The Writer with Children

Daughter #3 turns 18 today — my elf-child, the little curly-haired blondish creature who at age 4 wanted to marry her father and have me be their “little kid” — the 10-year-old who had a summer goal to swim every day until school began in September — the irrepressible 14-year-old who turned our lives upside down with her right-on-schedule adolescent antics. Eighteen!

Before I had children: 1) I had a much better memory for faces and names, and I prided myself on always knowing all of my students from the first day of class onward; and 2) I thought I had all the time in the world.

I was going to write, sure (I was born to write!). But I could do it this afternoon, or tomorrow, or sometime next week, or when this quarter was over, or when the summer or holiday break finally came. No hurry.

After my husband and I adopted twin daughters when I was 37 years old, I found myself standing in a classroom at the University of Washington campus, and declaring to my students in a slightly huffy, slightly hysterical voice:

“My children are not going to be my newest excuse to avoid writing!”

If I’m remembering it correctly, I had been attempting to explain the importance of making time for writing — something I had not been doing — and an older student, in a knowing and reassuring tone, said, “You’ll write when your kids are older.”

You don’t write because you have scads of time. You don’t write because you have a great idea to write about (of course you do!). You write because you have a habit of writing. You develop a habit of writing, by writing. And this is true for all of us, children or no.

I’ve also heard so-called experts say that if you’re a writer, then you don’t have to be encouraged to write. But I think encouragement is a fine thing, especially if your days are getting eaten up by birthday parties for ankle-biters. (I mean, cherubic darlings.)

First forget inspiration. Habit is more dependable. Habit will sustain you whether you’re inspired or not. Habit will help you finish and polish your stories. Inspiration won’t. Habit is persistence in practice. You don’t start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking it’s good stuff, and then gradually you get better at it. That’s why I say one of the most valuable traits is persistence”. ― Octavia E. Butler

So while you’re waiting for your big idea, for the room of your own that you think you need to write about your big idea, work right now on your habits.

Here’s how you do that:

  • Always, always carry a notebook and many, many pens (the kids will carry them off or lose the caps and the ink will dry up, so you have to have spares)
  • Date your work — I write the full date — Thursday, 20 July 2017 — at the top of the page and if I’m not at home I also write where I am writing (believe me, you will NOT remember any of this later) — dates will help you assemble things when you can sit down in front of a screen
  • Believe that you can write with a child in your lap, at the pool during their swim lessons, during soccer practices, while they wait in line at the DMV to take their driving test
  • Keep a notebook in the laundry room
  • If your child or children fall asleep when you are driving, park the car and scribble at the side of the road (and, yes, if you don’t find a safe and somewhat private place to do so, eventually you can expect a State Patrol officer to knock at your window to see if you’re okay)
  • If these writing breaks don’t work great at first, by the way, just keep at it and trust the force — practice will turn them into your superpower
  • I learned this from a Positive Parenting book — if your children are fighting in the car and distracting you, pull over and write (the actual advice was to whip out a novel, but why shouldn’t it be your own novel?) — you’ll be surprised at how effective this is as a parenting strategy, and when it’s not, you’ll probably surprise yourself with how deeply and quickly you can sink into a snippet of work
  • Write snippets in your head and memorize them — lovely little images that come to you, voices of weird and wacky characters, little kid things that you wouldn’t believe could happen if you weren’t witnessing it firsthand

Give up forever your dream of getting blocks of time. You do not need blocks of time, you need a few minutes there and fifteen minutes here and the occasional uninterrupted hour. On the other hand, if someone invites you to a weekend writing retreat and your spouse or some other suitable caregiver agrees, jump at the chance.

And please, please take note of this — your children will get older, but being their mom is probably not going to get easier. If you have a habit of using them as an excuse then it will soon enough be your grandchildren’s chance to take over that role.

You can download the PDF of my very short book, A Writer’s Alchemy, for more pointers about writing every day.

Most of all, write now.

 

Too Busy to Write?

Life has had me caught up in it of late, a whirlwind of activity — you know about the graduations, the party — and this week, worries about my mom and visits with my wonderful sisters and their families. More is on the way, as it’s birthday month at our house. “I haven’t written in a month,” a friend said at Writing Lab last Wednesday. Another: “I’ve got that beat — I haven’t written in years!” I suspect this is an exaggeration, but I get it: too busy to write; too many other things to do.

No matter how busy I am, I write every day. Even back in the day — when on top of everything I deal with now I was teaching full-time — writing every day kept me grounded. I did not always write anything of substance, but every day I opened my notebook and I wrote. I wrote letters to God. I wrote about my headache or my heartache. I wrote down a tantrum some charming little person had whipped up, or the adorable thing some other little person had said. I wrote about what a terrible mother I was. I wrote teen-tiny encouragements to myself. (You are not a terrible mother; wanting to be a better mother is a great goal; look at you, despite everything, writing!) 

Writing every day is what brought me out of that wilderness, and, as I know from long experience, it will lead me through this wilderness, too.

I am a great re-reader of books, and one book that I reread almost every year is Louise DeSalvo‘s Writing as a Way of Healing. 

Recently I misplaced this book. I saw it in a used bookstore, didn’t buy it (I was sure I’d find my copy soon), had to go back (to two different bookstores) and search for it. Found it, bought it. Later that day my old copy turned up. Interesting, how that works.

I suspect that it’s time to revisit the book. I open it and I find these questions, which lead me…back to my journal.

  • What else can I say?
  • What else am I feeling?
  • What else might have been happening?
  • Why did this happen?
  • Why else did this happen?
  • Is this really how it happened?
  • Is this really what I was feeling?
  • Is this really how they were?
  • Can I say even more here?
  • Would someone who didn’t know me or what I experienced understand this?
  • Is this as clear as I can make it?
  • What [other] connections can I make here?

In my journal from last year — which I’ve been thumbing through because I just know I wrote down a story there — I found this scrap of poetry. Something else that shouted out loud to me.

I had the idea that the world’s so full of pain
it must sometimes make a kind of singing.

Robert Hass, “Faint Music”

What I’m Writing About This Morning

I spent the last three days at the Chuckanut Writer’s Conference. It’s a busy time in my life–two graduations, a daughter moving home, celebrations–Byzantine, rococo busyness–but a friend generously offered me the tuition and lodging, and I jumped at the chance. And of course it was wonderful. 

So isn’t it strange that I came home last night, my head full of writers and writing and my bookbag full of new books, only to feel let down? This morning, I’m still struggling. I feel sluggish and unhappy, weirdly hungover as if with the too-much-ness of it all.

A part of me loves being around people, talking and laughing and sharing food. I begin to feel giddy and high. At the same time I can feel my energy draining from me. A part of me longs to slip off into the woods, to find a stream to dangle my feet in, to hide and be alone. To hear no voice but a bird’s call.

You know me: I’ll settle for a latte and an hour with a novel or a notebook.

Like being at the conference, rebuilding my blog–redefining my blog journey–has been both exhilarating and hard. It’s required me to do a lot more interacting with people (and technology!) than I’m normally comfortable with. I’m not sure I’ve found the right “voice” for this sort of task. I flounder and revise and try again and I’m still uncomfortable. A friend, taking a look, emails some encouragement, “It’s hard for us introverts to put ourselves out there,” she begins, and adds, “You have so much to offer.”

But do I  really have anything useful to offer? Who needs what I’ve got? If there are already so many great writers, if 300,000 books are published every year, maybe I should be spending my time on something else. And then, what?

What am I to learn from this? What questions should I be asking? What is the world’s hunger? What do I possess that I can share to meet that hunger?

In the final talk of the conference, writer, philosopher, activist, naturalist Kathleen Dean Moore challenged all of us to use our voices to save the world from those who would happily wreck and pillage it. Am I big enough to contribute to that cause? Can writing a poem about my childhood on a farm in a wet corner of Washington State contribute anything? How will anything that I write be of any help?

“A new thought–that writing is not only a reflection of what one thinks and feels but a rope one weaves with words that can lower you below or hoist you above the surface of your life, enabling you to go deeper or higher than you would otherwise go.” – Phyllis Theroux

These are the sorts of things I am worrying about this morning. And this is what I know–that each morning I open my notebook and begin weaving the rope to lower me into the deep questions and hungers that fuel all of us. It’s not what we can buy or consume that will feed us. It’s what joy we can find. It’s what we can save.

What I know about hope–about restoring hope–is that believing we can make a difference is what allows us to make the attempt. Will it have efficacy? Or will it be futile? That is not my problem. As Emily Dickinson said, “My business is circumference.”

Whatever this journey is that I’m on, writing about it is what I do. And so I write.

A Writer’s Alchemy

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”

-e. e. cummings

Do you dream of being a “real” writer?

  • Do you have a compelling story that you’re dying to tell?
  • Would you like to write your stories down for your children and grandchildren?
  • When you brainstorm what you’d most like to write–what you’d most love to write–do certain ideas turn up, time after time?
  • When friends ask you what you’re working on now, are you embarrassed to have to admit you’re still working on the same piece of writing as when they last asked you, a few years ago?
  • Do you dream of being a more productive writer, a writer with a habit of writing that helps you to finish what you begin?

I too have lived with these questions. Although I knew, even as a kid, that I was a writer, somehow life kept getting in the way. As a young adult I waited tables, I went to school, I got married. My beautiful daughters came along. I found a full-time teaching job. Through it all, I never stopped believing that I was put on this planet to write. And through it all, I found ways to write. That journey and the lessons learned are part of what I want to share with you.

At the same time, I always knew that there was so much more that I wanted to accomplish in my writing life.

After retiring from full-time teaching a few years ago, I discovered that having a day-job is not the only way to keep your dreams on hold. Your kids don’t go away, even though they get older. Your parents become frail. You work in your yard. You volunteer. You say yes to lunches out.

No matter where you are in your life, if you want the writing to survive, you have to be intentional. You have to develop a habit of writing. That’s what this blog is all about.

My former blog, A Writer’s Alchemy, has been transported to this site (all posts are available–back to 2012!). As you’ll see, I’ve posted a few times here in May, and I’ll continue at a pace of two or three posts per month while writing my little heart out on all of my other projects as well.

I’ve also cooked up a little collection of previous posts for new followers to sample (and for my “old” followers to enjoy again). Leave your email and I’ll send you the download!

These last few months (okay, years), I’ve been digging deep, trying to find out what’s stopping me from becoming myself, the real, full-meal-deal Bethany. I’m excited to tell you all about it.

And thank you for being part of my journey!