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The Corner Stones of The Writing Process

I have done many things in my life because of fear but only a few things in spite of fear. Writing is something I have chosen to do in spite of my fear. It has taken me to places I have never wanted to go. It has pushed me right to the edge of insanity and lovingly pulled me back. It has made me look deep within myself, and it has forced me to excavate the depths of my own darkness.

Writing is my passion. It is my true love. Yet, as with all lovers, there comes a time when the honeymoon period ends and real life kicks in. Void of abstraction, real life has a way of revealing the character of love’s commitment. True commitment, by its very nature, requires a choice. Stay and fight or turn in flight. A few months back, real life hit me square in the face and forced me to examine my own commitment to the writing process.

For me, real life came in the form of an idea for a third novel. I already know what you’re thinking. You’re a writer. What was the problem? The problem was one of choice. Writing a novel is a long-term commitment—much like choosing to get pregnant. Once you agree and the act is done, there is no going back. That baby has to be your first priority. I had already spent seven years going through what at times felt like an endless cycle of pregnancy and childbirth, I wasn’t sure I was up to the task. My heart kept saying yes, but my mind kept saying no.

“You know you’re not really good at this writing thing,” my mind whispered. “Why don’t you just go back to school? Get another degree. You don’t have to go back into business. You could always be a teacher. You’d be good at that. You could teach English or maybe creative writing.”

“You don’t want to teach writing,” my heart said. “You want to write.”

“You’ve always liked kids,” my mind shot back. “You could be a first grade teacher.”

“You don’t really like them that much,” my heart reminded me.

“Okay, then, don’t be a teacher. You could be a psychologist. You’ve got a lot of psyche credits. You love psychology.”

“Do you really believe that’s a wise course of action?” my heart asked. “After all—and I’m not trying to be mean or judgmental here but—you are the Queen of Codependency. Putting you in charge of other people’s lives would be like putting a drunk in charge of a bar.”

“You’re killing me here,” my mind shouted. “I can’t take anymore of this. It’s too damned hard. You need to get a real job.”

“Writing is a real job.”

“Show me the money.” My mind laughed. “Hell, show me anything—respect, kudos, pats on the back for a job well done.”

My heart was silent for a moment. It fluttered slightly (yeah, I know heart action supposedly dilutes a narrative, but I don’t care. This is my story, and if my heart wants to flutter it can). Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, my heart fluttered slightly then said, “Is that what all this is really about—money and pats on the back?”

“Shut up, you quivering lump of flesh,” my mind screamed. “You’re not the only body part involved in Miss Thing’s so-called writing career. Without me, she wouldn’t be able to fashion a cohesive sentence. I say she needs to cut her losses and walk away while she can still hold her head up.”

“But she loves writing,” my heart cried. “Sure, it’s hard; but she’s done harder. She’s a really good writer. She was born for this. She just needs to trust the infinite wisdom of the Universe. The Creator has never let her down before.”

Universe, shmuniverse. . . .” My mind snickered. “She’s never even been published. Where was the Universe when she was getting all those rejection notices? She’s tired. She’s burned out. And she’s not making any money. It’s time for her to admit defeat, to give up and move on.”

I couldn’t argue with the tired and burned out part. Writing is hard work. Crafting complex, readable sentences takes skill. Making those sentences sing takes talent. Some people believe talent is inborn. I believe it can be learned. I think if you love something you will put everything you have into it and excel at it. Aptitude or not, you will develop the talent necessary to achieve your desired goals. And for the past seven years, that is just what I have been trying to do.

I have taken writing classes. I have read books. I have studied my craft and given one hundred percent. And all the while, I continued writing. Not only have I written two novels, I have written short stories, poems, and blogs. And I am proud to say that I have carried all of my children to term; and no matter how painful, after giving birth, I released them into the world.

I wish I could say that my babies were well received; but thus far, that has not been the case. Oh, they got a few oohs and ahs; but for the most part, the world didn’t appear too impressed by their smiling faces. It hurt to watch them dismissed so impudently. I didn’t understand. To me, they were beautiful. Unfortunately, the publishing world saw them as nothing more than street urchins looking for a warm place to hide. Each time I sent one of them out into the world, I did so with fear and trepidation. Each time they were rejected, I cried.

But, hey, don’t feel sorry for me. It’s all part of the process. Ask any mother. She’ll tell you. Hell, I’ll tell you. I’m a mother. I raised two children and helped raise four grandsons. I’m not going to lie, sometimes the experience was wonderfully fulfilling and life affirming; other times, it was so painful that it brought me to my knees. Looking back over those years, especially the painful ones, I can see and now appreciate the love and commitment that held everyone and everything together.

Like parenting, writing requires love and commitment. It also requires faith and discipline. Without discipline, nothing would be written; and without faith, nothing could be written. Love, commitment, faith, and discipline are the cornerstones of the writing process; and as such, each must be laid in its proper place before the work of writing can begin. If you’re missing one of these cornerstones, your foundation will be lopsided, and your writing will be unbalanced.

I knew I had the love and the discipline to write another novel. I just didn’t know if I had the faith necessary to make the commitment. Once again, I found myself standing on the edge of the precipice. I had to make a choice. I would either commit to getting yet another degree and go to school full-time or commit to writing the novel and taking a class here and there when I could fit it in.

I may be crazy—hell, I probably am—but I chose to write the novel. I’m currently working on the third chapter. As for those classes, well, I’ll try to fit them into my writing schedule. Right now, I have to focus on my new baby. Once again, I’m living my life on a wing and a prayer. Every day, I have to face my fears of failure and rejection and do that which terrifies me. I have to step outside of my comfort zone and walk by faith and not by sight. I have to trust not only the Creator but also my own creative ability. It’s scary, but I know it’s doable. I’ve done it before, so I know I can do it again.

My love gives me the faith I need to make the commitment, and my commitment bolsters my discipline and urges me to begin my task. I’ve heard it said that there are really only two emotions: fear and love. It has also been said that perfect love casts out fear. I love the Creator, and I love writing, not so into the whole fear thing, so I think I’ll chose love.

Here’s some sage advice, from Sarah Ban Breathnach:

Dare yourself to believe in your creativity, wherever it may lead you.
Trust that where it leads is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Your authentic self knows where you’re headed.
Don’t Wrestle with Spirit, collaborate with it.”

Nuff said.

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