Posts Tagged ‘Writing’

Why are you a writer?  What started you in writing?  When did you know you wanted to write?  These, and other variations on the same theme, are the most common questions any professional or aspiring writer is asked.  We are asked by friends, family, random acquaintances when they find out we call ourselves “writer”.  It is a stock inquiry of interviewers and writer’s group profiles.
Like many writers, the first time I was confronted with the burning question I froze like a deer in headlights.  I stammered and said, “Uh, um,” a lot.  I am not sure if I gave a coherent answer or not.  What I do know is that I had no idea how to answer.
Over the many years since that first embarrassing verbal stumble that never changed.  What did change was that, like many writers, I created a generic statement to use, thus avoiding appearing like a bumbling idiot.  My pat answer: I’m not sure.  I have always written.  I just have to write.
While that vague answer is true, I had no idea why it was true.  Until recently.  One day not to long ago I was in the shower letting my mind wander as it would—some people sing in the shower, I come up with writing ideas—and suddenly something occurred to me.  I am a self-centered attention whore.
After nearly thirty-umm years of denial—especially to myself—I can’t hide from it anymore.  I love attention.  I adore it when someone tells me they enjoyed something I wrote.  I get absolutely giddy when someone tells others to read my work.  I nearly fainted when I saw that one tiny little article about bridesmaid’s dresses received nearly 1500 hits in a month.  It makes me want to pull a Sally Fields and run through the streets screaming “They like me, they really like me!”
Why do I have such a need for attention?  I don’t really know.  It might be in my genes.  I always thought my younger sister was an attention grabbing drama queen.  The truth is that as a child my sister was the cutest thing going—as a twenty-something mom she is still no slouch.  She could, and still can, walk into a room and become the center of attention without even trying.  (Though when I was a kid I thought she did it on purpose and it drove me nuts!)  Truly! My little sister could have given the chronically cute Stephanie Tanner on “Full House” lessons in being adorable.  The fact of the matter is that I always felt like I faded into the background and no one really saw or heard me when she was around.  That wasn’t true of course, but as you can see, even though I never realized it, I have always been a drama queen.
I really have been writing and making up stories for as long as I could remember.  My earliest memorie of writing is third or fourth grade when I used to scribble silly little poems in my notebook when I was supposed to be listening to the teacher.  These days it might be called attention deficit, but back then it was called being lazy or a dreamer.  I just called it being bored.
The same went with making up stories.  I have always loved stories.  I was a voracious reader.  From the time I could read I read everything I could get my hands on.  I spent hours alone reading.  And when I was doing something like walking home from school, riding my bike, washing dishes, anything, actually, that prevented me from having a book in hand, I made up stories in my head.  I never wrote them down.  I just made up elaborate stories with detailed characters..  It was my way of keeping myself entertained.
No one else ever knew about my stories or poems.  They were a part of me that I didn’t want to share with anyone.  Frankly, it never occurred to me to share them.  I don’t think I had any concept of what I was really doing.  Now that I really think about it, I don’t even remember thinking of “writer” as a career choice at all.  As a matter of fact, in junior high I wanted to be an astronomer and an astronaut.
It wasn’t until high school that I truly found the joys of being a writer.  I was still doodling poems, only I started sharing them with my friends.  Teenage girls love angsty, lovelorn poetry.  They gushed, and I preened.  I would write love poems for them to give to their boyfriends or crushes because I “could put feelings into words.”  Oh, yes, my career as an attention whore had begun.
The biggest prodding I got, however, was from my teachers.  The first time I remember knowing that writing was for me was when I was a freshman in high school.  My uncle had died shortly before school started and my mom, sister and I were in Texas when school started.  My mom, planning to stay for a few weeks enrolled me and my sister in school so that we wouldn’t get behind.  As our first assignment to assess our writing abilities my English teacher had assigned us to research something using reference books and write a paper.  I had procrastinated—as is my usual method—until the Sunday night before the paper was due.  I remember finding a “V” encyclopedia at my aunts house and deciding to do my paper on the Vietnam War.  Unfortunately the entry in the encyclopedia was rather short and it was too late to go to the library.  The only way I was going to be able to get a three page paper out of it without copying the book was to be creative.
I wrote a story about two young friends who were both drafted to go to war at the same time.  I had all the requirements, I put in facts and dates, and cited my resource at the end.  But instead of a research paper my assignment had become an essay on friendship and patriotism.  I turned my paper in, and worried my self sick until they were handed back the next day.  I knew that everyone else in my class had stuck to writing factual research papers, so I was sure there would be a huge “F” and a note about following directions on my paper when it was handed back.  But there wasn’t.  There was a big red “A”.  And a note about how creative and talented I was.  I was amazed.  And when I took that paper home and showed my mom, aunt, and grandmother I remember being so excited and thrilled with the praise they gave me.
We moved back to Tennessee a few weeks later, so I didn’t have a chance to truly impress that teacher, but that first “A” and “great job” had hooked me.  I finally had something I was good at, something that got me the attention I didn’t know I craved.  I worked hard, striving to weave the words of my research papers just right to get the smiles and soft pats on my shoulder as the the put the “excellent” graded paper down on my desk.  I was told I was talented, and I ate it up.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved writing.  I love writing.  Words truly are my life.  And even so, I can’t really put into words how putting them together into stories and articles makes me feel exactly.  Though suspect the joy I get out of pounding out words in comprehensible sentences is linked to the joy that I know will eventually come because of the attention a well written story, be it fiction or non-fiction, brings me.
As I began to realize just how much I love being the center of attention I thought, no, that can’t be true.  Because more than I love writing I love my job as an editor and publisher.  I love helping other writers get their stories out there to the public.  I’m not really selfish, I’m actually self-less.  I give of myself to bring wonderful stories to the masses but hardly anyone really knows that I have anything to do with it.  Wrong!  I know.  And that is all that it takes.  I see the glory they get and I know that I helped, that I had something to do with it.   Whether anyone else tells me “good job” or not, I can tell myself.  I soak up the sun through the knowledge that I contributed to their success.  So, there you have it, selfish to the end.
So, armed with this new self-knowledge, will I change anything.  No, probably not.  I don’t think I could if I tried.  I’m not even sure what to change.  All I can do is embrace it and own up to it.  The only question is, the next time I am asked, “Why do you write?” do I give my pat answer?   Or do I proudly announce: I write because I am an attention whore!
Why are you a writer?  What started you in writing?  When did you know you wanted to write?  These, and other variations on the same theme, are the most common questions any professional or aspiring writer is asked.  We are asked by friends, family, random acquaintances when they find out we call ourselves “writer”.  It is a stock inquiry of interviewers and writer’s group profiles.
Like many writers, the first time I was confronted with the burning question I froze like a deer in headlights.  I stammered and said, “Uh, um,” a lot.  I am not sure if I gave a coherent answer or not.  What I do know is that I had no idea how to answer.
Over the many years since that first embarrassing verbal stumble that never changed.  What did change was that, like many writers, I created a generic statement to use, thus avoiding appearing like a bumbling idiot.  My pat answer: I’m not sure.  I have always written.  I just have to write.
While that vague answer is true, I had no idea why it was true.  Until recently.
One day not to long ago I was in the shower letting my mind wander as it would—some people sing in the shower, I come up with writing ideas—and suddenly something occurred to me.  I am a self-centered attention whore.
After nearly thirty-umm years of denial—especially to myself—I can’t hide from it anymore.  I love attention.  I adore it when someone tells me they enjoyed something I wrote.  I get absolutely giddy when someone tells others to read my work.  I nearly fainted when I saw that one tiny little article about bridesmaid’s dresses received nearly 1500 hits in a month.  It makes me want to pull a Sally Fields and run through the streets screaming “They like me, they really like me!”
Why do I have such a need for attention?  I don’t really know.  It might be in my genes.  I always thought my younger sister was an attention grabbing drama queen.  The truth is that as a child my sister was the cutest thing going—as a twenty-something mom she is still no slouch.  She could, and still can, walk into a room and become the center of attention without even trying.  (Though when I was a kid I thought she did it on purpose and it drove me nuts!)  Truly! My little sister could have given the chronically cute Stephanie Tanner on “Full House” lessons in being adorable.  The fact of the matter is that I always felt like I faded into the background and no one really saw or heard me when she was around.  That wasn’t true of course, but as you can see, even though I never realized it, I have always been a drama queen.
I really have been writing and making up stories for as long as I could remember.  My earliest memorie of writing is third or fourth grade when I used to scribble silly little poems in my notebook when I was supposed to be listening to the teacher.  These days it might be called attention deficit, but back then it was called being lazy or a dreamer.  I just called it being bored.
The same went with making up stories.  I have always loved stories.  I was a voracious reader.  From the time I could read I read everything I could get my hands on.  I spent hours alone reading.  And when I was doing something like walking home from school, riding my bike, washing dishes, anything, actually, that prevented me from having a book in hand, I made up stories in my head.  I never wrote them down.  I just made up elaborate stories with detailed characters..  It was my way of keeping myself entertained.
No one else ever knew about my stories or poems.  They were a part of me that I didn’t want to share with anyone.  Frankly, it never occurred to me to share them.  I don’t think I had any concept of what I was really doing.  Now that I really think about it, I don’t even remember thinking of “writer” as a career choice at all.  As a matter of fact, in junior high I wanted to be an astronomer and an astronaut.
It wasn’t until high school that I truly found the joys of being a writer.  I was still doodling poems, only I started sharing them with my friends.  Teenage girls love angsty, lovelorn poetry.  They gushed, and I preened.  I would write love poems for them to give to their boyfriends or crushes because I “could put feelings into words.”  Oh, yes, my career as an attention whore had begun.
The biggest incentive I got, however, was from my teachers.  The first time I remember knowing that writing was for me was when I was a freshman in high school.  My uncle had died shortly before school started and my mom, sister and I were in Texas when school started.  My mom, planning to stay for a few weeks enrolled me and my sister in school so that we wouldn’t get behind.  As our first assignment to assess our writing abilities my English teacher had assigned us to research something using reference books and write a paper.  I had procrastinated—as is my usual method—until the Sunday night before the paper was due.  I remember finding a “V” encyclopedia at my aunts house and deciding to do my paper on the Vietnam War.  Unfortunately the entry in the encyclopedia was rather short and it was too late to go to the library.  The only way I was going to be able to get a three page paper out of it without copying the book was to be creative.
I wrote a story about two young friends who were both drafted to go to war at the same time.  I had all the requirements, I put in facts and dates, and cited my resource at the end.  But instead of a research paper my assignment had become an essay on friendship and patriotism.  I turned my paper in, and worried my self sick until they were handed back the next day.  I knew that everyone else in my class had stuck to writing factual research papers, so I was sure there would be a huge “F” and a note about following directions on my paper when it was handed back.  But there wasn’t.  There was a big red “A”.  And a note about how creative and talented I was.  I was amazed.  And when I took that paper home and showed my mom, aunt, and grandmother I remember being so excited and thrilled with the praise they gave me.
We moved back to Tennessee a few weeks later, so I didn’t have a chance to truly impress that teacher, but that first “A” and “great job” had hooked me.  I finally had something I was good at, something that got me the attention I didn’t know I craved.  I worked hard, striving to weave the words of my research papers just right to get the smiles and soft pats on my shoulder as the the put the “excellent” graded paper down on my desk.  I was told I was talented, and I ate it up.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved writing.  I love writing.  Words truly are my life.  And even so, I can’t really put into words how putting them together into stories and articles makes me feel exactly.  Though suspect the joy I get out of pounding out words in comprehensible sentences is linked to the joy that I know will eventually come because of the attention a well written story, be it fiction or non-fiction, brings me.
As I began to realize just how much I love being the center of attention I thought, no, that can’t be true.  Because more than I love writing I love my job as an editor and publisher.  I love helping other writers get their stories out there to the public.  I’m not really selfish, I’m actually self-less.  I give of myself to bring wonderful stories to the masses but hardly anyone really knows that I have anything to do with it.  Wrong!  I know.  And that is all that it takes.  I see the glory they get and I know that I helped, that I had something to do with it.   Whether anyone else tells me “good job” or not, I can tell myself.  I soak up the sun through the knowledge that I contributed to their success.  So, there you have it, selfish to the end.
So, armed with this new self-knowledge, will I change anything.  No, probably not.  I don’t think I could if I tried.  I’m not even sure what to change.  All I can do is embrace it and own up to it.  The only question is, the next time I am asked, “Why do you write?” do I give my pat answer?   Or do I proudly announce: I write because I am an attention whore!
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The Writer's Workbook

The Writer’s Workbook is now available!  I thought I would give you all a sneaky peak into the introduction that I just got finished.

Introduction

I am a writer. I know that because it is what I do, I write.  I write fiction and non-fiction, and have even been published a few times.  Even back before I was ever published in any way I was still a writer, even though I never dared call myself by that lofty title.  I was certain I didn’t know enough about the writing business to be a writer.  That may have been true.  It still may be true today, but that is another story altogether.

My point is I wanted to know everything there was to know.  So, I did what most writer’s do.  I bought books about writing, dozens of them.  I searched used bookstores and libraries for every how-to-write book I could find.  Then the internet became popular and I was ecstatic with all the new learning opportunities that were opened up to me.  I spent hour upon hour online in workshops, chat groups, and reading free information that was supposed to “teach me to be a writer.”

Every book or website or article asserted that their way to write is the “right way.”  Perhaps if I had only read one book and adopted that writing style for my own I would have been successful, but that is not my way.  I don’t believe there is one “right” or “wrong” way of doing anything.  So, instead I took bits and pieces from everything I read.  That is “my” way.

What I found, however, is that even with all of the information I had, all I had learned, my basic writing style did not change.  I had really learned any more about writing or being a writer in the workshops or from the books that I had learned in my college writing courses.  What had changed was the way I prepared to write.  Every writer has his or her opinion about writing preparation.  Some say the only way to go is to focus on your plot, hammering out every little detail before writing, some say forget the plot, let your characters drive your story.  Some say you can’t possibly write a good story without a detailed outline to go by, other’s prefer to sit in front of a blank screen or paper and just let the words flow.  But even with all of those differences, most of what I read agreed, you have to prepare in some way.  They just didn’t agree on which way.

Being who I am, I found myself taking bits and pieces of advice from each source.  A lot of the books had different worksheets for preparing to write or “pre-writing” in them, but the worksheets never gave enough writing space and usually there was only one so the only way to really use it would be to photocopy it.  Putting a book in a copy machine and getting a useable copy is quite a pain.  Plus, some sheets had what I wanted or needed, but some only had one or two things that I could use.  That is when I started adapting them for my own use.

I made up my own worksheets by typing up the questions I wanted on the computer.  I had worksheets for working out plots, character interviews, etc.  I had re-worked things I had read and learned into a method that worked for me.  As I began editing and working with other writers I would often send them a worksheet that I thought they might find helpful.

At first I used the worksheets while on the computer but I encountered a couple of problems I hadn’t anticipated.  The first was that every time I would try to fill in a worksheet, the entire formatting would get messed up.  This is not a big thing, but it annoyed me to no end.  The second problem was that most of my ideas came when I was away from the computer.  I usually carried a spiral notebook or some type of paper with me to scribble notes, but then I rarely had time to re-copy them into the computer.  I had bits and pieces of dialogue, character histories, and story ideas on sticky notes, in various notebooks, and on random sheets of paper scattered everywhere.  No matter how I tried I couldn’t keep it together.

I started printing out my worksheets and putting them into a binder.  This was ok, but the binder was bulky and I couldn’t easily take it with me.  Added to the size of a binder, the sheets kept tearing loose.  It was a real mess and a hassle.  One frustrated day I told a writer I was working with I was going to publish all my worksheets into one printed book so I could keep it all together.  Her response was, “Great, let me know where to buy it.”  I was a bit shocked, because I had only meant that I was going to self-publish it for myself to use.

I never dreamed anyone else would want it, let alone, buy it.  But, the idea stuck so I decided to explore it.  I talked with several writers I worked with and my writer friends, and they all said the same thing.  They would buy a book that was nothing more than a compilation of worksheets they could use for pre-writing.  So, that is how the Writer’s Workbook was born.

The Writer’s Workbook is exactly what it’s name says, nothing more or less that a book for writer’s to work in.  Its purpose is not to teach you how to write, but to give you the tools you need to prepare to write.  I am not vain enough to think my worksheets are the be all or end all to writing.  They are simply what works for me, and I think they can help other writers as well.

I will close this lengthy introduction with a few words of semi-wisdom I wish someone had told me years ago.  If you write, you are a writer.  Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.  Whether or not you write well is a different story.  There is correct and incorrect grammar, there are good and bad writers, but there is no right or wrong way to be a writer. If you want to be a writer, don’t just think about it.  Do it.  A writer writes.  That applies to everything in life.  Nothing gets done by wishing and hoping, things get done by doing.  If you want something, you have to work to achieve it. Write.  Never give up on your dreams.  Always keep learning, and always keep moving forward.  Take constructive criticism well and learn from it.  Ignore destructive criticism.

Happy writing.

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Writing has always been a part of my
life, a passion. To be a writer is the one constant in my life.
Like all kids I’ve had many interests, many things I wanted to be when
I grow up, including an astronaut and an astronomer. I am neither,
and while I still have an affinity for space, I no longer yearn to
fly the space shuttle, and the thought of being a scientist makes me
shudder with horror. But the one thing that has never changed is my
desire to write. I’ve fluttered back and forth between whether I
prefer fiction or non-fiction writing. And being a journalist worthy
of Oprah and Barbara Walters fame was once a dream. And more
recently I have found that my true calling and talents lie in
recognizing a good story and helping the author polish it and make it
the best it can be. But the true unwavering passion of the written
word has never left me.

I have done and been many things in my
life that have nothing to do with writing. My career and educational
past is riddled with such things as Master Barber, Hotel Management,
Office Manager, and the sundry little things… I have been to
college twice and vocational school once. I’ve had not just a few
jobs, but more than one “career”. But now finally, I am doing
what I’ve dreamed. I am writing, and I own a publishing company. I
used to get frustrated with myself that I wasn’t doing what I really
wanted to do. I always felt like I was trudging through life and not
doing anything worth while. Like I was wasting all the talent I had
been given. But I never had the courage to really do what I wanted
either, because I didn’t see how I could possibly be a writer. I had
lived a very mundane life. Always just struggling to make ends meet
and get through life. Like we all do.

I remember once having a conversation
with my Mimi (my grandmother) when I was 19 and about to graduate high school. We were discussing my
future and what I wanted to do with my life. I told her, I want to
be a writer. She told me, “you’re never going to be able to write
anything w
orth reading till you get out in the
world and live a little.” Though she didn’t put it quite as
eloquently as Henry David Thoreau when he said, “How vain it is to
sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.”, her words
stuck with me. I have always known this was her way of encouraging
me to live, to get out and do things, to step out of my comfort zone
and experience life. But, I always thought that because I wasn’t out
skydiving, or backpacking around Europe I was not really out living
life. I always carried around the feeling that I was disappointing
her and myself by not doing exciting things.

But, with age
sometimes comes a touch of wisdom, and I have started to realize that
living is what we do every day, even when we think our life is
mundane, or boring, and no where near as exciting as other peoples.
I realized that we are usually wrong about just how interesting our
life experiences are, and how much we learn from even the most boring
mundane things like spending all day at one job then getting three
hours of sleep and trudging off to the next, or going back to college
at 32 and feeling like an old woman amongst the fresh out of high
school teens. I have realized that these experiences are most likely
the kind that Mimi, and perhaps even Thoreau, was talking about.

Life has taken me down a lot of strange
roads. Looking back I can honestly say that I was never on the road
I wanted to be on at the time. I was never truly happy with where I
was or where I was going. Or at least where I thought I was going at
the time. But I can also honestly say that I was always where I was
“supposed” to be when I was supposed to be there. Even if I
didn’t like it, even if I still don’t like it. I know this because I
am me, and if I changed even one thing in the past, I might not be
me. I might not be where I am now, which is at a place that I can
accept that I am where I should be. Even if I don’t always like it.

I am the first to admit that I still
have a lot of living left to do. There is a lot of living left that
I want to do. Some of those super experiences I’ve never had I want
to grab, like traveling the world, sky-diving, walking through Rome on a sunny day, walking the beach on the Oregon coast and so many others. I have not even begun to
live yet, however I think I have finally lived just enough that I can
start writing well. Now to write fabulously… There is so much life
out there I may never get to that point, but I shall never stop
trying!

And I guess that brings me to the point
of this long-winded spiel. Never let go of your passion. Follow
life where it will lead you and trust it to bring you to where you
need to be, but never stop wanting to do what is in your heart. But
more than that, don’t “wait for the time to be right” or keep
saying “someday”. The time will never be right until you make it
right. Someday is today. Dreaming is good, but it will get you
nowhere if you don’t do! In the immortal words of Nike (not the
Greek God, but the shoe company, or more accurately the shoe
company’s advertising agency), JUST DO IT! Get off your duff and do
what ever it is you keep not doing because your afraid, or you “don’t
know enough”, or you’re “not good enough”, or you “don’t have
enough time”, or what ever excuse your using to hide behind. Trust
me when I say, even if you don’t become rich or famous or whatever
lofty goal you have in mind, if you just follow your dream, just do
what you really want to do, even if its on a very small scale, its
not going to matter what anyone else says, you will be glad you did.
There is more failure in not having the guts to try than in not
succeeding.

And that is all I’ve got to say about that.

DJ……Outtie!

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