A Place to Write

As a writer, I am often asked if I need a specific place or space to do my writing. That may be true for many writers, but for me the resounding answer is NO.

Since I’ve always had a day job, I’ve always had to carve out a little bit of time or space from my structured day wherever and whenever I could to write. I would write at home on weekends or evenings; at work I would write on breaks or lunch hours. In my early years I often wrote longhand on legal pads so I could take my writing with me anywhere and jot a few lines as the spirit moved me. I worked for the phone company for many years, so I have a lot of notes scribbled on customer service contact memos. I actually wrote my romance satire, The Pits of Passion, purely on breaks in the lunch room of the phone company. I used to go to break expecting to write, only to find that all the pages of my legal pad had been parceled out to everyone else on break so they could all keep up with the latest action. I had to hunt down the last page and take it forcibly so I could continue the story.  

So having a quiet little bubble to write in was never an issue. I guess I’m lucky that way, or unlucky. Not having the “right” environment has never stopped me, but then again, I don’t have any excuse (not the right lighting, not the right temperature, not the right ambiance) to not write.

Recently I found myself thinking about that perfect place to write. My husband and I were lucky enough to spend a few days after New Year’s at our favorite place on the planet—the Grand Canyon. We had rented a cabin only steps from the South Rim. In the winter there are much fewer tourists around than during the summer, so it was almost idyllic. However, it was frickin’ freezing! The low in the morning was -2º; the wind chill took it to -10 º, but if we were lucky, it warmed up to maybe 28 º during the day. Now, I’m not a native Arizonan, but after 25 years in Tucson, I’m pretty spoiled by mild winters the rest of the country only dreams about. Trying to hike snow-covered trails in -10 º slashing wind is not exactly my definition of relaxing. We’d hike for a bit, feel our faces and fingers begin to go numb and duck into a restaurant for a cup of hot. Later we’d go out and face the wind again, but it really had to be taken in small doses, and those respites of toasty warm air and hot drinks felt like heaven.

I got to thinking how nice it would be to have my own cabin and at times like this, have a nice warm corner with big windows that looked out over the canyon. Full view of this scenic wonder, a hot cup of tea, maybe a couple of cookies for good measure or my cat sleeping on my desk … I could go for that. I’m not really sure how productive I’d be with that distracting view, but I’d sure like to try it out.

The best thing about the canyon is the solitude. Oh, I’m not talking about the area right behind Bright Angel Lodge where every tourist and their brothers gather to take that iconic picture on their cell phones. I’m talking about the wild spaces just yards down the trail where 99% of the tourists never go. When we were there, the most traveled areas were of course cleared of snow by the gazillions of feet that shuffled about, but we didn’t have to go very far before the trails were smothered in white stuff. Since we’re blessed with abundant sunlight here, the snow melts during the day and then refreezes at night, so there were plenty of places that were glassy with ice. It’s not hard to deduce that losing one’s balance at the edge of the Grand Canyon is not a good idea. Rather than take the slippery scenic rim trail, we opted for the deeper snow back amid the trees. The walking was easier and we didn’t have to be quite so careful. And it turned out we weren’t the only ones who thought that way.

We hadn’t been walking long when I wanted to stop and take a picture of the sparkly snow. Because of the low humidity here (single digits, usually), the snow tends to be powder dry, and the ice crystals sparkle like diamonds. It’s a beautiful phenomenon, but is hard to catch with a camera. Getting the right angle and the right light took some figuring. As I was working on that, my husband said, “Don’t move.”

What?

I looked up and saw the most gorgeous mule deer staring back at me. We’d inadvertently taken the same unofficial trail as a large mulie doe and her year-old son who was just barely sporting nubs on his forehead. Being very used to all the people that mill about the canyon, the deer were not the least bit afraid of us, although they did keep their distance as we moved closer to them. They simply wandered a bit further off, but continued their slow grazing on tufts of green that broke through the snow. We enjoyed their company for many long minutes, taking plenty of pictures, then moved off to leave them in peace. It was time again to get out of the cold and back into the warmth of a cozy room.

Grand scenery, the peace of natural places, the beauty of wild creatures … yes, I could write in a place like that.

Anybody got a cabin they’re not using?

The Power of Words

Over the past week, I have been struck by the battle of words that has raged across the media, both social and mainstream. It has been very similar in tone to the back-and-forth before the election, although it seems that recent events have touched people in far more emotional and core ways than that. That’s the good news; things of this nature should touch us at a very deep level. The bad news is that the activation of this core level has led to a deep divide in rationalizations, justifications and the search for solutions.

This blog is neither the time nor place to discuss violence in our country nor the cure for it.

But what I have been acutely aware of during the discussion is the use of words.

Language is a universally human trait. Yes, I know, animals have language, too, but since I don’t speak dolphin or chimpanzee, I can’t attest to the qualities of their languages. Our language, however, is an intriguing mix of describing facts and layering in emotion. It’s easy to imagine a man in the Stone Age saying (grunting?) to a friend, “Mammoth coming.” This simple observation of a fact is devoid of emotion, but when the man adds, “Run!” suddenly it’s a different story. And if he happens to add, “Run fast!” then the heightened emotion kicks the whole drama up several notches.

This very simple language of spare words has, over the millennia, evolved into a highly nuanced vehicle for conveying ideas. We no longer have to rely on simple adverbs (“Run fast!”) or adjectives (“Big Mammoth!”). We have now at our disposal an abundance of words that can denote any degree along a scale of emotion from mild to mixed to manic. It’s one of the most phenomenal qualities of words that they can convey passion, panic, longing, hatred, fear. It is exactly these qualities that make writing so powerful, both in the realm of story-telling and in journalism, for as words convey emotion, they can also promote it. Who can deny the rose-colored contentment felt after finishing a romance novel? Or the arousal induced by “adult” fiction? Inciting emotions is what pulls us into a story, what makes it relevant to us and what makes us care about the outcome. Words compel us to cheer Rhett Butler as he strides away from Scarlet; they instill in us to a righteous hope when Tom Joad says, “I’ll be there.”

Journalism, however, is not (most of the time) story-telling.

Journalism is supposed to be predicated on the truth. Journalism is supposed to be about gathering and presenting the facts of an issue. But words, those simple building blocks of communication, can like any tool be used for good or ill depending on the writer’s intent. They can be used to convey a message or incite emotion.

As an example, read the two sentences below.

He shot 20 children.

He massacred 20 innocent children.

You may agree that one or both of those statements are factually correct, yet notice the difference in the emotional content. The emotionally loaded words take the simple statement to a new level. I am not making a judgment about either statement, or about the things that are currently being said and written, but I am, during this time of high emotion and fear, paying particular attention to the words that are being used.

Because words are powerful.

Lessons Learned in 2012

The end of the year is always a good time to look back, take stock, figure out what we’ve learned (or not) during the course of the year. It’s one way to gauge how far we’ve come in the last 12 months. Some of the things I learned this year are:

How to sell without selling. Back in March after the Tucson Festival of Books, I wrote about the process that moved me from being an isolated (and insulated) book writer/seller to being a connected part of the human race and forging links with readers. It’s amazing how much difference a change in perspective can make. Now I get to listen to other people’s stories. I get to hear about what’s important to them, what they remember, how they learn. It’s much more enjoyable to meet people person-to-person, reader-to-reader, rather than book writer/seller-to-customer.

Reviews/Awards/Criticisms. Back in August, I talked about reviews and how they can be ecstasy or agony for a writer. Any given book can elicit every reaction from a one-star “horrible” to a 5-star “perfect!” depending on the reader. Does that mean the book is horrible? No. That means, to that person, on that day and at that time, the book did not meet their needs, their expectations, their hopes and dreams. Does it mean the book is perfect? No. It means, to that person, on that day and at that time, the book did meet their expectations or even exceeded them. The book didn’t change; what changed were the readers. The experiences that shaped them and the filters through which they view the world are very different and something over which the writer has no control. What’s a writer to do? Write the very best book they can. Period. Adapting the “Think Globally, Act Locally” mantra, think Amazon #1, think NYT Best Seller list, think Oprah’s Book Club and the Today Show, but just write the best book you can. Don’t write what you think people want to read; don’t write for the market; write the story that wants to be told. Write the book you want to read. It won’t speak to everyone but it will speak to some. Give it the truest voice you can.

AFGEs. Life is a classroom. If we really think about it, we learn something new every day. It may be something as small as learning not to take a deep breath while eating a powdered doughnut, or as big as learning that cancer doesn’t care who you are or what you still want to do with your life when it points its boney finger at you. The fact is that we never reach the head of the class. We always have more to learn. And learning makes us a better person that we were five minutes ago. Unfortunately, we may not always like the lesson that’s being served. In AA they have an acronym for that: AFGEs. An AFGE is Another F***ing Growth Experience. AFGEs may not be the things we want to learn, but for one reason or another, they seem to be the things we need to learn. Whenever we are served up an AFGE, it may be a hard pill to swallow, but the quicker we swallow it, the quicker we will assimilate the lesson and move on to the next thing, a better person.

We’re all in this together. I’m an introvert; I think most writers are. For many years, I toughed out all the ups and downs of being a writer by myself. I went through the anxiety of submitting manuscripts to agents and publishers; I withstood the rejection letters and rejoiced in the acceptance letters.  I fumbled and fell into the pit of a vanity press. I discovered pay-to-publish and then, finally, self-publishing. I taught myself the process of formatting a book for publishing, designing the cover, writing the blurbs. I worked out how to format a story for e-books. Then, everything changed. I discovered writers’ forums online. I jumped into Goodreads and LinkedIn with the joy of an ugly duckling who finally finds where the swans hang out. I made fan Facebook pages for all my books and began to discover all the other writers and writers’ groups there. The culmination (so far) has been WANA, the We Are Not Alone forum created by Kristen Lamb. Finding community like this has been a game-changer. I am not alone. I am but one of many, many writers who toil and pour their hearts out and hope for a kind word for their children stories. It’s a new experience, but we’re all learning that cooperation works better than competition. Supporting each other works better than suppressing each other. Together we can bring our stories to light. Together we can raise them up and deliver them to the world. Together we can ensure that the stories that need to be told are being told.

It’s a great feeling.