Yesterday, at piano lessons, I wrote out some plans in an attempt to frame my goals in terms that were clear and measurable.
The template I followed was to name my identity or ROLE (or the identity or role that I wanted to claim), name GOALS for myself within that role, and name STRATEGIES or practical tasks I could do to achieve that goal, or some parts of that goal. The final piece of the puzzle was to BUILD ACCOUNTABILITY into my goals—in other words, involve others.
And I recognized that accountability is where the concept, and shape, of writing communities takes on real life and value.
This exercise helped me understand that my starting place should be with a role and goals; that’s the only way I’ll be able to understand what a writing community, and accountability, means to me, or what kinds of community feed and sustain the goals I’m setting for myself.
Here’s how the exercise looked on the page, roughly speaking.
For role, I started with WRITER.
I named two goals: PUBLISH NEW BOOK + PUBLISH SHORT STORIES/ESSAYS IN (LITERARY) MAGAZINES
Then I named strategies for approaching each.
PUBLISH NEW BOOK: Find publisher for The Swimmer (new novel manuscript); rewrite/edit Francie (novel manuscript in progress); research toward new manuscript; write new manuscript (novel; as yet undefined)
PUBLISH SHORT STORIES/ESSAYS: Contact editors; send out stories; polish stories; maintain a spreadsheet to track submissions; write new stories and essays; apply for grants or writer-in-residence positions
I noticed that there were two distinct categories within each larger goal: 1. strategies for getting published and 2. strategies for writing new work
Ergo, a third goal: WRITE NEW WORK.
And, my strategies for the goal.
WRITE NEW WORK: write on campus (i.e. free from distraction); contact editors (pitch story ideas); write with friends.
What surprised and pleased me about this analysis is the level of accountability (aka writing communities) already built into existing strategies. (Maybe you would find the same?!) For example, built into “find a publisher” is accountability: my agent is involved in this process. I’m not tackling it alone. However, I’ve got little/no accountability built into rewrite/edit my work-in-progress. This is of my own doing: I’m extremely private and superstitious about work in progress. The closest I’ve come to building accountability into this stage is to write/rewrite in parallel with a friend; Kevin is also my first reader on all manuscripts, but he’s not an editor, and besides, our marriage depends on him NOT offering editorial advice on my rough drafts. So here is a gap where I can ask: do I need more accountability at this stage in the process? And my honest answer is: I don’t know. I’ve handled this stage on my own FOREVER, and with measurable success.
But I’m open to considering a change.
I would be even more open, in fact, to seeking earlier editorial feedback on the short stories and essays I’ve been writing. This could be a wise step to add before submitting to magazines. Food for thought.
To return to the goal of writing new work, I wonder, at present, what does “writing with friends” look like? What’s the picture it makes in my mind? Perhaps it means what I’m already doing: Parallel writing at a friend’s kitchen table. Perhaps it means another workshop with Lynda Barry (though not this summer, sadly). I also think it means writing along with my students in class. However, given my current daily commitments, I don’t think it means organizing or leading writing workshops or a larger writing group … but perhaps it will mean that someday.
If you feel inspired or intrigued, I hope you’ll give this exercise this a whirl! Name your role, your goals, your strategies, and the ways in which you plan to build in accountability. How will you measure success?
I will measure success in BIG tangible goals, but also in TINY steps along the way: every time I write something new, including this post, I’ve met a goal. I’ve dropped a pebble on the path. Do cartoons count? YES! Private journal rants? YES! Letters to the editor? PROBABLY, HEY WHY NOT!
Yesterday, I also named and analyzed two other roles: TEACHER and FRIEND/FAMILY MEMBER. I won’t go into detail here. But we all have more than one role, so it’s worth considering how these roles overlap and interplay, and limit or feed each other.
Naming your ROLE will change how you frame your approach. How you see yourself is key, it’s critical, it’s the MOST IMPORTANT PART of this whole exercise. It’s also worth remembering that this isn’t a one-time assessment, but needs to be examined and altered as we continue to grow and change, as new roles are thrust on us, often out of our control, or new circumstances bring loss. Personally, I loved doing this exercise. Maybe you will find it clarifying too?
I’ve got a new essay on mentorship up at TNQ, the local award-winning literary magazine that has accompanied me throughout my career: you’ll find all of the plot points in the essay, including publication, rejection and cause for hope. I hope you’ll read it.
Waterloo friends, the Waterloo Public Library is helping me throw a launch party for my new picture book, Jammie Day! When: Saturday, Nov. 25 (that’s tomorrow), at the main branch of the WPL, from 2:30 – 4. Books will be available for purchase. Wearing your jammies is optional, but welcome (kids in jammies will receive a small prize; not sure whether this applies to adults, too …). I’ll be reading from the book and there will be music, crafts and a scavenger hunt.
For more info, click the link.
(Will I, or won’t I, be wearing jammies, too?)
I’d like to introduce you to Jammie Day, starring Cliffy!
In answer to a question I’m asked quite often, yes, I do have a new book coming out. It’s less than 800 words in length, and relies heavily on Brooke Kerrigan’s adorable illustrations, but I think you’ll find it genuinely heart-warming. My second picture book, Jammie Day, is due in stores on October 15, published by Owlkids, and it’s just received its first review. In fact, Quill & Quire has given Jammie Day a starred review.
I’m unashamed to report that the star has gone directly to my head. After reading the review, I spent an evening strutting annoyingly (endearingly?) around the house, informing my family of Jammie Day’s triumphs. “Aw, Mom, you’re so excited. You got a gold star.” Hear that being said in a teenager’s tone, and you have some idea of the supportive response I received. I’m pretty sure it’s my very first starred review ever in Q&Q, and let’s be honest, that star is for Brooke Kerrigan’s winning illustrations, but no one’s taking it away from me now.
I would like to pause here to marvel at the uplifting power of the gold star. We need to tap this power, people! I should be giving myself gold stars all day long! Gold star for holding that pike position for the last eight seconds of exercise class while dangling from TRX straps at 6:43AM! Gold star for making three sandwiches for school lunches before showering or eating breakfast! Gold star for a truly excellent nap on the couch!
Here is Jammie Day getting its very first read. It really is a wonderful book, if I’m allowed to say so. Well, no one’s stopping me, though it’s probably in poor taste. Have I mentioned that Jammie Day got a starred review in Quill & Quire??!! Insert winky-face emoji here. Totally unrelated: I’ll also be selling Jammie Day through my web site.
Now I’m off to earn gold stars for laundry, class prep, and writing another chapter in my next book (longer than 800 words, no illustrations).
“A country without a literature is not a country.” – Elaine Dewar
It seemed apt after musing yesterday on writing in Canada, that this morning I would hear an interview with Elaine Dewar, author of The Handover, which is published by Biblioasis. Her book is about the sale of McClelland & Stewart (aka The Canadian Publisher) to a German rival, years ago, when I was working at the National Post (so I have a dim memory of how it rocked the industry at the time). This subject may sound arcane, but it’s important to everyone who has an interest in Canadian culture, as distinct from other national cultures.
You can listen to the interview, here, on CBC’s The Current.
The Canadian book industry is contracting very rapidly, warns Elaine Dewar toward the end of her interview. This caught my attention. It sounded like news of the icebergs melting.
Of course, this is bad news for anyone who hopes to earn a living as a writer in Canada. [Side note: does anyone hope to earn a living as a writer in Canada anymore? Or do we all recognize that if we want to make a living as writers, we must sell into the exponentially larger American market?]
The discussion on publishing in Canada continued between the show’s host, and John Degen, executive director of the The Writers Union of Canada and someone with the Association of Canadian Publishers (could not find accurate info online to identify him, but his name is Glen). They dug into the issues raised by Elaine Dewar, and I’ve paraphrased the main points of their conversation, below.
Q: What is it like for writers in Canada, today, to get published?
A: This is really a global issue. There have been major changes in the industry. It’s a blockbuster culture that sees it being increasingly risky for a young writer to break into the industry—if you break into the industry and don’t make it right away, you have a greater chance of never making it at all.
What we really need is diversity. Canadian publishing wants to be playing on a level playing field. When we allow cultural policy to erode, at the federal level, it damages the playing field. We have 115 companies publishing in Canada [wow, is that true?], but very few of these are large enough to compete with international publishers [both in terms of purchasing rights to books, and in terms of purchasing assets that go up for sale]. For example, due to the sale of a major distribution company, decisions about book purchases for Canadian libraries are now made in the US. [think about that…]
There is government policy in place to keep Canadian cultural assets under Canadian control, but a long litany of decisions honours the policy in reverse, in secret. Canadians should have access to purchase the assets of these companies when they’re up for sale [a recent example is Harlequin, which sold to HarperCollins in the US]. If these assets are not purchased by Canadians, then the government should exercise its mandate to keep them in Canada.
Q: But shouldn’t publishers adapt to the market?
A: We’re just through on era where books were declared dead, and they’re now declared back to life again. Canadian publishers are prestigious. We punch above our weight. We’ve shown resilience in developing Canadian culture. We’re up against the border of the largest exporter of culture in the world. We publish in English. Without direct subsidies it’s very tough to compete with that.
It’s part of the Canadian project to decide whether we will be active in this medium in the years to come.
And there the interview ends.
So what do you think? If government is going to subsidize the creation, publication, and distribution of Canadian culture, including literature, how should it best direct its support to build a healthier, more resilient, more diverse system? Personally, I’ve found that the public grant system for artists offers spotty support that could never replace, even short-term, a steady income. Additionally, many of the opportunities for residencies, etc., are impractical for anyone raising kids, or working another job.
It’s precarious for all of us, publishers and writers alike.
The only reason I’ve had the luxury to develop as a writer is because my husband was able support us financially for the years (many years!) when I earned next to nothing; and he continues to provide the steady income that allows me to teach part-time and write part-time now. It takes a long time to develop, as a writer, and you need permission to experiment and fail, too. (In other words, it can be an unprofitable undertaking for long stretches of time, even after you’ve had some success.) Is it worth it? Depends on whether you’re measuring in terms of money, or in terms of something else—what’s a thriving culture worth?
I’m absolutely certain that important voices, necessary voices, are missing from the conversation because of financial limitations or lack of connections. If we can’t solve this, Canadian literature will represent only a small, mostly elite segment of this country’s voices. I want so much more from our literature. If you’ve read all the way to the end of this post, so do you.
The longer I teach, the more I learn.
If I were to write a dissertation, now, my subject would be the short story. I would take a scalpel to the form, carve three-dimensional paper sculptures to show how beautifully various the short story can be. My focus, as a reader and a writer, has long been on Canadian literature, but the more widely I read, the more I wonder what Canadian literature stands for. Where are we right now? What are we lacking? Are we constrained by our Canadian-ness, because our patron is the state? Our violence is secretive and shameful. We don’t dare feast or riot. We would never burn the house down, and if we did, we’d make sure no one knew it was us. Also, outwardly, we appear reasonably satisfied with this state of affairs.
I could be wrong. I could be entirely very very wrong. Generalizations are almost certainly wrong, at least to some degree.
But here’s what I’ve learned, from teaching. For the past five years, I’ve assigned Canadian short stories for my students to read and discuss, and my students’ complaint has been consistent: why are these stories so similar? At first, I was baffled: the differences between the stories were so clear to me; subtle, perhaps, but clear. But as I’ve started to read and assign stories from international writers, some in translation, I’ve come to understand that my students were more perceptive than I. This is not to dismiss my beloved Canadian stories. But I see, now, that there is a world of stories out there that are different and not just in subtle ways, but in juicy, technically audacious ways: stories that are ugly, ungainly, colourful, lawless, unconventional, impolite, rowdy, hungry. Imperfect. Stories that dare to be disfigured, furiously cryptic, ridiculous, structurally untidy, fascinating, open, broken, big. Stories that can take the criticism, because they’re out there doing the dirty work, and they’ve got more important things to worry about.
The world is waiting to be read.
I can’t pretend to know what Canadian literature stands for, nor what it lacks, nor what it needs. I think we are in troubled waters, troubled times, but I’ve been devoted to CanLit for my whole life, steeped in the stuff, and this is my trouble, too. Times of transition are always troubled times. I believe this. Transition is what gets us somewhere new. Truth and reconciliation: painful. It’s painful to be wrong, but how much more painful is it to be a child of 12 for whom suicide is the answer to their pain, how much more painful to be this child’s family, community. This is our country, right now. This is Canada. And somehow, I think it’s our literature, too. Now is not the time to turn more inward, to hide away, to ignore, not listen, not try. It feels imperative — to try. To pay attention.
I want to write stories like the ones I’ve been reading from around the world, and I can try. I may not be able to, but others will. If I’m a very fortunate teacher, maybe my students will. Meanwhile, I can keep learning, listening and reading.
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