Conquering Everest
Many years ago, I sat down to begin my novel. How hard can this be? I thought. You just start typing and telling people about what the story is! I’ll have this done in no time, all I have to do is talk about what I know! Quick, easy, fun!
I was a freelance musician at the time, and I believed the world wanted to know about what it’s like to, well, be a freelance musician. So I included all the nitty gritty details about someone who was that. Wouldn’t people love to know about this? Everyone must be curious about what it’s like to be a gig musician.
Turns out, no one was interested. There was no plot, no inciting incident, no trouble, no character conflict (everyone got along great, just like we’d like real life to be), etc. etc.
I was the world’s most boring writer.
I started to go to writing groups, fighting the terror I felt at reading my stuff out loud. People seemed to like my style of writing, but they struggled with what the story was about. What was the story? What was the point? However, they encouraged me, telling me I was good at putting words together. I just needed a driving force to all those words.
Covid arrived, and that meant no more writing groups. But wait! Suddenly Zoom was a thing, and I heard about an online school called Story Grid. So I signed up, paid my money, and began going to online classes.
There was so much information it made my head hurt. They were using terms like “narrative device” and “misattunement”, words I didn’t understand. Was your avatar (not character!) a fish out of water or a member of the pond? Are you writing on-the-surface, above-the-surface or beyond-the-surface? What is your content genre?
Omg, I may as well give up, I kept thinking. Is my brain too old to absorb this information?
Then I was assigned to a cohort. Terror took hold of me as I nervously counted down the minutes to go on Zoom to meet people I had never seen before and explain how I was going to become a writer.
We were from all over the planet: Australia, Hawaii, Canada, Arizona and me in California. We did a “break the ice” writing exercise, and I didn’t embarrass myself too badly. I began to relax as we laughed about our writing adventures, and what kept us from writing something other people would actually read. After a few weeks of meetings, I began to look forward to sharing my work with my new friends. They were all people who had had professional careers, but wanted to explore ways to be creative with writing. And I realized that they were there for the same reasons I was: they had tried to write something important and readable, and had found themselves wanting.
I began to realize that there was a lot more to this writing gig than I had assumed. Just like playing the violin, it takes time and repetition and effort. I needed to study other peoples’ work, just as I had listened to other performers playing a piece I was working on. I needed to understand composition, just as I had when I studied music theory. I needed to practice certain styles of writing, just as I had when I practiced my violin etudes.
Then I realized this: Just because we learn writing when we’re growing up, doesn’t automatically make us good writers. The teachers I had who told me I had promise didn’t say that I could become a great writer without further guidance. Raw talent does not a craftsperson make!
And then, I realized this: anything worth doing will take time and effort and concentration. If I wanted to climb Mount Everest, I wouldn’t just go do it, I would prepare for many unforeseen circumstances that could claim my life. (Luckily, writing isn’t life threatening, but I do want to complete a story worth reading before I call it quits.)
So I stepped back, took a deep breath, and committed to learning everything I could about becoming a great writer. That’s where I am today, as well as having half my book written (a first draft, so there’s still quite a ways to the top of the mountain). It’s been a journey of over ten years now, but I finally feel like I have most of the tools to complete the mission. And of course, I’ll keep adding to my tool kit.
Ernest Hemingway once wrote: The hardest lesson I have had to learn as an adult is the relentless need to keep going, no matter how broken I feel inside. I felt broken for a long time, but with my new tools, new friends and new confidence, I think I will actually finish my book. And who knows, maybe I’ll finish more than one book.
To you I say, keep going, go ahead and aim high as long as you’re aware of what that means in terms of commitment, and try to at least enjoy the journey. If you want to change the world with something you create, as I do/did, know that it’s easier if you surround yourself with great tools and cheerleaders.
Our creativity is so needed in today’s scary and frustrating world. Get out there and make something you (and we) can celebrate.
Pamela Bayard Foard is the author of the children’s book, “Giselle and the Little Idea”. If you liked this post, please show the love by clicking the little heart, or better yet, leave a comment! I would love to hear from you.
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