everybody else wants and needs.

Well, I suggest ‘tis time to ask yourself a question or two: As a writer, artist, and dreamer, what do you really, really, in your heart of hearts want?  If you had world enough and time, what would be at the top of your wish list?

And don’t forget, ‘tis the time for dreaming big.

Do you dream of being a published author complete with a great editor, publisher, agent, adoring fans, book tours, and guest speaking engagements  … ?

Would you love a comfortable place in which to write, make art, and dream?  Do you want a space filled with colors and textures and images that nourish you?  Or would you prefer the simplicity of a monk’s cell?  Do you want silence, music, nature sounds … ?  Who or what do you welcome into your space?  Is there a desk or floor cushions or a comfy chair?  Is there lots of natural light?  Soft candle glow? Fabrics?  Art? A sense of breathing space?

Is it a room, snug cubby, or spacious cottage by the ocean?  Is it a cabin in the depths of an ancient forest or a simple little shed in the backyard that’s all yours for solitary hours of work which is really play?

What books would line your book shelves or are you more the piles-of-books-all-around-you type?  Are there poems that move and inspire you?  Is there a certain kind of notebook you prefer or pen that feels best in your hand?  A new or well used laptop or tablet?

Do you dream of being a part of a writing community?  Do you wish you could go away on retreat for a few months or weeks or days?  What would that look and feel like?

Well, why not have what you want?  Why not create it in your mind if not in your physical environs?  Catalogues and flyers abound right now.  Why not take advantage of this abundance of imagery.  Since you’re in a looking-around-at-it-all mode anyway while shopping for others, why not gather some of those images for yourself as collage material?

“What kind of collage?” you might ask.  “And who has the time?  ‘Tis the season of giving.  Can’t you see I’m busy trying to give here?!”

Since you’re looking anyway, when you see something that stops you with an “ah!” …  just because …   why not  tear it out and toss it in a basket or box or bright gift bag?  No need to be neat about it, to get out the scissors or anything.  Just rip the photo out and add it to your collection.  No need to concern yourself with price or practicality, this is about letting go and having fun.  This is about wishing and dreaming and playing with possibility.    This is about focusing on what gives you a lift, brings a smile, satisfies a deep inner longing, brings you peace, and/or enlivens you.  Maybe it’s a color that speaks to you, or a word or phrase or book title that calls out to you.  Maybe a favorite quotation surfaces.  Whatever wants to be clipped and saved, place it in your basket.  Don’t question it.  Don’t analyze it.  Just accept it.

Then, gather glue sticks, scissors and something on which to mount your images (poster board, card board, wrapping paper, craft paper, an empty box, etc.) and place these materials and the basket of clippings together. That’s all for now.

When the moment seems right, begin creating a collage (from the French word “to glue”).  Maybe even light a candle and put on some meditative music.  Or maybe not … .
As the images pass through your fingers let yourself drift into a dreamy sort of state and begin to glue them down. They can overlap, or even cover each other completely (you’ll know what lies beneath when it’s all done), or they can be carefully trimmed and neatly arranged side by side or in geometric patterns.  ‘Tis totally up to you.  What matters is the process of playing and pasting and wishing and dreaming.

This can be done in a single sitting or over time in stolen moments (like working a jig saw puzzle).  When your collage is complete, put it where you’ll see it often or tuck it away in a special but accessible place. You could even spend some time meditating upon it, or free-writing about it.  Perhaps, you will be drawn to create a personal ritual.  Maybe you’ll surprise yourself and decide to bury or burn it (there is a Native American belief that smoke is visual prayer). Go with whatever wants to be done.  Simply listen and you’ll know.  ‘Tis the season for dreaming.  ‘Tis the season for sleigh bells on the wind.
If nothing else, you’ll feel relaxed.  More likely, your creative self will feel nurtured and inspired.  Beyond that, who knows, maybe “the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true”  …  ?

What’s on your wish list? What dreams of yours are waiting in the dark to be spoken of out loud? What will your collage reveal to you? If you take the time …