Being Writer: On Writing as an Art Part II--- There's no App for That

If you read Part I of this little shebang, you'll remember me saying that I have a bad habit of trying to save the world, even though I've known that I can't actually do that. It's impossible.

After talking with Molly (it was a great convo. You should totes check it out. I cut out all the irrelevant bits. Now go read it!), I realize that saving the world isn't really my job. My job is to live. To learn. To teach others what I've learned. To do. To do some more. To live some more. And then, just like Finals, I'm DONE.

Guess what I learned this week? I learned that it's okay if you wake up and discover that you don't like the writing process. It's okay to not be a writer. It's okay. As Molly said, you've got to love the process to be a part of the field. But if you don't, that's okay. You can find a process you do love, and you can work your butt off until you're where you're destined to be.

Because writing is an art. It's a science, too, if we're working off of Molly's "art: creation:: science: discovery" analogy. Writing is about the creation of worlds. The discovery of truth. The combination of both, used to make connections with real live people and to express an appreciation for the genius that is mankind. God is SO good sometimes. Because I get all kinds  of excited when I think about how awesome He made us to be. We all have something genuinely special about us. Something we can excel at. Something we can work hard for. But it all comes back to creation and discovery. Man has a NEED to create and/or to discover. Think really hard about what you want to do in life. Tell me this isn't true.

And guys. Writing has BOTH of these! My toes are tapping as I type this because it makes me so happy that I've discovered why I love this field so much. I'm an artist. I'm an ARTIST. Because I love to create, but there's no WAY my mind could be at peace if I weren't learning and telling everyone about everything I learned as the knowledge came to me.

An artist isn't hindered by too many boundaries except for those set forth for them by the size of their canvas. As a writer, I have so many platforms. My canvas could be as small as a Hallmark card or as big as a blank Word document and all I have to do is fill it.

Mentally, I think artists suffer from copious amounts of self-doubt. What if I'm not good enough?... What if my work isn't good enough?... Artists share SO much of their minds--- of their souls--- with the world that it's hard for these doubts to keep at bay. In fact, I hear they never really go away. But the difference between a writer and an author isn't publication. It's perseverance  Writers are just as much of an artist as an author is--- we're just undiscovered yet.

And like all undiscovered artists, we should be working fervidly to hone our craft. To get better at the skills in which we know we could improve. We need to KEEP. GOING. Life doesn't end with rejection and neither does passion. Or skill. Or time.

The longer it takes you to realize you're an artist, the longer it's going to take for you to take your art seriously. You don't have to be the best writer to have a story to tell. But you will have to invest in your craft--- some artists use pens or paintbrushes; you might have to invest in freelance editors, find critique partners, take some classes, or conduct a bit of research. But don't think you don't need these tools (here's a post or two on the "tool" matter for further reading). You're an artist. Remember? Start acting like it. Do what all good artists do and practice. Embrace the journey. And remember that it's okay if you find out you don't love the process. Writing's a ride you got on all on your own; you really can unbuckle your seat belt and get off at any time.

Happy Writing,
Deserae
P.S. Arianna is no longer doing WanWc with us. :( BUT we need to welcome Laila! She's our new team member and I'm beyond glad to have you on board, Girly. :)
P.P.S. You can still become an Ninja!

Commenting on Comments

Prerna- Woot! I hope you found the most awesomest CPs to look after that manuscript of yours. I'm so rooting for you, Lovely!

Laila- Thanks for sending again, Love. And also, thank you! I take my song choices vair seriously. Lol! I think, originally, the email just went to my junk mail. Sorry, again, but I'm glad you're with us now. :)

Being Writer: On Writing as an Art Part I--- Thanks Molly

A long time ago, I said I was going to do a series called "Being Writer." In the first Being Writer post, I talked about the secret to writing a novel (SPOILERS: there isn't one). But I never did any more posts after that. Go figure, right? This is ME we're talking about.

Today, I was flipping through my archives and saw my Dear Writer post. I almost teared up reading it, just because of the relevance it held with what I was going through today and how it still rang true. I still have those same sentiments. I still want to save the frickin' world. But I've known for a long time that I can't. And last night I went to a friend's apartment for a "Finals are Over, Let's Celebrate!" get-together.


I think I had the most awesome conversation EVER before I left for the night.


I'll tell you why this post is split into two parts. First I have to tell you a story, and then I have to make a point. You see how much time that could take? Days, maybe, and that's if we're lucky. Instead, I'm going to talk to you about what Molly and I discussed here. If you're still interested in my actual point after that (or just wanna skip) go on over to Part II.

Molly is probably a genius. I say this because she was helping me let go of my fear of failing my friends without even knowing she was doing it.

We were talking about art. Molly's an artist. As we were hanging out in her room, I was looking around and saw a painting she'd done hanging on the wall, and without thinking, I'd said, "I wished I were better at art. My mom told me I could be, once, if I had just practiced. Like normal children."

The "like normal children" part was my own invention. Though my mom does think me strange, she'd never compare me to the other children... And Molly wouldn't either. She said, "Well, see, that's the thing I've learned. I often say that an artist has to be in love with the process of drawing or painting or whatever... Not exactly in love with whatever the finished product might be, but in love with every stroke, and every little line, and every second that goes into the process of creating a finished product." (Molly also likes to emphasize things. We are kindred spirits--- either that, or I'm just remembering our convo with lots of imagined italics.)

I told her I understood. "I'm a writer," I'd said, "not published or anything, but I love writing. Every word, every rejection, every painful and excruciating sentence--- I love it. The process of it I mean."

"There you go!" she exclaimed. I agreed with a loud clap and a laugh that almost woke up her sleeping roommate. And I was so excited about where this conversation was going that I went on to include an example about food. I love food, I'd told her, but I hate standing in a kitchen, over a stove, in front of raw ingredients that are nowhere near as delicious as the finished meal.

"So I don't cook," I finished.

"So you probably aren't going to be a chef," she agreed. "But that's okay! It really is! Because some people love the process of cooking. I hate to cook, but I love to bake. I like mixing and pouring and putting things into an oven... And the process you love might be baking,or drawing, or writing, but whatever it is, that's what makes us go one way or another... That's what really separates the ones who are destined for a field from those who might dabble or look on or even just appreciate it... It's all about the process that speaks to us."

My mind... BLOWN.

I've always known that I was strangely obsessed with the process of becoming a published author. Whenever anyone asks me, "Oh! So you're a writer! Are you going to be published?" I laugh at them and say, "Hopefully, one day! But what I really want to do is intern at an agency... I just want to work with books for the rest of my life, wherever that might be."

AND NOW I GET IT. Now, I know why I wave around my rejections like the American flag and enter contests up the wazoo and carry around "BrainBooks" with a pen slipped through the spiral AT ALL TIMES... I get it. I am a frickin' writer. But I'm not only a writer--- I'm a writer destined for the field of writing. I may never be an author but I love the process too much to quit the field. It's my passion. It's my place. It's my home, in a way. It's where I feel the most free and the most happy and the most secure if that makes any sense at all.

And because of this, I've found my own art. Writing. IS. An art.

We writers forget that sometimes. We forget that we're not just "writing novels"--- we're creating. And discovering. Molly went on to tell me she loved art and science. "'Cause if you really think about it," she'd said, "since the beginning of man there's always been this... compulsion to create. This need to discover."

She thinks that's what art and science are. Art is creation and science is discovery. But writing is both. Both creation and discovery.

Join me in Part II of this dialogue if you want to hear my final thoughts on this topic. No reservation required to come on over. :)

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams..."
-Henry David Thoreau

Love,
Deserae

I Think I Know #1

I open my eyes and he's gone. I can't hide my disappointment.
Even though I know he won't be here when I wake, a wave of depression washes over me every time I have to face it. I miss him already, but cling to the thought of seeing him tonight. I need him and he knows it; I pull the comforter tighter around me and pretend its warmth is him.

I close my eyes and he's here. The sun is gone and darkness has already consumed the room. He lets me slide onto the bed first. I love that he lifts the cover for me and doesn't let it go until he's tucked by my side. My back is to him, but I like it best this way. I don't want to look at him... not really... I know what I'll see and what I won't and I don't like to deal with how that makes me feel because he'll ask and I'll answer and I don't want to talk about it. I just want to be with him. I just want him to be here.
His body and mine fit perfectly beside each other, as if he were made for me or I for him. His arm is stretched over my waist and my mind concocts a million reasons why my heart should be racing and I should be melting under the weight of his touch. It feels good to know he's here, but I don't melt. It's not logical. I love us like this: my back turned to him, his arm around me... But I don't love him. I can't. He says he loves me and sometimes--- at these times--- I think I know I love him too. But I never say it. I can't say it. And if he can say it and mean it, but I can't say it and think it, it must mean I don't mean it, even if I want to.
When he exhales, so do I; our breathing is in sync. He breathes in, I breathe in... Silently, we remind each other that we're here.
He brushes my hair away from my neck and places his lips on my skin. I savor his touch because I know the feeling will escape me if I don't. The feeling, itself, doesn't last long, but the memory of that touch lasts forever. Even when he pulls away, it lingers because I won't let it go.
He runs his hand along my waist, up and down, up and down. I burrow into him and it makes him smile. "What's wrong?" he asks. I take a deep breath about to speak, but I hold it in, afraid to give him more than I think he'll let me take.
"I don't know," I say. But I do. There's always something, isn't there.

I'll leave you with that, Lovelies. I hope you enjoyed!
'Til next time,
Deserae McG

P.S. Reminder: Monday starts the BEING WRITER series. This series won't interrupt ITIK. :)

New Blog Series

Starting Friday, I'm going to post a chapter every week of a mini-story that came to me in a dream. No, I was not attacked by a vampire like Stephanie Meyers in the middle of the night, but I was inspired to write a page of something I don't forsee being novel-lengthed. I just want to write it. That happens sometimes, you know. As a writer, it's easy to forget that writing and writing your next publishable piece are two separate ideas: the latter is what you do career wise; the first is what you do primarily for yourself.

I've told you, I have a WIP that I am really trying to get down and dirty with. The truth, though, is that as soon as a flame sparks, there's always going to be something around that tries to put it out. That's why writing for yourself is so important--- as long as YOU can remember why you love putting words onto a blank piece of paper, it won't matter whether you're published, unpublished, or somewhere in between. All that will matter is that you're doing what you love, and I'm looking forward to sharing something that I love (in all of it's unpolished, imperfect glory) with you (invisible) people.

Can't wait 'til Friday!
~Deserae McG