Perseverance and Self-Doubt

One of the things this blog has made me do is consider whether or not I should join or start a writer's group. The authors of Art and Fear make the observation that the attrition rate of artists after graduation is incredibly high; if it were that high for doctors after medical school there would be a Senate investigation. They recommend getting together a support system for when you are out of school, perhaps to take the place of the one you had while you were in there.

Myself, when I was taking my second writing class, I just found it intimidating. Oh, it had the result of making me write (I had to earn a grade, for one thing), but I was more discouraged than encouraged by my experience there. Part of that was my reaction to the other students. If I felt that anyone had written a better essay than I, I was demoralized completely. How is it communicated to a student/artist that their work is their own and stands on its own merits? Why can't I accept that for myself?

I couldn't write the essays the others wrote partly because I hadn't had the experiences they had had. I don't mean that in an existential way, either. I mean the actual experiences that they wrote about. Some events lend themselves to a more dramatic, or funnier, story than others. Some even dictate the style of writing. My topic was too big, too rambling, I bit off more than I could chew. I need to learn to deal with my life in my writing in more manageable pieces. (Or be prepared to write a much longer essay, which is what I eventually did).

But did that experience make me stop writing? Obviously not. So, although I think the writers of Art and Fear have a very good point about support systems, I still think that "real" writers won't quit. Or, if we do quit, we will be miserable. There have been many periods in my life when I didn't write a thing. Except for in my journal. And in there my most common criticism of myself was that I wasn't writing. And yet I was, if "only" in my journal. Because I couldn't stop writing no matter what was going on in my life or how I felt about myself. I just couldn't.

Gifted

My husband gave me a book to read called Art and Fear: Observations on the Perils and Rewards of Artmaking. The introduction of the book states that "it is about committing your future to your own hands, placing Free Will above predestination, choice above chance. It is about finding your own work.”

That brings up an interesting and bothersome idea: that God works through us. Does that mean that what we do is really God's doing, or our own? What does it mean exactly when we say that we have a gift from God? Is He the one who expresses the gift? Of course not: we're not automatons who are set in motion and robotically churn out works of art (or good deeds). We do have Free Will. Which implies that we can shirk our duties and ignore our gifts. I guess the real point is: how do we get ourselves to 1) recognize our gift(s); 2) accept our gifts; and 3) use our gifts to the best of our abilities? (A synonym for “gift” is “talent.”) Maybe #4 would be to dedicate the expression of our gifts to God. It might be that on our side all we need to do, to be in the will of God, is to work as hard as we can to bring our gifts to fruition. So, if I think that God has given me the talent of writing, a gift of communication, don't I owe it to God as much as to myself to really work at it? What that means fills countless “how-to” books; it is up to us to adapt the advice to our own situations. While it is good advice to say that I should write every day, only I can decide when I write and for how long (or how much). If I had my way, I would write all day long, off and on. It never feels like work to me. It's now 3 pm and I've been writing in here for at least three hours, maybe four. It doesn't look like it, I know; I've been putzing around doing other things now and again, but the main reason I've not showered or dressed yet is because I keep turning back to the keyboard and trying to say all that I want to say today.

That's probably what motivates me to write: I have things to say. And I want to write every day to find out what it is that I wanted or needed to say that day. Often I have no idea until I start writing. Oh, I'm thinking stuff all the time, but it doesn't really coalesce until I try to put that “stuff” on paper/computer.

Who's to say that my desire to write on any given day isn't God pushing me to use my gift? All my life I wanted time to write and now that I have as much as I want, I find that it's still not enough. I would spend every waking minute on the computer, writing, except when I'm reading.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) there are days that no matter how hard I try, I just can't write. But when it's going well, when the words are flowing and I can even type fairly quickly, I just want to go on forever. Maybe I ought to cut myself some slack and recognize that this is one of those days and that days like this make up for the days when I have zip to say.

The authors of Art and Fear write that “It's easy to imagine that artists doubted their calling less when working in the service of God than when working in the service of self.”Yes, but how do we know the difference? Is it working in God's service only when we paint religious paintings or write devotions? Or does any use of our gifts qualify as serving God? We would all draw the line somewhere I think, but where? Is it different for each person? Does it depend on our motivations?

Another point made in Art and Fear is that “the flawless creature wouldn't need to make art.” Does that mean that the only way we can even hope to compete with God is through artistic expression? That making art makes us like Him? After all, when we make art we are participating in the job usually reserved for God: that of the Creator. Could it be said that it is exactly our imperfections that give each of us our distinctive voices? We are limited in what we create only by what we can imagine but we are limited in our imagination by what our life experiences have been and how we came into this world? We are not all created equally. That doesn't mean that some people are better than others; rather, it means that we are all different.

A Writer's Resolutions

Same old, same old. Get published. Make money.

What else is a writer going to say? After all, you're not really a writer if you're not published. And if you make money at your writing, well, then you've arrived!

If you've read my previous blogs you know that I don't believe either of those "truths" about being a writer. But when I went to write my resolutions, these two items were right on the list. Why? Because it tells others that you're a writer. They probably won't believe you otherwise.

The first question I'm asked when I say that I'm a writer is "Where have you been published?" The unspoken question--or sometimes spoken one, if the asker is crass--is "Do you make any money at it?" Never mind that you write every day. Or that you made $700 in 1994 and only $600 since. You're not a real writer unless you've passed these two tests, consistently.

You can't change what other people think being a writer is. But you can change what you believe. Do you believe that you're a writer? What do you believe qualifies you as one? Maybe you should stop following the crowd and emancipate yourself as a writer: Make the proclamation! I'm a writer. Do you even say that when people ask what you do? Or do you judge yourself by the standards of others?

Let me ask you this: do you write almost every day? Could you give up your writing? Are you passionate about writing? Does it make you feel good when you write? Do you learn anything from your writing? If you can say yes to every one of these questions, then you're a writer, no question about it. If you can't, you'd probably be better off developing another of your talents.

Maybe the only resolution that really makes sense for a writer is this: Believe in myself as a writer. You don't have to resolve to write every day--you'd do that anyway. You don't have to be published--you can't control that. You don't have to make money at it--that's not really why you do it, is it?

Having said all this, there's nothing wrong with wanting to be published or to make money at your writing. If you must, put them down as resolutions. But if those are on the list, don't forget to also include: Explore the markets. Develop writing ideas. Send out query letters. Join (or start) a writer's group. Read a writing book. Take a writing course. But just remember, none of these activities qualify you to be a writer: writing does.

Journaling vs. Blogging

I cannot believe that I haven't written anything since the 5th of January! I keep a journal--a couple of them actually, one handwritten, one on my computer--but I forget that I have this blog that I can write in. But there's another reason why I rarely write here: I think that everything I write has to be nuggets of gold, because it's open to the public. Why else would anyone want to read what I write? I need to get past that attitude and write just for me. But if my thoughts aren't interesting to other people, so be it.

My writing has been shaped by my journaling. I've kept a journal since my teens and I've kept all of them but the earliest ones (and I now regret throwing those away). I rarely read them; it's just comforting to know that they're there. They are some kind of confirmation that my life has been worth something, even that I've actually been here. That's one reason why I write in the first place: the hope that something of me will still be here after I die. Of course, that presupposes that someone will hang on to them and want to read them. But what happens after I die is completely out of my control.

I don't use any clever techniques to get myself going when I journal. I just write. I don't feel like I'm in touch with my day--and my life--unless I write something. I'm often disappointed by what comes out of me. I'd like to think that I'm more interesting than the person who shows up in my journals. I can't say that I really know who that person is or how she comes across, though. But if I worried about that, I'd never write anything.

I haven't made the transition from journaling to blogging. I know that they aren't one and the same although they can feel that way. Journals are ultimately private. I can choose to share mine with people, but for the most part they are purely for me and I wouldn't want anyone else to read them (unless I'm dead; see above). But with blogs there is the presumption that someone else will read them, even the hope that that will be so. How does that shape what I write here?

In a blog, I'm writing for an audience (a potential one). I can't help but be somewhat self-conscious about what I write. But it also makes me think a little more deeply, try a little harder to be understood. Journaling can be like shorthand. A great deal of it means something only to me, and some of my posts are only meant to be reminders of what was going on in my life at the time. Blogs have to be more specific and fleshed out. I can't just say that my grandson came to visit, I have to elaborate. Why did he come for a visit? How old is he? How did he act? What was my response? Sometimes I cover these things in my journal but often I don't. I just assume that I will remember what the visit was like when I read that he came for one.

But that's a dangerous assumption. In my journals, I'm guilty of telling, not showing, because I figure that I'll remember the details. I need to write in them as if I'm writing to someone who doesn't know me because in the future I probably won't know the me that wrote in my journal. I've had that frustrating experience many times when I have read parts of my journals. Who was I talking about here? What did I really think about that?

This little entry has helped me to realize that I can write in my journals the same way that I would write in a blog, or a letter. Because a blog is like a letter more than it is like a journal. In a letter you're more informative (usually) because you want to reconsctruct what's been going on with you so that your reader will be able to understand. But there's no reason why I can't write letters to myself. In this way my journals can become like blogs, except that I'm the only reader. Perhaps then I'll become more aware of who I really am and what I really think.

Do Words Really Facilitate Communication?

Words are only powerful if they can be understood. The main reason that people have conflicts is either that they don't or don't want to understand one another. Could it be said that one reason we are in Iraq is because real communication does not exist between our two nations? And if so, whose fault is that?

Americans are not known for their foreign language skills, but then how many non-Americans really understand English? Should we be required to learn one another's language? Or is that simply idealistic?

It is impossible to learn all the languages of the countries that we have (or should have) dealings with. That is, it's impossible for most of us, who are too old or too busy just trying to make a living and live our own lives or who have always been language-challenged in the first place. I know. I took French in high school and 35 years later I still remember much of what I learned then (when my brain was more impressionable). For the past nine years I've been attempting to learn German, first on my own and then through college courses. I'm amused and at the same time frustrated by the many times I can think of the French word for something when I'm trying to access the German one. I'm not giving up, but I can't even imagine trying to learn something like Arabic, Japanese, Chinese or Russian (or any language with a completely different script).

That doesn't mean that one can't learn a language phonetically--many people have done so quite satisfactorily, but then they are usually limited to speaking and listening and are not capable of reading or writing. We see the problem all the time in second generation immigrants. They pick up their second language almost by osmosis, they can speak it and understand it, but their second language skills are woefully behind their verbal proficiency. Not only does this make it difficult to fully participate in their new country's educational and occupational life, it also makes it difficult for them to access the deeper meanings in the words that the majority of their new countrymen speak.

But what about the citizens of their new country? Should they be trying to fully understand and participate in the immigants' languages? Again, this may be an impossible or at the least a very difficult task. But should they be trying?

If we accept the reality that language barriers exist and will probably always exist (who knows? maybe someday we'll all carry devices which automatically translate any language into our own), then we need to explore other ways to facilitate our communications with one another. If we can't understand what we hear, then we need interpreters. Those who know both languages might be seen as having the responsibility to translate from between the two language groups. Efforts like these are already being made in many venues, such as hospitals, where it may be a matter of life and death if doctors, nurses and patients do not understand each other. But what about in political arenas? How can people be expected to vote at all let alone responsibly if they don't have a clue what the issues and platforms are? Is it all their responsibility to learn a high enough level of proficiency to be able to participate in all areas of life? Will we stop treating patients who don't understand our language? Will we even accept that wrong things may be communicated because there is no interpreter on the scene?

When we put the burden on the immigrant, we should never underestimate the his or her desire to please and to not appear ignorant. People who are not really conversant in a new language will nod their heads and say the few phrases they do know, hoping that somehow they will get by. Shouldn't we at least know how to say, "Do you understand English?" in their language? And then to do something about it if they don't?

I realize that it is not always possible for interpreters to be present on the spot. But organizations and venues that can reasonably expect to run into this problem and who have a concentration of of other-language-speaking people under their jurisdiction should most certainly attempt to have interpreters available at a moment's notice, even if it is over the phone.

Another thing that could be done is to have people who are willing and able to be bilingual interpreters registered and on call, so that any misunderstandings could be avoided in a reasonable amount of time. If you are trying to work out a transaction with a customer who speaks another language, wouldn't it be beneficial for both of you to have an interpreter available?

Another idea, a very simple one really, would to make use of bilingual dictionaries. You don't have to know all the grammar rules to be able to communicate in another's language. They don't even know all of their grammar rules (do you know yours?). The best thing I did in preparation for my visits to Germany was to learn as much vocabulary as I could. That doesn't make you sound like a native, to be sure, but it does give you a point to start from. (I had trouble opening doors all over Germany because I didn't know the words for "push" and "pull." Imagine not knowing the words for "men" and "women" let alone for "toilet." Have you ever considered how hard it is to accomplish anything if you don't know the names for anything?

One more point needs to be addressed specifically to English-speaking populations: Never ever assume that everyone you encounter will know how to speak English. This is not only true when traveling in other countries, but is also becoming increasingly true domestically. Be prepared to make the effort, both to be understood and to understand. Maybe then we can start to learn how to get along.