What is the point of writing? To create. To express yourself. To help you sort through things. To get published. To make a living. (LOL) To touch readers. What?

When, like most writers,  you have a lifelong addiction to putting words on paper (or computer screens) you have to stop and deal with that question…at least occasionally.

I still remember the first poem I wrote that wasn’t a school assignment.

Here it is:

The Gold Each Day

The gold in a golden hill,

The gold in a daffodill,

The gold in the marigolds,

Which climb up hills in little rows,

The gold where the children play,

The gold that’s in the world each day.

Pretty awful huh? Except….I was only about 8 years old….and I actually had the courage to submit it for publication. It was rejected, of course, but I still marvel at the fact that I thought someone else might want to read it.

I wrote that poem to express my optimistic little self…but I wanted to share it….I must have felt there was something in it that others would need or value. And that’s it isn’t it? The writing itself can be fun and wonderful but the bottom line is, that most of us pen pushers believe deep down that we have something to say that is at least marginally important.

And we’re right! No one else has ever lived the same moments we have lived, in the same places, known the same people or been in the same body or state of mind as we have. No matter how our words are judged “out there” by teachers, readers, or 21 year old editors they are, and will always be, uniquely ours and there is something important about that.

They say you aren’t a real writer till you can paper a room with rejections. I have been submitting manuscripts since 1990 and I could probably paper my entire house by now. I have been fortunate, I know. I have had the wonderful thrill and privilege of seeing some of my stuff in print, but gobs of rejections have come between each triumph…gobs! The first few years I sent out my work I would ceremoniously tear each rejection letter into tiny pieces and throw it away. Then I’d take the manuscript back to group, rewrite, recheck, reevaluate and get it right back in the mail. I’d kiss the envelope, taking a moment to pray that my orphan story would soon find a loving home, then drop it in the blue gaping mouth of the post box. This routine helped, a bit, to relieve the frustration that came from pulling my heart from my chest and laying it out only to have it smacked, or worse, ignored. And there were times when I’d lay down my pen and declare that this whole writing thing was just not worth it. What if I put all that heart and energy into something more attainable, more worthwhile? But there were those few notes from readers…notes that said that somehow the way I put together words made a difference for them. Somehow the sentences I had sculpted helped. And there were the “positive rejections”. Rejection letters that contained one or two sentences of encouragement or perhaps a short handwritten note from an editor. I have saved every single one of those in a notebook because I know that being a submissions editor is like being a gold miner in a mud hole, and that only the kindest or most moved would make the effort. That notebook is so stuffed now that I can hardly turn the pages. I got another “positive rejection” this week. “The editorial team read your work and found the story lively and engaging. We especially liked that the protagonist wasn’t a typical child.” Now, after that, how can I not take the chance of sending it out again? How can I set my pen down when maybe, no one else in all the world, could write about that one atypical child? I am a writer. I have to write because I can’t figure out how not to write, and I know if I did find a way to stop I would probably just explode. Posted in Art, Encouragement, Misc. Thoughts, Writing | Tags: Art, persistance, rejections, Writing

What is the point of writing? To create. To express yourself. To help you sort through things. To get published. To make a living. (LOL) To touch readers. What?

When, like most writers,  you have a lifelong addiction to putting words on paper (or computer screens) you have to stop and deal with that question…at least occasionally.

I still remember the first poem I wrote that wasn’t a school assignment.

Here it is:

The Gold Each Day

The gold in a golden hill,

The gold in a daffodill,

The gold in the marigolds,

Which climb up hills in little rows,

The gold where the children play,

The gold that’s in the world each day.

Pretty awful huh? Except….I was only about 8 years old….and I actually had the courage to submit it for publication. It was rejected, of course, but I still marvel at the fact that I thought someone else might want to read it.

I wrote that poem to express my optimistic little self…but I wanted to share it….I must have felt there was something in it that others would need or value. And that’s it isn’t it? The writing itself can be fun and wonderful but the bottom line is, that most of us pen pushers believe deep down that we have something to say that is at least marginally important.

And we’re right! No one else has ever lived the same moments we have lived, in the same places, known the same people or been in the same body or state of mind as we have. No matter how our words are judged “out there” by teachers, readers, or 21 year old editors they are, and will always be, uniquely ours and there is something important about that.

Sometimes the giants among us look small because they are flying so high.

Monday night I was tired so instead of packing up all my paints to go to my art class I took an old sketch pad, some pencils and tray of watercolors.

I opened the sketch pad and found some drawings of little characters that I had made, oh, probably about six years ago. I remember thinking that making greeting cards combines my two loves- writing and art. I liked the little characters, so I started reworking them a bit and then painting them.

Yesterday I scanned those pictures into a greeting card program and I made a few proto-type cards. It was fun and I am pleased with the results that are certainly not polished but instead loose and fun.

And I am amazed at how, sometimes, efforts we make come back to us. Those sketches were in that pad for years. Finally, I am using them to make something that perhaps I can share.

I think that we can’t even imagine how many times our everyday efforts come back to us. Most of the time we miss the connections of our past to our present, but the connections are there and that’s encouraging to me.

Yesterday in NYC there was a memorial service for Madeleine L’Engle. She is my writing hero. In honor of her I am going to post here a few quotes from her book, “Walking On Water”, the most incredible book I have ever read on art and writing.

From pg. 18, Walking on Water:     Obedience is an unpopular word nowadays, but the artist must be obedient to the work, whether it be a symphony, a painting, or a story for a small child. I believe that each work of art, whether it is a work of great genius, or something very small, comes to the artist and says, “Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.” And the artist either becomes the bearer of the work, or refuses; but the obedient response is not necessarily a conscious one, and not everyone has the humble, courageous obedience of Mary.

From pg. 55 “Walking on Water”:        An aritist at work is in a condition of complete and total faith.

From pg. 60:         I have to try but that doesn’t mean I have to succeed. Following Christ has nothing to do with success as the world sees success. It has to do with love.

From pg. 67:         I am grateful that I started writing at such an early age, before I realized what a daring thing it is to do…We have to be braver than we think we can be, because God is constantly calling us to be more than we are…

From pg. 70:     The discipline of creation, be it to paint, compose, write, is an effort toward wholeness.

From pg. 89:     But unless we are creators, we are not fully alive.

From pg. 105:    Despite our inability to control circumstances, we are given the gift of being free to respond to them in our own way, creatively or destructively.

From pg. 118:    If I have to believe all this limiting of God, then I cannot be a Christian.

From pg. 151: I have a point of view. You have a point of view. But God has VIEW.

From pg. 176:     The refusal to love is the only unbearable thing.

And from pg. 193:    Art is an affirmation of life, a rebuttal of death.

We miss you, Madeleine.

I left this comment on a fellow writer’s blog:

I can now say that I have been writing professionally for about 17 years. In spite of the fact that I have had seven books published, numerous articles, have been paid for my writing, and have even won a couple of small awards, it hasn’t, for me, turned out to be a way to make a living. But I have been able to be a part of thousands of peoples lives, millions if you count my Guideposts article. That is what writing is really about…connecting to more people than you ever could by speaking or going to a day to day job. And maybe, sometimes, making a difference by making them think, or laugh, cry, or pray, or…for one moment not feel so alone. I have to have a “real” job to help pay the bills, but I have to have the real job of writing to have purpose.