Jeff Goins's Blog, page 85
January 7, 2013
13 New Year’s Resolutions for Writers
If you’re in the habit of making New Year’s Resolutions — which I’m not particularly fond of, by the way, but if you must then here are 13 potential ones to consider, especially if you’re a writer:
Photo credit: Alexandr G. (Creative Commons)
Write what you’re called to write. Your job is not to pander or entertain. It’s to create, to share stuff from the soul as you are moved. If others are moved, that is merely coincidental. Consider it “gravy.” Your job is simply to write.
Tell the truth. No matter what, regardless of what is at stake, we must write what is true. True to us and true to the world. Anything deviating from that standard is a farce.
Write from the heart. Nothing stirs up the emotions of a reader quite like writing that comes straight from the heart. So don’t hold back now. This is the year where you show all your scars.
Don’t take yourself so seriously. Good writing is funny. It makes the reader laugh. If all you’re writing is the facts without any bits of fun thrown in, you’re acting more like a reporter than a writer. Which is fine, unless you feel called to create something that tests the boundaries of the status quo. In that case, you better start having some fun.
Try a new genre. Are you a business advice writer? Try memoir. A novelist? Consider writing a journalism piece. Whatever you are comfortable with will ultimately cause your art to stagnate. So honor your calling as a creative and test the boundaries a little. Push yourself and see how you grow.
Write when you don’t feel like it. No excuses now. We’re counting on you to do the work. Don’t disappoint us or make excuses. Show up — at the keyboard, every day, without fail. If you do this, you’ll do what so few are able to do: turn your passion into a discipline. And then, who knows. We might actually start listening.
Do your research. Read a frickin’ book, for crying out loud. It won’t kill you. And God knows we could use a few more writers in this world who aren’t merely pontificating. Tell us something that doesn’t come straight from your idea closet. We all might actually learn something.
Rewrite until it hurts. Face it: you’re not that brilliant on the first draft. And the second one kinda sucks, too. That’s okay, because this is a marathon, not a sprint. Don’t consider yourself done until you’ve put in at least several hours and a few drafts. At that point, you’re writing; everything leading up to it is merely prologue.
Shut up. Take some time and listen: to what people are saying, to what you’re reading, to what you’re writing. It’s all trying to teach you something. Pay attention, shut that big mouth of yours, and open up your ears. You might learn a thing or two from your surroundings.
Read widely. This isn’t just research, it’s practice. Honing your craft. Studying the masters who came before. Pick a book or two that didn’t just pop up on your Amazon referrals list; read a classic or something that has absolutely nothing to do with your chosen field. We base our careers on words, so the best thing you can do is absorb as many of them as possible from as many different sources as you can.
Focus on the writing. Get off Twitter or Instagram and spend a few hours at week on your writing. Not your platform or your growing contingent of Internet followers, but the the thing that really matters: the writing. No one will thank you for this investment, but you will feel better and the work will improve as a result (I promise).
Break a rule. Maybe you write in an unusual voice or depart from a norm that you’re used to. Do something that causes others — and you — to feel uncomfortable. Because in the discomfort we grow. So mess with our status quo, already, and see what happens. It could be good, really good.
Quit stalling and get writing already! Stop reading this post or rechecking your email for the umpteenth time. Turn the phone to silent and unplug from the world for an hour and just write. It’s the simplest, hardest, scariest thing for a writer to do. Not think about writing or talk about writing, but actually write. Imagine that.
Of course, resolutions aren’t what make a new year new. They’re merely a formality. Writing down something rarely, if ever, accomplished anything. The real trick is having the resolve, the wherewithal, to do something about the dream.
And once you start moving in a direction, you don’t really have a plan or a goal. You have a habit, which is way more powerful than something as pitiful as a resolution.
Food for thought, if you can stomach it.
What are you resolving to do this New Year? Share in the comments.
January 3, 2013
How to Make the Most of the New Year
Happy New Year. For the past two years, I’ve greeted January 1 with an eagerness that’s hard to contain. Why? Because the past couple years have been some of the best in my life. And not for the reasons you’re probably thinking.
Photo credit: Bethan (Creative Commons)
Not because I made resolutions or created new life goals. Heck, I didn’t even have a plan! I continue to have the best year of my life each and every year, because I’ve learned to change my habits.
Now, don’t get me wrong. There are lots of challenges in life I’ve yet to overcome. And every day ain’t no cake walk. But by practicing a few simple habits, I’m able to tackle those challenges more easily.
Here’s what I do:
Say “yes” more. The experts who tell you to say “no” more don’t know what they’re talking about. Sure, that works if you’re already busy and in-demand. But what if you aren’t there yet? The best way to create new opportunities is to start saying “yes” — not to everything, just to more stuff than you’d normally commit to.
Make quicker decisions. You know what phrase I never hear? “I sure learned a lot from that decision I never made.” People who don’t decide, don’t do much. Here’s a secret: Most choices can be reversed. And those that can’t usually have a lesson to teach us. So trust your instincts and start being bolder with the decisions you make. This will cause you to feel confident and more in control.
Pick something. We live in a world full of distractions — that’s nothing new. So how do we do something meaningful in the world? Simple. But most will overlook this. Take that list of goals you’ve set for the new year. Then pick one thing and circle it (maybe it’s to write a book or lose 20 pounds). Just one thing now. And then — are you ready for this? — do it. That’s it. Then move on to the next thing and repeat the process until you become the world’s most productive person.
Changing your life is not complicated, but it’s not easy, either. If you are going to make this year count, you’ll need to focus. And a great place to start is by making more room in your life for things to happen, by becoming a more decisive person (and thus a person of action), and by drilling down to one thing at a time and doing it.
Not very complex, but few will have the discipline to do it. They’ll spread themselves too thin, walk away from opportunities out of fear, and suffer from indecision. And in another 360 days, they’ll be writing down their goals again. Maybe you’ll be different.
I sure hope so.
If you need some help kicking of this new year and beginning some new habits, check out Kickstart the Year (affiliate link).
How do you plan on making the most of the New Year? Share in the comments.
December 31, 2012
Why 2012 Was a Year Worth Celebrating: Top Posts & Other Highlights
Every year, I take some time to reflect on the past 12 months: what I accomplished, what I didn’t, and what surprised me. As I look back, there was a lot to celebrate in 2012.
Photo credit: D. Sharon Pruit (Creative Commons)
Although I don’t put much stock in goal-setting or making plans, I do believe in the power of creating new habits. And this year, I focused on the habit of writing — not just any kind of writing, but deep, intentional writing.
Instead of merely blogging a few hundred words per day and calling it quits, I would set aside a few hours per week to write thousands of words at once. The result was I became a more confident writer.
I also started studying the craft of memoir, which you’ll see evidence of in my next book.
What I did in 2012 — the big moments
All in all, it was a great year, full of so many firsts it was hard to keep track of them all. Here were some of the bigger moments:
Martyn Chamberlin designed a beautiful, custom blog theme for me.
I wrote an eBook that hit the #1 spot in its category and the #3 book on Amazon.
We had our first child, Aiden.
My wife was able to quit her job and stay home to raise our son (thanks to your generosity and willingness to buy my books).
My first traditional book published and two days later went into its second printing.
I signed a second book contract (manuscript is due tomorrow!).
I got a chance to do some public speaking at conferences, churches, and colleges.
I launched an online course and had over 700 students sign up.
State of the blog + Top 10 posts
This year was a year of tremendous growth for the blog. In January, a guest post for Zen Habits bumped me past the 10,000 subscribers mark. And shortly after that, we passed the 25,000-reader threshold (most of which subscribe to my weekly newsletter).
Also this year, Goinswriter.com had over 1.9 million page views, which apparently is a big deal, especially if you live in Lichtenstein.
And according to WordPress.com stats, these were my 10 most popular posts (with corresponding page views):
3 Reasons to Travel While You’re Young (122,884)
10 Ridiculously Simple Tips for Writing a Book (41,256)
Book Ideas for Young Writers (40,697)
How to Influence People: The Most Overlooked Secret (35,210)
Five Weak Words that Make Your Writing Less Effective (33,512)
The Writer’s Manifesto: Stop Writing to Be Read & Adored (26,831)
8 Tips for Waking Up Early & Conquering the Alarm Clock (18,348)
The Difference Between Good Writers and Bad Writers (17,381)
5 Easy Tricks to Help You Write Catchy Headlines (16,884)
How to Get More Traffic to Your Blog and Keep It There (16,323)
Takeaways & targets
Although, I’m not crazy about goals, I do look back at what I’ve learned from the year and focus on a few targets to aim for in the future. Here are some of them:
Write more “evergreen content” that has a shelf life beyond what’s currently trending.
Do more shared experiences with my blog community (like series and contests).
Offer more personal access to me (via courses, communities, and events).
Focus on helping people create their habits that will lead to legacy projects (like writing a book).
Work less and make more time for family.
Don’t settle for anything less than my best work.
Consider moving to Lichtenstein (they might make me their king or something).
What I’m most proud of
Yes, it was a great year and certainly one worth celebrating. When I began this blog back in 2011, I never imagined the impact it would have. I’m humbled.
However, all those numbers aren’t what keep me going. Having tens of thousands of subscribers and millions of views is good for sustaining a platform, but what sustains my passion is:
The daily emails from readers, telling me they now have the courage to call themselves writers.
The private community of writers I helped start (a group exclusive to those who finish my course) that is doing incredible things.
The unpublished words I write, some of which may never be seen.
The moments in the middle of the day when I get to take a break and spend a little quality time with my family, which is what it’s all about for me.
Lastly, I’m proud of the community we’ve built, this blog that has turned into more than just a place for me to rant. Thanks for believing in me and in the impact of words. You make all this worthwhile (and give me reason to show up on when I should be finishing my next book). See you in 2013.
Also, you can see last year’s review here. And if you need a reminder to slow down, check out this recently-published piece I wrote: 5 Ways to Slow Down in 2013.
Final reminder: If you’d like to get a copy of my book for you and a friend, all you have to do is make a tax-deductible donation of any amount to charity. Find out more by clicking here.
What have you done this year that’s worth celebrating? Share in the comments.
December 27, 2012
Why We Need to Rediscover Wonder
What do we do with wonder? Do we bottle it up and try to hold on to it? Do we pull out our iPhones and try to share it with the world? Or do we merely bask in its glow?
Photo credit: Omar Smith (Creative Commons)
Recently, I was reading a new book, which addresses this:
One evening I noticed a brushstroke of lime green in the sky growing brighter with each passing moment. I rubbed my eyes as if I’d seen a mirage then looked again. The color appeared to flap in the wind like a loose sail.
“That’s the northern lights,” Leif assured me.
The beauty of the aurora borealis enchanted me. Since that evening, I had spent countless hours peering through the window of our home and returning to the desolate place where the road ends to catch one more glimpse of the beauty that quickened my soul.
Even on the most extravagant evenings, the northern lights had lasted only an hour or two then faded, but on this evening the curtain to the performance never closed. The sky exhaled more hues than I imagined possible, and I found myself caught up in the wonder.
…Even though I lived in Alaska for five years and witnessed the northern lights more than a hundred times, none compared to that night. I still savor the encounter and live in hopeful anticipation of another.
Though we now live at a lower latitude on the outskirts of a major city notorious for its light pollution, on many nights, you’ll still find me scouting the sky in hope of catching another glimpse of the wonder.
When it comes to wonder, we have a few choices:
We can try to capture it
We can try to hold onto the beauty and the splendor, catching a piece of it with our gadgets and gizmos, even our memories and journals.
But in doing so, we cheapen the thing itself and distract ourselves from being present to the moment.
We can try to reproduce it
Don’t kid yourself: All your tweeting and Instagramming is not the same as watching a sunset. When we catalogue every single memory in photo albums, we’re missing out. We’re not remembering; we’re creating cheap facsimiles of true beauty.
Certainly, these things have their place, but we can’t deceive ourselves into thinking a Polaroid is nearly as good as the original. Can we?
We can enjoy it
Of course, it’s impossible to actually capture or reproduce wonder. The best way to appreciate beauty, I’ve found, is to simply say, “Thank you.” To God or nature or your next-door neighbor. To be grateful for this moment, even if it may be fleeting (sometimes, because of the fact).
As in the excerpt above, there is no guarantee that the mystery of this moment will ever encounter you again. Which is what makes it so special. So relish it.
The next time you’re having a moment — maybe seeing the world through a child’s eyes or smiling at the sight of your town covered in snow — I hope you resist the urge, at least for a moment, to try to capture and reproduce it for the world to see and instead simply enjoy the wonder.
Get the book
The book I quoted above is Wonderstruck by Margaret Feinberg. It’s a great call to live a life full of faith, awe, and wonder, and it’s on sale this week. Check it out on Amazon by clicking here (affiliate link).
What’s one moment of wonder you’ve recently witnessed? Were you present to it? Share in the comments.
December 26, 2012
The Best Way to Overcome the Post-Christmas Blues
This is a difficult season, the week after Christmas. It’s a mini-season of limbo — an awkward in-between time — and people have different ways of dealing with it.
Photo credit: Anthony Kelly (Creative Commons)
Some are still running on fumes from the emotional high that opening presents and seeing family brought. They may even try to extend the holiday an extra week — with varying degrees of success.
Others feel guilty for over-indulging in holiday sweets and are on a weeklong shame fest. They are already starting to make those New Year’s resolutions.
Even others are dealing with the disappointment of another year gone by, another December 25 come and gone, and a lingering feeling of emptiness after the last gift is unwrapped.
For years, I felt this way about Christmas, and to an extent, still sometimes do.
There is so much hype and expectation, building up to a single day — how does it live up to its potential? And what do we do the day after Christmas, when for many of us, a good old-fashioned case of the blues settles in?
You may have expected this, but here it goes, anyway:
Write about it
Capture your thoughts — yes, your angst-ridden, Scroogey thoughts — and share them. Do it honestly and unapologetically.
If you feel something deep and dark, maybe even cynical, write about it. Use a notebook or laptop, and let yourself process the feelings without restraint.
In other words, grieve.
Did you have an amazing Christmas and you’re sad to see it go? Write about it.
Did everyone get into a fight and yell at each other? Write about that, too.
Did you end the day, cynical and frustrated, not believing in the so-called “magic” of Christmas? Yes, write even about that.
And as you write, let go
As the memories and frustrations wash over you, let the feelings slip away. Honor them as they come. But don’t dwell on them. Be present to your emotions. And then, let them fade. This is what grieving is for: not hanging on, but letting go.
Maybe you need to write a lament, like I did. This is a sort of anti-Christmas carol. Instead of singing of the joys of the coming holiday, mourn its passing — whether you loved it or hated it.
Have a funeral for this day of wonder and awe. Because it’s gone. And it won’t be coming back. You will never get this Christmas back.
So shed a tear or sing a “hallelujah.” Do whatever you need to do to let it go. There are 364 other days that need your attention; don’t dwell in the past or on the future. Focus on where you are right now. Writing (or any creative act) can help you with this.
Ways to work through the blues
If you get stuck, here are some ideas:
Write a poem about the feelings you felt right after opening presents. Disappointment? Anger? Release? Capture them in words.
Write a complaint letter to Santa Claus about your disillusionment. What really miffs you about this holiday? Tell the old fat man “how it is.”
Write a blog post, describing Christmas day, without all the fluffy exaggerations. Be honest. If you didn’t like a gift, say so. Write what we’re all thinking.
If you’re so inclined, write a sad song and sing it aloud — for yourself or others to hear.
Pray a prayer that allows you to grieve the passing of the day, while still honoring its importance.
Paint a picture, listen to music, or do some woodworking. Just create something. Anything.
This is how we work through disappoint and overcome tragedy. We grieve. We process. We pay attention to what we’re feeling, so that we can move on. We own our feelings, so they don’t own us.
This is healthy. This is right. This is necessary.
Be brave today (and the days following Christmas); learn to grieve and let go. There is a wonderful lesson about life and loss to be learned here. If you will be present — if you will press in, mourn, and move on.
Or you can just go shopping and watch TV. It’s your call.
How do you overcome the post-Christmas blues? If you do write something, feel free to share it in the comments (the whole piece) or just the link. (Here’s mine.)
*Photo credit: Anthony Kelly (Creative Commons)
December 22, 2012
Three Lessons on Creativity & Making Better Art (Plus a Book Giveaway!)
About a year and a half ago, I started working on a book. I wanted to explain how I made things.
Field Notes
At first I thought this was just an exercise for myself — I wanted to be able to understand my own creative process so that I could make better things. But as I got going, I realized this might be useful to others.
For years I’d been keeping track of random thoughts in dozens of Field Notes notebooks. Then two summers ago — the summer our first child Ruby was born — I poured through stacks of these banged-up beauties to uncover my process.
The book went from a humble eBook to a full-fledged paperback. Now, I’ve just finished a second, revised edition, and through the process I’m relearning the lessons I shared in the book:
Lesson 1: Your art is not just what you make, but also how you make it
I’m beginning to realize that art-making, and all creativity for that matter, has much more to do with how the creator makes something than it does with what she creates.
I used to think being an artist was about making art — shows, films, events — but now I’m learning that being a good artist is really about being a better human. So I must ask: “What are you really making?”
If you make songs, are you making good music at home?
If you make photos, are you reflecting as much light as your camera?
If you make books, are you telling a good story with your life?
Art is not just what we do. It’s who we are.
Lesson 2: The best works of art are the ones that don’t set out to prove a point, but tell a story
Most of us don’t create in vacuums. We want what we make to have impact.
We all have a message we want heard. We may even, in fact, have a point we want to make. But unfortunately, points don’t resonate.
Ever seen a Powerpoint presentation that blew your mind? Neither have I. Points don’t make an impact; only stories can do that.
Salesman prove points, artists tell stories. Which one are you?
Lesson 3: Find what moves you deeply and work from there
In his book Now and Then, Fredrick Buechner references something Robert Frost used to say about his novels. Frost would speak of this “lump in the throat,” as the beginning of all his work. He knew if he could locate the thing that moved him, that thing — if worked over in the proper way — would move his audience.
Often, we try to work the other way around — asking the wrong questions, making the wrong assumptions:
“What does our audience want?”
“So we have 30-50 year olds coming tonight, what should we do?”
“I really think they need to hear this…”
These aren’t bad questions or statements. It’s just that if what you’re making doesn’t resonate with you, it probably won’t resonate with someone else. We can’t move others to tears until we’re moved ourselves.
To put it succinctly: The best ideas must move you before they can move someone else. [Tweet that]
So, dear creator: What are you making, and why does it matter?
UNTITLED by Blaine Hogan
Between now and Christmas Eve, you can pick up a paperback copy of Blaine’s book UNTITLED for only $7.99. Also, he’s graciously agreed to give away five free copies. Here’s what you need to do to win:
Share this post via social media (Twitter, Facebook, etc.).
Leave a comment here answering the question below.
That’s it! I’ll contact the winners via email (giveaway ends Dec. 23 at 11:59pm CST).
What’s one lesson you’ve learned about creativity? Share in the comments.
Disclosure: Some of the above links are affiliate links.
December 21, 2012
The Mayans Were Right About the End of the World
Today, the world ends. But let’s be honest: we saw it coming. We didn’t need the Mayans to tell us.
Photo credit: leanderthal (Creative Commons)
First, 90 year-old fundamentalist Harold Camping told us Jesus was coming back and convinced people to buy billboards to warn their neighbors about the impending Apocalypse. When that didn’t happen, he asked for a rain check. Eventually, he admitted his math must’ve been a little “off.”
Then Obama was re-elected (which felt like the end of the world for Republicans). Whether you live in the U.S. or not, you probably heard someone on Nov. 7 proclaiming gloom and doom via Facebook.
After that, Twinkies became extinct, which was really scary. Our fear and paranoia sent me wife and me rushing to the store to stockpile a few boxes. Good thing, too, because we’re able to eat like royalty before the meteor crashes into earth.
Why this matters
Of course, I kid. But what if the world was ending? How would you live differently today?
You’d probably hug your family a little tighter, chew your food a little slower, let your wandering eyes linger a little longer as you glanced out the window — soaking it all in.
Our world is a busy one, full of obligations and deadlines. And if we’re not careful, we can rush through it all without paying attention.
Sometimes, we need a little jolt to shock us back into being present to the moment.
The Advent of the Apocalypse
I’m writing this four days before Christmas. As a child, I couldn’t wait for December 25 to arrive. But as an adult, I’m learning to live in the moments of anticipation of what’s to come — the season we refer to as Advent.
I’ve realized life — real, abundant life — is not the day you open your presents. It’s all the anticipation leading up to it.
The world is ending. It’s all ending, every day. We just don’t want to admit it. So we create buzz around bizarre predictions and events that distract us from what’s right in front of us.
The irony is we’re so worried about life ending that we neglect living. [Tweet that]
But what if we could live every day as if it was our last? Without hype or fear or paranoia. Just with an appreciation for the gift of life itself.
The end is here
So what’s holding you back from doing this today? And what, pray tell, has you convinced that today isn’t your last day on earth? As recent news reminds us, none of us knows when tragedy may come. So let’s live like we mean it.
If you’ve been telling yourself you’re going to write a book, start writing it — today.
If you’ve been saying it’s time to quit your job, quit — today.
If you’ve been wanting to spend more time with your family, do it — today.
An old poet once prayed, “Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Our days are numbered. But instead of counting down to Doomsday, fixating on how it’s all going to end, let’s focus on what really matters — what we might lose. All those wonderful moments in between now and then.
Today is the end of the world for someone. Maybe you, maybe me. And whether or not Christmas Day comes, we always have Advent.
If today were your last day on earth, what would you do? Share in the comments (if they’re still here!).
December 19, 2012
The Essential Sadness of Art
Writing is easy. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
—Ernest Hemingway
Ever seen a movie that broke your heart? Or heard a song that shook you to your core? Have you ever experienced something so profound it called attention to a personal issue you’d rather forget? Call me crazy, but I believe this is what good art is supposed to do — disturb us.
Photo credit: Piers Nye (Creative Commons)
The other day, I overheard a conversation between two men sitting behind me at a local cafe. And frankly, it bothered me. Here’s what they said:
“They did a really dark play… The Glass Menagerie?”
“That one by Tennessee Williams?”
“Yeah, I guess. I dunno. It was really dark.”
My soul sank. I love that play. The guy who saw it proceeded to talk about how he didn’t “get” it, and the other concurred. Both didn’t like it because of how unsettled it made them feel after watching it.
But that’s the whole point.
Pardon me while I get on my soapbox, but I take issue with the idea that comfort should be a determining factor for what makes art “good.” Making you comfortable was never the intention.
Art tells us what’s wrong with the world
Some of us are not content with the status quo. We know something in this world has gone wrong. We sense this deep in our bones, in our heart of hearts, and it bothers us.
This discontent leads to a distrust of cliches and predictable plots. Those are not enough to describe the situation in which we find ourselves. We need something real, something that sparks our imagination and addresses unresolved conflicts.
I watched Midnight in Paris again the other night, and I noticed this line I hadn’t heard before:
Life is kind of unfulfilling.
That resonated with me. How true, I thought. Part of the artist’s job is to make sense of this, to describe the lack of fulfillment we all feel.
And what better way to narrate the journey of our souls than with words and paint splotches that speak to this dissatisfaction?
Good art is messy
When you create something that doesn’t acknowledge this fact — that life is Act 2, not Act 3 — your audience knows it. They can tell when you’re being disingenuous. It feels too clean, too literal. Our souls thirst for more.
We want broken and beautiful, real and raw. Sure, we want abundant life, but we know it comes at a cost. And when you don’t illustrate that cost well — with sacrifice and toil — we don’t believe the story.
Just as God formed the earth from chaos and babies are born amidst screams and blood, art emerges from the pain of a broken world.
If it doesn’t break your heart or cause you to ache a little, then it’s not art. (Tweet that)
Sad, but true
There is an underlying sadness in all art. It’s because humanity is not whole, but should be. We recognize something is wrong and that we can’t fix it ourselves — at least, those of us who are paying attention.
That’s why I love Tennessee Williams. And Adele. Why I resonate with the ache of Mumford and Sons and the unsettled feeling after finishing an episode of Mad Men.
All these stories and songs are trying to teach us something: We are not done yet. What a beautiful mess this life is. Beautiful and broken and begging to be redeemed. And for those who are listening, this truth resonates.
If you create or consume art, I hope you recognize this truth. I hope you remember as you catalogue your own story. I hope you embrace the fact that you are a wonderful work in progress, but still fragmented at the core.
So here’s a challenge: Do something today to remind yourself of this. That you’re not finished. There’s still healing and wholeness to happen. It’s the difference between a message that rings hollow and one that hits home.
Do you think all art has an underlying theme of sadness in it? Why or why not? Share in the comments.
December 14, 2012
No Words (A Response to the Connecticut School Shooting)
I just saw this tragic story on the news and this quote from a parent struck me:
There’s no words that I could come up with that would even come close to describing the sheer terror of hearing that your son is in a place… where there’s been violence.
Photo credit: Adrees Latif, Reuters
President Obama attempted to offer some words of his own, describing the school shooting in Connecticut:
They had their entire lives ahead of them — birthdays, graduations, wedding, kids of their own… Among the fallen were also teachers, men and women who devoted their lives to helping our children.
20 kids dead. Several teachers who had dedicated their lives to educating these little ones, to giving them hope for a future — also dead. All of that taken away.
As a writer, I want to say something. But as a parent, I cannot.
I believe language has power and impact, that it can be a salve to our wounds. But not today. Today, I have no words.
If I did, they might be “awful” or “unimaginable” — even “appalling.” But none of those seems to capture the intensity, the pain, of what has transpired today. None seems appropriate.
So today I am reminded that sometimes no words are in order.
When tragedy strikes, we want to have the right words to say, because something really ought to be said. We are uncomfortable with the silence and fear our lack of words will communicate indifference.
But we forget that sometimes silence can be louder than our strongest voice.
At times like this, the Jewish custom of Shiva seems to offer the most comfort. Instead of saying something, perhaps the most appropriate thing to do is to simply sit with the suffering. To not say but show we are with those in mourning.
Maybe it’s a prayer offered or a candle lit, even a hand on the knee or a person’s presence in a room. At our times of greatest despair, we don’t need words of consolation or an explanation of what “God’s plan” is in all of this mess. We just don’t want to feel alone.
Tragedy has a devious way of isolating those in suffering, making them feel they have to bear this burden alone.
The best way we can love those who have lost so much is to show them that they are not on their own. That we are, indeed, with them. I don’t know how we do that virtually for strangers, from thousands of miles away, but it’s worth trying to figure out.
After all, it’s one thing to say, “Tomorrow’s another day.” It’s quite another to sit through the darkness of night and wait for daybreak together.
Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure.
—Henri Nouwen
What You Write About Doesn’t Matter as Much as You Think
Most writers are concerned with the wrong thing. They have a simple, misguided belief that holds them back from creating anything of real value. They mistakenly believe that what they write about is more important than how they write.
Photo credit: mugfaker (Creative Commons)
They’re worried about this, even fixate on it. Fretting and obsessing, they waste oodles of time and energy on something that doesn’t matter. These people are so concerned with what to write about (because of public opinion or market demand) that they neglect the craft itself. And they miss the boat.
Writing isn’t about picking the right topic; it’s about finding the right voice (tweet-worthy, no?). What matters, what readers really resonate with, isn’t so much what you say, but how.
“What’s it about?”
Yesterday, I spoke with a group of authors, and one of them asked me, “What should I be blogging about?”
I replied with a question: “If we were to get together for coffee, what would we talk about?” She then proceeded to tell me her life’s story — a harrowing journey through fear and shame to self actualization. It was beautiful.
As we considered her experiences, we concluded that what made her story interesting wasn’t any particular incident. Rather, it was the universality of emotions: worry, shame, guilt, fear, passion.
She wasn’t describing the challenges of becoming an author. She was describing what it was like to be human.
This is what good writing does
Writing — good writing, that is — transcends its setting and subject. It speaks to universal truths and core values, how we see the world and what we really believe about it. Where something happens (or even what happens) is not as significant as how. For example:
Les Miserables isn’t about 19th-century France; it’s about justice and grace.
Gone with the Wind isn’t about the Civil War or living in the South. It’s about the conflict of love and selfishness.
Jurassic Park isn’t about dinosaurs living in Costa Rica. It’s about the dignity of all life and the limitations of science.
Do you see? The subject of a story (a child with an alcoholic father) is far less interesting than the theme (forgiveness). My friend Marion taught me that.
If you can find a theme — not a subject or a context — in your writing that connects with a core human emotion, you will never run out of good things to write. You can jump genres, even change styles, and your readers won’t care. Because they’re following you, paying attention to your voice more than your writing topic.
This is why we read The Catcher in the Rye every year or pull out our favorite Jane Austen novel. It’s why we love Hemingway and gravitate towards Dickinson. We read these authors not for their subjects, but for their voices. Their worldview.
Finding a worldview
Everyone has one. A paradigm. A perspective. A code of ethics. It’s how we all live our lives, whether we realize it or not. This is what sets a person’s voice apart from the rest of the noise vying for our attention: not what they say, but how they say it.
I hate to be the realist here, but look: There is no subject you could write about, no niche you could target, that hasn’t been reached before. So for crying out loud, stop trying to be so clever and original (it’s not working).
Instead, focus on the how, the worldview of what you write. What about the way you see the world is different? What would resonate with some and cause others to disagree? Write that.
Write something that’s worth fighting over. Because that’s how you change things. That’s how you create art.
Note: If this sounds intriguing, you should check out my new online course where we dive more deeply into this idea of writing for a worldview, not just choosing a topic. Registration ends Monday. Find out more here.
Do you worry more about what to write about than how you’re writing it? Share in the comments.
