I was listening to a podcast this morning while engaging in forced labour. By forced labour, I mean working on my husband’s half of our aspirational weekend job list—the list longer than we have the time, physical endurance, equipment, man power or complimentary weather complete.
My husband grumbled all this winter about how he wanted to cut down the creeping branches along the edge of his fields. Many of our fields are surrounded by bush and eventually, the trees stretch into the unencumbered space to steal sunlight from his crops and barricade his combine.
So, following my husband along the edge of the field as he sawed off pesky new growth, it was my job to drag the bud laden branches into the bush and away from his crops. On the podcast I was listening to, they said we writers need to lean into learning and be willing to grow… to adapt. And this got me to thinking about how, if mother nature can adapt to find the open spaces, surely, we as writers can as well.
One of the best ways to evolve as a writer is to engage in writing critique groups. It is amazing what you can miss in your own writing. Seeing your words reflected to you, filtered through the expectations, biases, and life experiences of another, can be at times… strangling. It can be a shock to discover that what you saw so clearly, isn’t so obvious to another. This feedback, if delivered or taken the wrong way, can stunt your creativity but if mother nature can find a work around, surely we writers can as well.
Those branches along the field edges regrow, year over year. I also noted that on our farm, some well meaning farmer—likely trying to keep the cattle in and not wanting the extra work of digging in proper fence posts—hammered nails and barbed-wire directly into our fence line trees. Over the years, the cattle left, the brush grew to take over and then we purchased the property and cleared the fence lines, only to discover the chunks of rusted barbed-wire the trees had grown around. These trees adapted and we as writers can as well. Be brave. Lean into the suggestions. Keep growing. You may not be the same tree in the end, but you will be unique through your own interpretations and experiences.
Authors, publishers, and agents alike keep telling us newer authors that rejection will be a constant in our author journey. People are going to poke holes in your query, your synopsis, and your pages. Whether you are sharing pages in your first writing group, a querying soldier, an agented author on submission, or a seasoned best-seller waiting to hear if your book will be made into that movie—a part of the writing life is rejection. In our maple bush, for many years the trees have been tapped; a hole dug, and spile hammered into the tree. I was curious about what happened to these holes over time… so I went searching. It’s quite beautiful. The tree scabs over and repairs. A scar is left, but the tree has more character for the damage.
Finally, the best way for authors to adapt, is to learn something new. To grow new shoots and add new leaves. To be brave, stretch, and make yourself uncomfortable.
I got brave recently. I’ve always wanted to learn how to use Canva and I finally found the perfect inspiration. I set a goal to participate in #MoodPitch. I gathered images and when a piece of art from a fellow Ascribe writing group member, Andree Levie-Warrilow, spoke to me, I asked permission to use her art in my mood board.
Pushing myself in a new direction helped me to understand my novel better and remember why I wrote it in the first place. I picked a colour, a mood, a tone and played with the images until I was happy. I polished several versions and when the day came, I put myself out there.
And what did I learn?
Exactly that. I learned. I discovered a new group of writers who are experiencing the same struggles. I networked. I laughed. I shared. I learned not to take myself so seriously and I supported other writers. I cheered and whooped when others found success and I rediscovered that I too could grow, change, and adapt.
I’m heading back into the query trenches and I can see my novel better for this experience. The holes poked into my writer-self have regrown and I’m ready to adapt once again.
