This week’s blogpost for new writers is going to be re-posting a something I wrote for New England Speculative Writers. I had a health scare this week and was in the hospital for a bit (I’m fine–false alarm but lifestyle changes needed) so I’m behind in life. I have a writing deadline to meet and a dance competition for my daughter this weekend.
This post is still relevant for new and aspiring writers, particularly those with children. It tells a bit about my path to motherhood and how that affected my writing. The good news–it’s never too late.
Here’s the link to the post. Please check out the excellent submissions from other writers in New England in honor of Women’s History Month.
If you’ve visited my website before, you may notice it has changed. That’s because the WordPress template I *paid* for stopped playing nicely with the latest version of WordPress.
I tried to fix it various ways, but to no avail. So instead of purchasing a new one–they’re not expensive, but I’m not swimming in cash–I decided to use one of the free templates for now.
I meant to post this on November 1, when NaNoWriMo–National Novel Writing Month–began. NaNoWriMo leads writers through a month of intensive creation, culminating with a draft novel, or 50,000 words spread across other projects.
I’m not participating in NaNoWriMo per se–I’ve tried in the past and I always fall short, and it gives me the sads 🙁 I’ve been trying to write more, though, in between my editing gig.
When I have my writing tools, I’m more successful. My primary writing space is a three-season porch, which creates some difficulties beginning around November:
It’s cold
I get cold easily
The wood-burning stove is in the living room’
Did I mention I get cold?
Despite its lack of perfection, I love the porch because it’s sunny and it’s filled with my stuff. If I’m surrounded by the right tools, I find I can still manage to write out here fairly well.
Necessary writing tool. (This is Isis–her littermate, Anubis, was sitting on the back of my chair with his head in my neck.)
The things on my must-have list for writing out here include:
Coffee warmer, to keep the coffee hot (or other hot beverage of your choice. The writer’s fuel. )
Portable heater, pretty self-explanatory. Someday I’ll have more money and maybe I’ll get a faux fireplace out here…
Cats.
Not pictured because not pulled out yet–fingerless gloves and thick wool socks.
The most important thing you can do is find what works for you!
It’s the beginning of the summer (which also means it’s the end of the school year) and that means it’s a time of transitions. It’s the season for graduations, promotions, weddings. It’s a time for festivals and conferences and (if you’re lucky) some R & R.
It’s also been a bizarre year. And we’re only half-way through it.
Events in the world and in my own life have gotten me thinking about “culture” and “norms.” For example:
The culture (and cult of personality) surrounding Trump
Different groups that define themselves by how they respond (or don’t respond) to the gun control debate
The continuing friction between different factions in the scifi writing community (1)
It’s not just these larger manifestations of “culture” that have me thinking and scratching my head. I’ve also been seeing the ways in which micro-cultures manifest in our individual lives. At these transitional times in particular, when so many people are so invested in maintaining the norms of their micro-cultures, clashes between those who maintain power in groups and define the norms rub against those who defy them (either intentionally or by ignorance.)
Perhaps it’s the sociologist in me. I can’t help but step back to watch and analyze as I see so many people scurrying around to protect their culture, their domains of influence, and the norms of their communities.
This isn’t a bad thing, in and of itself. We are social animals, with a built-in need to be parts of a greater whole. We want to belong. And those who hold the strings to power structures are inevitably at risk of abusing them if they choose to manipulate, control, and narrowly define rather than provide a means for members in a group to co-exist, and deal with inevitable group pressures in a healthy way. These bearers of the power-structure-strings wield what the Sociologist Michael Mann has defined as Ideological Power. “(It) derives from the human need to find ultimate meaning in life, to share norms and values, and to participate in aesthetic and ritual practices with others.” (2)
And many people are so desperate to “fit in,” that they will go along with choices and ideas that are objectively harmful to others. The need to “belong” is strong. Inside many of us, that awkward preteen still resides.
I’ve been amused (at best), dismayed, and at times appalled when I see how power-wielders behave. Especially those in positions of power over children. We teach our children how to treat others–share, don’t say anything or do something to anyone you wouldn’t want said or done to you–yet as adults, so many ignore those rules. So many adults revert to childish behavior. So many adults in power over children reward popularity or parents’ checkbooks over the more important qualities that individual children possess.
Unfortunately, none of us can really change the “status quo” of an established group or power structure. And honestly, not all of us have the fortitude to do so, or the energy to fight an uphill battle. Some will never “see” that a power-holder is abusing their power, either because they don’t care (or are benefiting), or because they are too enmeshed in the dysfunctional norms of the group to see through them.
Luckily, there will always be a few who see things as they really are. They will speak truth to power, and there will be repercussions. But there is always another group, another set of ideologies to seek. There are other power-wielders who will do things the “correct” ways.
It’s all about finding your own tribe, and not rewarding or throwing your hat in with those who don’t share your values.
I’d be happy to hear YOUR stories and insights on this topic…
(1) The article is a year old, but gives a good overview of this debate within the scifi community.
About a week and a half ago I wrote a blog post in which I pretty much laid myself bare. I was brutally honest about several things–some pertaining to me and some that speak more to the experience of being a middle-aged woman.
The response to that post was amazing. I linked to it on Facebook, and the comments were affirming and heartwarming. At least a half-dozen people privately messaged me to share their own thoughts and experiences. One person messaged me to ask if he could share the post with his wife, who teaches a Women’s Studies course (I said yes.) Although some of my family members did not react completely positively to the post, and it was scary as hell for me to be that honest, all in all it was a positive experience. It really caused me to turn a corner I’d been needing to turn.
I’d certainly peeked around the corner several times, but had never fully stepped out. That post was my stepping out. That post was the moment I really embraced the label writer and decided I was going to stop being so afraid to fail at the writing thing.* Although the post was about other things as well (finding myself without paid work, being middle-aged and overweight and knowing how society views that), at a deep, personal level I shifted. I shifted from hoping I could be a writer to deciding I would be one.
It feels good.
As a result of that post, another amazing thing happened. I was offered an editing gig. It’s part-time for now, and I’m technically a contractor (which is how I’ve been employed for my last several jobs anyway, minus the Barnes & Noble stint.) But I’ve been wanting to do real editing work for many years, and I love the idea of helping other authors achieve their dreams. I’m really excited about this! It will also inform my own writing, and show me more of the publishing cycle.
I’ll be editing for Tulip Romance, currently a small start up. The owner previously owned another press, however, so she knows her stuff!
I hope you’ll visit occasionally to see where this road takes me 🙂
* I will also be blogging more frequently. Some of it will be the keeping-it-real type stuff like last time, and some will be humorous. I’ll post periodic updates on my own writing as well.
The fact is, you are forty-eight years old and you are unemployed. You have lived long enough that you have begun to see ageism work against you. Who wants to hire someone who is forty-eight when they can hire someone in their twenties or thirties? The kind of person who runs marathons (even half-marathons) and looks like it? The kind of person who knows what is in style, and wears it well. And there’s that, of course…
You are overweight. You have lived long enough to see what people think of those who are not thin. They are lazy. They are slovenly. They don’t care about themselves. The overweight person is not the person you want to hire. Why would you, when you can hire the marathon runner? That person has energy. That person is driven. And then there’s your gender…
No one wants to hire a middle-aged, overweight woman. A man can get away with it. His grey hair is distinguished, his paunch means he is out drinking with friends and work associates. It’s okay, on him. He is living his life. You are unsuccessful.
Being unemployed means you have to cut down on the things other ageing women around you do. You stretch out time between hair appointments. You are miserly with getting your nails done. You have to be, because the family needs stuff and you are not contributing.
And then…
And then you feel awful and guilty because you actually have a good life. You are blessed, and you know it. You are middle-aged and overweight and unemployed, but you know women of color have it harder than you do. You know that it’s difficult to be living in poverty. You know life is harder if you’re homosexual, or trans-gendered, or from a non-English speaking culture, or not able-bodied. So you should just be grateful for what you have. And you are. You are educated, and you are married to your best friend, and have kids who are good people. So what if you’re doing nothing with that Master’s degree?
You never really had a career. People have careers. You could have had one. You could have had several. But you made other choices. And now you are forty-eight, and unemployed.
You could have stayed in Chicago and stayed in the Ph.D. program. You could be teaching now, and doing research, and you’d have a career.
Or, you could have stayed in the workforce five years ago and not given up your job because your kids needed a parent at home. You’d still be there, maybe. You’d have an office and an income and go on business trips. You’d mentor junior staff, you’d have a say. You’d make decisions, and ask questions other than: Do you want me to make you lunch or do you want to buy today? and Do you need help with your homework tonight? and What snacks do you want from the supermarket? Because the fact is, you are lucky…
You are lucky that you can go to a supermarket and buy food. You are lucky that you have kids that can do things and can respond to your questions. What’s that in the face of being forty-eight, overweight, and unemployed?
You’ve lived long enough to know living means acquiring scars. The kinds that hide inside, simmering below the surface. The kinds that make you the kind of person who doesn’t run marathons or simultaneously work full-time while going back to school for an MBA. You’ve had clinical depression, you’ve had post-partum depression. You’ve been unable to work for small chunks of time. You’ve been unable to feel fully alive for chunks of time.
The writing has always been there, of course. Even though you’ve now lived almost half a century, the writing has been there for as long as you can remember. But you’ve never figured out how to be successful, while all of your writing friends manage to Figure It Out and do it and you have no idea what the magic sauce is. You have your suspicions…
Many of them don’t have kids. Most of them don’t. Or they have spouses who do the family stuff. Or they only need four hours’ sleep a night. Or they write. Every day, or most days, and you don’t. So they get it done, and you don’t.
You also see, in many of them, that they ARE NOT AFRAID. They speak their truths. THEY LIVE OUT LOUD. You are not this unafraid. You never have been, and you want to be, because you suspect this is part of the magic. Even now, as you write this, you are thinking: What will my mother say?What will people think?You didn’t type above that you have fibromyalgia, because what if a prospective employer reads this and doesn’t hire you? Afraid, always afraid. You want to be fearless, and a lot of people–most people–think you are fearless. Because you got a nostril piercing when you were in your late thirties. Because that’s when you got a tattoo. Because you dye your hair various shades of red, or purple, or something in between.
People think you are fearless, because of some of the choices you’ve made. You’re not conventional. You never really have been. And people think that’s brave. But it’s just self-preservation. Because if you didn’t live your life being you to at least that extent, you’d shrivel up inside. So you do just enough. You toe the line between conforming and living.
And here you are, forty-eight (although you feel younger), overweight (although you haven’t always been) and unemployed. And the guilt and the shame weigh you down, zap your energy, and make you less likely to do all the things you should be doing to feel better and to really be you. The excuses and the realities get all mixed up, tangled together, obscuring how you view and judge everything with a gauzy web of confusion.
You are forty-eight, and want to be the kind of person who will post this. But you probably won’t.
