Thank You!

TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY!!! 

I started this Two-Fifty Tuesday blog 250 posts ago as a way to offer you writing encouragement in 250 words or less (yes, on a Tuesday😊)

Years ago when I first started writing, I felt completely alone. I didn’t know any other writers—and who was I to say I was one? But despite my insidious imposter syndrome, I never gave up on the idea that I am a writer. 

When I started working as a book coach, I was suddenly surrounded by writers who felt the same way. And I know what helped me: encouragement. Validation. Recognition. Empathy. That’s what I wanted to offer all of you. To remind you you’re not alone. That, yes, writing is hard, but it’s also rewarding. 

And throughout all my 250 posts (all available on my website), I got to share my own ups and downs and words of wisdom, and support and encouragement. It’s been a blast, because writing is a blast (uh, you know, explosions and everything.)

I love symmetry—250 Two-Fifty Tuesday posts—so I’m going to wrap up this chapter of my writing journey. Thank you for joining me on it. I hope that, in some way, over some of these 250 posts, you felt a nugget of hope, a sliver of encouragement. Because you deserve to be constantly reminded that what you’re doing as a writer matters. You matter. Your story matters. 

Writing is hard, yes, but it’s also magic. I wish you all the best as you wield your magic wand.   

Leave Room For Magic

A long time ago, watching me in the throes of yet another existential angsty meltdown about the freakin’ muddy middle of my at-the-time work-in-progress, my husband cocked his head, peering at me with befuddled concern. 

“If it makes you so miserable, Jen, why do you write?”

I stopped my sulking (or it could have been my tantrum stage—both are possible) for just a minute to look at him aghast. 

“Because I love it!” 

“Uh…”

He was at a total loss. As was I. From the outside, yes, I did look miserable. I was struggling and thrashing and weeping—this was the creative outlet I wanted to do for fun?

But yes, because writing is not just for fun. For that I’d watch a TV show. Better yet, I’d read a book already written. Much, much (much) easier. And more fun.

Writing is hard. It’s a challenge. But when the storm passes, as I’ve discovered it always does (keep the faith!) then writing is also the greatest reward. It’s magic, to have your imagination come to life on the page. It’s enchanting to know what you’ve created out of your own head. 

All we have to do, whether we’re riding high or feeling dangerously low, is to leave room for magic.

Real But Irrational

Do you walk? While I appreciate there may be some with limitations in mobility, let’s assume the majority of us can, indeed, walk. 

Do you make your living from walking? Are you a postal carrier or, say, a sherpa who climbs Mount Everest? No? 

Then you must be a walking imposter. Surely you can’t call yourself a walker if you don’t make a living at walking. 

Do you drive? Of course there are lots of people who can’t or choose not to, but let’s assume a fair number of people do, indeed, drive. 

Do you make your living from driving? Are you a ride-share driver or long-haul trucker? No?

Then you must be a driving imposter. Surely you can’t call yourself a driver if you don’t make a living at driving. 

Do you write? While not everyone can or does, let’s assume that you, indeed, do. 

Do you make your living from writing? Are you a bestselling author or award-winning columnist? No?

Then you must be a writing imposter. Surely you can’t call yourself a writer if you don’t make a living at writing. 

Yeah, you see it, too. Imposter Syndrome is real—we feel it—but that doesn’t mean it’s logical. Helping our brains to see how silly it really is can help us take back some of its power. 

Because if you write, you are a writer. 

YOURS MATTER

Ever felt like an outlier about your opinion on a book? Especially one that is either a bestseller or an award-winner, or one that is just raved about by your friends. What am I missing? 

I recently encountered that at my book club, and it startled me. Usually my friends and I share similar tastes in books. But recently, they’ve loved our selections and I… haven’t. A book club is supposed to be a place to air differences of opinions, but still, I found myself staying quiet, not wanting to be the odd one out with my critique. 

To my great surprise, I’m glad I did stay quiet, because I got to listen. What I heard heartened me. We did, in fact, pick up on the same elements in the novels that we all agreed were weaknesses. But where I had found these weaknesses distracting from the story, my book club friends found them forgivable. They weren’t blind to the books’ shortcomings, the way I had imagined; they just interpreted them differently. 

Keep that in mind when people read your own work and offer opinions. Yes, they may have a point about something you want to fix. Or it may be something you want to keep in, even if someone else disagrees. Don’t be frightened to speak up about your opinions on what you read—and the same goes for writing. Your opinion counts. In fact, that’s the beauty of being a writer. Ultimately, yours is the only one that does. 

There’s No Such Thing as a “Crappy” First Draft–REALLY!

It bears repeating: a first draft is not supposed to be perfect. Or, well, it is perfect if you assess it according to the right criteria. Does it get your ideas on the page? That’s it, that’s all. There’s nothing “crappy” about it because you’re not comparing it to a final draft!

Think of it like this: a house has a foundation. It needs framing. If you walk by a construction site as the house is being built, you wouldn’t say that house is “crappy”. Because it’s not a house yet! It’s in the process of becoming a house. But it’s not yet livable. It’s not supposed to be. But if you do plan to live in it, you’d want to make sure the foundation is strong and the framing is firm. That’s what you’re assessing. They’re necessary elements to a strong house, like your first draft is necessary to a strong story, but they’re not comparable. 

Yet I see so many writers who feel like they have to have already slapped on the paint, hung the curtains and put up the artwork by the time they finish that last sentence on their first draft. No wonder writing is so hard when we make it extra hard on ourselves! 

Yes, writing is hard. So go easy on yourself where you can. Take your time to get ideas on the page. If you’ve done that? You have a perfect first draft.

Own What You Love

During a recent trip to New Orleans, I indulged in a cemetery tour, a walking ghost tour, a ghost-hunting tour (in my actual haunted hotel!!), voodoo stores and vampire restaurants. It was all spooky, spiritual fun. 

What I did not partake in was the (in)famous Bourbon Street, a row of blocks upon blocks of bars and clubs, a veritable drunken playground for adults. I’m not opposed to drinking, partying, letting loose (all responsibly, of course). In fact it was amusing to wander the street to indulge in the vibe (but nothing else). No, this scene wasn’t for me. 

What was my scene—even after all the mystical, occult aspects of my trip—was the Faulkner House Bookstore. Housed in the home where American literary icon and Nobel laureate William Faulkner once lived, the tiny bookstore was brimming with character. That was where I found my happy place, picking through Faulkner’s books, plus the collections of Tennessee Williams’s plays (another author who lived, wrote in New Orleans). I could have picked up their books at any bookstore; I did not have to travel all the way to the French Quarter to buy them—but there’s something magical about buying a book that has sentimental literary value of the location. 

Remember that when you’re next travelling and think you should enjoy the sites of the city. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. But if you love a good bookstore, search one out—then proudly make it the highlight of your trip. 

How Far for YOUR Passion Project?

You may be familiar with the Netflix TV series Wednesday, based on the Addams’ Family. In that show, set in contemporary times, the teen protagonist Wednesday writes a novel. 

On a typewriter.

She has only one copy. 

Her roommate at her boarding school is shocked to learn Wednesday made no copies. Of course, the manuscript gets stolen and planted in this ginormous wood pyre being prepared for an epic bonfire. Wednesday is determined to rescue her passion project, so she climbs into the base of the pyre and has to crawl her way around all the piled wood looking for it. Naturally, that’s when the pyre is lit, so now Wednesday is also fighting against fire. 

My daughter, watching it with me, turned to ask me cheekily, “would you do that to save your manuscript?”

She knows I’m claustrophobic. 

And terrified of fire. 

And you know what my immediate answer was? “YES!” My follow up? “Duh, of course!” I’d crawl through fire, wage war, go up against the devil to rescue my characters—they’re family, after all. 

Right??  🙂

Everyone is welcome to feel however they feel about their writing, but I do hope, for the sake of your own sanity in this very difficult writing world, that you also love your stories, your characters, your efforts as much as I love mine. Maybe you won’t risk bodily harm (fine, fine) but nonetheless, keep your passion close. That’s why we do what we do.

Write for YOU

Fame is fleeting, we all know that, yet so many of us chase the bestseller list. Nothing wrong with that! But even if that version of success comes with a few extra dollars, money is rarely the only reason we’re in this writing world. We want to get our stories out there because, to us, they matter. And they do. Everything you write has value, even if it’s just to help you learn how to be a better writer. 

But value to us, as writers, is not the same as value to the world of readers. I was reminded of this when my young-adult daughter asked about a bunch of authors who had been famous in my day but she’d never heard of them. She comes from a different generation and an author’s legacy, no matter their success in their lifetime, is never guaranteed. 

This was heartening to me; it was a welcome reminder of why we write. It can’t be about how other people will read or interpret our work—or, at least, not only that. We have no control over how our stories will live on. Which means, we’re better off focusing on the here and now. The pleasure (and pain!) we get from writing for us. That’s what matters. That’s your legacy—you wrote because you wanted to. Maybe the next generation will know your name; maybe not. But if we write for us, it really won’t matter. 

There’s No Wrong Way to Read!

I had an appointment with a new dentist. I was stretched out on the chair, with my quill-and-inkwell ankle tattoo on full display. This new dentist complimented me on it. “Are you a writer?”

“Yes,” I answered—and then we spent the next 20 minutes talking about books! My books, the books she loves to read, how she reads with her daughters, how she thinks she’s the only one who doesn’t have a book in her. 

“But,” she then confesses, “I always read the endings first.” She admits the anxiety of a story can be too much for her, so she likes to know what she’s getting herself into. “I know it’s wrong,” she says. “My friends say I’m being disrespectful to the author by not reading it the way they wrote it.”

And to that I said, “it’s not wrong! It’s your reading experience! You can come at a book any way you want.” 

It’s true that most of us don’t like to be spoiled before the end—we want the intensity of emotion as the book builds to its climax. But so what if you read it differently? There is no right way to read a book, not when it’s just you and the pages in front of you. 

It’s a great reminder that if there’s no right way to write, there’s also no wrong way to read.

(Bonus? Our chat postponed my dental drama by a few precious minutes!)

Despair is Real, but Take Heart

In high school, I would often write short stories for my friends. I would take their interests—sports, theatre, a favourite book or movie—and weave them into a story tailored just for them. I thought they liked my stories, until one of them told me, “Don’t bother, Jen. These stories are not my thing.”

I was gutted. 

She probably thought she was saving me time and energy—if she wasn’t appreciating them, then I shouldn’t bother—but the damage was done. I stopped giving out my stories. 

But I didn’t stop writing them. That was what she hadn’t been able to take away from me and my ultra-sensitive, too-thin-skinned soul. When I got older, wiser and smarter (i.e.: I’d hired a book coach!) I got to focus on my craft, and with experience and expertise in my corner, I was able to rebuild my courage to show my work. Decades after high school, with my own books published, I’d finally found new readers. 

That’s why you keep writing, because your readers are out there. Whether you have the most enthusiastic support structure, or you have no one (yet) interested in your work, your stories matter. 

Writing isn’t just hard because of the technical aspects of the craft. Writing is hard because we care. We’re not producing widgets for sale; we’re offering up pieces of ourselves. That makes us vulnerable—but also incredibly brave. 

So when you falter, take heart. Take courage. You’ve got this.