Showing all posts tagged confidence

In Books, Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, University, Writing

Introducing Ruby Finch Books!

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

It’s my great pleasure to introduce my brand new company, Ruby Finch Books! I wanted to share a little about how this venture came about, and invite you to have a look at my new website and peruse my first newsletter over at Substack (and please sign up to receive it monthly if you are interested in updates on new book launches, classes, creative retreats, cat pics, and other joyful things!).

About halfway through my 2 year graduate degree in Creative Writing, in the summer of 2022, I realised that somewhere along the educational road I’d lost my belief in myself. Writing is a competitive process, in that so many people are talented and accomplished, and I’d been trying to find a literary agent for my contemporary YA novel for about 18 months with no success. I also queried a number of small publishers, who also said no. I had lots of manuscript requests, and kind feedback, and moments of great hope, but at the end of it all, I couldn’t find someone in traditional publishing willing to rep me or publish my book.

I worked with a counsellor for about six months during this period of rock-bottom confidence, and I asked her, “How do I feel successful as a writer?” She answered, “You get to determine for yourself what success looks like, and then you prove your own abilities to yourself.” This was a revelation to me.

As I was thinking my way through this big idea, I had lunch with one of my undergrad writing profs who has mentored me for the last two decades. When I talked with him about my sadness and disillusionment over not finding a traditional publishing contract for my book, he said, “But Julianne, you can publish it yourself.” I remember how my heart starting pounding in my chest, so loud I could hear it in my ears, and the embarrassed feeling of failure I’d been carrying around began to fall from my shoulders.

So often we just need someone else who believes in us to speak up. To remind us that we don’t have to wait forever for approval from some outside source. We are allowed to give it to ourselves. At that moment, I felt like I was standing in the bottom of a well, but when I looked up, I could see daylight. So I started to move toward it.

I wrote in a journal that a friend gave me for my fiftieth birthday in December, pouring all my dreams and ideas for an indie publishing imprint onto its blank pages. I dreamed up a business name, and a plan, and a philosophy for marketing and launching that focused on public libraries and schools. I wrote down names of good friends who were incredibly talented artists, editors, facilitators, sales people, and writers. I created a team of people I adore and want to work with.

Then a miracle happened: I started to love writing again. I wrote my thesis novel last summer in this healthier frame of mind, and I fell in love with the world that was being built on the page. I went back to the themes I longed to explore and why I wanted to write the book in the first place. I felt so grateful to my UBC supervisor who urged me to write the book I longed to write, and not to worry about workshopping it or getting a grade for it. Slowly, I started to understand what my counsellor meant by determining success for myself and then proving my own abilities.

I graduated from UBC in late May, on a gorgeous sunny day. I felt proud of the hard work I put into my MFA, but I think I was even prouder of my Ruby Finch Books business license when it arrived in the mail. I framed it and put it above my desk. It means so much to me to launch this venture. To teach writing classes that also focus on wellness and mental health. To craft book launch events that inspire and create meaning for participants. To share my writing and believe that there’s an audience out there of readers, librarians, and teachers who value some of the same things I do: risk-taking, simplicity, emotional honesty, intuitive courage, and fun.

I’d be honoured for you to come along with me on this new path. Have a look at the website, subscribe to the Substack monthly newsletter, find us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. I’d love to build this exciting adventure with you. Reach out, get in touch, ask questions, give me a “hell yeah I’ll read your work.” So often we need someone else who believes in us to speak up. Let’s do this for each other.

Thank you, friends and readers, from the bottom of my heart. I need you, and I’m so grateful for your time, interest, and care.

In Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Uncategorized, University, Writing

Graduation!

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I’ve done it. I made it to the end of my full-time, in-person MFA in Creative Writing graduate program at UBC. I graduate later this month, in a cap and gown (something I missed out on when graduating from KPU with my BA in spring 2021 due to Covid protocols), and I’m excited and proud of this milestone achievement.

There were many times over the last two years that I doubted myself. I felt old, compared to my younger peers, and I worried that my style of writing wasn’t literary enough or avant-garde like the work others were producing. I experienced several moments of personal crisis, where I actively considered not writing at all.

Two things pulled me out of this tailspin. The first was my thesis process. I had a kick-ass advisor, and he gave me permission to write the book I longed to write. He told me to push aside any thoughts of grades, or critiques, or publishing, and simply WRITE for the pure joy of it. After a hard first year of grad classes, his encouragement and belief in my abilities saved me. It set me free from thinking about other people’s opinions and what might sell in the future or not sell. He let me write what was in my heart, and as a result the novel poured out of me. Writing that book made me feel like a writer again.

The second thing that restored my faith in myself was returning to creative nonfiction. Memoir is my first love (other than screenplays), but during my four years of undergrad and the first year of my MFA, I wrote mostly fiction. I didn’t know it, but I was slowly becoming disconnected from my own literary voice. Taking classes in CNF gave me back my voice. It restored my confidence. One woman went so far as to write me a letter after my workshop, saying how much my writing had meant to her, and she urged me to bank on myself. Her encouragement was like an outstretched hand, offering to pull me up and out of the quicksand I’d been sinking in. She helped me to breathe again.

During my last term in the program, I taught a third-year seminar creative writing class, while taking a graduate class in teaching and pedagogy, and I realised that I’m ready to take a new step in my career. I had a series of meetings with professors from both undergrad and grad school, and a fresh vision for my future began to emerge. I’m not quite ready to share all those details yet, because they are still in the early stages, but I’m excited and hopeful about what’s ahead. I have dreamed it, and begun to put a solid foundation under it, and I’ve stopped allowing others to define success for me. I’m now doing that for myself.

In a few weeks, I’ll cross a stage at UBC and receive my Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. I’ve worked hard, achieving an A+ grade average over both of my degrees. I’ve learned a lot, met some fascinating and talented people, and grown and changed in ways I couldn’t begin to conceive of when I returned to university as a mature student in 2017.

It’s time to celebrate, and the future looks bright.

In Books, Identity, Movies/TV, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, University, Writing

Recalibrate

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I’m working with a new counsellor, and she has me focusing on a new word this summer: recalibrate. Making adjustments to my routine or process is not always easy for me. I thrive in predictability, but looking at my plans and goals with the lens of recalibration (or making small, fine-tuning changes) has really opened up fresh possibilities for me.

I survived my first year of full-time grad school in the Creative Writing MFA program at UBC. It was busy, packed with more homework and writing deadlines than I’ve ever had before, but I made it to the other side. I learned a lot about myself as a writer. I met so many interesting and talented people. Over the second semester, I went through a crisis of confidence in my own abilities, unsure if my creative instincts and intuition could be trusted and relied on.

A few weeks off was what I needed to recalibrate and regain my perspective outside of the demands of full-time classwork and TA responsibilities. I took that time off in April, and found myself coming back to life again, the way a plant does with healthy doses of sunlight and water. I read, slept in, walked in nature, meditated, got back to my yoga practice, wrote in my journal, stretched, and watched some great TV (Search Party, Our Flag Means Death, Julia, the final episodes of Ozark, just to name a few).

Now I feel ready to embark on my thesis, a post-apocalyptic cli-fi novel I’ve been thinking about since my third year of undergrad. This story and these characters have been germinating in my mind and soul for more than eighteen months. I’m so excited to start writing and see where it all takes me.

I worried at various points over my first year of grad school that I wouldn’t be up to the task of writing a thesis over a four-month period, but I’ve come to realize that I can do things I didn’t think I could do. I’ve proved that to myself by going back to university in my mid-forties, and deciding to be a professor of Creative Writing after graduating with my MFA. It’s all in motion. I just needed some time to catch up to myself and what I’ve learned.

So now I start writing. I’m determined to hold loosely, to enjoy the process instead of focusing only on the finished product, and to cherish no outcomes. As writer Jami Attenberg said, “The safest place is inside the work.” And to quote Steven Spielberg, “The work that I’m proudest of is the work I’m most afraid of.” I’m going to hold both of these ideas close as I get down to work, taking care of myself by recalibrating my own expectations and shoring up my own confidence in a variety of ways.

In Culture, Identity, Minimalism, Nurture, Personal Growth, Politics, Speaking, Writing

3 Words for 2020

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Smaller. Braver. Justice. These are my 3 words for 2020. (Yes, I’m aware I missed writing this post in January, but it’s still early in the new decade, right? Or so I tell myself.)

I’ve been picking 3 words as a focus for my year since 2016. I learned this practice from the fabulous Sarah Bessey, who usually chooses one word for her year. One word didn’t seem like enough to me (plus I couldn’t narrow it down), so I picked 3.

At the end of each year, lit by the Christmas tree in the dewy darkness of December, I close my eyes and wait for words to develop on the screen of my mind. This year they came as softly as ever, but quickly, like staccato notes.

Smaller.

I’m determined to stop waiting for some future idea of success. I no longer want a huge reach on social media or to be a famous writer with a 7-figure book advance (well, I mostly don’t yearn for the enormous book deal). My goal is to return to a smaller sphere of influence. To be content with a small yet satisfying life. I want to stop believing that all of the good stuff is out there in the world and I have to chase it down. When I choose to summon gratitude for the people and the experiences that are already in my small circle, it’s actually abundant and joyful. By the end of 2020, I want to really know that a smaller life is more than enough.

Braver.

I’ve been working on courage for a long time. More confidence to speak up and use my voice. I’ve come a long way from the timid mouse I used to be, but this year I long to go even further. To use my privilege to benefit those who need more advocacy. My goal is to stop obsessing that I might be stepping out of line or rocking the boat. When I hear something offensive, I’m trying to speak up. Intuition is a powerful force, but it doesn’t work if we don’t use it. When I’m in a situation that doesn’t feel right, I’m planning to utilize my bravery more. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it’s uncomfortable. This is how we move forward as a society. We need all of the voices. All of the courage. Together we can make a bigger impact.

Justice.

Which leads me to justice. For quite a few years now, I’ve been gathering my sensibilities around fairness and equality, but I’ve been doing this quietly. Now, in 2020, it feels like the right time to speak out. To write about the issues that are near and dear to me, even if they upset some people. It’s okay for others not to agree. That’s what freedom looks like. What’s not okay is to be too afraid to speak up. The stakes are high. It’s time. My hope is that my smaller life will help me become braver, which will prompt me to speak up for justice in a clear voice. I often remind myself that courage doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. It simply means you go ahead and act anyway.

What are your words for 2020? What areas of growth do you plan to focus on in our fresh new decade of possibility?

In Culture, Identity, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Uncategorized, University, Writing

Nobody Knows Anything

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

In my presentation on risk, I have a slide called Nobody Knows Anything. I don’t mean this in a general sense, as lots of people know lots of things, but I mean it when forecasting failure or success. No publisher knew that Harry Potter would be the smash hit of the century. No scientist knows that his or her discover will be the next big thing in the field. Most artists die long before their work becomes popular and desirable by the masses.

A big part of the human experience is trial and error. This really sucks for the control freaks among us (including me). The goal when creating anything new is to allow it to exist without expecting so much from it. That sentence feels so light and easy to type and yet living it out remains a real bitch.

Nobody knows anything, so we should hold lightly to our ideas. I’m in a fourth year fiction writing workshop this semester where we offer feedback on each other’s short stories. It can be so hard to hear criticism, especially when the work is brand new and as its creator you aren’t even sure what it is yet. So often I dream of turning in a story and having a reader or my prof say, “Wow, this is perfect in every way. Don’t change a word. Magazines will be lining up to publish this brilliant piece of writing.” (Spoiler Alert: this NEVER happens.)

The key is not to base our sense of self-worth on any outside source. Ever. Praise comes and goes, just like criticism, and our sense of internal value should not rise and fall with people’s opinions. Confidence is always an inside job. I know this to be true, deep in my soul, and yet so often I become dragged down or obsessive about other people’s views, mistaking them for facts when they are only opinions.

Holding loosely is one of the great markers of happiness. Usually our pain comes from daydreaming about how a situation or a relationship is going to spool out. We imagine a certain outcome, and then when it doesn’t work out we feel betrayed, devastated, robbed. And yet the narrative we constructed was only in our own head. It was never real or guaranteed.

I am ridiculously guilty of this. Even though I know better, and have for years, I still daydream situations that have zero chance of occurring. Why do I do this? Likely because it feels good. It gives me a sense of control over life that in reality I simply do not possess. Why is it such a damn challenge to let life unfold the way it’s meant to and adapt to what actually happens instead of what I think will happen?

It does help to remember that nobody knows anything when it comes to predicting what most people like or don’t like. We have to trust in ourselves for the work we are doing. We have to hope it will translate to others and mean something to people beyond ourselves. Receiving critical feedback that is kind and helps to shape the work is beneficial, but a lot of what people say is not helpful and harms the initial risk we are courageous enough to take.

As Theodore Roosevelt reminds us in shortened form and with updated inclusive language, “It’s not the critic who counts, (but) the credit belongs to the (person) in the arena.” If nobody knows anything about what will ultimately fail and what will succeed, then the creator is the one who should believe in their work for as long as possible, without inviting other people to weigh in too early in the process.