Rejection Pep Talk Addendum

Well, shoot. Everything in that last blog post condensed into a 1:11 minute clip from Castle.



Thanks Chris!

The Post-First Rejection Self-Pep Talk

I don't suppose a normal writer person feels good about getting the first legit rejection. But oh well. Normal is overrated anyway.

A week or so ago, my sister Sherri and I went schlepping around one of the artsier nearby towns with the hopes of finding a good place to host her work for sale. She got some business cards and advice ("cats sell."), so it wasn't an unsuccessful attempt, but mostly it was inspiring to see her taking the initiative. Call an artistic high or just a touch of friendly sibling competition, but whatever it was, I wondered why I hadn't done the same thing with my writing. At least, not in earnest.

So I came home, fired up the laptop, and started poking around some online publications, hoping to find a home for some of that poetry that languishes on my hard drive. I chose one I'd been lurking about for a while and read over the submission guide, gathered a few poems that might work, edited them down, wrote the cover later... and backed out of clicking submit.

And so the document sat on my hard drive for a week. Fear was the culprit. Fear that I wasn't ready, that my little writings weren't good enough, that they were the wrong fit, that they still needed work. When will I be good enough? I thought about it off and on throughout the week and tweaked my cover note until I couldn't stand to look at it, but I couldn't bring myself to actually send my little words out into the world.

But then on a particularly quiet Saturday morning, I opened the file and, fueled by 11 hours of sleep and a shot of optimism, I sent it in.

My polite rejection email arrived about two hours later.

When I saw it, sure, I had that punch-in-the-stomach feeling. I didn't even get the chance to fret over waiting or process the almost-certainty it would be rejected. But then came the idea that maybe, well, this was some sort of badge of honor, my first induction into the "Real Writer's Club," where everyone gets together at the local pub and cries or boasts a little over the rejection letters that wallpaper their writing rooms. Maybe I should print it out and hang it on my wall, so it can look at me daily and remind me that I tried.

Or maybe I should do the normal thing and go into "I'm an awful writer!" self-pity mode.

Either way, it feels okay. Maybe "good" was a little too strong a word. "Okay" works.

I've spent the majority of my life waiting to be "good enough" for nearly everything. I needed to be a good writer before I put my work out there. I needed to be a good speaker before I could be on the radio (oh yeah, I should blog about that weirdness sometime...) And so the list goes on. This need for absolute certainty of not failing holds me back more often than not.

Sending three little okay poems out into the world? Maybe it's a step in the right direction. In a sense, it feels like a beginning.

Chasing Memories

Just last week, I finished reading Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years for the second time. This is one of those remarkable books that makes me want to flip it over and start again after the final page. It's insightful, challenging, humorous, and quite moving, both to the writing life and to the daily story of real life.

But this isn't really about the book. This is about something in the book.

In the first paragraphs, Don talks about his friend Bob (Goff, who becomes a really prominent part of the story and has a book of his own out that I want to read). Bob's life is one huge, colorful, world-changing tale, but in the very beginning, he tells us that Bob writes down every memory he has, just to remember.

"The saddest thing about life is you don't remember half of it. You don't even remember half of half of it. Not even a tiny percentage if you want to know the truth. I have this friend Bob who writes down everything he remembers. If he remembers dropping an ice cream cone on his lap when he was seven, he'll write it down. The last time I talked to Bob, he had written more than five hundred pages of memories."

That's inspiring to me. No matter how important or mundane, joyful or sad, he writes it down. This and a later chapter on how our stories must have memorable scenes set me thinking about the things I remember, the unusual places in my story that become inside jokes, or sensory memories, or just a scene I couldn't forget. It also made me wonder how many of these I've let go, and, if I remembered them all, would I never want for something to write about again? (and yep, it all selfishly comes back to writer's block.)

Isn't every story remarkable? I can at least hope so. I doubt I'll hike the Inca Trail or bike across America or  build a house in the woods and invite world leaders over for dinner anytime soon, but there are turns in my own life that live on, though maybe as ghostly-pale memories. Could they come back to life?

So, inspired by Bob, I opened up Scrivener and made a document called "Everything I Can Remember," and started writing down one story from a few years ago, because those are easier then digging back into childhood. It was about meeting a friend for the first time, and as I tried to recall the scenes, the lines, and every detail about the characters, I remembered that vivid detail never was my strongest point as a writer. But it was a fun exercise that made me grateful to have the story in my life.

Then the next day, I saw a powderpuff plant growing on the corner of my neighbor's yard and remembered my Grandma's tiny old house, and her garden, her cooking, and the fenced corner yard that seemed huge when I was small. I wrote about that. I started with the chain-link fence, the plants, the summer grasshoppers. Slowly, everything about the place came back to life, and I ached to return, or at least go see her old house to prove to myself it's real.

And so it will go, I hope. The funny thing about chasing memories is how you find things you didn't even know you remembered. I don't know how long it takes to accumulate 500 pages, but every single one feels like bringing something back to life. I told my mom about this crazy project I was doing, and how I was writing about Grandma's house, and she said, "Oh! I have a memory about that place when your dad and I first met."

We all have our stories, and not one of them is boring.

What would happen if you remembered as much as possible and wrote it down -- for you, or for anyone who wanted to know the story of your life? You don't have to be a "Writer." (with a capital W.) It doesn't even have to be for anyone but yourself. The purpose in such a project isn't so much to create a memoir or something useful, but simply to remember, to say thank you. Because every memory, it seems, can become an altar of gratitude.

Summer Song (a poem)

I don't normally post poetry here, but... hey why not? If you like this sort of thing, there's more at my Tumblr page. This is a revision of something I posted there a while back.

***

An orchestra tunes outside my window
Then serenades unstopping,
Sundown to dawnrising,
But the crickets’ summer song
Is only heard in stillness.

One move, one breath
Is enough to drown it out
Though the air is thick
Heavy and humid
With it.

Oh, where do you go
Come the day?
What stills your hymn, and
What moonbright magic
Wakes you again?

Or are you always there,
But I am too in motion
To hear what sings all along?

(4.6.12 - 1:16am. Wondering why crickets only sing after dark.)

Music is a Friend

In the last couple weeks, I've been really enjoying John Clore's new book The Music Industry Doesn't Have to Kill You, a collection of interviews with people who have made a life in the music world without selling their souls. I'll have more to say about it once I finish reading, but for now, I thought this quote was worth highlighting and sharing.

"I do believe owning a turntable is a good thing, both because it requires a more intense attention and because there's a lot of great music available on vinyl that isn't on CD or iTunes. Mostly, though, I think it might be nice if people would listen to music -- on vinyl or CD, through computer speakers or earbuds or in live venues -- without doing something else at the same time. Cut off the deal on your computer where it pops up and tells you that you have a new email. Turn off the cell phone that buzzes when someone calls or texts or emails. Listen to music like it was a friend of yours and you were having lunch together and it was telling you something important. You wouldn't check a text message in the middle of something like that. And it's my belief that it often IS telling you something important." -- Peter Cooper (musician/music writer for The Tennesean)

Opening Notes - April

It's a bit late, but here is the April Edition of Opening Notes! For those just wandering here, I'm journaling through my year in music, writing down first impressions of every album I hear, then listing the month's highlights here for my amusement and your potential discovery.

This month was a pretty slight selection, but here are a few of my favorites. It's a rather eclectic mix this time...

Kristene DiMarco - Safe Place
Genre: Soft-spoken piano-pop/worship. Think Sara Groves meets Feist.
First Impressions: This was a pleasant surprise from music review land. Kristene is a member of worship collective Jesus Culture, but this is nothing like the megachurch bombast of her regular gig. Understated piano pop and gentle worship ballads are the standard on Safe Place. My full review is here at JFH... major thanks to John DiBiase for sending it my way or I would have missed out.
Source: JFH pre-release

Andrew Osenga - Leonard the Lonely Astronaut
Genre: a sci-fi concept record.. fok meets rock meets singer/songwriter
First Impressions: Just as weird, awesome, and epic as I hoped. He takes the endearingly geeky premise and gives it heart and soul with thoughtful songwriting and a heartbreaking, yet quirky story. The emotions are raw and -- dare I say it? -- human after all. Extra credit for the Solar Wind EP, a collection of instrumentals and b-sides that didn't make the cut, yet are still as good as the main record itself.
Source: Donating to Kickstarter. The Rabbit Room pre-release window is over (boo) but it'll be out for real in September.

Jack White - Blunderbuss
Genre: Classic blues rock, with some strokes of country, rockabilly and such.
First Impressions: I have mad respect for Jack White. He's just one of those freakishly talented guitarists with a trademark, old-school sound, and I can't help but at least be curious about any new project he does. Blunderbuss, as the first solo album, really lets his passions out there and gives me a better sense of what he's about. It's a real throwback blues sound that reminds me of the classic rock I grew up on (yes, raised on my parent's music... to my benefit.) and a fun mix of American rock history from start to finish. Bonus points for "I'm Shakin'" for making me miss swing dancing terribly.
Source: iTunes

Pioneer - Pioneer
Genre: melodic pop-punk
First Impressions: I admit to being a bit jaded about the rock scene, but while I'm reconnecting with bands I loved not too long ago, I've found something promising and new now and then. I met the Pioneer guys a week or so ago when they visited the radio station, and after giving their album a quick listen online, I bought it shortly after. Pioneer has that youthful, almost-poppy rock sound that takes me back. It's a fun listen, and I predict will be getting quite a few spins this summer. Check out the acoustic version of "Treason"http://www.facebook.com/video/?id=125005180957654, recorded for 106.3 The Rock
Source: Stream on their website, then bought it on iTunes


New Records for April: 8. I'm not sure what happened. Guess I wasn't on Noisetrade enough.

If you give a theologian a guitar...

Bishop N.T. Wright covers "When the Ship Comes In" by Bob Dylan. It's the kind of epic nerdy greatness that only the people that name a conference Hutchmoot could bring together.

And yes, it is awesome.

The Semi-Annual Writer's Block Whining Post

Something in my head keeps telling me I haven't written much of anything lately and that I've got the dreaded writer's block. I see I've come up with a post every week for the last month or so, but I confess, I'm feeling a little dry.

I pick up the pen and notebook, flip through pages in frustration, get grumpy about the pro writers that seem to come up with something fresh and brilliant every day,* scribble an emo journal entry, and go aimlessly poke around Facebook for an hour. I have a million ideas while I'm going about my days, but by the time I slow down enough to start something, they evaporate. Once again, I'm pushing letters around the page like a little kid that doesn't want to eat her peas. Honestly, it's kind of irritating.

This isn't much, other than to say I'm still here and still trying. Some writers say to suck it up, that writer's block isn't real, that's it's all in our miserable, self-absorbed heads.

In the words of the good Professor Dumbledore: "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”"

Excuse this semi-annual "oh, I'm not writing enough / I'm so lame" rantpost. At least you know now. I hope someone can relate. At any rate, I've learned that such whining occasionally gets me unstuck.

* Re: "the pro writers"... I am aware this is a myth and keep reminding myself that even Billy Collins doesn't write every day. But you know. Writers are good at making stuff up.

***

Vague idea: for the next month or so, I'd like to experiment with posting a little something every weekday, even if it's dumb or random, even if it's a video or a quote or something.... all in effort to keep things alive and keep my eyes open. I might have just jinxed myself by announcing this, so feel free to nag me if I don't stick to it, okay? I give anyone reading this full nagging rights.

Instagram and 50 Million One-Inch Frames

In Bird by Bird, one of the best books on writing I know, Anne Lamott describes why she keeps a one-inch picture frame on her writing desk:

“I go back to trying to breathe, slowly and calmly, and I finally notice the one-inch picture frame that I put on my desk to remind me of short assignments. It reminds me that all I have to do is to write down as much as I can see through a one-inch picture frame. This is all I have to bite off for the time being.”

The focus on short assignments, seeing through a small frame, and tackling a project "bird by bird" is a comfort to me. I'm so easily overwhelmed by the bigger picture, abstract connections, and the grand enormity of a project. Most attempts to fight that end up going the way of borderline OCD... go crazy with details and let the inner critic shut me down. Noise, voices, and distractions abound. So the thought of focusing on one inch at a time, only writing what I see in that frame, is helpful. Perhaps this is part of the reason I've felt so drawn to poetry lately... loose ends are okay because everything can't be said in a few lines. It's about drilling down to the essence of a thing.

The photo sharing app Instagram passed 50 million users this week. I wonder if part of this popularity explosion is a natural desire to, now and then, block out the noise and see the world through a one inch frame. Yes, I know... it's kind of "hipster" with the fake vintage photo filters, and it's already getting co-opted as a marketing tool, isn't "real" photography, and sports a "popular" page is full of girls posing in front of mirrors and whatever, but there's something charming and challenging about it, enough to resonate with just about anybody with a smartphone. Lately I've been learning how to see the world through the square view of my phone and play with other photo tools to tell a story in pictures.

It only reinforces the thought that we are all storytellers, and one inch is sometimes all you need to see the world.

Do you use Instagram? Share your handle in the comments so I can follow you! (I'm jen_rose.)