Tudor Robins's Blog, page 19

Anxiety, Self-Doubt and the Myth of the Blank Page

Photo: “Starting a New Chapter in Life” taken by Rita Pitucci. Courtesy of Creative Commons (http://bit.ly/1uf1BPr)

My goodness there are a lot of myths about writers out there. Thanks to the rise in self-publishing, and to smart people talking about it (like Hugh Howey, David Gaughran, The Passive Guy, etc.) many of those myths are being / have been debunked.

Myths like “True authors don’t really care about making money,” and a follow on from that first one, “You can’t make a living writing anyway,” as well as “The world needs ‘curators’ (publishers / agents) to make sure only ‘good’ literature is published,” and, closely related, “We have to make sure there aren’t too many books in the world.”

There are so many more of these myths which, fortunately, people are starting to see are completely ridiculous, but there’s one that persists. “Authors are plagued by anxiety and self-doubt,” or one of many, many variations of this. Here’s another version of that; “There’s nothing more intimidating than a blank page to a writer.”

Either these are as untrue, and in need of debunking, as all the above-mentioned myths, or there’s something really, really wrong with me, because I could not disagree more.

First, the blank page thing – “nothing more exciting” – maybe that’s what this writer meant to say in her piece. Because that’s just about right. To me, a blank page / screen is opportunity, escape, and a brand-new piece of work waiting to be born. I can understand the blank page being intimidating to somebody who doesn’t enjoy writing, and is forced to write a report, or professional document they don’t want to, but if you’re a writer by choice, and a blank page isn’t exciting, then … why? Should you still be choosing to be a writer? Should you change something about the way you write?

Next the sweeping assertion that ALL writers are swamped with anxiety and self-doubt …

I’m not.

I realize me saying that doesn’t fit into the image of the tortured, pained writer, but that’s not me.

And why should it be? Why is there an expectation that writers should find blank pages scary, writing hard, and we should never be sure we’re any good? That seems twisted to me.

Let’s change “writers” for “engineers.” Can you imagine anybody expecting an engineer to say “there’s nothing more intimidating than a brand new project?” What if engineers went around saying “I am constantly plagued by anxiety and self-doubt.”

Society wouldn’t like that, much. We’d be pretty nervous about the bridges we drive over, the buildings we live and work in, and the structures that surround us. I wouldn’t want to be protected by a breakwater engineered by somebody wracked with professional self-doubt.

The same is true of a whole range of professionals including doctors and, even, astronauts. Canada (and much of the world) fell in love with Chris Hadfield in his role as commander of the International Space Station. Not only is Chris Hadfield accomplished, he’s extremely self-assured. Nobody thinks less of him for that. He’s not cocky, but he is confident.

Why are writers not supposed to be confident as well? Why can’t we say, “I’m good at what I do. People buy my books.” Even writing this post I feel like there are people who will consider me arrogant just because I dare to say, “I enjoy my writing, I do my best to make it good, and – often – I succeed.”

I’m not saying I’m perfect, and I’m not saying I never have any doubts about anything. That would be crazy. The truth is, I take longer to publish books than many other indie authors. I take lots of outside advice. I strip my books down and re-write them (let me be clear; this is the process that works for me – not everybody will, or needs to, work this way). When I get back my first editorial letter, containing a dozen pages of questions and comments, I have moments where I wonder, “How am I going to do this?”

But I know I will, because I have before. I don’t become seized with anxiety, and convinced nothing I’m writing is any good – I just remind myself, “I’m a writer, this is what I do,” and, just like the engineer faced with budget, or time, or materials challenges, I get to work and sort things out.

I often see this idea of self-doubt accompanied by the sentiment “I’ll never express exactly what I want to.” Well, writing that way would never work for me. My characters are alive to me and, as I write, I’m often discovering things about them and the story. I think having a shining ideal of exactly the way your perfect story should end up is a sure way to be reduced to a quivering ball of uncertainty.

Instead, follow your characters, put all your skills and talents into telling their story, be prepared for setbacks, be willing to work through them and then, when you’re done, remember, you finished a book (many people never will), you did your best (congratulations) and, hopefully, some readers will enjoy it (good work).

No need to live in an endless cycle of anxiety and self-doubt. There may be professions that could benefit from a bit more of that (I’m sure we all have our favourites to insert here) but I’m telling all the writers I know that, in my opinion, they should feel free to leave those behind.

My recommendation to writers? Be plagued by joy and wracked with contentment.

Books That Move

Can we just take a minute to talk about my new header?

I love it, I love it, I love it. Lynn – my super-brilliant website guru – and I were meeting in person to talk about overhauling this site in preparation for the new book (Wednesday Riders – I have cover drafts!) and we were talking about my new tagline – “Books that move” (more on that later), and I idly said, “We’ll need a new header – something with lots of movement,” and while I was saying that I was entering “running horses” in a stock image site, and look what came up! It was literally the first image I saw, and I knew it was perfect.

And, then Lynn took it and did six degrees of awesomeness to it …

Now, onto “Books that move.”

This motto / tagline / thought came to me a while ago, and I instantly loved it because it fits what I’m trying to do in three big ways. Here they are:

1) My books are about movement. Horseback riding. Running. Skiing. Cycling. Sailing. My characters move. They love to move – need to move. So, I write books that move.

2) It’s really important to me that my books move along. As in, have good pacing and forward momentum. I want my readers to want to turn the next page. So, I strive to write books that move.

3) Finally, I hope my books are moving. I hope my readers have moments of emotion when they read them. Maybe sometimes happy, maybe sometimes sad -  I hope my books stay with my readers after they’re done. I aim to write books that move my readers.

I thought it would take longer to explain this, but the fact that it doesn’t is maybe an even better indication that this fits for me.

So, I hope you like the new header, and I hope you’re up for reading my next book that moves.

Night Skiing …

I’m writing this post on Sunday because it’s taken this long to recover from ski club on Friday.

Ski club, for those of you who don’t live in such consistently cold / snowy climates as we do, is a staple of many Ottawa kids’ pre-teen / teen lives.

There are ski clubs at schools all over Ottawa – all operate their own way – but this is how ours works.

3:40: Bell rings. Kids pile out of school to face – SKI BUSES – ready and waiting. See the big underbus storage areas? Those will be FULL of the skis of 150 ski-clubbers very soon …

4:20: We’re en route. On Boulevard Maisonneuve in Hull (sorry, Gatineau) on our way to Highway 5 and the slopes! And it’s snowing …

Sometime after 5:00: (let’s be honest – I’m not checking my watch at this point because it’s just too beautiful) – I, once again, remember why I love living in Ottawa.

And some more ski scenery (if you can see a tiny blue blur in the photo, that’s my younger son – he’s so small in this big landscape).

We’re getting ready to go, but they’re working hard blowing snow at the hill so everyone coming to lessons tomorrow will have lots to ski on:

Ski club is FUN. The kids love it. They love the bus rides. They complain about their lessons, but their skiing improves. They love piling into the cafeteria where AT LEAST 150 orders of poutine are consumed. They love free-skiing until it’s time to get back on the buses. This is an amazing experience, both for kids who are good skiers – it lets them goof around with their friends – and for beginners. It can be daunting to start a child skiing if you, as a parent, don’t already do it. Ski club is a great opportunity for that.

Skiing is great. Spring skiing is heaven. Night skiing is magical. Magical. I am not overstating. There is nothing like it. The air is clearer. There are never line-ups. The hills are often yours, and yours alone. Everything is prettier at night. You can fall in love night skiing – I promise; it’s a great date. The kids will tell you the poutine tastes better when you’ve been night skiing.

All of the above are reasons why night skiing features in the book I’ll be bringing out after Wednesday Riders – between books two and three of the Island trilogy – it’s a ski-based YA I’ve had in my back pocket for years and I’ve decided it’s time to publish it. If you like the sound of it, and want to know when it publishes (along with Wednesday Riders and my other works in progress), sign up for my newsletter!

And, if you can, go night skiing!

Funeral

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- Dylan Thomas, 1914-1953

My uncle referenced this poem at my grandmother’s funeral yesterday. More on that later.

My grandmother had an interesting life if for no other reason than she was born in 1918, and she died in 2015 (just barely), and mind-blowing things have happened in our world during that time.

Here are my grandparents with my brother and me in about 1974. Check out Nanny’s pants! Check out the sofa! And, yes, that is a sparkly, metallic, purple throw cushion. I can tell you that sofa and throw cushion were still in that house twenty years later.

She had five children, and anyone who has children knows that each one introduces unimagined richness into your life, and because she started having these children early in her life (married at 19!) – she also had 14 grandchildren (I’m one), 28 great-grandchildren, and three great-great-grandchildren (with another on the way).

She was born in Wales, she lived in Ottawa, and in Gananoque, and in Winchester. She was married to my grandfather for 68 years (!) and she met a new friend / companion / life partner in her last few years of life. Imagine that you could be married to somebody for that long and still have time for another significant relationship in your life …

And this is Nanny with me at Christmastime. How old do I look? Maybe three? So around 1975.

Nanny was smart – no doubt about it. She ran a big household on sometimes meagre resources. She ran her own business. She helped run my grandfather’s businesses.

She was also talented and determined. She could sew, knit, bake, and cook. She decided to learn to golf and, before our kids were born – so when she was in her early eighties – my now-husband decided to golf with my grandparents. They both beat him.

Hopefully my mom doesn’t mind this photo being in the post - this is, from left to right, my mother, my aunt, and my grandmother.

My grandmother lived for a long time and I don’t think many people who met her forgot her. However, I feel like I barely knew her. I don’t know why that is; it doesn’t really make sense. I also like to sew, and knit, and bake, and cook, but I never did any of those things with my grandmother.

We just lived in such different worlds.

However, being at the funeral yesterday reminded me of a couple of gifts she’s given me.

1) My huge, talented family. The funeral was amazing. It really was. I’m telling you, if you could choose, this would be a funeral to have. My Uncle Bob is a retired United Church Minister, but he’s also a teller-of-important-life-changing-pieces-0f-information. Whenever I have been privileged to see Uncle Bob doing what he does best, I’m reminded that some people really do have a calling – really are meant for what they do.

It’s not just him either. My cousins can sing! They’re so talented. They have presence, and beautiful voices. And my family can speak. Not shy – usually funny. My Auntie Carol brought down the house with an interjection from the audience during the eulogy.

This is an awesome family.

2) The chance to affirm / re-affirm what’s important. Going back to the Dylan Thomas poem above, I think – and maybe this is just me – but, I think people often take this as great, inspiring, motivational advice. I would have to say, for me, not so much.

My grandmother’s death, and her funeral, gave me many things to think about, including some of the ways I want to live my life and, eventually, how I would like it to end. Not that we get to choose, but we can aim for things – strive for them – and I think that’s a good idea.

So, I’m going to go back to a recent post and say I still want to live my life by showing up. I want to do things, and I want to occasionally take stock of what I’ve done, and I want to be satisfied at the end of every year that this year I did what I wanted to do.

And I want to do the above, because at the end – assuming I get to have a relatively peaceful end to a long life – I don’t want to be kicking, and screaming, and raging. I’d like to be gracious.

Speaking of gracious, there is a pretty cool video of my Nanny signing in church just a few years ago (2009):

I don’t think there’s much I can say after that, except that at my stage in life, with my own two children, I see more than ever that we need to consciously life the life that’s important to us.

Thanks, Nanny, for reminding me of that.

So Many Things to Say

Wow, I’ve had a lot of thoughts I’ve wanted to share with you but, it’s been the holidays, and I’ve been on a(nother) writing jag, and so it’s gotten away from me.

I’m going to start with what’s easy, and work my way forward from there.

Happy New Year!

I can still say that on January 4th, right?

We had a white November and December, and then we had rain, and warm temperatures and so it was a mostly green Christmas. Which meant, for us, it was a holiday of hiking, instead of a holiday of skiing or snowshoeing. We hiked at Shirley’s Bay by the Ottawa River, which was pretty:

This creek runs to the river.

Which was very atmospheric on the day we were there.

And, doesn’t this look a bit like The Road Not Taken?

Then, on actual New Year’s Day, because I kind of have this theory that the way you start the year is the way you’ll keep living it, so you need to do the things you want to commit to all year, we went on another hike.

This was at Mud Lake, which we love so much that I’ve written about it before.

Mud Lake is truly magical at all times of year. We’ve never been there when it’s been this cold (because even though we didn’t have snow it was COLD) and I’ve never seen the whole lake frozen.

It was amazing. People were skating everywhere – not just on the little hockey area I’ve seen them at other times. It’s hard to describe what it was like to hike around this lake while everywhere we went there were skaters just a few feet from us.

I didn’t take my camera, and then I wanted to kick myself for NOT taking my camera, so here are pictures courtesy of my husband’s iPod:

Just a reminder again – this is in the MIDDLE OF THE CITY.

Gotta say, snow or no snow, Ottawa’s not a bad place to live!

In addition to getting out in the fresh air, and working my muscles, I experienced something new, and beautiful on January 1, so I hope that carries through the rest of the year. For me – and for all of you, too!

Holiday Wishes

Wishing all my amazing readers a great time – quiet or exciting – just as you wish, for Christmas, or whatever holiday you celebrate at this time of year.

I hope we all have a great 2015 during which we can work to make the world a better place for other people, animals, and the planet.

Meanwhile, here are some photos of a corner of our beautiful world from when we went to cut our Christmas tree:

On the way out to the field.

Next year’s trees? Or the year after that …

Tree “hitching post” (used while getting hot chocolate!)

And the stars of the show!

Talk soon! Take care …

Tudor

Two Words to Live By

For about a week now, I’ve had two words in the back of my mind, summing up my philosophy of life, and how I want to live it today, and going forward.

Maybe later I’ll tell you  more about why I’ve been contemplating the philosophy of life, just now, but for now, I wanted to share those two words.

Because, in a strange coincidence, I just stumbled across two-word posts directed by writers to their younger selves on the 4 Mothers blog.

Like I said, my two words aren’t for younger me. They’re for me, now, when I wake up in the morning, and at noon, and when the afternoon grows old, and before bed.

Show up.

Show up.

If I could add a word, I’d make it: Keep showing up.

Publishing under a dollar

What do you do when you get a $0.45 payout from Noisetrade?

You buy a $0.99 advertising spot for your book.

Since both transactions went through PayPal, the $0.45 actually counted for something! Enough, at least, to keep the total under one Canadian dollar.

And, also, thanks to those who left me tips on Noisetrade, resulting in that payout. I say, right on the site, that I don’t expect anything for such a small excerpt, but it was very sweet to get the tips anyway.

I’ve pulled Hide & Seek out of Kindle Select, so it will be up on Noisetrade very soon, too. Just as soon as I have some spare time

For those of you who don’t know what I have on Noisetrade, they’re two deleted chapters from Appaloosa Summer. If you subscribe to my newsletter, you may have already read them, but if you’re not sure, they’re FREE on Noisetrade (no tip required).

Chaperone!

“There’s got to be a blog post in that,” said my friend Claire, when I told her I was chaperoning our school’s first-in-anyone’s-memory evening Intermediate dance last night.

And, of course, she’s right. There are many blog posts.

There’s the post about the woman, who’s really pretty sure she’s still a girl, going back to chaperone a dance in the same gym where she went to Intermediate dances (and used to wonder if anyone would ask her to dance, and tried to look like she wasn’t wondering about it).

There’s the post about the teacher who didn’t need to do this, and who took her own time to organize, and run, a dance the day after her own birthday, and right before Christmas, and how her eyes LIT UP at the flashing lights in the darkened gym, and how she was so excited because she just wanted the kids to have a great time.

There’s the post about the custodian, greeting everyone at the door, incredibly organized – “Outdoor shoes here, coats here, don’t go past those doors.”

And, because of the “outdoor shoes here” and the “don’t go past these doors” (to where the lockers are, with the kids’ indoor shoes) there’s the post about the girls, running around in pretty, lacy, white dresses and bare feet. And, my gosh, they might hate me saying this, but they looked adorable.

There’s also the post about how seeing those bare feet on those old floors made me feel in a school embroiled in a tug of war over the past and the future. I have no doubt those halls and floors are “heritage” in the human sense of the word. I also have severe doubts they can keep up with our children’s future needs. But, what I do know, is what makes a building a school, is the kids owning it, and those bare feet made me feel like they owned that school.

Of course, there are the usual posts you would expect. Of “omigosh!” conferences in the hall – “He asked her to dance?” “I can’t believe she said yes.” Of boys saying, “I don’t know when I’ll ever forget dancing with her,” and of girls coming out of the bathroom with red, teary eyes. These things that remind me that we own our own dramas and they are HUGE and memorable even at a small dance that ended at 8:30 at night.

And there’s the principal, who many parents probably didn’t know was staying late to be there. And the canteen which was a refuge for kids like my son, who wanted to see what was what, but from a job behind the scenes. And I mentioned the girls being adorable in their bare feet, but I was even more touched by the boys – more gel and ties than Broadview has ever seen before – and could you ever see who’s going to be a heart breaker (or maybe already is), and who’s going to be the life of the party, and who’s going to be an amazing best friend to all the people in his life.

It was a great night. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – I am touched, and privileged to volunteer in my sons’ school. And, also, I am overwhelmed by the quality of the people we’re raising. We need to let this generation be as awesome as they’re naturally inclined to be.

So that’s my post, Claire!

Rivers in the Winter

I love ‘em. I really do. There’s nothing quite like a steel grey river, with a bit of ice around the edge.

Beautiful.

This past weekend my husband and I had our annual Pre-Christmas overnight getaway in Kingston. We always get a room with a “Wolfe Island View” (yes, you book it like that, and pay five dollars more than for a mere “Water View” which has you looking out over moored sailboats). This is that view:

I had a just-about-perfect Sunday morning; we sleep with the curtains open and I woke up to a bright pink and orange sky over Kingston Harbour and Wolfe Island. Then, for a couple of hours I dozed in and out of sleep with the coming and going of the ferry marking the passing time.

Very, very relaxing.

Then, this morning, as the first few centimetres of a forecast twenty-five centimetres started to fall, I headed down to the Ottawa River for what will likely be one of my last riverside runs for a while. Pretty soon I’ll have to head out there with snowshoes.

This is what it looked like this morning as I made the ONLY tracks in the new snow:

Above is Westboro Beach. Below is a shot from a random place along the path, looking over at Quebec.

Sorry – second two photos taken with crappy flip-phone camera – but at least I have them!

And, that’s it, really – all that was on my mind. Just how happy I am to be able to walk to the water no matter what time of year it is.