The Year of Productivity

The Year of Productivity

I attended the Surrey International Writers’ Conference this past weekend for the first time and came away inspired and dejected, in equal measure, with a healthy dose of “It’s time to up my productivity game” thrown in.

The inspiration flowed abundantly throughout the three days of the conference. I went to a session on setting with the marvellous Eileen Cook that gave me an entirely new way to understand writing the emotions of a place. I attended two panels comprised of editors and agents, one for pitching and the other for querying, and came away with tons of fresh ideas.

My favourite workshop was taught by Liza Palmer, one of the funniest and most charming people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. She gave me loads of helpful screenwriting techniques that I can instantly use in everything that I write.

But then there was the dejection. One early afternoon session, titled SiWC Idol, consisted of literary agents listening to the first pages of writers in attendance. The agents would throw up their hands when they wanted to stop reading. When half of the panel had their hands in the air, the moderator (the entertaining and debonair Jack Whyte) would stop and the panel would offer critiques.

It was a bloodbath. The gatekeepers of the literary world want top-notch work and may only give you two sentences to prove you’ve got what they’re looking for before they move on to the next writer.

It can be overwhelming.

When I came home, I needed a few days to let it all settle in, then I created a colour-coded spreadsheet, which I dubbed “The Year of Productivity.” It’s a business plan, of sorts, for the rest of this school year.

I broke it down by writing projects, general writing goals and what I need to do for my speaking career. I took the big areas (blue sky – thank you, Liza Palmer!) and broke them down into individual steps (i.e. finish first draft by writing 15 pages per week, outline series bible, adapt feature screenplay into a short for competitions, rewrite agent query, etc.). Each item has a month when it needs to be completed.

I feel reborn with this 2 page spreadsheet. So often we get stalled because we don’t know what to focus on or our goals become too broad and overwhelming. It really helps to see it all listed out on paper, with actual deadlines. I’ve highlighted this month’s action items in blue and I change them to red when each item is completed.

I printed a copy and put it in my writing binder. Now I have something to keep me on the straight and narrow, and I can add to it or amend as necessary. Thank you, SiWC, for the much-needed kick in the ass to help me get where I most want to go. One day I’ll be presenting there.

How about you? What does your year of productivity look like?

This Rejection Place

This Rejection Place

Between what we long for and what we have there is generally a gap. This place is where our discontentment thrives.

I long for a traditional publishing contract. I’ve been querying, on and off, on a spiritual memoir for almost three years. A ton of rejection comes with this process. I knew it when I started. Getting a full manuscript request from an agent early on was exciting, only to be told she liked it but didn’t think she could sell it.

Two story contests came across my social media feed this summer that I decided to enter. I wrote the two best stories I possibly could and sent them off with high hopes. Neither one made the shortlist, bringing back those ugly doubts and fears, whispering all day and night to my spirit: “maybe you’re just not a good enough writer.”

It’s dark and lonely in this rejection place. My psyche feels wounded and lost, like a dark cave where you forever hear water dripping, a sound that will eventually drive you mad.

I handed in my first flash fiction story in my creative writing university class. I was really happy with it, once again telling myself that I couldn’t do any better at this stage of my life as a writer. I got glowing feedback on it but didn’t achieve the perfect grade I wanted. Once again, that voice in the cave was back, taunting me with my own worthlessness.

I do know that writing is subjective. Criticism is meant to improve our skills and we shouldn’t take it personally. Sometimes it’s easy to take a bird’s-eye view of the whole process and console yourself with the fact that at least you are in the game. I’m putting myself out there and trying for something, and the price is the inevitable rejection.

Time heals and takes away the sting. I will keep going, but today I will allow myself to wallow a little in the hurt and frustration. The real problem, as always, is my own damn expectations. I start to write a happy ending to a particular submission story, when I have no actual control over the tastes of the judges or teachers or agents or publishers.

I can only do what I can do, then I must let go of the outcome. Sounds easy, but it’s the hardest part of the whole process. When will I learn this? When will I finally improve at it?

Rejection will always hurt. But it doesn’t have to stop us or define us. Bumps in the road will never stop cropping up. It helps to remember that the people who matter in my life will love me no matter what happens.

The key to resilience is picking up my pen and writing another word, another sentence, another character. I have to believe that not quitting is what will get me to where I want to go, even if it takes way longer than I want it to.

October

October

I love October. Every year, it feels like a deepening of the new adventures ushered in by September. This month is about settling down, breathing in and out, bundling up in cozy sweaters, anticipating the upcoming holiday season, letting go of summer and preparing for the barrenness of winter.

The air smells fresh and clean, the leaves are changing hue and drifting lazily to the ground, pumpkins are in stores and scattered throughout patches, and the rain (in Vancouver) and snow (in Calgary) are beginning. For me, October is a quiet respite in between the seasons. It’s like a pause button, a reasonable place to stop and look around.

This October I’m adjusting to my new role as a part-time creative writing student, back at university after many years away. I’ve had four classes so far and I’ve proven to myself that I am equipped for this particular challenge. Talking about story arcs, symbolism and the inventive use of voice for two and a half hours turns out to be my idea of heaven.

Recently, I signed with an agent for background acting as I’ve dabbled in it this year and decided I wanted to do more. I feel energized by the idea of saying yes to things that once had the power to terrify me. One of the jobs I just did meant working through the night and skating for hours, an activity I can technically accomplish but practically have not done for over a decade.

And you know what? I rocked it. Sure, my feet were sore by 5 am and I felt tired and achy the next day, but all of that was totally worth it because I dared to say yes when my insecurity urged me to respond “Hell no.”

We can do more than we think we can. This life we have been given is not a dress rehearsal. It is happening, right here and right now, and as the great poet Ferris Bueller told us back in the mid-80s: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.”

October is for looking around and for gratitude (Canadians celebrate our Thanksgiving this weekend, hands down my fave holiday other than Christmas). It’s an invitation to examine our priorities, cherish the people who mean the most to us (do they know how much we love them?), and identify where our time and resources are going.

Use this month as a pause button. Take a look around. This is too good to miss.

Messages of Love to Ourselves

Messages of Love to Ourselves

Last week I went to a laser clinic for information on removing a raised red bump on my scalp under my hair. It’s been growing there for some time, since Ava was a baby, and I checked it with my doctor a few years ago and he said not to worry about it.

Lately it’s been itchy around the area and I’m weary of warning those cutting my hair about avoiding it. So I went to a laser clinic.

Apparently, what I have is called a “ruby point”. I’ve left this one so long that it will be expensive to remove, taking several appointments instead of just one. The technician pointed out several small rubies developing along my hairline and on my neck and chest.

I went home from the consultation utterly dejected. I hate spending money in general, but certainly dropping hundreds of dollars on cosmetic surgery offends my thrifty ways. It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that I identified what my internal monologue was whispering to me after this appointment.

That persistent voice went something like this: Julianne, you are such an idiot. How could you let this thing grow on your head for over a decade without doing something about it? Anyone with sense would’ve known better. And what the hell is wrong with you that more of these ruby point things are growing all over you?

The voice was relentless, mean and forceful. I felt overwhelmed by a sense of shame and guilt. What was wrong with me? It was only when I finally sat down with my journal and tried to sort out why I was hurting that I could see how devastating this line of thought was. It’s not my fault I’m prone to these ruby points. And I did check the one on my head with a doctor who wasn’t concerned about it. Now it’s becoming an issue for me so I’m getting it removed.

Recognizing my unconscious nasty messaging to myself was so helpful, for it meant I could choose to mute those cruel words. I did not have to surrender my joy and peace to that angry noise. I am worth this money I must spend to take care of my health. I am not a burden to my family, like I initially feared. (Talking about this with Jason over dinner was so reassuring. He is usually kinder to me than I am to myself. He said, “Go for it, don’t worry about what it costs. You need to get this done.”)

I am loved and valued and it’s okay to prioritize my skincare. I made the appointment for this afternoon to laser off the big ruby point and after that I can make a plan to deal with the smaller ones.

It’s important to stop and look at what our subconscious is actually saying to us. Much of what we hear can be traced back to faulty messaging from our childhood or other critical points in our past, but the wonderful news is that we do not have to listen to that vitriol any longer. We can love ourselves through any hardship.

I’m grateful that this health issue is not a serious one. It’s pricey, but others are facing much scarier and more uncertain problems. I will hold that gratitude close, and work on making sure the messages I give myself are ones of love instead of scorn or derision.

How about you? What does your self-talk sound like?

Letting Go

Letting Go

Ava went to a 3 day leadership retreat with her school this week. It was for the student government to plan events for the upcoming school year. She brought the paper home the first week of classes, her face alight with enthusiasm, and I felt, for a single moment, as though I was looking into the future with her away more than she’s at home.

It was both wonderful and sad, all at the same time (doesn’t that describe a lot of parenting experiences?). Our children grow up and away from us. Over time, we get lulled into a certain type of normalcy, with them coming and going, laughing, making messes, driving us up the wall. Then you begin to  realize that quite soon, they will fly from our nests and begin their own adventures.

I get weary when I hear parents complaining about how much they miss the good old days when their kids were babies. This is not a post about that, for I don’t pine for that bygone era. Our kids are meant to grow older and more interesting and become who they really are. This process is fascinating and stimulating and I have no interest in holding it back.

But it does go by fast. If we do the work of parenting correctly, we are to take a dependent baby and turn that baby into an independent adult. This is the job posting every one of us signed up for when we chose to have children. Some days I find it easy to enjoy the fruit of my labours as a mom when I watch my son and daughter navigating the world on their own. Occasionally I feel as if I’m preparing them well for the rigours of our modern society.

Then there are the other days. The ones where I realize that in four short years Ava will be ready to start university. In two years she will be driving (our Alberta friends can see their teens driving now at fourteen but no such luck for Ava in BC). In grade nine there will likely be invitations to parties and events where we will need to practice, as parents, setting reasonable boundaries for her and then letting go and trusting that she will be safe.

At a certain point, we must trust our precious kids to make their own decisions. This is the preparation they need to be able to succeed in life. To bounce back from hardship, they first must experience hardship. We cannot protect them forever. We should not be protecting them forever.

So much of the job of parenting involves getting out of the way. Moving past our fear and believing that we’ve laid the groundwork for our children to discern right from wrong, to lead instead of follow, to learn from their mistakes.

I am incredibly proud of our fourteen-year-old daughter. She texted a few times from the retreat, happy updates about winning a game of Manhunt in the dark and the pouring rain by hiding in the brambles and dirt, eating pizza for lunch, staying up late chatting with her roommates from older grades.

I remember these types of things from my teen years. They are a rite of passage from childhood to adulthood. We want to support Ava in these adventures and experiences, but it does help to talk openly about what it feels like to be the parent instead of the child.

How do you practice letting go of your kids as they move toward independence and adulthood?