Suddenly, or so it would seem, I've discovered authors I paid not one bit of attention to during all my reading life. My bad, since the two combined have given me more insight into my writing life than all the scribblings and scratchings I've been at for the past 40+ years. (note: I started VERY young)
The first is Ursula LeGuin. I've not touched her fiction. Fantasy of that sort is not truly my thing, unless of course the author's name is Tolkien or Lewis. A snob. I admit it. But her non-fiction A Wave in the Mind is absolutely, hilariously entertaining and enlightening. Seems all these years I've spent fretting over not fitting in were a sheer waste of time. Many of us have simply not been invented until just recently, if at all. What a relief it was for Ms. LeGuin to move out of the eternal "he" and into her own self at last. Apparently my "fit", as well as my relief, awaits.
The second author was not simply stumbled upon while browsing among the stacks, but recommended by a friend. Ann Patchett's Happy Marriage has little to do with the married life and everything to do with the writing life. Having fallen asleep while deep in this book I had a dream which the next morning became the new opening of the first chapter of my novel. Was she my muse? Perhaps. Or perhaps my mind was open enough to let an idea that had been clamoring in.
One idea Ms. Patchett reiterates in nearly every chapter is one that Third Story Writer's Guild members share. We must keep working. If we're not writing we're not honing our craft. We're not becoming the best writer's we can be. What's the point then? Our minds can be filled with ideas. Good ideas. Bad ideas. Ugly ideas. Unless we get them down on paper or on the hard drive or flash drive of our computer if that's how we work, they are going nowhere.How hard is it to pick up a pen? Or to sit down at a computer terminal? The answer would seem to be "easy" -- but in the real world it is not. For many of us it is hard. We are inundated with demands on our time. Real demands. Work. Family. Volunteerism. A to-do list that runs from here to eternity. The clock ticks eternally. Yet if a writer is what we would be, then write we must, or fail in our attempt at what we hope to attain.
Patchett makes a neat comparison that I found particularly intriguing. If we want to learn to play the cello (or any other musical instrument) we enter into it with the idea that it will take work and practice. While some may say that playing a musical instrument is simply regurgitating another's art I disagree. Playing, as singing, painting, drawing, crafting, sewing or any other art form is just that, an art form. Writing is no different. While it would be lovely to sit under a tree or on a beach or in whatever place we find lovely and wait for the lightning of inspiration to strike, that's not how it works. It works when we work.
All of us can't "quit our day jobs", nor perhaps should we. But if writing is to be a part of our lives it is up to us and no one else to make it so. Carve out even a few minutes each day. Who knows how far it will take you? Best of all, unlike me, you'll be left with no regret.
