Motivation Monday

Being a writer can be a strange thing, for many good reasons. But I think the strangest thing for me is how strong it has made me. Not physically strong but mentally and emotionally strong. 

If you read that and weren't surprised, then you should probably stop reading now, because I'm going to explain how counter intuitive that idea can be.

Writing when you start is this incredibly joyful, freeing experience. I remember writing when I was ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, even fourteen. I wrote anything I wanted and I was absolutely fearless. Now, granted, there's probably a total of one paragraph from all those years worth reading. But I didn't know it was bad and because I didn't know, I kept going. I wrote what made me happy. What else would I write? No one else was going to read my story about giant eagles who could carry people on their backs. (Not going to tell you how old I was when I came up with that one.)

But then I got older. Other people read my writing, my poems and a short story. Some of them gave me glowing reviews. Some said it was good but it wasn't as good as this other person's so they were going to get the big award. 

Big deal, right?

In and of itself, no. But when I was about thirteen, one person in particular tried to make me believe my writing was worthless. That I was never going to be a writer. I used boring words and didn't know how to use adjectives. That I, as a writer and a person, was boring.

This person was my friend but after this, they weren't. Did it stop me from writing? (That is a rhetorical question, because obviously not.) All it did was make me want to be better, to prove to this person who thought I could never be as good as they were, or good enough for anyone to want to read my stories, that they were wrong. 

I want to be clear. I did not keep writing solely to prove this person wrong. I write because I love it and I always have and I know I always will. But my love for writing and my willingness to make it better are two different beasts. 

My love for writing gives me a sense of peace and happiness. I think we can all agree how important that is in life with stress oozing out of every possible avenue. My dedication to make it better, that is work. It is physically painful at times and other times my mind tells me to give up, because I will never get it right. But I don't, because my heart loves it and my heart is ten thousand suns' stronger than my mind.

Then there is the strength it takes to love something on the days when I can't get it right, when the words just won't come or come out wrong. It's a lot like the strength it takes to believe in yourself, or love yourself, because it isn't always easy. In fact, the times when it is easy are so few and far between they may as well be stars that happen to be in neighboring galaxies. 

People will always tell you that you'll fail, that you aren't good enough. Let that fuel your fire but don't let that be your fire. Your fire is made of your heart, your mind, your soul, your drive, and you. Everything else is just tinder.

Jump

The purpose of college, in part at least, seems to be to beat the desire to read or write from fun out of us. It saps all our mental energy and suddenly we discover how much energy it takes to read or write.

I'm as much a victim for reading but not for writing. Let's say this: I have acquired and immunity to it. I write during the semester regardless of what my classes try to do about it. Not because I am blessed with special powers but because I never stopped writing. I think once college consumed us, lots of people stopped writing for fun because it was suddenly so much work. Whatever skill you had, suddenly your internal editor got turned on and that snooty McFarland-esque voice made you feel terrible for even attempting to write something.

Your internal editor is a mean-spirited bitch. Don't listen to her/him.

No, it's not easy. If you sit down to write with the intention of ignoring, you won't be able to do it right away. Every sentence will be excruciating. Every sentence will make you question why you're even bothering to waste the ink. 

Keep going. The mean-spirited bitch wants you to give up. So keep going.

You don't have to write something beautiful. You don't have to write something tragic. You don't have to write something worth sharing. You don't even have to finish it. You just have to start. 

You have to climb to the top of that cliff, which can be a feat in and of itself, because that cliff is made of all your self-doubt, your intimate knowledge of how much your writing sucks, and of your fear. So climb it. When you get to the top, you'll still be afraid.

Just jump. Trust that the water will be there. Trust that you are brave enough to do it. Trust that your writing, good, bad or ugly, is still worth writing.

What I'd Say

I've been sending out copies of my book in PDF form. In the email, I ask the recipient not to share the book with anyone. If someone they know wants to read it, I need to send it to them directly. Basically, don't share my book without my permission because it's unpublished and I need to keep track of it.

But really, I want to put the 'inside the jacket' blurb in that email. Only I don't know how to write it. I don't even know where to start.

So instead, let me say this:

This is a story about a world that doesn't exist. It's a world with magic and mages and dragons and princes and knights and gods and goddesses. It's a world with poverty and politics and ruthless ambition and selfless acts of kindness. It's a world seen through the eyes of two girls. One, an orphan who risks her life to save the lives of people in her city and then pays the ultimate price. The other is a noble girl who lost her fiance and wants nothing more than to sit in her tower by the sea to read all the books ever written.  

Maybe you don't like the thought of another orphan story. Elian Wilding may be an orphan but this is not the story of an orphan. It's the story of a young woman who finds her humanity slipping away, replaced by dragon scales that cover her skin. It's the story of how she learns to live with only one functioning arm and of how she learns to trust someone for the first time since her mother died.

Maybe you don't want to read another story about a girl who starts falling in love with the prince. That's fine. This prince falls in love with this noble girl because she's intelligent and stubborn and confident enough to speak her mind, regardless of the consequences. Elana Montaire is no simpering belle but a girl who learns that the world is not as simple and idealist as she believes. She discovers that first love may not be the end of all life's possibilities and that she might want to do more than lock herself away.

I can't promise you won't be frustrated with them. I can't promise you won't want to scream because they're making mistakes. I can't promise you won't be angry. I can't promise you won't cry. I can't promise what this story will mean to you.

I can't promise you much of anything. The only way you'll know the truth is if you read it.