“No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.”
After showing you how to carve out time, protect your boundaries, and say no more often, it may seem a little contradictory to offer ways to “serve” or mentor others with your writing. But I trust you’ll come to find that serving or helping other writers is one of the most effective ways of fighting discouragement, despair, and the feelings that often keep us overly focused on the self.
Because writing is so much a part of you, it’s easy to feel down and discouraged, and I aim to address this reality throughout the book. Sometimes you may just feel a kind of free-floating discouragement, whether you’re a beginning writer trying to break in or an author from the trenches wishing to see greater success. It is in those downtimes, specifically, that this chapter will help you most.
There’s one especially profound way you can “serve” other writers that won’t steal from your time, cross your boundaries, or otherwise leak your creative energy: sitting down and writing. I know, I know, it’s not new information. But let me say more.
Write about your difficulties, your fears, your anxieties. Share what’s going on inside you. One of my favorite authors, Richard Bausch, offers up slivers of his process on Facebook to other writers. These are real, raw, deep expressions of what it’s like to be a writer, and I (and thousands of others) find them deeply inspiring. He feels quite passionate about his purpose in writing, and he makes a wonderful point:
Writing, if you have any gift for it at all, is something you are morally obligated to do as part of the social contract; there are people out there suffering the wounds and sorrows and terrors of existence who do not have the words to weather it, and it is the writer’s place to give expression to that part of experience—to provide a sense of what Joseph Conrad called the “solidarity of the human family,” and to give forth nothing less than the knowledge that no one, in the world of stories and of art, is ever totally alone.
You don’t know when your words might touch, move, or help another person. You’re only in control of producing them, polishing them, and putting them out into the world. You don’t know who is waiting to hear exactly what you have to say or who will be affected by it. Just look at all the quotes gathered by authors on Goodreads: Most of these writers are not prophets, clergy members, or saints; they’re just people writing about the highest and lowest points of human experience and sifting through the feelings in between. Often it’s the times when you feel the lowest that you can best speak to others. And sometimes turning to your writing is a way to lift yourself out of that dark spot.
There are other powerful ways to reach people, and fiction is one such way. Of all the kind feedback I received from readers on my novel Forged in Grace, the most memorable appeared like a ghost in my in-box one morning. A woman named Sacha, who shares her name with a minor character that appears in my book, e-mailed to tell me she had lost her son, age twenty-one, to an accident. His name? Jordan Rosenfeld. (Did you get chills just now? Me, too.) My book is about a character who discovers that her terrible burn wounds mask the power to heal. Sacha felt “spoken to” and “touched” by discovering her name and her son’s in a book about healing. And it left me feeling touched, too, that a stranger would reach out and share her story of pain with me. Furthermore, this interaction was not something I could ever have anticipated in writing my book—it was a series of coincidences that stacked up to create a powerful moment of connection (or, dare I say, synchronicity).
One way to share your struggles as a writer is on your platform: your blog, Facebook author page, website, Twitter feed, and so on. Offer to have others guest-post on your blog on topics that support your vision, or you can link to their works. If you’re active on social media, share the work of other writers whose words speak to you. Lift up your fellow writers, and you’ll feel yourself rising, too. You may also find that other writers would like to trade guest posts on their blogs with you, so that collectively you extend your reach to new audiences by sharing and taking turns with one another.
A Writer’s Guide to Persistence is a manifestation of my own discouragement. I’ve been writing since I was eight and actively seeking a writing career since I was eighteen. And like any protagonist on a journey, I’ve had epic setbacks along the way, dark nights of the soul, and feelings of terror that I was not strong enough to proceed on this path that is so very entwined with my heart. I found myself at a crossroads where doors felt closed and forward momentum waned. But I did as poet Rainier Maria Rilke asks young Mr. Kappus to do in his wonderful book Letters to a Young Poet.
This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.
Rilke generously gave of his time and wisdom to the young Mr. Kappus, who needed a mentor. I’m quite sure it made a difference in that young writer’s life, not to mention that it spawned a book that has gone on to inspire writers for decades since.
In asking myself the same question—“Must I write?”—I also found the answer to be yes. Sometimes the answer was, “Yes, but I don’t know how or if I’ll ever be published.” Before long, one thing became glaringly clear to me: The urge to write would never go away, whether I saw big, flashy success or not. And in light of that truth, I realized I needed a way to push myself through my fallow periods, those times when either the muse was on vacation or rejections or criticisms had me facedown in the dirt.
I found it helpful to blog about my struggles. It was a bit like conducting my diary in public, but quickly I realized that people read and shared the posts that were real and raw but encouraging. If I shared about overcoming or continuing on the path despite my discouragement, it struck a chord in others. We all like to know we’re not alone but also that others who suffer persist as well. I love to hear about the number of rejections famous authors racked up before they reached their goals or the years they put in before “overnight success” made an appearance. It reminds me that we’re all here climbing this mountain together, just at different times and stages. And just like on an actual mountain, those above you have the power to pull you up. I’ve heard it said a hundred times in different ways that there is nothing better to illuminate the darkness than to help someone else by shining a light on your own struggles.
Even though you may never meet or have any live contact with your readers, writing creates a very real intimacy with others—if you’re willing to reach out. Words open doorways and shimmy into tightly locked spaces in the minds and hearts of your readers, whether that reader is one person who stumbles upon your blog or thousands who buy your book. So the next time you find yourself fighting discouragement or writer’s block, consider that there may be readers out there who need to hear what you have to say.
Several years ago a lovely young writer contacted me saying that she was new to a freelance writing career and would like to pick my brain. I didn’t consider myself an expert, but I did have information about what had worked and failed for me as a freelance writer. We lived close enough that we met in person for coffee, and I downloaded every thought I could from my brain, shared contacts, and commiserated with the challenges she was already facing. I knew that I could have charged her money for the time spent giving her information or that she could have researched it online or simply learned the hard way, but I can’t count the number of people who have helped me on my journey, who took chances on an unknown writer. It felt right to give back. She has gone on to be quite successful in her freelance career, and I take pride in having been a part of that. Most of all, it made me feel purposeful, useful, and helpful, all feelings I can call upon when I’m struggling otherwise. And I do believe that helpful energy always comes back to you in the end, often in ways you can’t imagine.
If you’re interested in mentoring, it isn’t hard to find someone who needs it. I find mentoring within the online realm to be the easiest way to go about it. As a member of multiple Facebook writing groups, I find opportunities all the time to mentor others. You can do this, too, by searching Facebook with general terms like “writing groups” or more specific genre terms like “fantasy writers.” You might also search for writing groups by your genre, your gender (women writers), or your skill level (newbie or professional writers). On an almost daily basis, a newbie writer pops into one of these groups brimming with questions.
If you’re in a university or school setting, seek students who are in a lower grade or earlier stage than yours, or put up a notice offering yourself as a mentor. Most important, stay open; if you meet a writer, by chance or deliberate intention, who has questions you can answer, be ready to serve.
Many of you are drawn to pen what haunts and fascinates you, which may involve stepping into the skins of characters who have vastly different experiences than you do. As Bausch says, many people in the world don’t have the voice to express their suffering with the clarity or eloquence necessary to communicate their pain. Therefore writers are often the mouthpieces for the downtrodden, the underdogs, and the underserved. You might just be one of those writers.
Barbara Kingsolver started a literary award called The Bellwether Prize for Literature of Social Change to honor literature that probes into areas of important social issues and suppressed voices. Many, if not most, of the novels that have won the prize have offered a point of view rarely heard in literature. If you think you might be a writer who could speak for those who can’t speak for themselves, you may find that in writing about them your work comes alive in powerful new ways as well as connects you to new audiences.
One of my favorite books that won this award is The Girl Who Fell from the Sky by Heidi Durrow. Her main character, Rachel, is a light-skinned, mixed-race child with a painful past who must live with her grandmother after her mother’s death. Her grandmother’s neighborhood is predominantly African-American, and she meets with much aggression because of her light skin. Yet in her mother’s world, she was also rejected for being “too dark.” The novel addresses important questions of race, identity, and mental illness, and offers a voice to the many mixed-race people in this country who don’t feel at home anywhere.
Writing is a skill that many people need but don’t possess. Since my son started kindergarten I’ve been called on more times than I can count to bring my skills to bear on behalf of his school projects. His first-grade teacher uses my weekly volunteer hour to have me walk the children through the construction of stories—the beginning, middle, and end—and teach them about revision, particularly that writers don’t always produce perfect work the first time. It’s a way to give my time and energy that benefits someone other than myself. It also makes my son associate positive feelings with writing, which makes me happy.
One of the most heartening aspects of the indie publishing movement is the willingness among indie authors to support and collaborate with one another. In lieu of mainstream publishing supports, these authors have taken it upon themselves to offer each other what they might need. In fact, author or writers’ collectives and cooperatives have been trending upward in recent years. Writers with different skills pool resources and time and cross-promote to benefit each other to a larger degree than any of them could do alone. This is only one area where authors can collaborate in a way that serves both parties.
If you’re unpublished, participating in a writers’ critique group, whether in person or online, is a win-win situation. You give and get critique and possibly even moral support.
I’ve seen writers create anthologies to publish the work of authors they admire, and I’ve seen writers trading guest posts to promote each other’s work.
I’ve even met writing “teams” in which two or more writers collectively produce a writing project together and then share the costs of publishing or the work of seeking to be published.
Whatever appeals to you, it’s good to remember that the “loneliness” of the writing life need not be ever present. You’ll find that many other writers are eager to connect and collaborate. And often collaboration produces creative ideas that might not have come to you alone.
At the very least I recommend that writers who are feeling stuck with a storyline or plot point “soundboard” with another writer; that is, bounce ideas off your writer friend to free your muse from the mire.
As Helen Keller said, “Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much.”
What are some immediate ways you can use your writing to serve? Make a list in a notebook right now. Pick one way, and chop it into smaller goals. Say you’d like to host other writers on your blog; decide what themes and topics you’re interested in and how often you’d like them to guest post. When you’ve made this decision, put out a request via social media, e-mail, and word of mouth.
Or you can make a list of advice you’d give to a burgeoning writer who is on a path similar to yours. What would you tell her? What mistakes have you made that she could avoid? Is there someone you know in real life who would benefit from your advice?
Lastly, consider writing a blog post or essay that you can share, or post about a lesson you learned the hard way, how you got through it, and what you would do differently if you knew then what you know now. Focus on how you felt, if and when you became discouraged, and what you did to pull yourself out of a tailspin.
Here are a few fun ways to serve others while also serving your own need for a physical break.
By Charlotte Gullick, author of By Way of Water
I met Louis Owens in his Native American Novel course at the University of California Santa Cruz, where I took all of his classes and eventually began a novel in his creative writing course. This man—my first true mentor—believed in me. I struggled to pen a story about the people I come from: hardworking, religious, alcoholic, funny, rugged Westerners. For my senior thesis, I met with Louis each week, and every time I left his office, I knew I had work to do in order to breathe full life into the characters. Louis understood the importance of getting it right on the page, of weaving in complexity and vitality, and he guided me toward those qualities with a kind and knowing hand.
That first draft eventually became a novel that saw publication’s light twenty days after my father’s death and Louis’s suicide. These deaths left me uprooted in a way that I still have trouble articulating. Dropped into the foreign landscape of grief, I struggled to find meaning, and I stopped writing for several years.
I threw myself into teaching, attempting to honor Louis’s spirit. It was in the classroom that I found traction with my depression and with my writing, and all those students along the way have led me back to myself and the profound work of storytelling.
In particular, I am honored to work with Barry Maxwell, an older man coming to the surface of his life—sober—and claiming the disparate parts of himself he might have otherwise abandoned. He cares about language so deeply, and at the core of our mentor-mentee relationship is a sense that writing might just be the thing that saves us both, and that saving must be rooted in compassion, for ourselves first and foremost.
I think he is slowly allowing himself the title of writer, if only in small doses, perhaps overly aware of backslides and rude awakenings. In the first class with me at Austin Community College, he wrote:
Beyond gathering enough cash for smokes and a buzz, my ambitions had evaporated, and I was resigned to ongoing futility. My life had become like a dying child in my arms, and I mourned as I bore it closer each night to the mass grave of the hopeless.
The image of his life as the cradled child blazed off the screen and into my heart. The fragility and the responsibility of our lives crystallized in this one line. It also helped me understand how Louis might have made his decision to end his life in a deep moment of disconnection and isolation, a heartbeat devoid of exactly these qualities.
As a mentor, I’ve grown more comfortable with anchoring other writers in their journeys. Together, Barry and I hold space for each other, maybe so that we might hold ourselves with a bit more care. Our touchstone conversations, on and off the page, underscore the power of connection to create meaningful work, and maybe, just maybe, to save lives.