hello friends, writers and non-writers alike. today i have a guest post from one of the girls in my critique group, meagan.
meagan is the oldest of 9. she is the one that everyone goes to when they need something, the dependable one, the kind one who thinks and listens a lot before she speaks. and you guys, she totally keeps her house spotless clean ALL THE TIME! here is the amazing meagan:
Don’t only practice your art
But force your way into its secrets
For it and knowledge can raise men to the divine -Ludwig Van Beethoven
When I was a little girl, I always felt lost. I knew I wanted to be something, that I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what. Looking back on it now, I realize that what I really wanted was to write something.
I started seriously writing a few years ago. One day I sat down and decided to write a book. So I did. Then I wrote another one. I had so much fun writing that I didn’t worry too much about anything. I was just having fun. And when I began to get all those reject letters from agents I had queried, I didn’t really pay attention. Sure, it would be cool to be published. And maybe that might help justify to others that I was a serious and brilliant writer, but for the most part I just wanted to create. I wanted to write a story and I wanted those characters in my head to come to life and live all the lives that I never could.
It wasn’t until I had finished my second book that fear and doubt began to set in. I realized then that I had no idea what I was up against. What if I wasn’t really a writer? What if I was wasting all my time on something that in the end would mean nothing? What was my end goal?
It was about this time that I met and fell in love with my writing group, which presently consists of Rachel and this lovely gal. It only took a few times of me sitting next to them at a Barnes and Noble café to realize that these people were my people. My writing had found a home and I knew that this was where my writing would really start to grow.
I was right. The past few years have been sort of brutal, writing wise. I’ve written the same story three different ways. I’ve written 50,000 words just to delete them and try again. And then again. I wrote an entire book and then had to walk away from it completely because it just wasn’t right. It has been hard and sometimes I yearn for those moments where the words just flow and the pictures in my head literally materialize themselves onto the screen of my computer without effort. I have days like that. Sometimes I only have moments. But a lot of the time I am working and learning. I am gathering knowledge and forcing my way in.
I think that Beethoven was absolutely right. It isn’t enough to just write. We have to unlock the mysteries of our craft. We have to give ourselves over to it and set aside all the fear and all the doubt. We have to think of every sentence we write as a gift and every deleted word as a lesson. And then we have to move forward.
So what is my end goal as a writer?
To raise men to the divine, of course. ;)