Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
THE POWER OF PAUSE
Learn to pause ... or nothing worthwhile will catch up to you.
-Doug King
A few days ago, an author friend who was judging a writing competition asked me, when I’m judging, what challenge I most often see in writers’ work. I didn’t have to pause or stop to think about it and immediately answered, “Rushing.”
I then went on to explain. We write, and when we do, we translate the images that we see in our heads onto the page--or we intend to, but often important details get dropped in the transfer. Because we’re rushing to finish in the allotted time, or to get the work submitted, or read or critiqued, we don’t let the work cool long enough--and allow our minds to get occupied with other images sufficiently--so that the images we held during the creation process are dulled by time and/or distance.
So we read the work--read it again several more times--and consider it done. And then months later, we return to the work to see that what is on the page doesn’t sufficiently convey what we saw in our minds during creation.
But it’s too late. We had the critique, the reading--the work has been submitted. And now we wish it hadn’t because we see flaws that we wish we’d first corrected. Fuzzy details instead of sharp, crisp and vivid ones. We see that what is actually on the page isn’t nearly as strong as it could have been. And so we edit, honing the work, fine-tuning it to eliminate the flaws.
The problem is it’s too late to get a first impression through our normal channels. It’s been done. So now we must rely on second impressions and resubmissions, and those can’t be as strong as the first. We can’t recapture that initial burst of enthusiasm, or that sensation by others that what we’ve done is fresh and different because it isn’t--they’ve seen it and experienced it before--from us.
So the drawbacks of rushing are significant. The penalties are steep and the benefit is that if we do this once and recognize it, we might just slow down long enough to not make that same mistake again.
I can hear you say, “But I don’t have a choice. I have deadlines. I have to get this puppy submitted so that I can start the next book.”
To that, I say, “When you invest in writing a book, it should reflect your best. After all, you’ve traded time with your family, time doing other things that are important to you in creating it. If you’ve made those sacrifices, then doesn’t that warrant a complete project that is your very best? Isn’t your time--your life--worth your best?
Remember that writing isn’t all about mechanics and craft. It’s about art, too. And creating something from nothing that will transport readers into a story and embrace them so they live and experience it is art at its best.
How long does it take for those images to fade, so that what you’ve written matches the vision in your mind when you were creating? That’s a question only you can answer. For some, it’s brief. For others, it takes months. The time you’ve put into the work can be a factor. If, for example, you’ve been working on the project for six months straight, it’s going to take a while. If you’ve worked on it and other projects simultaneously, likely it won’t take as long. That splintered focus will aid you in this.
The bottom line is that you need to let the project cool long enough for you to forget the little details. You’ll likely remember a good deal about the characters and plot, but you’ll forget snippets or how A led to B. You’ll know that sufficient time has passed by reading the work. It will seem familiar and yet strange, too.
Will what you’ve written on the page ever equal the vision inside your head? Doubtful, if I’m a decent gauge. I’ve been writing twenty years and I’ve yet to do it. But when I’ve built in cooling periods and utilized them, I get a lot closer. I hope you will, too.
Blessings,
Vicki
-Doug King
A few days ago, an author friend who was judging a writing competition asked me, when I’m judging, what challenge I most often see in writers’ work. I didn’t have to pause or stop to think about it and immediately answered, “Rushing.”
I then went on to explain. We write, and when we do, we translate the images that we see in our heads onto the page--or we intend to, but often important details get dropped in the transfer. Because we’re rushing to finish in the allotted time, or to get the work submitted, or read or critiqued, we don’t let the work cool long enough--and allow our minds to get occupied with other images sufficiently--so that the images we held during the creation process are dulled by time and/or distance.
So we read the work--read it again several more times--and consider it done. And then months later, we return to the work to see that what is on the page doesn’t sufficiently convey what we saw in our minds during creation.
But it’s too late. We had the critique, the reading--the work has been submitted. And now we wish it hadn’t because we see flaws that we wish we’d first corrected. Fuzzy details instead of sharp, crisp and vivid ones. We see that what is actually on the page isn’t nearly as strong as it could have been. And so we edit, honing the work, fine-tuning it to eliminate the flaws.
The problem is it’s too late to get a first impression through our normal channels. It’s been done. So now we must rely on second impressions and resubmissions, and those can’t be as strong as the first. We can’t recapture that initial burst of enthusiasm, or that sensation by others that what we’ve done is fresh and different because it isn’t--they’ve seen it and experienced it before--from us.
So the drawbacks of rushing are significant. The penalties are steep and the benefit is that if we do this once and recognize it, we might just slow down long enough to not make that same mistake again.
I can hear you say, “But I don’t have a choice. I have deadlines. I have to get this puppy submitted so that I can start the next book.”
To that, I say, “When you invest in writing a book, it should reflect your best. After all, you’ve traded time with your family, time doing other things that are important to you in creating it. If you’ve made those sacrifices, then doesn’t that warrant a complete project that is your very best? Isn’t your time--your life--worth your best?
Remember that writing isn’t all about mechanics and craft. It’s about art, too. And creating something from nothing that will transport readers into a story and embrace them so they live and experience it is art at its best.
How long does it take for those images to fade, so that what you’ve written matches the vision in your mind when you were creating? That’s a question only you can answer. For some, it’s brief. For others, it takes months. The time you’ve put into the work can be a factor. If, for example, you’ve been working on the project for six months straight, it’s going to take a while. If you’ve worked on it and other projects simultaneously, likely it won’t take as long. That splintered focus will aid you in this.
The bottom line is that you need to let the project cool long enough for you to forget the little details. You’ll likely remember a good deal about the characters and plot, but you’ll forget snippets or how A led to B. You’ll know that sufficient time has passed by reading the work. It will seem familiar and yet strange, too.
Will what you’ve written on the page ever equal the vision inside your head? Doubtful, if I’m a decent gauge. I’ve been writing twenty years and I’ve yet to do it. But when I’ve built in cooling periods and utilized them, I get a lot closer. I hope you will, too.
Blessings,
Vicki
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
MISTAKES WE MAKE: PART 7
SELF-SABOTAGE AND SELF-FULFILLED PROPHESY
SELF-SABOTAGE: THE ART OF SNATCHING DEFEAT OUT OF THE JAWS OF VICTORY.
SELF-FULFILLED PROPHESY: THE ART OF WILLFULLY STRUCTURING EVENTS TO MANIFEST A PROJECTED OUTCOME.
It isn’t enough that we have to battle the rest of the world, we have to battle ourselves. And often we are not only our greatest critic, we are our worst enemy. We treat everyone else in the world--including strangers on the street--with more dignity and compassion and respect than we treat ourselves. Why is that? Why is it that everyone else deserves more and better and kindnesses and considerations that we feel we don’t deserve?
A huge part of it is due to upbringing and what we have adopted or has been forced upon us as appropriate conduct and social behavior. We’ve all heard some form of:
Be modest. Be humble. Be unassuming. Don’t get a big head. I made you, I can break you. You owe me. If it weren’t for me, you’d be nothing. I don’t care what you think, in my house, you’ll do as I say. Pretty is as pretty does. Never brag, it’s bad form. Don’t blow your own horn, toot your own whistle. You do you think you are? If I wanted your advice, I’d ask for it.
Loser. You can’t do that. You’re too __________ (fill in the blank).
Think back through your life. This goes back further: (color inside the lines; be seen, not heard; don’t cause a stir). What putdown or well intended behavior sapped the confidence right out of you? Made you feel small and insignificant? Hopeless? Helpless? Clueless or unworthy? Like a victim?
These types of things happen to all of us. Often, they were well intended and not meant to impact us they way they did, but they do. (Remember that saying about the road to hell being paved with good intentions? Well partly, no doubt, it got to be an often-repeated saying like this.)
Words carry power. We know that. And that definitely includes words spoken to us about us. Ones that impact us strongly, we carry with us. They help form and shape our opinions, our esteem, our behavior and our beliefs. We believe we can, odds are we can. We believe we can’t and we never will--and we will make that true because we believe it to be true. That’s self-fulfilled prophesy. And often to make it happen, we embrace self-sabotage.
An Example: An author has been writing one type of book for years. The market for that type book is dwindling and her editor recommends the author write a different type of book and makes several suggestions. The author refuses--and when contract renewal time comes around, author is told publisher will not be offering a new contract.
Author refused for any of a number of reasons. Didn’t like the type of books suggested. Had no interest in shifting to a new type novel. Feared change. Feared losing her existing reader base. The point is, regardless of the reason the author is now without a publisher.
A more blatant example: An author goes to a conference and at a luncheon complains to a table full of people about her publisher. An editor for that publisher is sitting at the next table and overhears her house being raked over the coals. Said editor reports this tongue-lashing in a public forum to author’s editor. How how enthused is said editor to work with said author?
We all take wrong steps. We try something that doesn’t work. We write something that doesn’t resonate. We plan and set expectations based on the information we have available but that information proves faulty. These are mistakes, yes, but not ones where we have through our own arrogance or ignorance or fears or other personal issue-based actions, shoot ourselves in the foot and cut ourselves off at the knees.
The discretion errors are most frequent. Or, I should say, the lack of discretion. Over the years, I’ve seen more authors sabotage their careers by exercising a lack of discretion than anything else. A little story to keep in mind:
Author A wrote for an Editor at a publishing company.
Author A had some very nasty things to say about another writer to Editor.
Editor spoke very little and formally--cautiously--to Author A because Author couldn’t be trusted to be discreet.
Author A was offended by Editor’s distance and had some very nasty things to say to Editor about it, then promptly went to the Editorial Director and asked to be assigned to a new Editor.
The request was refused.
Author A left the Publisher and wrote for a New Editor at a New Publisher.
Before Author A’s first book with New Publisher came out, her New Editor left the New Publisher for employment at a third Publisher.
New Publisher hired a replacement: Editor from Publisher.
So now Author A is with Original Editor at New Publisher. The Editor she said some very nasty things to and asked to reassigned away from.
Small world, publishing. And Editors move around to move up. Author A is in a tough spot. One she put herself in because of her lack of discretion. Net: self-sabotage. Can she recover: probably only if she looks for and secures a New New Editor at a New New Publisher.
Life would have been so much simpler for Author A had that author just be discreet.
Self-sabotage isn’t only seated in esteem and confidence and negative issues. It can also be seated in fear. Like the fear of success.
People driven by a dream will just about kill themselves to hit benchmarks that define for them success. They’ll climb the ladder, struggle and sacrifice and put in super-human effort to get up to the next rung. Their goal is in sight. They’re almost there. Almost to the pinnacle that has occupied their hopes and dreams and cost them so much and now--now they’re---
scared to death and decide they may not really want it, or that they definitely do not want it.
Suddenly unthought of facets come to life:
✦If I make that sale, people are actually going to read what I write. They might hate it, have ugly things to say about it--about me. I could be embarrassed, humiliated, rejected.
✦If I make that list, people are going to expect so much out of the book. What if it disappoints them. What if they bad-mouth me and it? My family, friends, everyone I know will hear all about it. I’ll look like a fool, an idiot. I could be hurt. My kids could be hurt or embarrassed or humiliated. Rejected.
✦The last book did so well. What if this one bombs?
✦I am going to be judged. I could be found wanting and/or rejected.
See how these things all tie back to self-esteem and image? Your perception of who you are and your place in your world, and in the worlds of others?
We all want to be loved and accepted. We all want our work, which is an extension of us, to be loved and accepted.
And it’s hard to open ourselves up for not being loved and accepted. But the simple fact is this:
Some will love and accept us.
Some will hate us and reject us.
And some will be indifferent.
Of all these things--think about this--indifference troubles us most.
Why? Because it jerks our chains and feeds those little nags in us that says we and what we are doing are insignificant.
You can go into broader analysis, but in my experience, when you do and then you dive deep, it takes you right back to this place. Maybe you need the journey to feel sure of that. Maybe you can take the word of one who has journeyed and taken that journey with many others. Regardless, you do need to grasp the reasons we sabotage ourselves and take constructive steps to resolve the underlying issues. Understand them. And stop doing it so that you can fulfill your potential.
How do you do that? There are many ways, I’m sure, but one I know works is by knowing what you need. And that will be the topic in Mistakes We Make, Part 8.
Blessings,
Vicki
© 2007, Vicki Hinze
SELF-SABOTAGE: THE ART OF SNATCHING DEFEAT OUT OF THE JAWS OF VICTORY.
SELF-FULFILLED PROPHESY: THE ART OF WILLFULLY STRUCTURING EVENTS TO MANIFEST A PROJECTED OUTCOME.
It isn’t enough that we have to battle the rest of the world, we have to battle ourselves. And often we are not only our greatest critic, we are our worst enemy. We treat everyone else in the world--including strangers on the street--with more dignity and compassion and respect than we treat ourselves. Why is that? Why is it that everyone else deserves more and better and kindnesses and considerations that we feel we don’t deserve?
A huge part of it is due to upbringing and what we have adopted or has been forced upon us as appropriate conduct and social behavior. We’ve all heard some form of:
Be modest. Be humble. Be unassuming. Don’t get a big head. I made you, I can break you. You owe me. If it weren’t for me, you’d be nothing. I don’t care what you think, in my house, you’ll do as I say. Pretty is as pretty does. Never brag, it’s bad form. Don’t blow your own horn, toot your own whistle. You do you think you are? If I wanted your advice, I’d ask for it.
Loser. You can’t do that. You’re too __________ (fill in the blank).
Think back through your life. This goes back further: (color inside the lines; be seen, not heard; don’t cause a stir). What putdown or well intended behavior sapped the confidence right out of you? Made you feel small and insignificant? Hopeless? Helpless? Clueless or unworthy? Like a victim?
These types of things happen to all of us. Often, they were well intended and not meant to impact us they way they did, but they do. (Remember that saying about the road to hell being paved with good intentions? Well partly, no doubt, it got to be an often-repeated saying like this.)
Words carry power. We know that. And that definitely includes words spoken to us about us. Ones that impact us strongly, we carry with us. They help form and shape our opinions, our esteem, our behavior and our beliefs. We believe we can, odds are we can. We believe we can’t and we never will--and we will make that true because we believe it to be true. That’s self-fulfilled prophesy. And often to make it happen, we embrace self-sabotage.
An Example: An author has been writing one type of book for years. The market for that type book is dwindling and her editor recommends the author write a different type of book and makes several suggestions. The author refuses--and when contract renewal time comes around, author is told publisher will not be offering a new contract.
Author refused for any of a number of reasons. Didn’t like the type of books suggested. Had no interest in shifting to a new type novel. Feared change. Feared losing her existing reader base. The point is, regardless of the reason the author is now without a publisher.
A more blatant example: An author goes to a conference and at a luncheon complains to a table full of people about her publisher. An editor for that publisher is sitting at the next table and overhears her house being raked over the coals. Said editor reports this tongue-lashing in a public forum to author’s editor. How how enthused is said editor to work with said author?
We all take wrong steps. We try something that doesn’t work. We write something that doesn’t resonate. We plan and set expectations based on the information we have available but that information proves faulty. These are mistakes, yes, but not ones where we have through our own arrogance or ignorance or fears or other personal issue-based actions, shoot ourselves in the foot and cut ourselves off at the knees.
The discretion errors are most frequent. Or, I should say, the lack of discretion. Over the years, I’ve seen more authors sabotage their careers by exercising a lack of discretion than anything else. A little story to keep in mind:
Author A wrote for an Editor at a publishing company.
Author A had some very nasty things to say about another writer to Editor.
Editor spoke very little and formally--cautiously--to Author A because Author couldn’t be trusted to be discreet.
Author A was offended by Editor’s distance and had some very nasty things to say to Editor about it, then promptly went to the Editorial Director and asked to be assigned to a new Editor.
The request was refused.
Author A left the Publisher and wrote for a New Editor at a New Publisher.
Before Author A’s first book with New Publisher came out, her New Editor left the New Publisher for employment at a third Publisher.
New Publisher hired a replacement: Editor from Publisher.
So now Author A is with Original Editor at New Publisher. The Editor she said some very nasty things to and asked to reassigned away from.
Small world, publishing. And Editors move around to move up. Author A is in a tough spot. One she put herself in because of her lack of discretion. Net: self-sabotage. Can she recover: probably only if she looks for and secures a New New Editor at a New New Publisher.
Life would have been so much simpler for Author A had that author just be discreet.
Self-sabotage isn’t only seated in esteem and confidence and negative issues. It can also be seated in fear. Like the fear of success.
People driven by a dream will just about kill themselves to hit benchmarks that define for them success. They’ll climb the ladder, struggle and sacrifice and put in super-human effort to get up to the next rung. Their goal is in sight. They’re almost there. Almost to the pinnacle that has occupied their hopes and dreams and cost them so much and now--now they’re---
scared to death and decide they may not really want it, or that they definitely do not want it.
Suddenly unthought of facets come to life:
✦If I make that sale, people are actually going to read what I write. They might hate it, have ugly things to say about it--about me. I could be embarrassed, humiliated, rejected.
✦If I make that list, people are going to expect so much out of the book. What if it disappoints them. What if they bad-mouth me and it? My family, friends, everyone I know will hear all about it. I’ll look like a fool, an idiot. I could be hurt. My kids could be hurt or embarrassed or humiliated. Rejected.
✦The last book did so well. What if this one bombs?
✦I am going to be judged. I could be found wanting and/or rejected.
See how these things all tie back to self-esteem and image? Your perception of who you are and your place in your world, and in the worlds of others?
We all want to be loved and accepted. We all want our work, which is an extension of us, to be loved and accepted.
And it’s hard to open ourselves up for not being loved and accepted. But the simple fact is this:
Some will love and accept us.
Some will hate us and reject us.
And some will be indifferent.
Of all these things--think about this--indifference troubles us most.
Why? Because it jerks our chains and feeds those little nags in us that says we and what we are doing are insignificant.
You can go into broader analysis, but in my experience, when you do and then you dive deep, it takes you right back to this place. Maybe you need the journey to feel sure of that. Maybe you can take the word of one who has journeyed and taken that journey with many others. Regardless, you do need to grasp the reasons we sabotage ourselves and take constructive steps to resolve the underlying issues. Understand them. And stop doing it so that you can fulfill your potential.
How do you do that? There are many ways, I’m sure, but one I know works is by knowing what you need. And that will be the topic in Mistakes We Make, Part 8.
Blessings,
Vicki
© 2007, Vicki Hinze
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
WHY WE NEED A PLAN
This article title might be "Planning a Strategy" or "Focusing Your Efforts" or, for those of us who tend to think in terms of war rooms and need aggressive outlooks to start the day, your "Attack Plan." The title is insignificant.
Really, call it by whatever name works for you. (The basis for that reasoning is the creative nature of writing.) A writer must always respect the muse—the gift of writing—and give it its due. So whatever you personally find to be a constructive trigger is "the right way" to approach this vitally important endeavor.
What does matter is that we start at the core and work our way outward. By core, I don't mean the core of the project, though, as you'll see, the same principle applies, I mean your core, as a human being, because that truly is where the base point of beginning for everything about you, including every work you ever produce, forms.
So the first question in developing your plan is in understanding why you need one. And the first question in dissecting that is in asking one question: Why is writing vitally important to you?
No clue? Well, that presents a challenge, but don't worry. Recognition is the hard part. Finding a solution merely requires a little sleuthing. We can sleuth. And you'll have another chance to answer that question in a little while, so don't waste energy feeling out of sorts because you got socked with the first question of the New Year and you had to answer, "I don't know." You're in good company. Great company, actually. The company of many, many other writers.
But now recognizing that not knowing is a disadvantage, and disadvantages, particularly fixable ones, in a dynamic industry such as ours are not worthy of being embraced, let's vote to ditch this one. Exploring is a great place to start.
As I mentioned, I often encounter writers who have not asked themselves that question—Why is writing vitally important to me?—or they have asked and accepted superficial, skin-deep answers. The wise writer will dig deeper, for in our motivation rests our dedication. And we all know writing well requires a supreme amount of dedication.
Feeling compelled to write without knowing why limits the scope and focus of the writer's thinking, which limits the scope and focus of the writer's writing. Purpose is essential.
Through purpose, writers touch lives and offer readers opportunities that they would not otherwise have. Opportunities to have open minds, whereas they had been closed. To see something in a new light, or from a new perspective. To gain understanding and insight into other human beings, into situations, into that which before reading your book had been an obscure, unknown entity to the reader. (Remember, what is common to you is often alien, unexplored, or not fully understood as significant to others.)
Through purpose, the writer also grants him or herself the ability to feel fulfillment from what s/he writes. If you have no idea what you hope to achieve, how will you know if you have achieved it? How will you know whether or not you've conveyed a constructive means in your work to depict that achievement? How will your readers know it?
Let's explore what happens when you, the writer, lack that fulfillment. We all know that writing requires an enormous amount of self-discipline. You must choose to get up and get to the computer, the typewriter, or the pad and write. No one is standing over your shoulder forcing you. Starting a book is easy. It's finishing it that's the hard part. So what inspires you to finish?
Some will say, "I have to see what happens." Others, "I just want to finish the blasted thing." Still others find a myriad of responses somewhere in between, some resonating of being unable to sell anything but a finished product, some at needing to put closure to this project before beginning another with greater financial or artistic opportunities. But these responses too are skin deep.
When you get down to the core, what makes a writer finish a book is discipline. And like all other life skills, discipline must be respected, and honing it requires understanding it. In that understanding is the seed for purpose in your writing.
Purpose gives the writer the motivation to adopt discipline. Discipline maintained feeds the writer gains (in the form of seeing the book develop and the pages mount) and that feeds the writer's sense of purpose being pursued and fulfilled, which gives the writer a deeper sense of commitment. That commitment builds momentum, which generates its own enthusiasm and energy, and leads to a greater dedication to purpose, completing the circle.
If you were to write out the process simply, it would read something like:
Purpose = motivation = discipline = commitment = momentum = purpose.
That's why knowing your personal purpose for writing is essential. It drives
what you write. How you write it. Who you have say what you want said, and how you choose to show it. The same principle applies to each writing project, be it book or short story or article.
For the project and for the writer, the human being of the writer, the question remains the same: What do you have to say that you want others to hear? Why?
Despite the professions of some, shall we say, less than generous souls, writers tend to be very human. As human beings, we all want to make a difference. We want to know that our lives mattered. Our work mattered. At the end of our lives, we want to look back and see that we've made a difference, served some purpose, and achieved something.
The nature of that "something" varies from person to person. (And we're grateful for that variety; it expands everyone's horizons!) It's our job to find our own personal "it," to empower it, utilize it so that at the end of our days, when we look back, as everyone inevitably does, we don't see the one thing no one wants to see: regret.
That's the value in seeking our purpose. In knowing what we hope to achieve. Now, don't be misguided into thinking that getting a grasp on your purpose must be some mystical, complex maze. It doesn't work that way. Norman Vincent Peale put the whole process quite succinctly when he said: you can't have everything you want, but you can have what you want most. So . . .
* What do you want most?
* What do you want most as a human being?
* What do you want most as a writer?
* What do you want most to convey to the reader in your next book?
Responding to those questions collectively can make clear to you your purpose--and reveal the direction and purpose in your novel. Awareness of these purposes keeps you on track and the work on track, and so your motivation is established and understood, and the momentous process begins.
Again, I ask you: Why is writing vitally important to you?
I offer this advice: Pause here and dig. Deeply.
By now, I hope you've explored the questions to you and you can answer this question: What do you want most as a person, as a writer?
If you have explored and you can answer that question, then you now know your purpose—and the goal you must master to feel fulfilled as a writer and a human being.
This kind of "soul" work, while vital, is often uncomfortable. We drag out things
from our innermost recesses and put them under a microscope. We see things we like, but we also see things we don't like.
Human beings typically prefer not to see uncomfortable things in themselves, and writers get a double-dose of that dislike. As humans and as creative artists.
Because we're creative artists, an enormous amount of "us" goes into our crafting a cohesive and believable "something out of nothing" book. To be cohesive, we must write with brutal honesty. Even lies (that are convincing) have seeds of truth in them. And to be believable, we're required to write with authority and conviction. (Nothing wishy-washy creates or maintains the fictional dream.)
Yet when we see our flaws, we run the risk of having them magnify before cast doubt and us on our ability to create our fictional worlds.
This creative-mind challenge can be a major obstacle to writers. It can make them frigid writers, make them afraid to commit to essential novel (or career) decisions, make them afraid to take a creative stand.
That fear and those obstacles have a dastardly impact because writers make decision upon decision in creating a novel. So how can we take this honest look inside and not create the obstacles?
We have to have the courage to ditch the fear.
A helpful way to go about that is to look at what we as writers do NOT have to do:
* We don't have to become frigid writers, or be afraid to commit, or be afraid to take risks or creative stands. We can choose to avoid these negative things.
* We don't have to knuckle under and be afraid to explore because we fear what we'll learn. Some say that all of fiction is about the human condition. Writers are human, too. We can choose to explore our own human condition and trust that what we learn will give us greater insights into ourselves and others.
* We don't have to reconcile ourselves to never writing the best book possible because we know that to do so, we have to be open from the soul out in our writing to achieve our best. We can choose to take the risks, expose the soul.
* We don't have to suffer self-condemnation—the worst criticism of all. The kind that cuts so deep a reviewer, an editor, a publishing house, a reader could never reach them. We can acknowledge errors, forgive ourselves, and press on.
We don't have to do any of those things or make any of those choices. Yet the obstacles are real, and doing nothing leaves writers—all writers—in the middle of what seems to be a dilemma.
This dilemma holds true for all writers, regardless of where they are on the writing or selling ladder: a brand new writer, one with three or four books who is building a base and career, or a well-established Times best-selling author. No writer is exempt from fear or from obstacles.
Now why is that so? And how can we make these unavoidable obstacles less frightening and disruptive?
Understanding is the key. Understanding that, regardless of position or status, as people, we change. What we considered of vital importance at one point in our lives/careers, we now consider just one of the challenges and/or perks or costs of doing business. What we considered trivial at a specific point, as we grow, becomes more important.
Let's look at an example, using the career of one commercial fiction writer. (Note that the writer's focus, fears, and challenges change but are always present in some form.)
As a new author: When you're writing your first novel, your main goal is to write a book, and to write it well. You focus intently on craft and, once it's written, you give attention to selling the book. To protect your interests, you must study the business and industry.
As the author of four books: You're building a decent reader base, and you're moving up the publisher's list. You've learned a lot about what happens to your book inside the publishing house and how the business works. Now, when you write the book, you do so knowing a great deal more about craft and how you work best. You're studying more advanced writing techniques, and it's evident to you now that writing is a craft that can never be mastered. Not just by you, but by anyone.
You've written books before and you're developing a pattern, adopting methods of writing that work well for you. You've also screened out methods that don't work for you. You know that writing a book isn't easy, it's challenging and it will always be challenging. But writing a book is now a familiar procedure. You know that you can do it because you have done it before--and you have finished other books. There is no doubt in your mind that you can also finish THIS book.
Now your publisher wants to send you on tour. You've got to go to book stores in different cities, do radio spots and TV spots and news interviews, and perhaps give short talks here and there along the way. This "interviewing" and "speaking" business is new to you. It's unfamiliar. You're trying not to panic, but it's clear that you have to move outside your comfort zone. You focus serious attention on marketing and doing interviews and on public relations. It's imperative that you learn to handle this new challenge well.
Now, you've written more books, you've moved up the publishing ladder, and you've made the bestseller list. You've hit the TIMES! Here, you're confronted with still a deeper layer of the proverbial onion that holds an enormous potential for fear and obstacles, and self doubt. (I've yet to meet a first-time bestseller who doesn't doubt it was a mistake.) And once again, you've got to tread outside your comfort zone to gain the skills you need to handle yourself comfortably and successfully.
My point is, that with each change in your career status, you change as a person. Hopefully, you've become more confident in your craft and business skills. You've experienced new things, gained new skills (necessity forces that), and that, too, changes you. Every experience we have alters our perspective as a human being. And you can't alter the human being without altering the writer inside that human being, too.
So how do you tread through this myriad of "discomfort" zones successfully? The answer is surprisingly simple. Mindset.
A creative mind is adventuresome and constructive. Don't you love the idea of nothing becoming something? Writers feel that with every book. So extend the experience you gained in respecting your creativity to your career. ("Something good CAN come of this hard look into my deepest self.")
Use it. Not just in writing the book, but in compiling your career strategy.
Treading into a discomfort zone—which can be anything outside the realm of your current experience--doesn't have to be a painful act, though sometimes it is. It can be scary but it's always beneficial in the long run. All it takes is a positive mindset, a marrow-of-your-bones belief that good will come of it. An unshakable awareness that by pulling out those skeletons—those flaws we hate to see--and subjecting them to intense scrutiny, we gain. And we do.
We gain insight and understanding, and (this surprised me) the deep insight can be extremely cathartic.
This is really personal, but let me give you an example of what I mean. I write healing books. Regardless of genre, I write books wherein a character heals internally. That's my author theme. Healing books.
Do explore and see the common thread all your books have. Every author, whether s/he realizes it or not, has an author theme. Working with yours and not against it assures you of writing your strongest and best work, and (I'll warn you now), these are the most difficult books for you to write. Bare truth always demands our respect. Your theme is in every book, so take a look and see what every one of your books has in common.
Hint: it's typically an emotional thread like healing, or redemption, or protecting.
So I write healing books. And in my first marriage, I was a victim of domestic violence. While I talk openly about it (I believe that's the only way to break the cycle), I only wrote about it passively. In the books, the abuse had already happened and was over.
I did a series of these books—Seascape Series. In none of them did I write about abuse actively happening. I couldn't. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was hiding from the hurt. The memories. Translation: this was a major "discomfort zone" for me, so I avoided it. I could write about the experience of having abuse in my past with authority and conviction, but not about it happening now, in the present story.
When I discovered this—that I was hiding—I stepped out of my comfort zone and into discomfort. I wrote about active abuse in ALL DUE RESPECT.
Now realize, I've been remarried to a wonderful man for nearly 25 years. It took me a long time to figure this out; what I was doing, I mean. And ALL DUE RESPECT was hands down the most difficult book I've ever written. I guess I've done about 30 or so now, and this one was by far the most challenging. Why?
Because during the writing, I remembered and relived and endured the experiences again. And during the writing, when someone approached me from behind, I did jump out of my skin. I'd catch myself backing up against walls to avoid the "sneak attacks." All the old stuff I haven't thought about for years came back, and it hurt.
Yet, I saw things differently. Time and experience had changed the view. And while, for a few weeks after I finished the book, I was still jumpy, I wasn't terrified to the bone anymore. It—the abuse—had lost its power over me. A power I hadn't realized it still held.
And then the book came out and the most magnificent thing happened: a reader wrote me a letter saying I'd written the story of her life. If my character—a woman I, the writer, had created out of thin air (and perspective and experience)—could find a way out of the situation without being destroyed, then the reader felt she could, too.
Healing books. She felt she could be healed. Me, too.
So that's the bonus in pulling out the scope and looking at those rough spots inside us. They're hard, they sometimes hurt, but they help, too. Readers and you.
Now we see the distinct correlation and value of purpose and fulfillment in our lives, and how that translates to purpose and fulfillment in our work.
I want to reiterate that this exploration inside the writer and the human being can't be done once and forgotten. With every experience, we grow and change, and we determine whether those changes are constructive or destructive.
No one else gets to make that choice for us. We make it (and too few remember that avoiding making a choice IS making a choice). Far too many writers forget that.
It's said, that is the base reason for the high rate of alcohol and substance abuse for writers. That, in my humble opinion, is because having a creative mind opens the writer's soul and we mentally and emotionally experience our stories.
This means we have to have broad shoulders and deal with conflicts and crises. Conflicts are, after all, the spines of our stories and nothing we can dismiss and still have books. Yet, particularly early on, in trying to market our works or get them published, we hear "no" from editors and agents far more often than we hear "yes."
Rejection is hard for even the heartiest of souls to bear when it comes over and over again and acceptance and/or appreciation is minute or absent in our lives. But if we are centered by our purpose and choose to deal constructively with these challenges--where we feel something "good" can come of them--then we're afforded the protection of personal fulfillment and feeling we're making a difference. That makes us far less likely to abuse anything, and far more likely to enjoy renewed determination to achieve our goals. I can't stress enough the importance of that to all writers.
I'd also like to expose a myth. Some writers, especially early on in their careers, think selling and money will be enough. That gaining fame and fortune equals fulfillment. That isn't true, and you need to know and believe it. It isn't enough and it doesn't fulfill you.
Fame and/or fortune might make your life physically more comfortable, and it might or might not help you emotionally, but neither one will do a thing for you spiritually. If you deem what you're writing—not editors, reviewers, or readers, but you, the writer—to be destructive, it could harm you spiritually, but neither fame nor fortune will satisfy you. That takes purpose and a sense of fulfilling that purpose, or gaining ground on a path toward fulfillment.
Now why is that?
Again, the answer is amazingly simple, just not something we've slowed down and thought about much in the realm of how it relates to our work. So let's do that now.
As human beings, we know we're three-dimensional people: physical, emotional, and spiritual. If you think of yourself as a three-legged stool and each of these three aspects as a separate leg, it'll be easy to visualize what happens if you short yourself on any one of the three. You wobble and topple over. A writer needs balance. Balance facilitates harmony. And harmony facilitates a great environment for creativity.
Understand that I'm not saying your life has to be tootling along and everything going well and there are no bumps in your life's road. That isn't going to happen—and hope it doesn't: What would arouse your passion to write about anything? What I am saying is that you need to seek that balance in dealing with challenges that arise. To do that, ask yourself a simple question: Is this action/reaction constructive? Test it to the physical, the emotional, and to the spiritual sides of yourself. If the action/reaction passes the test, do it. If not, dig deeper for a more constructive solution.
In ALL ABOUT WRITING, I wrote about common sense guides that, when I lectured on them, became referred to by listeners as "keys to success." For space reasons, I can't explore them in depth here, but I've tried to incorporate the principles, as they pertain to planning, and to give you the tools from them that you might find helpful.
If you have taken the time to develop and write down a plan for your book, a plan for your career, that respects all of your three dimensions, then these plans will respect your creativity (which won't tolerate be taken for granted).
Having a respected and respectful plan firmly entrenched in your mind makes you consciously aware of what you want and need and hope to achieve. That awareness carries over from you to your work, and over into your life. It aids you in making concrete decisions (to act or react) in ways that are in harmony with you individually, which is one of the strongest reasons possible to make that investment in planning.
Remember: your greatest creative achievements come only when you act in concert with yourself.
We've progressed. We have identified our purpose, our reason for writing. We've had the courage to explore and dig deeply within ourselves, though it stomped on our "dis-comfort" zones. We've discussed how harmony in the human being inspires harmony in the writer. And we've explored all of our three-dimensional selves and given equal weight to each aspect: the physical us, the emotional us, and the spiritual us.
All of this exploration identifies what we need to feel we're meeting our destiny in writing. But how do we translate this need for a plan into a concrete plan? One for our career? And one for our book?
I’m going to share my personal plan so you have an idea of how I try to implement the points discussed in my life and career as a writer. Its basic structure hasn't much changed over the years, only its content.
Some of what I do might appeal to you. Some of it won't. Remember, you choose what goes into your plan and how you use it. You choose what things level the three-legs of your individual stool.
Some call this a plan. Some call it a goals list. Some call it an annual strategy report. I call it my dream sheet. The name we hang on it doesn't much matter. It is what is on your dream sheet that matters immensely. How it helps you focus, elevates your awareness, and reminds you to consider what you most want matters. So call it whatever suits you, but please put your dream sheet down in writing. Writing it all down gives the decisions you've made elevated importance.
Here's the sample:
Each year, typically during the month of November (although with two weddings and a deadline this year, it was in late December), I take some quiet time to reflect on the past year. To look at what I've done with my writing—both on craft and on the business--and to choose whether or not these actions were constructive and/or effective.
Each year, I develop a Mission for the New Year. About five years ago, that mission was Aids4writers, "doing good for goodness' sake." Due to your requests, I've kept the program going, though I just can't keep up with daily posts these days. Still, this program has become an important part of the fabric of my life. A mission should be important—not to anyone else, because it will effect how they view you, but to you, the human being.
For example, this years' mission is a revisit of another years' mission for me. To build the coffers in the Edna Sampson Benevolence Fund. Edna was my mother, a great lover of books and even more of writers. She died in 1997. First Coast Romance Writers started a Benevolence fund to help other writers and named it in her honor. I support it, and this year hope to do more to financially support it. This fund pays dues for writers who are in financial straits and who would otherwise have to drop out of their writing groups. A committee administers the fund. I don't know where the money goes or who benefits from it; only that its writers who need help. Good for goodness' sake.
What is your mission this year? Decide, and let it help you develop your dream sheet.
I've found that by setting Goals, directing focus on what I've done, what I want to do, where I've been, where I'm going, where I want to go, and coming up with concrete steps to get there, I feel I have a little more control over my life. I know that many of the goals I've set and accomplished, I accomplished only because I focused on them. What are your goals? Focus on what you want, need, and what steps you're going to take to achieve those goals.
Understand that you won't reach every goal. One of mine for the past five years was to sell my book--any of them--to the book clubs. I didn't give up. I carried it over year after year, and at times I sighed over it. But I believed enough to just keep putting it on the list. This year, LADY LIBERTY, sold to Doubleday Book Club, The Mystery Guild Book Club, and Rhapsody Book Club. It finally happened! And when it did--wow!--it really did! Proof that persistence pays. That goals are met on their terms in their time, but you have to give them the opportunity to happen. You have to do your part.
Here are some suggested Dream Sheet topics I use year after year:
* Mission Statement: What is the most important thing to you that you wish to accomplish in the coming year?
* Virtue: Each year, I choose (and often have to repeat!) a specific virtue to work on that I feel will build my character. In 1996, it was Patience. In 1997, Compassion. In 2001, Judgment. Choose a positive influence and focus on it all year. (Warning: you'll often curse yourself for this. "If only I wasn't focusing on patience this year, I'd give so-and-so what for doing such and thus."
Also, be aware that some of these little jewels require more than a year on your list. So you'll have a "Primary" virtue upon which to focus and a "Secondary" one. At least, I do. (Actually, I could have a string of them a mile long, but I'm human. I can't do everything at once. So I pick the one I think needs the most attention and focus on it, keeping the second most needy in mind.) This year, that's Harmony and Grace.
* Writing: often we get so caught up in selling, we forget that we can't sell that which isn't written. So what exactly do you want to write next year? Be it a specific book(s) or article(s) or poem(s). Write it down. It makes it more real, helps you to visualize it written more easily.
* Sales: What do you want to sell next year? Make a list, and be open to recognizing opportunities to market these listed projects. (Writing the list gives you focus. You are paying attention to this, and see these opportunities when they arise.)
* Promotion: Published or (as yet) Unpublished, what concrete steps are you taking to get your name out there? Do you produce a personal newsletter, send cards, write articles for organizational newsletters?
* Business: What aspect of the business are you most unfamiliar with? Which facet of the publishing industry would you most benefit from studying intently? Is it publishing itself? How does your industry work? What happens to a book once it arrives at a publisher's house? What about retail sales? Negotiation tactics? Wholesalers? Distribution? Marketing? Advertising? What about publishing contracts? Pick a topic and invest—in yourself!
* Craft Education: What aspect of your craft are you least comfortable with executing? Theme, character, plotting, description, pacing, style? Choose one, and next year work at developing your skills in that area.
* Reading: Too many writers stop reading. Don't! It's a terrible, terrible mistake, because not only do you stop seeing successful authors' methods, you also get out of touch with what's being published. So make a commitment to yourself to read. Books like yours, those unlike yours, articles, periodicals--fiction and nonfiction. This deepens your creative well. You know more, you have more to write about. Make a monthly commitment that is realistic for you, and honor it.
* Outreach: What are you doing to reach out to help others? Are you doing critiques? Sponsoring or supporting a benevolence project? Writing a how-to article on something with which you're extremely familiar that could help others? It's important to feed the mind and the soul.
Make your goal list as detailed as you like; whatever feels comfortable. The important thing is to think about these things. Choose and decide rather than just drift and feel frustrated because you're not satisfied with your personal progress.
I have a copy of my dream sheet on the wall near my computer in my office. Another copy in my Daytimer, and a third in my top center desk drawer. For years, I'd tape one to the mirror in the bath, so I'd see it first and last each
day, and review it when brushing my teeth. This constant reinforcement may seem unnecessary. But I credit it with helping me enormously at staying focused on what I want and how I'm going to achieve it. Constructive reinforcement is a good thing. Positive and empowering, and especially in the early years, when writers hear "no" a lot more than they hear "yes," we need positive empowerment.
So those are the sections of my plan: Mission Statement, Virtue, Writing, Sales, Business, Craft Education, Promotion, Reading, and Outreach. See which of those work for you or bring to mind other sections that would assist you, and draft a plan.
At the end of the year, when you review to see how many of the stated goals you've accomplished, I'll bet you'll be surprised by how far you've come and how much you've grown. I'm always amazed at the progress, not that I meet every goal. I don't. But I do meet more of them with a plan than I met without one. And I do enjoy more of my life feeling balanced—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—that I consider a huge blessing. I hope you will, too.
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
© 2006
Really, call it by whatever name works for you. (The basis for that reasoning is the creative nature of writing.) A writer must always respect the muse—the gift of writing—and give it its due. So whatever you personally find to be a constructive trigger is "the right way" to approach this vitally important endeavor.
What does matter is that we start at the core and work our way outward. By core, I don't mean the core of the project, though, as you'll see, the same principle applies, I mean your core, as a human being, because that truly is where the base point of beginning for everything about you, including every work you ever produce, forms.
So the first question in developing your plan is in understanding why you need one. And the first question in dissecting that is in asking one question: Why is writing vitally important to you?
No clue? Well, that presents a challenge, but don't worry. Recognition is the hard part. Finding a solution merely requires a little sleuthing. We can sleuth. And you'll have another chance to answer that question in a little while, so don't waste energy feeling out of sorts because you got socked with the first question of the New Year and you had to answer, "I don't know." You're in good company. Great company, actually. The company of many, many other writers.
But now recognizing that not knowing is a disadvantage, and disadvantages, particularly fixable ones, in a dynamic industry such as ours are not worthy of being embraced, let's vote to ditch this one. Exploring is a great place to start.
As I mentioned, I often encounter writers who have not asked themselves that question—Why is writing vitally important to me?—or they have asked and accepted superficial, skin-deep answers. The wise writer will dig deeper, for in our motivation rests our dedication. And we all know writing well requires a supreme amount of dedication.
Feeling compelled to write without knowing why limits the scope and focus of the writer's thinking, which limits the scope and focus of the writer's writing. Purpose is essential.
Through purpose, writers touch lives and offer readers opportunities that they would not otherwise have. Opportunities to have open minds, whereas they had been closed. To see something in a new light, or from a new perspective. To gain understanding and insight into other human beings, into situations, into that which before reading your book had been an obscure, unknown entity to the reader. (Remember, what is common to you is often alien, unexplored, or not fully understood as significant to others.)
Through purpose, the writer also grants him or herself the ability to feel fulfillment from what s/he writes. If you have no idea what you hope to achieve, how will you know if you have achieved it? How will you know whether or not you've conveyed a constructive means in your work to depict that achievement? How will your readers know it?
Let's explore what happens when you, the writer, lack that fulfillment. We all know that writing requires an enormous amount of self-discipline. You must choose to get up and get to the computer, the typewriter, or the pad and write. No one is standing over your shoulder forcing you. Starting a book is easy. It's finishing it that's the hard part. So what inspires you to finish?
Some will say, "I have to see what happens." Others, "I just want to finish the blasted thing." Still others find a myriad of responses somewhere in between, some resonating of being unable to sell anything but a finished product, some at needing to put closure to this project before beginning another with greater financial or artistic opportunities. But these responses too are skin deep.
When you get down to the core, what makes a writer finish a book is discipline. And like all other life skills, discipline must be respected, and honing it requires understanding it. In that understanding is the seed for purpose in your writing.
Purpose gives the writer the motivation to adopt discipline. Discipline maintained feeds the writer gains (in the form of seeing the book develop and the pages mount) and that feeds the writer's sense of purpose being pursued and fulfilled, which gives the writer a deeper sense of commitment. That commitment builds momentum, which generates its own enthusiasm and energy, and leads to a greater dedication to purpose, completing the circle.
If you were to write out the process simply, it would read something like:
Purpose = motivation = discipline = commitment = momentum = purpose.
That's why knowing your personal purpose for writing is essential. It drives
what you write. How you write it. Who you have say what you want said, and how you choose to show it. The same principle applies to each writing project, be it book or short story or article.
For the project and for the writer, the human being of the writer, the question remains the same: What do you have to say that you want others to hear? Why?
Despite the professions of some, shall we say, less than generous souls, writers tend to be very human. As human beings, we all want to make a difference. We want to know that our lives mattered. Our work mattered. At the end of our lives, we want to look back and see that we've made a difference, served some purpose, and achieved something.
The nature of that "something" varies from person to person. (And we're grateful for that variety; it expands everyone's horizons!) It's our job to find our own personal "it," to empower it, utilize it so that at the end of our days, when we look back, as everyone inevitably does, we don't see the one thing no one wants to see: regret.
That's the value in seeking our purpose. In knowing what we hope to achieve. Now, don't be misguided into thinking that getting a grasp on your purpose must be some mystical, complex maze. It doesn't work that way. Norman Vincent Peale put the whole process quite succinctly when he said: you can't have everything you want, but you can have what you want most. So . . .
* What do you want most?
* What do you want most as a human being?
* What do you want most as a writer?
* What do you want most to convey to the reader in your next book?
Responding to those questions collectively can make clear to you your purpose--and reveal the direction and purpose in your novel. Awareness of these purposes keeps you on track and the work on track, and so your motivation is established and understood, and the momentous process begins.
Again, I ask you: Why is writing vitally important to you?
I offer this advice: Pause here and dig. Deeply.
By now, I hope you've explored the questions to you and you can answer this question: What do you want most as a person, as a writer?
If you have explored and you can answer that question, then you now know your purpose—and the goal you must master to feel fulfilled as a writer and a human being.
This kind of "soul" work, while vital, is often uncomfortable. We drag out things
from our innermost recesses and put them under a microscope. We see things we like, but we also see things we don't like.
Human beings typically prefer not to see uncomfortable things in themselves, and writers get a double-dose of that dislike. As humans and as creative artists.
Because we're creative artists, an enormous amount of "us" goes into our crafting a cohesive and believable "something out of nothing" book. To be cohesive, we must write with brutal honesty. Even lies (that are convincing) have seeds of truth in them. And to be believable, we're required to write with authority and conviction. (Nothing wishy-washy creates or maintains the fictional dream.)
Yet when we see our flaws, we run the risk of having them magnify before cast doubt and us on our ability to create our fictional worlds.
This creative-mind challenge can be a major obstacle to writers. It can make them frigid writers, make them afraid to commit to essential novel (or career) decisions, make them afraid to take a creative stand.
That fear and those obstacles have a dastardly impact because writers make decision upon decision in creating a novel. So how can we take this honest look inside and not create the obstacles?
We have to have the courage to ditch the fear.
A helpful way to go about that is to look at what we as writers do NOT have to do:
* We don't have to become frigid writers, or be afraid to commit, or be afraid to take risks or creative stands. We can choose to avoid these negative things.
* We don't have to knuckle under and be afraid to explore because we fear what we'll learn. Some say that all of fiction is about the human condition. Writers are human, too. We can choose to explore our own human condition and trust that what we learn will give us greater insights into ourselves and others.
* We don't have to reconcile ourselves to never writing the best book possible because we know that to do so, we have to be open from the soul out in our writing to achieve our best. We can choose to take the risks, expose the soul.
* We don't have to suffer self-condemnation—the worst criticism of all. The kind that cuts so deep a reviewer, an editor, a publishing house, a reader could never reach them. We can acknowledge errors, forgive ourselves, and press on.
We don't have to do any of those things or make any of those choices. Yet the obstacles are real, and doing nothing leaves writers—all writers—in the middle of what seems to be a dilemma.
This dilemma holds true for all writers, regardless of where they are on the writing or selling ladder: a brand new writer, one with three or four books who is building a base and career, or a well-established Times best-selling author. No writer is exempt from fear or from obstacles.
Now why is that so? And how can we make these unavoidable obstacles less frightening and disruptive?
Understanding is the key. Understanding that, regardless of position or status, as people, we change. What we considered of vital importance at one point in our lives/careers, we now consider just one of the challenges and/or perks or costs of doing business. What we considered trivial at a specific point, as we grow, becomes more important.
Let's look at an example, using the career of one commercial fiction writer. (Note that the writer's focus, fears, and challenges change but are always present in some form.)
As a new author: When you're writing your first novel, your main goal is to write a book, and to write it well. You focus intently on craft and, once it's written, you give attention to selling the book. To protect your interests, you must study the business and industry.
As the author of four books: You're building a decent reader base, and you're moving up the publisher's list. You've learned a lot about what happens to your book inside the publishing house and how the business works. Now, when you write the book, you do so knowing a great deal more about craft and how you work best. You're studying more advanced writing techniques, and it's evident to you now that writing is a craft that can never be mastered. Not just by you, but by anyone.
You've written books before and you're developing a pattern, adopting methods of writing that work well for you. You've also screened out methods that don't work for you. You know that writing a book isn't easy, it's challenging and it will always be challenging. But writing a book is now a familiar procedure. You know that you can do it because you have done it before--and you have finished other books. There is no doubt in your mind that you can also finish THIS book.
Now your publisher wants to send you on tour. You've got to go to book stores in different cities, do radio spots and TV spots and news interviews, and perhaps give short talks here and there along the way. This "interviewing" and "speaking" business is new to you. It's unfamiliar. You're trying not to panic, but it's clear that you have to move outside your comfort zone. You focus serious attention on marketing and doing interviews and on public relations. It's imperative that you learn to handle this new challenge well.
Now, you've written more books, you've moved up the publishing ladder, and you've made the bestseller list. You've hit the TIMES! Here, you're confronted with still a deeper layer of the proverbial onion that holds an enormous potential for fear and obstacles, and self doubt. (I've yet to meet a first-time bestseller who doesn't doubt it was a mistake.) And once again, you've got to tread outside your comfort zone to gain the skills you need to handle yourself comfortably and successfully.
My point is, that with each change in your career status, you change as a person. Hopefully, you've become more confident in your craft and business skills. You've experienced new things, gained new skills (necessity forces that), and that, too, changes you. Every experience we have alters our perspective as a human being. And you can't alter the human being without altering the writer inside that human being, too.
So how do you tread through this myriad of "discomfort" zones successfully? The answer is surprisingly simple. Mindset.
A creative mind is adventuresome and constructive. Don't you love the idea of nothing becoming something? Writers feel that with every book. So extend the experience you gained in respecting your creativity to your career. ("Something good CAN come of this hard look into my deepest self.")
Use it. Not just in writing the book, but in compiling your career strategy.
Treading into a discomfort zone—which can be anything outside the realm of your current experience--doesn't have to be a painful act, though sometimes it is. It can be scary but it's always beneficial in the long run. All it takes is a positive mindset, a marrow-of-your-bones belief that good will come of it. An unshakable awareness that by pulling out those skeletons—those flaws we hate to see--and subjecting them to intense scrutiny, we gain. And we do.
We gain insight and understanding, and (this surprised me) the deep insight can be extremely cathartic.
This is really personal, but let me give you an example of what I mean. I write healing books. Regardless of genre, I write books wherein a character heals internally. That's my author theme. Healing books.
Do explore and see the common thread all your books have. Every author, whether s/he realizes it or not, has an author theme. Working with yours and not against it assures you of writing your strongest and best work, and (I'll warn you now), these are the most difficult books for you to write. Bare truth always demands our respect. Your theme is in every book, so take a look and see what every one of your books has in common.
Hint: it's typically an emotional thread like healing, or redemption, or protecting.
So I write healing books. And in my first marriage, I was a victim of domestic violence. While I talk openly about it (I believe that's the only way to break the cycle), I only wrote about it passively. In the books, the abuse had already happened and was over.
I did a series of these books—Seascape Series. In none of them did I write about abuse actively happening. I couldn't. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was hiding from the hurt. The memories. Translation: this was a major "discomfort zone" for me, so I avoided it. I could write about the experience of having abuse in my past with authority and conviction, but not about it happening now, in the present story.
When I discovered this—that I was hiding—I stepped out of my comfort zone and into discomfort. I wrote about active abuse in ALL DUE RESPECT.
Now realize, I've been remarried to a wonderful man for nearly 25 years. It took me a long time to figure this out; what I was doing, I mean. And ALL DUE RESPECT was hands down the most difficult book I've ever written. I guess I've done about 30 or so now, and this one was by far the most challenging. Why?
Because during the writing, I remembered and relived and endured the experiences again. And during the writing, when someone approached me from behind, I did jump out of my skin. I'd catch myself backing up against walls to avoid the "sneak attacks." All the old stuff I haven't thought about for years came back, and it hurt.
Yet, I saw things differently. Time and experience had changed the view. And while, for a few weeks after I finished the book, I was still jumpy, I wasn't terrified to the bone anymore. It—the abuse—had lost its power over me. A power I hadn't realized it still held.
And then the book came out and the most magnificent thing happened: a reader wrote me a letter saying I'd written the story of her life. If my character—a woman I, the writer, had created out of thin air (and perspective and experience)—could find a way out of the situation without being destroyed, then the reader felt she could, too.
Healing books. She felt she could be healed. Me, too.
So that's the bonus in pulling out the scope and looking at those rough spots inside us. They're hard, they sometimes hurt, but they help, too. Readers and you.
Now we see the distinct correlation and value of purpose and fulfillment in our lives, and how that translates to purpose and fulfillment in our work.
I want to reiterate that this exploration inside the writer and the human being can't be done once and forgotten. With every experience, we grow and change, and we determine whether those changes are constructive or destructive.
No one else gets to make that choice for us. We make it (and too few remember that avoiding making a choice IS making a choice). Far too many writers forget that.
It's said, that is the base reason for the high rate of alcohol and substance abuse for writers. That, in my humble opinion, is because having a creative mind opens the writer's soul and we mentally and emotionally experience our stories.
This means we have to have broad shoulders and deal with conflicts and crises. Conflicts are, after all, the spines of our stories and nothing we can dismiss and still have books. Yet, particularly early on, in trying to market our works or get them published, we hear "no" from editors and agents far more often than we hear "yes."
Rejection is hard for even the heartiest of souls to bear when it comes over and over again and acceptance and/or appreciation is minute or absent in our lives. But if we are centered by our purpose and choose to deal constructively with these challenges--where we feel something "good" can come of them--then we're afforded the protection of personal fulfillment and feeling we're making a difference. That makes us far less likely to abuse anything, and far more likely to enjoy renewed determination to achieve our goals. I can't stress enough the importance of that to all writers.
I'd also like to expose a myth. Some writers, especially early on in their careers, think selling and money will be enough. That gaining fame and fortune equals fulfillment. That isn't true, and you need to know and believe it. It isn't enough and it doesn't fulfill you.
Fame and/or fortune might make your life physically more comfortable, and it might or might not help you emotionally, but neither one will do a thing for you spiritually. If you deem what you're writing—not editors, reviewers, or readers, but you, the writer—to be destructive, it could harm you spiritually, but neither fame nor fortune will satisfy you. That takes purpose and a sense of fulfilling that purpose, or gaining ground on a path toward fulfillment.
Now why is that?
Again, the answer is amazingly simple, just not something we've slowed down and thought about much in the realm of how it relates to our work. So let's do that now.
As human beings, we know we're three-dimensional people: physical, emotional, and spiritual. If you think of yourself as a three-legged stool and each of these three aspects as a separate leg, it'll be easy to visualize what happens if you short yourself on any one of the three. You wobble and topple over. A writer needs balance. Balance facilitates harmony. And harmony facilitates a great environment for creativity.
Understand that I'm not saying your life has to be tootling along and everything going well and there are no bumps in your life's road. That isn't going to happen—and hope it doesn't: What would arouse your passion to write about anything? What I am saying is that you need to seek that balance in dealing with challenges that arise. To do that, ask yourself a simple question: Is this action/reaction constructive? Test it to the physical, the emotional, and to the spiritual sides of yourself. If the action/reaction passes the test, do it. If not, dig deeper for a more constructive solution.
In ALL ABOUT WRITING, I wrote about common sense guides that, when I lectured on them, became referred to by listeners as "keys to success." For space reasons, I can't explore them in depth here, but I've tried to incorporate the principles, as they pertain to planning, and to give you the tools from them that you might find helpful.
If you have taken the time to develop and write down a plan for your book, a plan for your career, that respects all of your three dimensions, then these plans will respect your creativity (which won't tolerate be taken for granted).
Having a respected and respectful plan firmly entrenched in your mind makes you consciously aware of what you want and need and hope to achieve. That awareness carries over from you to your work, and over into your life. It aids you in making concrete decisions (to act or react) in ways that are in harmony with you individually, which is one of the strongest reasons possible to make that investment in planning.
Remember: your greatest creative achievements come only when you act in concert with yourself.
We've progressed. We have identified our purpose, our reason for writing. We've had the courage to explore and dig deeply within ourselves, though it stomped on our "dis-comfort" zones. We've discussed how harmony in the human being inspires harmony in the writer. And we've explored all of our three-dimensional selves and given equal weight to each aspect: the physical us, the emotional us, and the spiritual us.
All of this exploration identifies what we need to feel we're meeting our destiny in writing. But how do we translate this need for a plan into a concrete plan? One for our career? And one for our book?
I’m going to share my personal plan so you have an idea of how I try to implement the points discussed in my life and career as a writer. Its basic structure hasn't much changed over the years, only its content.
Some of what I do might appeal to you. Some of it won't. Remember, you choose what goes into your plan and how you use it. You choose what things level the three-legs of your individual stool.
Some call this a plan. Some call it a goals list. Some call it an annual strategy report. I call it my dream sheet. The name we hang on it doesn't much matter. It is what is on your dream sheet that matters immensely. How it helps you focus, elevates your awareness, and reminds you to consider what you most want matters. So call it whatever suits you, but please put your dream sheet down in writing. Writing it all down gives the decisions you've made elevated importance.
Here's the sample:
Each year, typically during the month of November (although with two weddings and a deadline this year, it was in late December), I take some quiet time to reflect on the past year. To look at what I've done with my writing—both on craft and on the business--and to choose whether or not these actions were constructive and/or effective.
Each year, I develop a Mission for the New Year. About five years ago, that mission was Aids4writers, "doing good for goodness' sake." Due to your requests, I've kept the program going, though I just can't keep up with daily posts these days. Still, this program has become an important part of the fabric of my life. A mission should be important—not to anyone else, because it will effect how they view you, but to you, the human being.
For example, this years' mission is a revisit of another years' mission for me. To build the coffers in the Edna Sampson Benevolence Fund. Edna was my mother, a great lover of books and even more of writers. She died in 1997. First Coast Romance Writers started a Benevolence fund to help other writers and named it in her honor. I support it, and this year hope to do more to financially support it. This fund pays dues for writers who are in financial straits and who would otherwise have to drop out of their writing groups. A committee administers the fund. I don't know where the money goes or who benefits from it; only that its writers who need help. Good for goodness' sake.
What is your mission this year? Decide, and let it help you develop your dream sheet.
I've found that by setting Goals, directing focus on what I've done, what I want to do, where I've been, where I'm going, where I want to go, and coming up with concrete steps to get there, I feel I have a little more control over my life. I know that many of the goals I've set and accomplished, I accomplished only because I focused on them. What are your goals? Focus on what you want, need, and what steps you're going to take to achieve those goals.
Understand that you won't reach every goal. One of mine for the past five years was to sell my book--any of them--to the book clubs. I didn't give up. I carried it over year after year, and at times I sighed over it. But I believed enough to just keep putting it on the list. This year, LADY LIBERTY, sold to Doubleday Book Club, The Mystery Guild Book Club, and Rhapsody Book Club. It finally happened! And when it did--wow!--it really did! Proof that persistence pays. That goals are met on their terms in their time, but you have to give them the opportunity to happen. You have to do your part.
Here are some suggested Dream Sheet topics I use year after year:
* Mission Statement: What is the most important thing to you that you wish to accomplish in the coming year?
* Virtue: Each year, I choose (and often have to repeat!) a specific virtue to work on that I feel will build my character. In 1996, it was Patience. In 1997, Compassion. In 2001, Judgment. Choose a positive influence and focus on it all year. (Warning: you'll often curse yourself for this. "If only I wasn't focusing on patience this year, I'd give so-and-so what for doing such and thus."
Also, be aware that some of these little jewels require more than a year on your list. So you'll have a "Primary" virtue upon which to focus and a "Secondary" one. At least, I do. (Actually, I could have a string of them a mile long, but I'm human. I can't do everything at once. So I pick the one I think needs the most attention and focus on it, keeping the second most needy in mind.) This year, that's Harmony and Grace.
* Writing: often we get so caught up in selling, we forget that we can't sell that which isn't written. So what exactly do you want to write next year? Be it a specific book(s) or article(s) or poem(s). Write it down. It makes it more real, helps you to visualize it written more easily.
* Sales: What do you want to sell next year? Make a list, and be open to recognizing opportunities to market these listed projects. (Writing the list gives you focus. You are paying attention to this, and see these opportunities when they arise.)
* Promotion: Published or (as yet) Unpublished, what concrete steps are you taking to get your name out there? Do you produce a personal newsletter, send cards, write articles for organizational newsletters?
* Business: What aspect of the business are you most unfamiliar with? Which facet of the publishing industry would you most benefit from studying intently? Is it publishing itself? How does your industry work? What happens to a book once it arrives at a publisher's house? What about retail sales? Negotiation tactics? Wholesalers? Distribution? Marketing? Advertising? What about publishing contracts? Pick a topic and invest—in yourself!
* Craft Education: What aspect of your craft are you least comfortable with executing? Theme, character, plotting, description, pacing, style? Choose one, and next year work at developing your skills in that area.
* Reading: Too many writers stop reading. Don't! It's a terrible, terrible mistake, because not only do you stop seeing successful authors' methods, you also get out of touch with what's being published. So make a commitment to yourself to read. Books like yours, those unlike yours, articles, periodicals--fiction and nonfiction. This deepens your creative well. You know more, you have more to write about. Make a monthly commitment that is realistic for you, and honor it.
* Outreach: What are you doing to reach out to help others? Are you doing critiques? Sponsoring or supporting a benevolence project? Writing a how-to article on something with which you're extremely familiar that could help others? It's important to feed the mind and the soul.
Make your goal list as detailed as you like; whatever feels comfortable. The important thing is to think about these things. Choose and decide rather than just drift and feel frustrated because you're not satisfied with your personal progress.
I have a copy of my dream sheet on the wall near my computer in my office. Another copy in my Daytimer, and a third in my top center desk drawer. For years, I'd tape one to the mirror in the bath, so I'd see it first and last each
day, and review it when brushing my teeth. This constant reinforcement may seem unnecessary. But I credit it with helping me enormously at staying focused on what I want and how I'm going to achieve it. Constructive reinforcement is a good thing. Positive and empowering, and especially in the early years, when writers hear "no" a lot more than they hear "yes," we need positive empowerment.
So those are the sections of my plan: Mission Statement, Virtue, Writing, Sales, Business, Craft Education, Promotion, Reading, and Outreach. See which of those work for you or bring to mind other sections that would assist you, and draft a plan.
At the end of the year, when you review to see how many of the stated goals you've accomplished, I'll bet you'll be surprised by how far you've come and how much you've grown. I'm always amazed at the progress, not that I meet every goal. I don't. But I do meet more of them with a plan than I met without one. And I do enjoy more of my life feeling balanced—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—that I consider a huge blessing. I hope you will, too.
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
© 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
BEING PUBLISHED ISN'T ENOUGH. PUBLISH WELL
Warning: this is a no-edit zone...
Writers who aspire to be published too often are willing to settle for any publication. They are under the impression that if they can just get published, then they'll prove their worth as a writer.
Dispel that myth. Getting published isn't, or shouldn't be the goal. Being published well ... now that's a worthy aspiration.
Why is being published well significant?
Let me share an example...
Recently, I attended a conference and taught several workshops. Other writers were there teaching, too, including a New York Times bestseller, who confessed to me that he was embarrassed by earning a living writing--something that came so naturally to him and that he didn't have to struggle to do.
I said, "Wait a minute. Just a minute."
Because something comes naturally to you, that doesn't mean it holds little value. That was his implication. One that begged for a different perspective.
He thought that because writing was easy for him, it was easy for everyone; anyone could do it. (Anyone who has wrestled with getting a book, a scene, a paragraph or sentence or word just right will disagree.)
After a few minutes of conversation on this topic, it became apparent that what he really thought was that writing novels was frivolous. And that told me more than anything he had not experienced the power of novels to open minds or change lives. It also told me he had never been exposed to the value of his work.
And so I shared an insight I'd gained.
"Imagine," I said, "that it's the dark hours before dawn. You are in a room. It's deathly quiet, except for the beeping sounds of monitors. You're sitting in a chair next to a hospital bed. Someone you love more than life itself is in that bed. Dying."
I had his attention; his focus was intense.
"Yes, you're keeping vigil. On deathwatch. Waiting for death to claim this person you love. There is no hope of reprieve. There is no escaping this reality. Death will come . . . in its own time. All you can do is wait.
"You're tired, weary, heartsick. You can't leave; if you weren't there when Death came, you'd never forgive yourself. Though your loved one hasn't been awake, s/he could awaken, and what if s/he did, and you were gone?
"You can't do it. Can't walk out of that room, can't bear to stay in it. So you pick up a book, knowing you won't be able to focus, but needing, craving anything that resembles normal. Anything that doesn't involve death and grief and losing someone you love.
"And so you open the book and read a few words. You glance over at your loved one, watching to make sure his/her chest is still rising and falling in a steady pattern; s/he is still with you. You clasp his/her hand ... and read a little more.
"Before you realize it, you've turned the page, and then another, and you're suddenly startled to realize you've gotten caught up in the story. You guiltily check your loved one--still breathing--then the clock. Five full minutes have passed.
"Five minutes where you didn't think of death and dying and grief and mourning. Five minutes where your mind wasn't filled with all of the pain you feel and all the emptiness to come. Five minutes of reprieve..."
Solemn, sober now, he nodded.
I nodded back. "Now, crawl into the mind and heart of the person sitting beside that bed and tell me," I said. "What are those five minutes worth?"
It was a rhetorical question. I didn't expect an answer. But every writer should ask it of themselves. I know what the value of that time was to me. It was enough to make all the irritations and annoyances and instabilities in this career mean nothing. The ability to grant someone--anyone in that kind of pain--five minutes' reprieve is significant.
So writers, ask yourself what giving someone in that position five minutes' reprieve is worth to you. Imagine what you think it's worth to them.
Do those two things, and you will cease to not understand the magnanimity of your gift of storytelling. You will cease to underestimate the value of entertainment. You will know why it isn't enough to be published and why it is vitally important to be published well.
Not just to you, the writer. But to readers. One of whom well might be sitting in that hospital room in his or her darkest of nights waiting, craving even a minute's reprieve that might be found in your story...
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
Writing: www.vickihinze.com
Radio: www.everydaywomanradio.com
Writers who aspire to be published too often are willing to settle for any publication. They are under the impression that if they can just get published, then they'll prove their worth as a writer.
Dispel that myth. Getting published isn't, or shouldn't be the goal. Being published well ... now that's a worthy aspiration.
Why is being published well significant?
Let me share an example...
Recently, I attended a conference and taught several workshops. Other writers were there teaching, too, including a New York Times bestseller, who confessed to me that he was embarrassed by earning a living writing--something that came so naturally to him and that he didn't have to struggle to do.
I said, "Wait a minute. Just a minute."
Because something comes naturally to you, that doesn't mean it holds little value. That was his implication. One that begged for a different perspective.
He thought that because writing was easy for him, it was easy for everyone; anyone could do it. (Anyone who has wrestled with getting a book, a scene, a paragraph or sentence or word just right will disagree.)
After a few minutes of conversation on this topic, it became apparent that what he really thought was that writing novels was frivolous. And that told me more than anything he had not experienced the power of novels to open minds or change lives. It also told me he had never been exposed to the value of his work.
And so I shared an insight I'd gained.
"Imagine," I said, "that it's the dark hours before dawn. You are in a room. It's deathly quiet, except for the beeping sounds of monitors. You're sitting in a chair next to a hospital bed. Someone you love more than life itself is in that bed. Dying."
I had his attention; his focus was intense.
"Yes, you're keeping vigil. On deathwatch. Waiting for death to claim this person you love. There is no hope of reprieve. There is no escaping this reality. Death will come . . . in its own time. All you can do is wait.
"You're tired, weary, heartsick. You can't leave; if you weren't there when Death came, you'd never forgive yourself. Though your loved one hasn't been awake, s/he could awaken, and what if s/he did, and you were gone?
"You can't do it. Can't walk out of that room, can't bear to stay in it. So you pick up a book, knowing you won't be able to focus, but needing, craving anything that resembles normal. Anything that doesn't involve death and grief and losing someone you love.
"And so you open the book and read a few words. You glance over at your loved one, watching to make sure his/her chest is still rising and falling in a steady pattern; s/he is still with you. You clasp his/her hand ... and read a little more.
"Before you realize it, you've turned the page, and then another, and you're suddenly startled to realize you've gotten caught up in the story. You guiltily check your loved one--still breathing--then the clock. Five full minutes have passed.
"Five minutes where you didn't think of death and dying and grief and mourning. Five minutes where your mind wasn't filled with all of the pain you feel and all the emptiness to come. Five minutes of reprieve..."
Solemn, sober now, he nodded.
I nodded back. "Now, crawl into the mind and heart of the person sitting beside that bed and tell me," I said. "What are those five minutes worth?"
It was a rhetorical question. I didn't expect an answer. But every writer should ask it of themselves. I know what the value of that time was to me. It was enough to make all the irritations and annoyances and instabilities in this career mean nothing. The ability to grant someone--anyone in that kind of pain--five minutes' reprieve is significant.
So writers, ask yourself what giving someone in that position five minutes' reprieve is worth to you. Imagine what you think it's worth to them.
Do those two things, and you will cease to not understand the magnanimity of your gift of storytelling. You will cease to underestimate the value of entertainment. You will know why it isn't enough to be published and why it is vitally important to be published well.
Not just to you, the writer. But to readers. One of whom well might be sitting in that hospital room in his or her darkest of nights waiting, craving even a minute's reprieve that might be found in your story...
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
Writing: www.vickihinze.com
Radio: www.everydaywomanradio.com
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
WHERE DID ALL THE GOOD PEOPLE GO?
Warning: this is a no-edit zone...
For most of the past decade, I've been answering questions for other writers--nearly 2,000 of them, when you combine my library group and the Aids4Writers group at Yahoo. Some responses, I share with the others on the lists. Some are too specific and personal to share with anyone other than the person who asks.
Over the years, I've been asked just about everything that can be asked on the writing craft, the business, and about life as a writer. Many inquiries have set me to seeking expertise. Many have been heart-wrenching for the challenges presented in them. They've kept me on my toes, and a huge number of them have made me really think about many different things.
But in all these years, and in all these inquiries, I don't think I've received one more sobering than one I received earlier today from a writer who clearly is in a hard place. And because I realize that it's all too easy for all of us to awaken and discover ourselves in a hard place, I am addressing this through the group.
When I received this inquiry, my initial reaction was to fire off a response--quick--but I realized that careful consideration--thoughtful, careful consideration--was required. You see, this inquiry impacted the writer. Not just the work, or just one aspect of the writer, but regarded a topic so intricately woven into the fabric of the human being herself that it cannot be separated from the writer.
And something that significant requires all the care one has to give.
So I've spent the day thinking about this. Accomplishing little else, because the weight of this challenge is heavy; the burden bulky and unyielding. And so I'll share with you now my thoughts on this issue, and I hope from all the recesses of my heart that it will be sufficient to help.
The issue:
In examining deep characterization and focusing intently on bad qualities in people, the writer writes: "Only now I’m so incased in finding those bad qualities in people, I can't see the good ones any more. Where did all the good people go, how do I draw those good and decent characters out so my stories have equal balance. NO, please do not tell me to let Calgone take me away; I seem to have lost sight of what balances the person. Suggestions welcomed how do I reconnect and write the good stuff again?"
When I read the full text (what's above is an excerpt), I thought, this is one of the reasons so many writers become alcoholics and engage in drug use--to escape; seeking refuge. Many writers fall to depression. Many grow cynical and some despondent.
We don't want to do any of that. It's all destructive. We're constructive people. And yet we do focus so intently, feel so deeply, engage so strongly that we can become victims of these things unless we take precautions--and unless we are disciplined in our actions and are determined to not become victims. It's not easy to see, hear and feel all we do and not be adversely impacted. And yet our profession requires that we be impacted to write with clarity, conviction and authority. And that's a paradox that often lands us center square in a dilemma.
We must engage. We can't disengage and do our jobs well. So what do we do? How do we engage without becoming victims?
We control our engagements and, as I suggested in The Common Sense Guide for Writers, we write with passion and compassion--and that compassion includes being compassionate with ourselves. We write with passion or we aren't convincing. We write with compassion because those we write about deserve it--it's part of the respect package that every living thing deserves--and we, the human beings in the writers, require it.
So what we need are tools. Tips on how to do that. And what follows are a few. Note that most of these suggestions are perspectives and attitudes the writer can adopt. Note that they require perspective, mindset, discipline and compassion. Respect for self as well as others. Care, concern, compassion are as important as logic and analysis.
Tips:
1. Objective Observer. Yes, we study people, their behavior, their actions and motivations. Yes, studying them intently is essential to portraying them in our stories. We get up close and personal. But that doesn't mean that we absorb what we observe into ourselves. Only that we see, we recognize, we imagine.
Sometimes we do want to adopt new traits or opinions, ideas, attitudes as a result of our observations. But when we do, we should absorb those observations because they make us wiser and stronger people (positive attributes) and not negative ones.
So it's important to look at people's qualities--good and bad--and to seek to understand them. But it isn't essential to us to make them our own. We have to try to be objective observers.
Seek the truth, see the truth, and know the truth. We relate it in our stories. But choose not to accept and absorb the negative aspects of that truth. It is not a part of us and can't become a part of us unless we choose to make it so. Choose to be an objective observer.
2. Like attracts like. Whether it's a magnet or thoughts, like attracts like. If you focus intently on negative qualities in people or in situations, that's what attracts you.and what is attracted to you. It's universal law. It's scientifically explained. If all you're seeing are bad qualities, it's not because that's all there is, but it's all that's attracted your attention and to all that you're attracted.
Our protection is in turning this around and playing the flip side. Imagine a set of scales. One side is heavy with Bad qualities. The other side is empty. But if you place Good qualities on that side, the scales achieve balance.
So make a conscious effort balance the scales. That is essential to all human beings but particularly to those of us who spend so much of our time and lives in creative pursuits. Study bad qualities. But deliberately study good qualities, too.
Some writers are more susceptible to negative influences than others. If you're extremely susceptible, then know it and actively counter it with balance. The fix need not be anything elaborate. In your mind, put a good quality on the scale. Or use a simple list. For each negative quality you add to the list, in an opposing column add a positive one. If the influence isn't that strong, then study and balance simply by noticing the good qualities in others.
Little things make an enormous impact, particularly in comparison. An example: Today, I was watching the 9/11 coverage on the news. The tragic loss of life, the irrationality of bombing innocents, people jumping out of the towers, all the orphans and widowers and widows... I was as outraged as the day it all happened. Totally inflamed. And then on the screen before my eyes, I saw President Bush shaking hands with people. He stopped to talk to a teenage girl. She bent his ear a good while. He teared up, hugged her, talked and listened and hugged her again, giving her shoulder a fatherly, comforting pat. He walked down that line of people, hugging, kissing cheeks, comforting and caring. Now I won't say I always agree with this man, but I will say that he's a good comforter. I saw the change in the expressions in these people. I saw him tear up with them. And I suddenly noticed that I wasn't as angry. Resolved, yes, as much as ever. After all, the bastards want us dead. But the anger had softened under compassion's hand.
The lesson in that is to engage but let compassion's hand soften so that you understand what you're engaging from an insider's perspective (passion) but compassion allows you to have a more balanced reaction.
3. We see what we expect to see. When you're looking at human beings expecting to see bad qualities, you will. You'll miss seeing the good (even a stopped clock is right twice a day, so there is good in everything) because you expect to see bad.
I'm reminded here of the self-fulfilled prophesy. "I can't do it, I can't do it, I can't do it." Tell yourself (or someone else) that enough, and they will be believe you. So much so that it'll come to pass--you or they can't do it--because your faith in it happening (or not happening) was resolute.
I don't recall who said this, but I've had it written on my favorite quotes wall for years. "Image it and it will be." We create first in thought and then act to make it manifest. That holds true whether we are manifesting something bad or good.
You made a conscious effort to notice the bad. Thought it, then acted on it. You created that notice of the bad. Make that same conscious effort to notice the good. You know you can create it--you've done it already so it is possible to create the notice in good. In creating both, you achieve balance.
We do see what we expect to see, so expect to see good.
I know a young man who had a penchant for trouble. Others expected him to get into trouble and he didn't disappoint them. When I was consulted on how to help him turn his life around, my advice was simple: Expect his best--and let him know it.
He'll make mistakes, we all do. But when he does, let him scrape his knees and then help him up and love him through it. Just never stop expecting his best. Why?
Expecting his best is expressing faith in him. Belief in his abilities, capabilities and his judgment. It's saying, "I believe in you." And that inspires people to rise to the occasion, to prove to themselves and to you that your faith in them is well placed. It must be sincere. It must be honest. But faith can and does move mountains.
You see, the truth is that you can't change someone else's course. Only they are at the helm of their ship, making their choices. But you can inspire them to make wise choices, to consider wise choices worth making.
5. Goodness is like happiness. It doesn't come from without, it comes from within. It's a choice we make. We can be good or see good with the same ease we can be or see bad. We decide.
In the 9/11 film footage yesterday, one viewed and experienced many emotions. Shock, fear, outrage--moments of unstinting heroism, deep sadness, great tenderness. In many, suffering the worst brought out the best.
Some experienced the full range of emotions witnessed, conjured. Some got stuck on shock or fear. Some were numb to the shock and outrage but deeply moved by heroism. Some mourned again, as if not five years but five minutes had passed.
Each person chose their reaction. Whether that reaction was deliberate and conscious or unconscious; one s/he drifted into and just stayed. Remember, no choice is a choice.
I've seen people whose lives were destroyed. Who had lost everything they owned. Who were dying and knew it. And they were happy. Not at the destruction or loss or at their own deaths, but at the choices they'd made and the lives they'd lived. They looked at their big picture--their entire life--and not the single if significant event--and had few regrets.
There is power in choice. Every day when you wake up, before you put your feet on the floor, you can choose to see good in people today. You can be determined to notice random acts of kindness, kindnesses, the things people do to reach out to one other.
I'm not suggesting you play ostrich and bury your head in the sand against anything bad. I'm not suggesting you play Pollyanna and pretend the bad doesn't exist. I am suggesting that you choose how you react to good or bad. You choose how much of your focus and attention and emotion you grant it. Choose to see good in people. It's there. Waiting to be noticed and taken out for a spin.
4. Define good. Society gives us what it deems definitions of good and bad. From the cradle to adulthood others define it, and the older we get, the more definitions we have because our circle of influence widens.
But their comes a time in our lives we don't just accept or reject others' definitions. We create our own. And, while we're not to judge others because we don't walk in their shoes, know all they know, feel all they feel, we do make judgment values.
Those values vary from person to person. We're human, so we have a lot in common, and that typically extends to the judgment values we place on good and bad. But we have differences, too.
For example: One man's terrorist is another's freedom fighter. One's act of kindness is other's interference. One's compliment is another's insult.
In the same day, based on the same post, I've received notes that I'm a bleeding heart liberal and an uptight conservative. An idealist and too rooted in reality. I've gotten notes on my books that claim I know exactly what it's like to be in that position, and ones that say I don't have a clue.
The posts and the works haven't changed. What is different is people's perceptions. Their value judgments.
I can't make value judgments for others. I wouldn't presume to do that, or do it even if I had the power or ability to do so. That's each individual's right and responsibility. And isn't it wonderful that it is?
You must decide what is good and what is bad. And resolve yourself to being aware of the difference. Goodness is within and without in equal measure. You can seek it in yourself, encourage it to emerge and nurture it--in yourself and in others. Or not. You choose.
All of this said, remember that we're all human. We have flaws or we wouldn't be, we'd be perfect. Judge harshly and you will see more flaws than goodness. But goodness is still there.
And so I close, hoping that this has been helpful. That it's been enough, and it offers you the tools you need to again achieve balance. I hope that something in it inspires you to seek the good in people. Otherwise, you're headed for a lonely, bitter existence. And that would be a tragic loss, to and for you, and for others whose lives you might have touched.
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
Writing: Web Blog
www.vickihinze.com
Radio: Web Blog Listen
www.everydaywomanradio.com
For most of the past decade, I've been answering questions for other writers--nearly 2,000 of them, when you combine my library group and the Aids4Writers group at Yahoo. Some responses, I share with the others on the lists. Some are too specific and personal to share with anyone other than the person who asks.
Over the years, I've been asked just about everything that can be asked on the writing craft, the business, and about life as a writer. Many inquiries have set me to seeking expertise. Many have been heart-wrenching for the challenges presented in them. They've kept me on my toes, and a huge number of them have made me really think about many different things.
But in all these years, and in all these inquiries, I don't think I've received one more sobering than one I received earlier today from a writer who clearly is in a hard place. And because I realize that it's all too easy for all of us to awaken and discover ourselves in a hard place, I am addressing this through the group.
When I received this inquiry, my initial reaction was to fire off a response--quick--but I realized that careful consideration--thoughtful, careful consideration--was required. You see, this inquiry impacted the writer. Not just the work, or just one aspect of the writer, but regarded a topic so intricately woven into the fabric of the human being herself that it cannot be separated from the writer.
And something that significant requires all the care one has to give.
So I've spent the day thinking about this. Accomplishing little else, because the weight of this challenge is heavy; the burden bulky and unyielding. And so I'll share with you now my thoughts on this issue, and I hope from all the recesses of my heart that it will be sufficient to help.
The issue:
In examining deep characterization and focusing intently on bad qualities in people, the writer writes: "Only now I’m so incased in finding those bad qualities in people, I can't see the good ones any more. Where did all the good people go, how do I draw those good and decent characters out so my stories have equal balance. NO, please do not tell me to let Calgone take me away; I seem to have lost sight of what balances the person. Suggestions welcomed how do I reconnect and write the good stuff again?"
When I read the full text (what's above is an excerpt), I thought, this is one of the reasons so many writers become alcoholics and engage in drug use--to escape; seeking refuge. Many writers fall to depression. Many grow cynical and some despondent.
We don't want to do any of that. It's all destructive. We're constructive people. And yet we do focus so intently, feel so deeply, engage so strongly that we can become victims of these things unless we take precautions--and unless we are disciplined in our actions and are determined to not become victims. It's not easy to see, hear and feel all we do and not be adversely impacted. And yet our profession requires that we be impacted to write with clarity, conviction and authority. And that's a paradox that often lands us center square in a dilemma.
We must engage. We can't disengage and do our jobs well. So what do we do? How do we engage without becoming victims?
We control our engagements and, as I suggested in The Common Sense Guide for Writers, we write with passion and compassion--and that compassion includes being compassionate with ourselves. We write with passion or we aren't convincing. We write with compassion because those we write about deserve it--it's part of the respect package that every living thing deserves--and we, the human beings in the writers, require it.
So what we need are tools. Tips on how to do that. And what follows are a few. Note that most of these suggestions are perspectives and attitudes the writer can adopt. Note that they require perspective, mindset, discipline and compassion. Respect for self as well as others. Care, concern, compassion are as important as logic and analysis.
Tips:
1. Objective Observer. Yes, we study people, their behavior, their actions and motivations. Yes, studying them intently is essential to portraying them in our stories. We get up close and personal. But that doesn't mean that we absorb what we observe into ourselves. Only that we see, we recognize, we imagine.
Sometimes we do want to adopt new traits or opinions, ideas, attitudes as a result of our observations. But when we do, we should absorb those observations because they make us wiser and stronger people (positive attributes) and not negative ones.
So it's important to look at people's qualities--good and bad--and to seek to understand them. But it isn't essential to us to make them our own. We have to try to be objective observers.
Seek the truth, see the truth, and know the truth. We relate it in our stories. But choose not to accept and absorb the negative aspects of that truth. It is not a part of us and can't become a part of us unless we choose to make it so. Choose to be an objective observer.
2. Like attracts like. Whether it's a magnet or thoughts, like attracts like. If you focus intently on negative qualities in people or in situations, that's what attracts you.and what is attracted to you. It's universal law. It's scientifically explained. If all you're seeing are bad qualities, it's not because that's all there is, but it's all that's attracted your attention and to all that you're attracted.
Our protection is in turning this around and playing the flip side. Imagine a set of scales. One side is heavy with Bad qualities. The other side is empty. But if you place Good qualities on that side, the scales achieve balance.
So make a conscious effort balance the scales. That is essential to all human beings but particularly to those of us who spend so much of our time and lives in creative pursuits. Study bad qualities. But deliberately study good qualities, too.
Some writers are more susceptible to negative influences than others. If you're extremely susceptible, then know it and actively counter it with balance. The fix need not be anything elaborate. In your mind, put a good quality on the scale. Or use a simple list. For each negative quality you add to the list, in an opposing column add a positive one. If the influence isn't that strong, then study and balance simply by noticing the good qualities in others.
Little things make an enormous impact, particularly in comparison. An example: Today, I was watching the 9/11 coverage on the news. The tragic loss of life, the irrationality of bombing innocents, people jumping out of the towers, all the orphans and widowers and widows... I was as outraged as the day it all happened. Totally inflamed. And then on the screen before my eyes, I saw President Bush shaking hands with people. He stopped to talk to a teenage girl. She bent his ear a good while. He teared up, hugged her, talked and listened and hugged her again, giving her shoulder a fatherly, comforting pat. He walked down that line of people, hugging, kissing cheeks, comforting and caring. Now I won't say I always agree with this man, but I will say that he's a good comforter. I saw the change in the expressions in these people. I saw him tear up with them. And I suddenly noticed that I wasn't as angry. Resolved, yes, as much as ever. After all, the bastards want us dead. But the anger had softened under compassion's hand.
The lesson in that is to engage but let compassion's hand soften so that you understand what you're engaging from an insider's perspective (passion) but compassion allows you to have a more balanced reaction.
3. We see what we expect to see. When you're looking at human beings expecting to see bad qualities, you will. You'll miss seeing the good (even a stopped clock is right twice a day, so there is good in everything) because you expect to see bad.
I'm reminded here of the self-fulfilled prophesy. "I can't do it, I can't do it, I can't do it." Tell yourself (or someone else) that enough, and they will be believe you. So much so that it'll come to pass--you or they can't do it--because your faith in it happening (or not happening) was resolute.
I don't recall who said this, but I've had it written on my favorite quotes wall for years. "Image it and it will be." We create first in thought and then act to make it manifest. That holds true whether we are manifesting something bad or good.
You made a conscious effort to notice the bad. Thought it, then acted on it. You created that notice of the bad. Make that same conscious effort to notice the good. You know you can create it--you've done it already so it is possible to create the notice in good. In creating both, you achieve balance.
We do see what we expect to see, so expect to see good.
I know a young man who had a penchant for trouble. Others expected him to get into trouble and he didn't disappoint them. When I was consulted on how to help him turn his life around, my advice was simple: Expect his best--and let him know it.
He'll make mistakes, we all do. But when he does, let him scrape his knees and then help him up and love him through it. Just never stop expecting his best. Why?
Expecting his best is expressing faith in him. Belief in his abilities, capabilities and his judgment. It's saying, "I believe in you." And that inspires people to rise to the occasion, to prove to themselves and to you that your faith in them is well placed. It must be sincere. It must be honest. But faith can and does move mountains.
You see, the truth is that you can't change someone else's course. Only they are at the helm of their ship, making their choices. But you can inspire them to make wise choices, to consider wise choices worth making.
5. Goodness is like happiness. It doesn't come from without, it comes from within. It's a choice we make. We can be good or see good with the same ease we can be or see bad. We decide.
In the 9/11 film footage yesterday, one viewed and experienced many emotions. Shock, fear, outrage--moments of unstinting heroism, deep sadness, great tenderness. In many, suffering the worst brought out the best.
Some experienced the full range of emotions witnessed, conjured. Some got stuck on shock or fear. Some were numb to the shock and outrage but deeply moved by heroism. Some mourned again, as if not five years but five minutes had passed.
Each person chose their reaction. Whether that reaction was deliberate and conscious or unconscious; one s/he drifted into and just stayed. Remember, no choice is a choice.
I've seen people whose lives were destroyed. Who had lost everything they owned. Who were dying and knew it. And they were happy. Not at the destruction or loss or at their own deaths, but at the choices they'd made and the lives they'd lived. They looked at their big picture--their entire life--and not the single if significant event--and had few regrets.
There is power in choice. Every day when you wake up, before you put your feet on the floor, you can choose to see good in people today. You can be determined to notice random acts of kindness, kindnesses, the things people do to reach out to one other.
I'm not suggesting you play ostrich and bury your head in the sand against anything bad. I'm not suggesting you play Pollyanna and pretend the bad doesn't exist. I am suggesting that you choose how you react to good or bad. You choose how much of your focus and attention and emotion you grant it. Choose to see good in people. It's there. Waiting to be noticed and taken out for a spin.
4. Define good. Society gives us what it deems definitions of good and bad. From the cradle to adulthood others define it, and the older we get, the more definitions we have because our circle of influence widens.
But their comes a time in our lives we don't just accept or reject others' definitions. We create our own. And, while we're not to judge others because we don't walk in their shoes, know all they know, feel all they feel, we do make judgment values.
Those values vary from person to person. We're human, so we have a lot in common, and that typically extends to the judgment values we place on good and bad. But we have differences, too.
For example: One man's terrorist is another's freedom fighter. One's act of kindness is other's interference. One's compliment is another's insult.
In the same day, based on the same post, I've received notes that I'm a bleeding heart liberal and an uptight conservative. An idealist and too rooted in reality. I've gotten notes on my books that claim I know exactly what it's like to be in that position, and ones that say I don't have a clue.
The posts and the works haven't changed. What is different is people's perceptions. Their value judgments.
I can't make value judgments for others. I wouldn't presume to do that, or do it even if I had the power or ability to do so. That's each individual's right and responsibility. And isn't it wonderful that it is?
You must decide what is good and what is bad. And resolve yourself to being aware of the difference. Goodness is within and without in equal measure. You can seek it in yourself, encourage it to emerge and nurture it--in yourself and in others. Or not. You choose.
All of this said, remember that we're all human. We have flaws or we wouldn't be, we'd be perfect. Judge harshly and you will see more flaws than goodness. But goodness is still there.
And so I close, hoping that this has been helpful. That it's been enough, and it offers you the tools you need to again achieve balance. I hope that something in it inspires you to seek the good in people. Otherwise, you're headed for a lonely, bitter existence. And that would be a tragic loss, to and for you, and for others whose lives you might have touched.
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
Writing: Web Blog
www.vickihinze.com
Radio: Web Blog Listen
www.everydaywomanradio.com
Friday, September 08, 2006
QUALIFICATIONS? None . . . Yet
Warning: this is a no-edit zone....
I came across the following quote this morning:
"A great pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do." --Walter Bagehot
It made me smile. Why? Because it sent me back in time. Not literally, of course, but in my mind. I thought of the first job I had in a legal office. The senior partner was a state representative named Dempsey. I well remember our first meeting.
I had started work there and he'd been away; congress had been in session. So I'm at my desk, and this strange man walks into my office. He has a bright, sunny smile, a welcome and "I'm glad to be here" attitude. "Hi," he says. "And who are you?"
"I'm Vicki Hinze," I said. "And who are you?"
"Dempsey," he said. "And what are your qualifications?"
I didn't recognize the senior partner's name. Didn't expect to see him there, and the name just didn't connect. "I don't have any," I said, thinking this visitor was certainly impertinent, asking me a question like that. The horrible thing was that it was true. I didn't have any qualifications for doing the job I'd been hired to do. But I'd told them that if they'd take a shot on me, I'd work hard and learn; they had my promise on that.
Dempsey clearly hadn't been alerted to that promise. He gave me the strangest look and a long, pregnant moment passed. "Well," he said. "That's blunt."
"Unfortunately, it's true, too."
"Do you want to learn?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. The light bulb had finally clicked on, and I realized I was talking to the head honcho, and I was nearly certain he was going to show me the door.
We talked for a few minutes more, and then he looked me in the eye and said, "Never again are you going to have to tell anyone you have no qualifications."
I didn't know what to say. What can you say to a man who makes you that kind of promise?
Dempsey put me in the office law library and for the next six weeks, he paid me to study. At the end of the day, we'd talk about what I'd studied, and he--and the other partners and associates--would answer my questions. They had a project: me. And the firm's objective was to educate Vicki.
I learned. Boy, did I learn. And eventually I taught other attorneys how to handle real estate property closings, escrows, trusts, title challenges. I acted as an agent for a corporate computer giant in an acquisition it made, and for the U.S. in its acquisition of property for the environmental protection of an endangered species. Commercial transactions and personal injury, liability cases--all manner of things once alien to me.
They brought in a CPA to teach me accounting, so I could audit the books. They brought in insurance underwriters to teach me the significance of their rules and regulations. And then Dempsey asked me to read proposed legislation that came through to him for consideration and to do a one-page opinion report, pro or con on the proposition.
I was in heaven. It had to be heaven. Me, a political junkie, with a congressman's ear and he would hear my opinions? Not just hear, but listen? Picture me elated.
When I told Dempsey I was expecting a baby, he said, "Well, we'll build a nursery and get a nanny and you can be with her as much as you like."
No one was doing that in those days. No one. But, as surely you've noticed, Dempsey didn't follow the pack. He did things his way, and his way helped people to become better, wiser, and stronger. He didn't give you a fish. He taught you how to fish--and gave you the bait to put on your hook.
I would have worked there until he or I died of old age. But my husband was active duty military and he got orders. Dempsey offered me law school, to fly my husband home on weekends--all manner of things--but in the end, we knew it had to be family first.
I've seen Dempsey many times since then, and thought of him many, many times more. His determination to help a young woman get qualified literally changed my life.
He was a wonderful mentor--not just in terms of work but in terms of being a good human being. I learned a lot from him. Helping others. The power of having faith in someone, in investing in them. How that seed of faith can spur them to tackle other challenges. Like college. Like writing books. Like any of the thousand other things I've done that without the confidence to try I might never have done.
My father taught me not to fear failure; it's a natural part of growth, like exhaling when you breathe. Can't inhale without exhaling, too; your lungs would explode. (See the balance? Can't have success without failure. Doesn't work.)
Dempsey taught me to define specific objectives and then aggressively pursue them.
Both men looked out to others and in to themselves. They lived by strong codes of ethics--their own--and with integrity, doing what they felt was right and important in their daily lives.
Both men had good hearts. And that's why Walter Bagehot's quote triggered memories in me and I'm for the millionth time sitting here feeling a bit awestricken and incredibly humble.
It is a great pleasure in life to do that which others say you cannot. Not for the mere sake of defiance--there's no glory in being outside the box for the mere sake of being outside the box--but for the sake of greater purpose. Because greater purpose is served in the accomplishment that can only be reached by being outside the box.
At one time, Dempsey, who'd had polio as a kid and carried the challenges from it, had been told what he couldn't do. He could never qualify. He disputed it, and did it anyway. He failed his way to success. And then he extended a hand to others, and I was so lucky to be one of them.
He never mentioned to me that he'd learned the lessons he taught firsthand. I learned that from his partner, and that there were others like me, that he'd taken on to help get qualified in one way or another.
If I'd thought about it, I would have realized that. His insights were too perceptive for an outsider, so to speak. I did once ask him why he was doing all this for me. He just smiled.
As time passed and I matured, I realized why Dempsey did all he did. Many times, I've imagined him looking at me with a knowing twinkle in his eye and that cocky pitch in his voice. "Why am I doing this?" He softly chuckles. "Because I can."
I've never again had to tell anyone that I have no qualifications. I have Dempsey to thank for that. He kept his promise.
I've tried to play it forward. In the years since, I've tackled many things that were new to me (and will continue to do so, I expect, until I die). The thing that makes people (or characters) frigid and afraid to try new things is fear. They feel inadequate, inferior--unqualified.
But what Dempsey taught me that they might not know is this: When we first try something new, we are ALL unqualified. and the only way to get qualified is by doing it.
So why worry and why wait? Jump in and get started. If you screw up, well, you're exhaling. Learn from it, take your next breath and press on. Get qualified as you go.
And if someone should ask, "What are your qualifications?" Tell them the truth: "I don't have any . . . yet."
You might be talking to a Dempsey.
Or if you're the one asking the question?
Consider becoming a Dempsey.
Reshaping a life is no small thing. Your immortal mark is made in the hearts of those you help. And so inspired by you, through them, your ripple goes on.
And that's what's on my mind this morning...
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
Writing: Web Blog
Radio: Web Blog Listen
www.vickihinze.com
www.everydaywomanradio.com
I came across the following quote this morning:
"A great pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do." --Walter Bagehot
It made me smile. Why? Because it sent me back in time. Not literally, of course, but in my mind. I thought of the first job I had in a legal office. The senior partner was a state representative named Dempsey. I well remember our first meeting.
I had started work there and he'd been away; congress had been in session. So I'm at my desk, and this strange man walks into my office. He has a bright, sunny smile, a welcome and "I'm glad to be here" attitude. "Hi," he says. "And who are you?"
"I'm Vicki Hinze," I said. "And who are you?"
"Dempsey," he said. "And what are your qualifications?"
I didn't recognize the senior partner's name. Didn't expect to see him there, and the name just didn't connect. "I don't have any," I said, thinking this visitor was certainly impertinent, asking me a question like that. The horrible thing was that it was true. I didn't have any qualifications for doing the job I'd been hired to do. But I'd told them that if they'd take a shot on me, I'd work hard and learn; they had my promise on that.
Dempsey clearly hadn't been alerted to that promise. He gave me the strangest look and a long, pregnant moment passed. "Well," he said. "That's blunt."
"Unfortunately, it's true, too."
"Do you want to learn?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. The light bulb had finally clicked on, and I realized I was talking to the head honcho, and I was nearly certain he was going to show me the door.
We talked for a few minutes more, and then he looked me in the eye and said, "Never again are you going to have to tell anyone you have no qualifications."
I didn't know what to say. What can you say to a man who makes you that kind of promise?
Dempsey put me in the office law library and for the next six weeks, he paid me to study. At the end of the day, we'd talk about what I'd studied, and he--and the other partners and associates--would answer my questions. They had a project: me. And the firm's objective was to educate Vicki.
I learned. Boy, did I learn. And eventually I taught other attorneys how to handle real estate property closings, escrows, trusts, title challenges. I acted as an agent for a corporate computer giant in an acquisition it made, and for the U.S. in its acquisition of property for the environmental protection of an endangered species. Commercial transactions and personal injury, liability cases--all manner of things once alien to me.
They brought in a CPA to teach me accounting, so I could audit the books. They brought in insurance underwriters to teach me the significance of their rules and regulations. And then Dempsey asked me to read proposed legislation that came through to him for consideration and to do a one-page opinion report, pro or con on the proposition.
I was in heaven. It had to be heaven. Me, a political junkie, with a congressman's ear and he would hear my opinions? Not just hear, but listen? Picture me elated.
When I told Dempsey I was expecting a baby, he said, "Well, we'll build a nursery and get a nanny and you can be with her as much as you like."
No one was doing that in those days. No one. But, as surely you've noticed, Dempsey didn't follow the pack. He did things his way, and his way helped people to become better, wiser, and stronger. He didn't give you a fish. He taught you how to fish--and gave you the bait to put on your hook.
I would have worked there until he or I died of old age. But my husband was active duty military and he got orders. Dempsey offered me law school, to fly my husband home on weekends--all manner of things--but in the end, we knew it had to be family first.
I've seen Dempsey many times since then, and thought of him many, many times more. His determination to help a young woman get qualified literally changed my life.
He was a wonderful mentor--not just in terms of work but in terms of being a good human being. I learned a lot from him. Helping others. The power of having faith in someone, in investing in them. How that seed of faith can spur them to tackle other challenges. Like college. Like writing books. Like any of the thousand other things I've done that without the confidence to try I might never have done.
My father taught me not to fear failure; it's a natural part of growth, like exhaling when you breathe. Can't inhale without exhaling, too; your lungs would explode. (See the balance? Can't have success without failure. Doesn't work.)
Dempsey taught me to define specific objectives and then aggressively pursue them.
Both men looked out to others and in to themselves. They lived by strong codes of ethics--their own--and with integrity, doing what they felt was right and important in their daily lives.
Both men had good hearts. And that's why Walter Bagehot's quote triggered memories in me and I'm for the millionth time sitting here feeling a bit awestricken and incredibly humble.
It is a great pleasure in life to do that which others say you cannot. Not for the mere sake of defiance--there's no glory in being outside the box for the mere sake of being outside the box--but for the sake of greater purpose. Because greater purpose is served in the accomplishment that can only be reached by being outside the box.
At one time, Dempsey, who'd had polio as a kid and carried the challenges from it, had been told what he couldn't do. He could never qualify. He disputed it, and did it anyway. He failed his way to success. And then he extended a hand to others, and I was so lucky to be one of them.
He never mentioned to me that he'd learned the lessons he taught firsthand. I learned that from his partner, and that there were others like me, that he'd taken on to help get qualified in one way or another.
If I'd thought about it, I would have realized that. His insights were too perceptive for an outsider, so to speak. I did once ask him why he was doing all this for me. He just smiled.
As time passed and I matured, I realized why Dempsey did all he did. Many times, I've imagined him looking at me with a knowing twinkle in his eye and that cocky pitch in his voice. "Why am I doing this?" He softly chuckles. "Because I can."
I've never again had to tell anyone that I have no qualifications. I have Dempsey to thank for that. He kept his promise.
I've tried to play it forward. In the years since, I've tackled many things that were new to me (and will continue to do so, I expect, until I die). The thing that makes people (or characters) frigid and afraid to try new things is fear. They feel inadequate, inferior--unqualified.
But what Dempsey taught me that they might not know is this: When we first try something new, we are ALL unqualified. and the only way to get qualified is by doing it.
So why worry and why wait? Jump in and get started. If you screw up, well, you're exhaling. Learn from it, take your next breath and press on. Get qualified as you go.
And if someone should ask, "What are your qualifications?" Tell them the truth: "I don't have any . . . yet."
You might be talking to a Dempsey.
Or if you're the one asking the question?
Consider becoming a Dempsey.
Reshaping a life is no small thing. Your immortal mark is made in the hearts of those you help. And so inspired by you, through them, your ripple goes on.
And that's what's on my mind this morning...
Blessings,
Vicki
Vicki Hinze
Writing: Web Blog
Radio: Web Blog Listen
www.vickihinze.com
www.everydaywomanradio.com
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