Writing Inventory, Intentions, and Reminders for the New Year

Thanks to Sarah Selecky for these writing prompts! 

2018

A pitfall from this year, and how going through it made me into the writer I am now:

I learned that I am not the kind of writer who enjoys being around writers/artists who partake in drug abuse, pharmaceutical or otherwise, and I am not ashamed to say that’s not my scene. I will assume nothing. Prior to agreeing to attend any event or workshop, now I have no qualms about inquiring what kind of “literary party culture” one can expect. This is especially true if I am paying to attend! A lot of people in the U.S. have a lot of money and they do a lot of things merely out of this existential boredom. Go read a book if you are bored, why don’t you? Go volunteer instead, please. I do too much and a whole lot of nothing as often as I can and therefore I am never bored; I can’t relate. 

A success from this year, and how going through it made me into the writer I am now:

I was paid for a short story! Now I want to be paid for my words as often as possible! The works I read in The Tahoma Literary Review engaged, informed, and surprised me, so I was over the moon to have had a story accepted for their July issue! I was most impressed by their commitment to publish the best by offering astute feedback. My standard is now very high for what constitutes “a healthy literary ecosystem”, as their “About” page states, thanks to their professionalism and passion. 

The story, from inception to publication, took a total of nine months. You really have to believe in a story to stick to it for this long. Now I understand and appreciate revisions; prior to this, I had always enjoyed the initial rush of an idea downloading onto paper instead. Moreover, this story was passed by a few journals and now I know it wasn’t the story or even my writing. In fact, all those who rejected that story sincerely encouraged me to submit other work to them in the future. Editors have to connect with a piece to want to further polish it for publication and sometimes it has nothing to do with your story. I am grateful it found a home in Tahoma Literary Review.

Writing milestones that mattered. 

Ireland happened. Specifically, University of Limerick’s inaugural Creative Writing Winter School spearheaded by Sarah Moore Fitzgerald and Eoin Devereux held in Doolin at Hotel Doolin (yes, a real place!) happened. Anne O’Leary was somehow able to blog every single day while we were there. No easy feat given just how much we all did and how much there was to process every day.

And because of this experience I will never be the same. It has been the single most transformative experience of my writing life. In fact, I don’t even know how to articulate all of it and hence I haven’t. I want to express how profound it all is. How to share the meaning of that which is still unfolding?  Perhaps that’s why it is so light and heavy for words.  

I want you to hear the sound of the sea in Doolin. I promise there are nights when I can still hear the sea right before I fall asleep.

I want you to know how skeptical I was before attending, having been disappointed many times by those who want to help but continue to fall short. I was also worried because I am such a misfit in literary scenes. It’s not anyone’s fault; I don’t blame anyone. I am just atypical. I respect that people want to network, to find friends, to talk about their accomplishments or misgivings and I just never seem to fit in even when I like everyone! I don’t care to impress and I am not impressed by anyone “knowing” anyone. I also love my solitude and usually can’t get away from the socializing which seems to be the primary reason many like to get together. I still remember the time in Prague (circa 2011) when I literally started going for walks in cemeteries so as to get away from other American writers in the program. And in this instance, I was afraid for bizarre reasons like not being Irish or being brown given all that’s going on with Brexit. Most importantly, during the UL Creative Writing Winter School, I learned for the first time why so many “How-to write” advices don’t work (although they may be uplifting) for people and yet so many are willing to pay so much to find some formula, any formula, to get from Point A to Point B (whatever your points may be).

I want you to know how afraid I was before going somewhere where there were well known authors, well known for all the right reasons: talented and influential. Yet not a single one was pretentious; I was in awe by the generosity and humility. I want you to know about the other writers who participated with me. I want you to know how Sarah Moore Fitzgerald is some kind of wizard and upon interacting with her this alignment takes place within yourself where you really believe you can access your highest self. She envisions things that aren’t and then makes them happen. And makes you realize you can too.

I want you to hear each and every one of the writers who read their work aloud during one of the nights. I want you to know that for the first time I was not on the outside looking in but I was one-of-them. There were no childish cliques. It wasn’t about a social media performance. There was true diversity. We were different; we were the same. It wasn’t a self-indulgent party.

I want you to know that now I know what beginnings feel like.

After the night of the readings I believe it was Sam who said that had he known he was in a group filled with so much talent, he would never have signed up to read (sorry, if I am misquoting you, Sam!). I think most of us felt that way. The Barn Hall was abuzz with an electric energy after the stories shared. And here is the thing, they were in all sorts of genres: gothic, speculative, crime, historical, romance, memoir, flash fiction, narrators young and old. It’s true: good writing is good writing. Some writers already had agents and some had published books, some had won prestigious prizes, some had been stalled on a project for a long time, some came to finish a project, some to start a new one, some ended up getting clarity on existing projects, and others realized they must begin again. We all tried to figure out what exactly we all had in common, how exactly did Sarah, and whoever else, selected this group to come together. We couldn’t come up with an answer other than the obvious: our commitment (or at the very least our desire for a commitment) to a writing and reading life. 

I don’t know if something like that week can be re-created even if we were all to gather again, even if in the same place, but we all felt some tremendous alchemy. And there were tears on the last day. I feel things deeply—too much sometimes—and I am not afraid to shed a tear during a moving film scene, reading a passage, hearing a speech, learning of some terrible injustice, saying goodbye to my baby niece until next time; but I am not a “cryer” by any means and yet there I was bawling as if I was leaving family! The round of goodbyes just didn’t end. There was a second round and then a third and then one more time. Olivia even commented that it was like we were leaving a beloved family member’s wedding! 

Vijay says since the program ended, every time there is a communication related to the UL Winter School, from any of us, it’s like discovering a secret energy source. Every single time. It’s powerful. Oh speaking of Vijay—she is my second “Indian” friend ever! I put “Indian” in quotes because both of us may look it but don’t identity as such. And our connecting had nothing to do with our ethnicities at all—in fact we don’t even have a common ethnic language and yet the connecting was some karmic understanding. I don’t even have a photo with her (maybe someone did take one, now that I think about it); I am telling you, it was such an intense experience where we were so fully engaged that there was hardly any time.

Speaking of connections, there is my inexplicable bond with Anne, who was generous enough to give me a ride from Limerick to Doolin (thanks to her brother for driving!) and I felt she was someone I had known my whole life, and maybe from a different life. And then the colorful and delightful Aisling who, while in Doolin, drove me to the next village so I could buy contact lens solution (who does that for someone they just met?). And now without my weekly updates with Aisling, I can’t imagine my writing life. Yes, weekly.

And there were Sam, Declan, Pat, and Dan’s stories that had me in stiches from laughing. Pure entertainment; I would pay just to hear these fellas tell their tall tales. And there is lovely Mary who gave me a ride back to Limerick. And then while back in Dublin, Niall from the group, who is from Dublin, took the time to show me around Dublin, his Dublin, and that was splendid. And let me not forget to mention Fiona who offered me feedback on one of my flash stories before I even landed back in the U.S. And there is Dara who is a deep, thoughtful old soul despite being a young one. Cat said this is what finding one’s tribe feels like. The word “tribe”, one of the first words to have been hijacked by the advent of social media, always made my skin crawl into nausea and yet hearing her say it gave it another meaning for me, maybe it’s original meaning.

There were 27 of us (sounds like a lot but it was so intimate that I keep thinking that number is wrong) so my only regret is that I didn’t listen to everyone as much as I would have liked. But we were exhausted from the mini-lectures (absolutely the best writing information on craft, a writing life, doubts, and publishing–hoping to write a separate post!), and writing, writing, and more writing.

I was also free to express my views about what’s going on in the U.S. without someone having a mental breakdown. I had real conversations beyond identity politics. I felt heard. I listened. I made tremendous progress on my writing project and I believe I finally get, for the first time since 2009, what it means to live a creative life. 

NEXT YEAR

Next year, I’ll stop worrying about when I get published. 

Next year, I’ll start blogging more often like I used to but this time without overthinking it. It’s a blog post, after all.* 

I want more ofDoolin and my writing friends in Ireland. 

I want less ofoverthinking about my process. I work how I work and there isn’t much to analyze anymore as long as the work is getting done. 

I am totally done withpromoting writing simply because I like the person as a person. 

I am ready, so ready for  finishing my manuscript. 

I expect I willfinish the first draft by May if I keep going at this rate. 

I believe  it’s never too late to make new friends but it comes at the cost of not settling just for mere company. 

I desirefor everyone to experience what I experienced in Doolin even if they don’t go to Doolin and even if they don’t write. I want everyone to have a chance to feel this cosmic pulse within. 

REMINDERS ABOUT MYSELF AND MY WRITING

What inspires me, without fail? 

Talking and listening to Jamie, spending time with my mother, long emails to and from Christina, spending time with my baby niece, connecting with Aisling weekly about our writing progress, and getting updates from the UL Winter School group (either via email or Twitter or What’s App) all inspires me. And reading, lots of uninterrupted time to read. 

What grounds me, always?My students. 

What strengthens me, reliably?My mother’s voice. 

What softens me, in just the right way?My students. 

I began this blog/website in 2009. I published my collection of stories in 2013. I subjected myself to imposter syndrome after discovering contemporary writing across the Pond. I didn’t know that all those feelings are just part of a very natural mechanism within any artist who is committed to growing. I didn’t know how to improve so I read. I read more than I had ever read (side-note: and yet everyone in Doolin was as much if not more of a reader than me!). I read to learn the craft. I read to teach myself. I still felt stuck. So stuck that I stopped writing altogether. Then I found Sarah Selecky’s Writing School in 2016 and enrolled. It was a semester long program and it wasn’t cheap (but it was reasonably priced for what one gets and for a fraction of the cost of a semester of an American MFA). That’s where I learned how to read like a writer. Thereafter, I sought other learning experiences, mostly online, to improve the craft. Fall of 2016 to Fall of 2018 were my DIY MFA months. I hope to share a separate post about the specifics another time. I was mentored by Scottish author Helen Sedgwick who saw my writing as I didn’t yet know how to see for myself.

And somewhere along the way, I was so focused on reading like a writer, that I forgot what reading for pleasure felt like. I have reconnected with that and it’s exhilarating. And consequently, I am now writing with a clarity that I haven’t felt in a long time. And I know without a doubt, it has to do with the magic that happened in Doolin. 

I know I will be returning to Ireland. It’s so nice to visit a place where majority of the people are readers (and yes, every other person is indeed a writer–and a good one!) and when you tell someone you are there writing, there are no follow-up questions.

Happy new year to all. The best is yet to be.

~a.q.s.

*Um, yeah, I can’t promise the blogging. This entire thing took way longer than I care to mention!