Category: Bravery

Posted in Bravery, The Writing Path, Writing Fears

Opening Those Closed Doors

Posted on by beckylevine

I come from a long-lived family. I got to know three of my grandparents well into my thirties, and both of my grandmothers made it past 90. I was lucky in many ways to have them in my life, but one of the more shallow ways in which I like to look at that luck was that, truly, I got to put middle-age off for quite a while. (Do the math. Divide 93 by 2. Forty is NOT middle-age.)

Still, somewhere in the past few years, I got there. And, yes, twisted ankles take quite a while to heal; finding a comfortable & decent-looking pair of jeans takes even longer. On the flip side, it hardly takes any time, once I’ve curled up with a book, for me to fall asleep!

And there are days when I look ahead and feel like I need to race a whole lot faster if I want to do all the things I…want to do.

But I’m finding a big plus to being a person “of a certain age.” And that is that I believe in more possibilities than I did when I was younger.

When I left college, I decided that I was not a good enough writer to get into an MFA problem. This wasn’t low self-esteem; I’m pretty sure I was right. Unfortunately, I used that decision to do something we should never do…close a door. For too many years after that, I puttered with my writing, something that had previously been–since I was about ten years old–one of the most important things in my life. I wrote, or I said I was writing, but I drifted from project to project, with long gaps in between, and never getting further along than a beginning. If that.

Sometime in my thirties, I decided I was missing out and moved writing back up to a priority. The years off had put a dent in my confidence, though, had made me view myself as less of a Writer, had made me unsure if I had the skill or commitment to really produce anything. I wrote and I joined critique groups, and I wrote some more. And gradually, I began to take myself seriously enough to move steadily forward. That door was open, and I dared (and still dare) anybody to push aside the boulder I’ve got keeping it that way.

I thought this was it. I thought this was all the looking back I needed to do, that there were no other doors–in terms of my writing–that I needed to unlock.

Then just the other day I saw another door. It was tucked far into a corner. The bulb at that end of the room must have burned out, because I’ve passed that door a gazillion times in the last ten years and not even noticed it. I did hear some tapping, so muffled and quiet, I didn’t even realize something was trying to get in. A few authors I’ve been reading lately–Naomi Novik, Jim Butcher, Laini Taylor joined in, bringing the tapping up to a loud knocking. Then, finally, with a huge DUH!, my brain got it.

This was the fantasy door.

Basically, in junior high, I went straight from kids’ books and required classics to fantasy–via Tolkien and McCaffrey and Brooks and anyone else who fed my craving for elves and wizards and dragons and dark forests and sword fights. I never even heard of fan fiction until people went crazy with Harry Potter, and I never thought of sharing stories with my friends, but that’s what I was writing. Every story I started had someone with a long, white beard who spoke profoundly and made no sense. I didn’t read my work out loud, but you can bet every single character spoke with a beautiful British accent. My heroes communicated by mind with unicorns and dragons; they turned from poverty-stricken, hard-working peasants into powerful bearers of heretofore unknown magic.

You get the point.

And then–I can’t tell you when or why–I shut that door. I have a feeling it was the same kind of decision as the MFA one–I wasn’t good enough yet, so I wasn’t good enough.

Oh, all the things this writer “of a certain age” that I am now wants to say to that young girl writer…

Luckily, as I said, somehow getting older has taught me to stop putting limits on my future. I don’t know if I will ever write a fantasy. I don’t know if I’ll be able to come up with something non-derivative, completely my own.

But I do know that, as of a week ago, there is a folder in my filing cabinet labeled FANTASY. And in that folder, there are a few slips of paper, with just a few scribbled notes on them. Ideas.

Possibilities.

What doors have you closed and either forgotten about or too stubbornly ignored? Is it time, perhaps, to go oil the lock and hunt out the key?

Posted in Bravery, Getting Organized, The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide, The Writing Path, Writing Fears, Writing Projects

Taking Risks…Come On, Just a Few

Posted on by beckylevine

I am by nature an extremely cautious person. I’m also not so good with change. 38 years later, I’m still not so sure my family needed to sell our smallish tract home and move to the much bigger house, on the top of a hill, with an ocean view and a bedroom for each kid, that my parents had designed and built just for us. Really.

‘Cause you know, why swap out the old for a new? Why take the chance, when where you’re headed might be worse than where you are?

Well, obviously, because it also might be a lot better. Or just really, really good and mesh in beautifully with the happy life you already have.

The last few years, I’ve taken more risks. Nothing huge, from a lot of people’s perspectives, but from Little Miss “Okay, Mom, I’ll get nine books I’ve already read from the library and one new one,” some of the choices I’ve made have been a big deal. And they’ve gotten me to some very good places, including the writing and soon-to-happen publication of The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide.

So, this week, with school starting, more time to focus, and a year ahead in which I want things to be different, I’m putting myself out there. I’m digging deeper into my WIP, reminding myself how important this story—and my fiction—are to me. I’m working on a couple of basic pitches for two nonfiction projects, to send to my agent. I sent an email off for some consulting work. I’ve got a list o children’s nonfiction-book publishers that I’m going to contact.

You can see where the risk comes in. These are all projects I’m qualified to do, and they’re all things I really love doing. But, yes, it’s a lot. The old me would say I was insane, diving head first into all these options, instead of maybe sticking a toe (or just the tip of a toe) into that water. The new me takes a look at the possibility of insanity and does some reassuring. Here’s what I tell myself:

  • You can do these.  You can. [Sigh.] Yes, honestly.
  • None of these are sure bets. To be realistic, some—if not many—are longshots. The odds of you getting to do all of them—get real. You’re not that good. (Yes, sometimes, a big of ego-deflation is actually necessary these days. When did that happen?!)
  • They won’t all happen at the same time. Projects take weeks, months, even years to come to fruition. You’ll probably be bored, waiting for anything to do.
  • A full, exciting life is better than a quiet, dull one.
  • “Yes,” is better than “No,” much of the time. And for your writing path, just about all of the time.

Do I still get nervous? Of course. Do I let that stop me, as it would have when I was young, from reaching out, from stretching myself for the things I really want. Not any more. I may not race ahead and grab it at full-speed just yet. I do, however, hold out my hand and say, “Please.”

What about you? What risks have you taken, or are you facing, that can add to your writing path, bring you more of the happiness that it already gives you?

Posted in Bravery, First Drafts

Back on the High Dive

Posted on by beckylevine

As a child, I was pretty much a wimp. Adventure was something to read about, not to actually participate in. Every now and then, though, something would snap inside me, and I would decide that I was going to do…X.

When I was, oh, ten or twelve, X was the act of diving off the high dive in swimming lessons. We were required to jump off, but it was our choice if we wanted to dive. For most of the week, I climbed up that ladder, walked to the end of the board, and jumped. None of this did I do happily.

And then, toward the end of the week, I decided I was going in head first. As I climbed out of the pool after the last jump and walked briskly back to the other end, I stopped at the chain-link fence separating the pool from the parents. My mom always brought a book to swimming lessons (hey, we must be related!), and I made sure that I stopped, got her to pull her nose out of it, and promise that she would watch–all without telling her what I was going to do. Then up that ladder I went again.

Keep in mind, these were the days of required swimming caps for girls, even though–in the early seventies–my pixie cut was several inches shorter than most of the boys’ hair styles. And keep in mind that, when I dove off the low-board or the edge of the pool, I would “part” the water with my hands, then pull them down to my sides.

Off the high dive, of course, I parted the air and had my arms at my sides miles before I hit the water. With my head. That had a rubber swimming cap stretched tight across it.

Say it with me…OW!!!!

Probably needless to say, that was the last time I ever dove off anything more than a few inches away from the water.

About two years ago, I wrote a complete first draft of a middle-grade mystery. Today, that mystery is complete and would love to find its way into an agent or editor’s hands. Meanwhile, what am I doing? I’m back up on the first-draft diving board. The completed novel is a long, long way down. What’s it look like from up here?

  • There’s a little extra confidence, because I’ve done this once. I believe (usually) that I can do it again.
  • There’s a little extra worry, frankly, because I also know how much work is ahead of me.
  • There is some serious excitement. In 4-6 weeks, I will have created something new. It will be a mess, I’ll probably have had my share of  tight-swimming-cap headaches along the way, and I’ll be a long way off from a swan dive. But I’ll have added a new piece to the world.

Perhaps the best part. I am liking myself a whole lot right now. I remember this feeling from walking back along the pool, from saying, “Mom!!” half a dozen times in a progressively louder voice to make sure I had a witness, from knowing that I–the wimp–was going to do something big and brave. It’s a much happier place for me than standing on the sidelines watching all the other kids dive right in.

Today, let’s celebrate our courage. What are you doing this summer that might be pushing your usual limits, just a bit? Let us know, and we’ll all clap like crazy. Well, once you’ve got your swimming cap off and have taken a couple of aspirin. 🙂