The demons and gremlins of writing
Cindy on August 12th, 2009
Irrespective of what she reads, though, when she goes back to sit before the computer, there is the same stubborn emptiness, the same locked door.” — Elizabeth Berg, Home Safe
As soon as I hit the “Publish” tab, I started worrying about last week’s blog post. Not that I regretted exposing my family’s elder-care crises. I know many of you can relate to or sympathize with the heartache of witnessing the decline of aging parents. But later in the post, I got a little too gloomy about journalism, blogging, and writing careers.
I didn’t mean to discourage anyone.
This site was originally designed to keep in touch with my newspaper column readers, and over the years it also morphed into a blog for my writing workshop students. I usually don’t give writing “advice” — but I try to offer some insight on the writing life. Most of my students tell me that getting published seems like a mysterious, impossible thing that other people do. So, I make a point of reminding them that that’s not the case at all. Published writers are ordinary people who grow tomatoes, burn casseroles, gripe about politics, miss their kids when they move out, and wish someone else would wash their cars. People like me.
Until recently, though, I’ve rarely said much about the lonely hours of isolation, the frightening abyss of writer’s block, the times I’ve been annoyed at editors and baffled by agents, or the times I’ve wondered if I’m just wasting time. I’ve avoided discussing all that because I believe my role is to encourage, inspire, and excite new writers — to remind you that your dreams of publication are not out of reach. And yet, with so many newspapers and magazines folding lately, and with the book publishing industry in a major crisis, too, I think it’s misleading to suggest that being a writer is loads of fun right now. When the only ones signing fabulous book deals are loons like Sarah Palin (who can’t even deliver a coherent speech), well, to paraphrase Anne Lamott, you too might be inclined to get “down on your hands and knees and drink gin straight from the cat’s dish.”
Regardless, last week I wondered if it was wrong to broadcast how pessimistic I’d been feeling about the future of publishing. And wasn’t it a bit unfair or mean-spirited to announce that “the magic just isn’t there for me” in blogging — especially when I know that many of you take pride in your blogs? So, I almost went back to delete that downer of a paragraph from last week’s post.
But then I finished Elizabeth Berg‘s sweet new novel, Home Safe, and I changed my mind.
In Home Safe, middle-aged novelist Helen Ames is coping with the loss of her husband and her father — and facing a newly emptied nest. Despite all the free time she has, Helen is impossibly blocked, unable to do the writing that has always fulfilled and saved her. I won’t spoil the entire plot for you, in case you’d like to read the novel, but I suspect that Elizabeth Berg herself has endured some of her main character’s career angst. What writer hasn’t?
Like the fictional Helen Ames, I’ve often thought about throwing my drafts in the trash compactor and applying for a “real job” in retail. (I’ve seriously wondered if I’m better suited to a gig at an Eileen Fisher boutique or a cozy independent bookshop with a resident cat.) But along the way, Helen reluctantly tries teaching a writing class, and ultimately learns that she is lifted by coaching others. Just as I’ve been lifted by every hopeful student who’s had the courage to share his or her stories in my classes.
Reading Home Safe, I felt at times as if Berg were holding a mirror to my own conscience. But the real gift in this novel was the permission it gave me to admit aloud that I do get burned-out and discouraged; that no matter how much I’ve achieved, I’m not immune to doubt and insecurity.
Burnout, discouragement, doubt, and insecurity are inexorably chained to the writing life — yet they often precede a second wind or a second act. If you’re in it for the long run, there’s no way you’ll fully appreciate the thrill of seeing your byline under a magazine article or your name on the cover of a book until you’ve battled these demons and gremlins. I wouldn’t be honest, or fair, if I didn’t share that with you too. -- Cindy La Ferle
August 12th, 2009 at 9:21 am
Thank you Cindy! If I know that you also have down days, and that it is part of the process, I can have mine and not be overly discouraged. Your honesty encourages me to keep writing and submitting. Mary Ellen
August 12th, 2009 at 9:42 am
Well said, Cindy. I love the part in the book when Berg’s writer character goes to speak at a local library and just freezes up when she’s asked personal questions. Sometimes as writers, we want to keep our struggles private. But I think sharing helps everyone.
August 12th, 2009 at 10:04 am
I read your last post and although I was slightly discouraged for a moment it was only for a moment. I was reminded of something Natalie Goldberg said at a writing working I attended a few years ago. It was not the same topic, but the energy was similar and I thought then as I do now that it’s good to hear the reality of a writer’s life once in a while. It builds a more realistic foundation which I find much more useful.
As to what you said about blogging, I consider blogging just my first step really…it is good practice that I hope will make me a better writer and if I never do more than leave behind the posts that I have written in the last year, then at least some of the people most important to me will have a more complete vision of who I am than the roles by which they’ve known me.
The business of writing is all changing just as you said, but for one who has never been published the change is easier in some ways. Besides, writing is the work that makes me feel most satisfied. I’m happiest at the keyboard composing and if one day I’m paid for doing what I love, I’ll be happy to put it in the bank.
I can’t remember how I found your blog, but I’m very glad I did. I admire your honesty and the way you approach a topic. I’ll be back.
August 12th, 2009 at 10:53 am
Dear Cindy,
Oh, my. Lump in the throat here and tears behind the eyes. I am so touched by the poignancy of your writing, the honesty, and most especially the way you have captured ME in your words. What a gift you have…You have given voice to what is unsaid within me and that is what a true writer does…conveys with grace and ease what each of us may be feeling universally. Despair, dissatisfaction, frustration, and more, but are hesitant, or too fearful to speak of it.
Gasho to you, my friend. That is a deep Taoist bow. My heart is in your hands. And yours is in mine.
p.s. If you are crafting your new work with this kind of energy, we all need to hang on because I know we will be blown away by what you write. Though it may not feel like it at times, I sense, on some level, your soul embers are aglow, soon to ignite.
August 12th, 2009 at 11:07 am
Thanks for the honest post here Cindy. I must have missed the earlier one you are referring to so Im off to read that now.
It’s human to get “down” now and then, particularly these days.
At the same time, there are lots of new opportunities for writers and creatives. Maybe just in forms we don’t yet know.
I’ve been nagging myself to get back on a blogging schedule, with ideas mounting daily, as I believe a self-imposed deadline and ritual brings its own rewards. And I was listening to a talk recently that said a blog (ie, writing regularly) is probably the most important thing you can do, even if your only reader is you.
August 12th, 2009 at 12:49 pm
Although I am not brave enough to be a blogger, I am an avid blog reader. I appreciate this window into your world, Cindy. I so enjoy the quality I find here and the fact that you are so thoughtful about the published word and the process therein.
(Lamentably, for every true writer in the blogosphere publishing meaningful material, there are many more who publish the first thought out of their head with no concern or even a nod to the editorial process!)
Just look at the amazing comments this post has inspired. A real mentor, you are! You should be proud to have your name on writing of such quality and discernment. It is a tribute to your craft, and worth every moment of writer’s angst, from where I sit!
August 12th, 2009 at 3:15 pm
Wow — thank you, each and every one of you for your insightful (and encouraging) comments here! I know that all of you are writers, so your words of comfort and wisdom mean a lot.
Cindy H — I know you’ve been there too.
Ellen — you are so right about new things to come — if we can only be patient.
Jan — I am bowing back to you, having been so inspired by your books and work and blog. Thank you.
Elizabeth — I am glad you found me, too, and I need to come visit your site as well.
Leslie — I am honored to be called a mentor — it means a lot!
Mary Ellen — it has been a joy to have you in class, and I am always proud when you get published! Yes, keep submitting! — CL
August 12th, 2009 at 6:34 pm
I’m so glad you didn’t edit your post. I was so encouraged by your honesty because your revelations stood like a mirror before me, much like Elizabeth Berg’s book.
Continue to keep it real Cindy. Authenticity doesn’t discourage but breeds recognition. understanding and inspiration.
August 12th, 2009 at 6:35 pm
I meant to add
…much like Elizabeth Berg’s book did for you.
August 12th, 2009 at 6:52 pm
Cindy, I’m so glad you didn’t delete your last post– it was honest and truthful.
You are a long-time accomplished and published writer. Writing, like jobs, go in cycles and doing something for 25 years beings change– over and over again. I’ll be watching to see what your next chapter is.
xo
August 12th, 2009 at 8:07 pm
The way I see it, the publishing industry is changing, not dying. There will always be a need for writers. We may need to adapt to the changes, but new ways mean new opportunities, too.
I don’t whether you’re aware of it, but a big reason your writing speaks to me is that you’re talking about the life process (which includes the creative process.) Your blog post from last week, as well as this one, are about that very thing.
The lows, the negative stuff, are an integral part of the creative process, and can actually feed it … which is what your final paragraph there says so well.
August 12th, 2009 at 10:18 pm
Cindy, your honesty and integrity come through clearly in your writing. That’s how I knew I wanted to get to know you.
August 13th, 2009 at 7:12 am
It’s the same in all creative, transformational process. Plutonian birth, death, rebirth. I feel the same way about my clinical work- there are weeks when I would like to do bricklaying or landscaping- anything other than talk to people. I’ve been burnt out and reborn so many times I can’t count. But it’s what I do, born to it. Karma….
August 13th, 2009 at 8:48 pm
Oh I’m so glad that I waited to reply to you.
So that I could read another post, and then all of these comments. What a blessing you are, and it confirms my initial hunch. I can’t wait to read through, and am going to order your book.
Thank you so so much for taking the time to visit my blog. Yes , those were my words. I have only come to writing in the last few months, and my soul has never breathed deeper.
I am honoured to be in community with so many people that seek to put into words the something that is everything.
August 17th, 2009 at 8:31 am
I’m so glad I found your bog.
Your career inspires me. I’ll be sure to check back in often. Thank you for your insightful post.
August 26th, 2009 at 7:59 pm
I appreciate your honesty and sensitivity. Isn’t that what writing is all about? You are an inspiration to many. Thank you!