Writing, Art and Creator Burn-Out: A Tale of 2019

For anyone working in the creative arts, figuring out where to get inspiration and refill that so-called "artistic well" is among the most important of challenges they face. For myself, I have a number of strategies. Going for walks, talking about movies and books with my friends and, of course, watching musicals.

One musical I think about often when I'm in creative downturns, looking for renewed vigour, is Sondheim and Lapine's Sunday in the Park with George, which tells the fictionalized story of French post-impressionist George Seurat and how he came to paint his most famous work, A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.

In the musical, everyone pictured is singing!

Throughout the play, various characters comment on George's obsession with the painting, what it means to be an artist and what art even is. There are lots of characters offering hot takes, but one has always stood out to me. 

Work is what you do for other people. Art is what you do for yourself.

I don't particularly agree. Art, I tend to think, has more to do with the content of the piece rather than the origin or expression of the creation, and yet I've often thought this quote gets at something very real. This crosses out of the realm of visual art and also applies to the art of writing.

Writing for Yourself and Other People

When starting out, most books grow from an idea the author is passionate about. In the sense of the quote from Sunday in the Park with George, this is where art is not work. It's a thing writers do for themselves; scribbling new stories with fresh, new ideas. If this was the whole writing process, then writing never would be work, but it is, and all too often, it becomes work the moment other people enter the picture.

Almost everything that you can buy published in a bookstore found its way there by way of a major publishing company and was touched not just by the author, but also an editor and probably an agent and maybe a marketing department and definitely a cover designer. And along the way, they asked the author to make (le gasp!) changes.

I got a first hand taste of this over the past year, when an agent I queried asked me to complete a revise and resubmit. Most of the changes she asked for I agreed would make the book better, so I got to work. And work it certainly was, because that level of unpacking a book is not something I would have done "for myself."

I've gone through forms of this process before, and don't get me wrong. I enjoy my work. But maybe because I spent so much of this year revising, writing felt like less fun than it usually does. All writers have their favourite parts of the writing process and mine are early on - usually idea generation, drafting and reworking the "first draft" into it's second, slightly less messy iteration. Those are such fun stages. I do them for myself.

I'm proud of the revision I did this year. I'm grateful for the eyes of other people and for the pressure I feel to make my writing something that communicates ideas more clearly and meets the needs of my audience, not just my own. But in a tough year, where the writing felt like work, I needed something to refill my creative well more than usual.

So writing was what I did for other people. Art was what I did for myself.

Children and Art

I can say with utmost confidence, I did not come into this world with extraordinary talent for visual art. I made blobs and squiggles and stick-men of the same caliber as my peers. But did I ever love doing it. Creating something and then being able to hold it up and say "look!" was reason enough to keep at it. I think most children are like this. They love putting something into the world that didn't exist before and they rarely question if their work is "quality." It's just pure art. Something they do for themselves, not other people.

The hard part is keeping kids drawing once they're old enough to compare their work to their peers and start realizing some kids are progressing faster than others. Here, my greatest talent was not in producing great art, but in being oblivious. For years, I pressed on filling massive binders full of "masterpieces" that were nothing more than weirdly proportioned renderings of my stuffed animals. Yes, I kept these and yes, I still love them.

I only chanced upon the concept of artistic "skill" in Grade 4 when I became close friends with the girl who everyone agreed was the best artist in our class. For a split second, I felt discouraged, but she loved drawing and she was my friend, so we drew together and that was that. I got comfortable being worse at something than someone else, and that kept my artistic spirit alive. I kept drawing my stuffed animals, but increasingly, I also designed original characters based on the stories I made up. I shamelessly copied the work of my older sister and her friends, who also liked drawing, learning early Picasso's lesson of "stealing like an artist." Sorry to plagiarize you, Kate.

Sometime around my late teens, it became apparent that I actually did draw better than most of my friends (though not all. I've consistently spent my life with at least one best friend who is better at art than I am. Shout out to today's model, Lean Conrad!). But getting where I am today in art was a slow process born of years upon years of both doodling and intentional practice.

Move On

Fast-forward to January of 2019, when I was starting the year in a strange place. I was job hunting, slogging through a revision of my book that wouldn't come together and living in a new city. From the outset, 2019 had a lot of difficult things working against it, and I could feel myself struggling to keep my head afloat.

I needed a survival strategy. After reading some literature online about the use of art in therapy, I decided I need to reinvest in one of my old hobbies. Art is known for having profound mental health benefits and best of all, skill has nothing to do with effectiveness! The mere act of creating and expressing oneself artistically is helpful. With that in mind, I gave it a try.

Going into this year, I felt rusty. My artistic progress has not always been linear, and I was out of practice. Some seasons of my life, I've devoted more time to art than others and I can still look at old pieces that stack up decently next to what I create now. For example, here is a baseball card sized painting of raccoons in our family cherry tree I did 10 years ago that is STILL the best raccoon related piece I've ever done.

Progress is a lie!

Or so it felt. But I needed art this year. I needed something that I could do for myself, that would bring me joy and refill my creative well when my writing was hard and burning me out.

To start, I watched a few art YouTube videos for inspiration, including a few that talked about their *~*art journey*~* and overwhelmingly, a lot of these artists mentioned how posting their work online helped them, even when their work wasn't what many people would describe as "good" yet. Just posting it helped them be accountable, made them take stock of their own progress and prompted positive feedback from family and friends who were just pleased to see them creating.

Ever since Grade 4 introduced me to friends who drew better than I did, I've been painfully aware of how flawed my own artwork is. It took a lot of nerve to start posting my work, but I figured I could use the kick-in-the-butt accountability gave me, plus whatever positive reinforcement my circle might give. So I took the dive.

First, and more important than I might have expected, I organized my supplies. I went through a Marie Kondo phase at the end of 2018 and got rid of a LOT of stuff that was otherwise overcrowding the new space I lived in. One of the discoveries I made during this was that every single one of my art supplies sparked joy and I had no interest in getting rid of a single tube of paint, but they also weren't likely to do me much good buried in a closet. Realizing this, I moved my art supplies to their own unit in my bedroom. Everyday, I wake up and they stare at me from beneath a poster of Porgs, reminding me I should be making art.

So I got out my watercolours, the most joyful of my supplies, and I made myself paint.

I started with my comfort zone. I don't draw my stuffed animals as much any more, but fan art is kind of comparable, so I painted some faces from the Umbrella Academy.

Painted early March 2019, when I really got going

I really enjoyed working on these, but I also found painting took a LOT of time and specialized supplies. You have to really set up water and your work area, and I didn't always have the space and time to do so. During my Kon-Marie purge, I whittled down my sketchbooks to the drawings I wanted to keep, plus a sketchbook I had halfheartedly started with a drawing or two the previous year. It was portable and it was there, so good enough.

The paper in that sketchbook wasn't the best, so at first I tried to stay black and white. The one time I added paints, the pages buckled like crazy. But black and white art tends to bore me a bit, in part because I'm stronger at colour theory than I am line art. I realized I was more likely to draw if I gave myself permission to colour pieces afterwards, so even though the paper could barely handle the ink, I pulled out my old prismacolour markers. Eventually, I got some pieces I was happy with.

It was a lot of fun rediscovering my markers. They don't always feel as "classy" as my watercolours do, but I love their vibrancy and I had to admit, I was probably better at using them than I was paint. I tried harder to bounce back and forth between the two, as I learned to get different effects with the different media.

Since I was job hunting, I didn't have a lot of extra cash lying around for new supplies or classes, so I focused on using what I had and studying free, online lessons. (I have so many opinions on "Art YouTube" now and what videos/content creators might be useful for a beginner like me. Let me know if you need recommendations!) Watching them prompted me to do some basic "good practice" exercises I'd neglected over the years, like swatching all my paints and markers, filling the whole page in a sketchbook and practicing body parts from different angles. As someone who uses alcohol based markers, I also quickly ran into the cult of Copic users and learned there were markers with velvety brush nibs, that let you blend and color in a way that resembles painting. I was intrigued, but too poor to consider such treasures.

My other great resource was the aforementioned best friend and better artist, Leah Conrad. A young, busy mum, Leah was excited to see me get back into art and wanted to draw together immediately. Whether she was working on commissions or something just for fun and practice, her company was always a huge blessing. She knew things. I could hold something up to her and say, "something is wrong but what?????" and she could spout off quick, helpful advice like, "the foreground and background are too similar" or "that arm should be longer" and then I could get back to work. Check her out on Instagram and enjoy a peek of some of her awesome work below!

Shooting Stars Over Mill Hill, by Leah Conrad

Leah also introduced me to the very addiction I thought I couldn't afford. As I rambled to her about the art videos I had been watching and how badly I wanted to try brush nibbed alcohol markers she casually uttered the words, "I have Copics."

Copics. The industry standard, Rolls-Royce of alcohol markers. She had a small, carefully curated set that she rarely used, and was willing to lend them to me.

Prismacolour markers are very good markers and besides which, there are far more important things than art supply quality when it comes to creating art. Still, supplies do help. Once I got used to the feel of them, I couldn't deny that they worked better than what I was used to. They blended smoother and layered gorgeously. My art took a jump up in overall quality and going back to my old markers was slightly depressing.

First Copic illustrations, from July 2019

I decided to use some coupons to buy just a small set of Copic markers of my own. I expected to spend a very long time building my Copic collection up to the same numbers as my Prismacolour markers, until salvation arrived in the form of Facebook Marketplace. Someone was selling their collection of lightly used Copics for roughly 80% off the regular retail price.

After that? I kept drawing. I took books out of the library. I practiced the exercises they suggested. I joined an art group that trades art around the world and sent in baseball card sized illustrations to new friends. As I continued to post my work online, I made more friends and saw more art that inspired me, and they were kind enough to encourage me in my art journey.

By the beginning of September, two magical things happened. First, I filled a 75 page sketch book that I'd started only six months earlier, which was far more than I'd drawn in years. Second, I had a job! The summer had been very stressful, due to the ongoing job hunt, so getting some stability was a tremendous blessing. I honestly don't know if I could have made it through the summer without art. It kept me sane and feeling like I was accomplishing something when there weren't obvious milestones to point to in my work and writing.

With that in mind, I decided I wanted to do something big and challenging in my *~*art journey*~* as a way of saying thank you to the thing that kept me going through the year. With that in mind, I geared up for my first ever Inktober.

Inktober 2019

Every year, artists around the world challenge themselves during the month of October with the task of producing more art and learning new skills. The basic form of the challenge is this:

1) To produce a new work of art each day of the month
2) Drawn in ink
3) Based on an official prompt list released each year.

There are people who fudge the rules, which is fine. Maybe they don't have time to draw every day or work digitally. Plus, there are roughly 50 billion prompt lists that pop up each year for those who don't want to use the official one. But for my first year, I played it pretty traditional. Conveniently, I wanted to practice dip pen inking, plus I'd never forced myself to generate that many drawings in a single month before. The prompt list seemed like a good source of ideas when burn-out inevitably set in, so I also committed to that.

Challenges were no stranger to me. Writers use the following month, November, as NaNoWriMo - or National Novel Writing Month. I had never successfully done NaNo, however, so I was a bit nervous going into Inktober. Still, I felt as ready as I ever could be.

I'm still processing everything I learned during the month. In an effort to try to organize some of my thoughts, here's a list.

1) It's absolutely possible! Despite some occasionally rocky days and nights that went until 3 am, I finished the challenge. My new sketchbook has one drawing for every day of October and for that alone, I am immensely proud and grateful.

2) It's absolutely possible to burn yourself out doing it! To minimize the pressure, I chose all my materials ahead of time and used the same supplies and process EVERY SINGLE DAY. I wanted to get rid of as many on-the-fly decisions as possible, so I could focus on the challenge and moving on with my life. Still, I was losing my mind a little towards the end. Consider, for instance, this image from Day 30, prompt word "Catch." It was drawn upside down and on the wrong side of the page in my sketchbook, but I did not realize it until after it was done. I also had giant, scribbly blobs by it that I hastily covered up with a digital speech bubble for my Instagram post.

What a catch.

3) It's unlikely you will get thirty-one brilliant works of art from the challenge. But you'll get something. Some days, I didn't have time or energy to throw myself at a piece for a long time. Almost everything I drew that month felt a little rushed. I couldn't return to something the next day and refine it, because it was too important that I move on to the next picture. Allowing myself to be happy with something quick and easy was an important survival strategy.

4) I generally conceptualized a piece, drew, inked and coloured all in one day. This lack of forethought meant I learned a few things about my default style. Going in, I knew I drew a lot of people and faces, but what surprised me was how often I turned to animals. These were frequently my favourite pieces and the ones I was most likely to use reference photos for.

Days 24 and 23

5) Even though I wanted to improve my inking and line art, I found my colouring with Copics probably saw the most progress. Ah well.

6) While most of the challenge passed in a flurry, there were still days when life came together and I actually made something better and stronger than my usual work. You throw enough darts, eventually one will hit the bull's eye. This stretch of drawings really sang for me.

Days 11 through 13

7) By the end, when I was finishing the challenge just so I could say that I did it, it felt like... work. And that's okay. If I was left to FOLLOW MY BLISS everywhere in life, I would never finish anything. And with that in mind, by the time I was done Inktober, I was ready to be done something else too.

Putting it Together

By the end of October, I had a very full sketchbook and no desire to draw anything for a couple of weeks while I recuperated. So what did I do instead? I finished revising my book.

I had been chipping away at that revision all year long, but going into November, I felt an extra degree of oomph pushing me. My creative well was full of fan art, Copic markers, drawing sessions with Leah, reference photos, dip pens and watercolours. Within a few weeks I was done, had notes back from Beta readers and could query my book for the first time in over a year... right on time for the holiday slowdown.

But that's okay. I might not have word back about my book, but it exists in a more refined version now, as do pages of art that helped me through it. In my own life, I do believe art can be work, and that we do it both for ourselves and for other people. Going into the new year, I don't know what project will be my main focus. I've been working on revising one book for a long time and now, it's time to find it a home with an agent or publisher. Failing that, it's probably time to write something new. I'm not certain what that will be yet. I might need to do some sketching to figure it out.

What I really learned this year was the importance of a hobby. Art might not be the thing that intervenes on your behalf, but it certainly helped me. At the Storymakers Conference this year, I heard a wonderful quote in a talk given by Josi Kilpack.

That which takes me away from writing gives me something to write about.

At the time, I thought of the things that take me away from writing against my will, like day jobs and family commitments, but now I want to advocate for the things we willingly let take us away from our artistic passions. You cannot draw water from an empty well, so find a way to fill it. Let yourself have something you "do for yourself" that doesn't feel at all like work.

As I reach a crossroads in my writing, I'm at a similar one in my art. I don't know what my next big goal will be now that Inktober is over. For Christmas, I asked for some new art supplies and am lucky enough that many of them showed up in my stocking and under the tree come Christmas morning. There's definitely some playing around and inspiration to be found there.

Still, I think the most profound gift I received was one that came from another young artist. My eight-year-old nephew spent weeks leading up to Christmas telling me how excited he was to give me the gift he picked out for me. When I opened it, I found a black, hardbound sketchbook, just like the one I used for Inktober, with one critical difference. The first page had an inscription from him.

Don't Let the muggles get you down - Ron Weasley

Isn't that what art is really all about? You can't let the muggles get you down. You fight back with colour and line and composition and the love it takes to create something. 

Looking back, I won't pretend 2019 wasn't a hard year. I knew it would be, and it was. But something good came out of it. I haven't figured out what all my illustrious goals will be for 2020, but with the right friends, attitude and hobbies, I think I'll get through it.

Happy New Year, friends! May yours be filled with beautiful art.

When is it safe to ignore criticism of your writing/art?

Hey everyone! In my last post I talked about my excitement for the LDStorymakers Conference in Provo, Utah, and promised that I would eventually blog some of my thoughts and feelings about the experience.

First off, it was AMAZING!!! I had a fantastic time, met awesome people and made great connections. The classes were phenomenal and as I embark on revising my manuscript, I've been doing it with one eye on the notes I took from a few of my favorite workshops.

But of course, not every happy story is without it's hiccups, and oddly enough, one of the WORST experiences of the conference was also one of the most informative. It really made me reflect on my work in a different way and reevaluate what I believed about receiving feedback. And that's the first story I want to share from the conference, mostly because I think it will be interesting to other people.

As a side note, I almost didn't post about this, because I don't want to seem crabby or ungrateful or to suggest that my general experience was anything other than awesome. I've worked through all the emotions that came from this long ago, and can happily stick my thumb sky high, a la Siskel and Ebert, when I sign off about this story. But I am sharing this, because the thought keeps reoccurring that what I learned might benefit someone else.

The First Chapter Contest

Leading up to LDStorymakers, I entered a First Chapter Contest with - you'll never guess - the first chapter of my most recent manuscript. Before I submitted it, I participated with a group of other writers attending the conference, trading manuscripts and offering feedback. It was fantastic! My work improved hugely thanks to their input, and I started making friends, some of which I met in at the conference.

During this process, I received amazingly positive feedback. A number of people told me they loved my work, some even going so far as to say it was the best of everything they'd critiqued for the contest. I was getting such consistently good reviews, I couldn't help going to Provo somewhat hopeful. I knew my category - Young Adult Sci-Fi and Fantasy - would be a tough field, due to it's popularity, but with such an outpouring of affection, it didn't seem unreasonable to think I might win something.

I didn't win anything.

Okay, well... that was fine. Of course I was disappointed, but this had always been a possibility. At least I would find out how close I came. One of the great things about this contest was that every entrant received feedback from four judges. The judges would all be writers in that area who were either agented or published, so that sounded pretty legit.

As one of my dear friends said, maybe I was *just* below placing and they could tell me how to improve. But as my wounded pride grasped for some straw to hold to after losing, I said, "yeah. Or maybe I got three really good reviews and one who didn't understand my work and marked me down so low, I couldn't place."

Guess which one it was?

If you were thinking this was the post where Emily is forced to swallow some humble pie then, HA! That is not this post! You may refer to the post where I talk about my sister not wanting to eat scrambled eggs for that!

As it turned out, I was bang on. I got three very, very high scores and the other? Not so much. To put the numbers in perspective, imagine submitting an assignment at school and getting three A+ grades and one C from four separate teachers. Those were my marks. In a school setting, you would appeal that C and probably get it thrown out. But this was a contest with over 300 entrants and not the sort of thing where appeal boards are set up. The arts don't work that way. If you don't win, you don't win. End of story.

So what do you do with a critique like this? What do you do with critique generally? Let's see if we can unpack some of the dos and don'ts of listening to feedback.

1) Don't Bother with Opinions that come from People who Don't Care about your Work

I think it should go without saying that anyone who attacks creative work or laughs at it or ridicules it or generally points out flaws so that they can make themselves feel better is not someone you should be listening to. No mean-spirited critique is helpful. Also beware of those who describe themselves as "brutally honest." While not universal, most people who describe themselves that way emphasize the "brutal" part more than anything else.

Frankly, I don't believe the truth is inherently brutal. We're talking about creative work here, not nuclear war. There is nothing someone can say to you about your work that can't be stated kindly.

One of the main criticisms I've heard levied at MFA programs is that students become competitive and critiques start turning into attacks. I'm so grateful for the teachers I had who chased away the notion that we were directly competing with each other, because I can admit that it WAS tempting to see things that way. But many of my classmates were creating work so vastly different from mine, it would have been foolish to treat them as direct competition. My classmate who wanted to write about psychedelic drugs was not going to chase my Middle Grade novel about cats out of the market.

So be kind and be helpful. You can afford to be. And even when you are dealing with people within your genre, competing for the same attention, still be kind. You never know when you're going to need those people to help you by blogging about your book release. Like most professional environments, the writing world gets smaller the deeper you get into it.

In return, look for helpful, insightful critique that has your best interests at heart. If someone seems intent on tearing you down, don't listen to them.

That being said, critique often feels inherently cutting, so do beware that just because something HAS hurt your feelings doesn't mean that the person who said it MEANT for it to hurt your feelings. If you find yourself wounded by a critique, try asking them to clarify what they are saying or how you could make it stronger. Sometimes that prompts the kinder, healthier response as they start looking for solutions rather than problems. Ask about how you can improve your work. It also helps you by making you focus on forward progress rather than what might be "wrong" with the project.

Of course, if they follow up these measured, even questions with something rude then by all means, roll your eyes and move on. This is easier said than done. It can be very VERY hard to share your work with the world and any rejection can feel damning. But you'll only get better by listening to people who look at art with an eye towards making it better.

2) Subjectivity is a Thing

So as mentioned above, the arts are unfair. They're inherently subjective and sometimes you draw the short end of the stick. And because the arts are ALSO underfunded, you can't exactly beat your chest demanding a more *fair* result. People do the best they can with the resources they have and the people who run contests of any kind wrack themselves with guilt already over the dreams they may  be crushing.

I've participated in a large number of contests over the past few years - some I've placed in, others I haven't - and I've seen the hosts struggle to massage the egos of disappointed writers as we slump back to our writer-caves. Much of the time, they repeat over and over how subjective art is and how, in another context, our work might be loved.

But in actuality, I've rarely found this comforting. Usually when I've missed out on something, I've been able to explain it somehow, either through feedback or through where I perceive there to be a weakness still. Hard as it is for authors who are starting out to hear, most of the time, you miss out because you ARE missing something, even if that something is small. At least, that's been my experience. Which kind of undercuts this bullet point, but leads us to the next...

3) Always Evaluate Criticism Carefully

It is much easier to write something good than it is to write something that is perfect. I actually tend to pick apart the work I like MORE than the work I don't, because I see better where the piece could go. This is one reason why finding people who like your work to give you feedback can be really important. These are the people who feel a vested interest in making your work better.

But isn't it shortsighted to only listen to people who like your work? Why yes, dear reader, it is! Especially if you evaluate how much someone likes your work by how many nice things they have to say about it. If you have a good relationship with your critique partners, you'll listen when they say "this is crap" or "I don't understand this" or "wanna go get a burger?" (This last bit of advice is extremely important!)

But there are other sources (besides your friends/critique partners) that you should turn to for feedback whenever possible. You should also listen to the Important Strangers. Who are Important Strangers? They are people with some sense of authority in your area who have a vested interest in making your work better.

So for example, I once had an agent write back on a query letter that she liked my manuscript's concept, but thought I used too much dialogue. Or there was the time one of my professors pointed out that "he shrugged his shoulders" can ALWAYS be shortened to "he shrugged" since no one is going to be confused and think someone is shrugging their eyebrows. This feedback is incredibly valuable, as it comes from a higher vantage point than yours. As such, if anything, it should be taken MORE seriously.

And this is why I had a hard time, initially, putting that bad review down. The feedback I got WAS from an Important Stranger and I was used to listening to them. The contest was anonymous, so there's no reason to think this person hated me or didn't want me to succeed. More likely, they just didn't like my work or think it up to snuff, and felt they should give an honest critique for the sake of the contest. There certainly wasn't anything mean-spirited about the comments.

At first, I tried to reconcile the reviews by thinking, "well, maybe this reader is more deeply bothered by my story's flaws. Maybe if I fixed those flaws, then my work would be ACTUALLY perfect!" So I read over the review carefully. But when I lined it up next to the others, I began to realize a disconcerting pattern.

Reviews 1-3: I loved the opening! So brooding and atmospheric! So evocative! I was right there with your characters! The soldiers and caving-in ceiling gave it immediate tension!

Review 4: Boring opening. A leaky ceiling is not interesting.

Reviews 1-3: The style was so gorgeous. You are clearly a gifted writer. The language was so evocative.

Review 4: I don't think this writer knew what the words they were using meant.

Reviews 1-3: I would definitely read on, though I've got a few concerns that need addressing when you edit this. I hope you get this published! It's going to be great!

Review 4: I would not read on. This is not publishable yet. Needs a lot more work.

Clearly reviewer 4 didn't like my chapter. But often the things they were hitting me the hardest for were the things my other readers loved, like my word choice and my opening. And changing those things in order to satisfy that fourth opinion would have essentially meant making my book something it wasn't ever supposed to be.

I wanted evocative language that built tension slowly. This story was about quiet dread, not flashy explosions, so yes, the leak in the roof came first. And three of my Important Strangers understood that and loved my work for it. One didn't.

At various intervals, I've posted about my experiences disliking books or finding ones I hate so much I don't finish them. Some have been classics, and a small part of my brain might even understand why. But at the same time, I do not get the appeal of The Chocolate War and if it showed up in a contest folder for my review, I would probably give it bad marks. If I didn't know it was a classic, I might assume everyone else was busily giving it bad marks too.

4) In Publishing, Nothing is Sacred. Be Ready to Make Painful Changes... Usually

What I relate this all for is to say very strongly that it is not advisable to change your work substantially until you have MORE THAN ONE opinion on it. Even if that opinion comes from an Important Stranger. Of course, if you do have only one review, but that review resonates with you and you DO want to change it right away, that's another matter. But if their words are coming somewhat as a shock, wait for another opinion.

Again, from personal experience, I can say that if something needs to be fixed, you will get enough feedback from trusted sources to confirm that they are right. Querying my first manuscript, I learned that I needed to rethink the way I balanced scene and description. I needed to be more ruthless when deleting "extra" words. I started the book in the wrong place.

I hated rewriting my first book. But when I finished, I was so glad that I did. While that book still isn't perfect, I could see how much better it had become. But in order to get there, I had to be willing to delete scenes and characters I loved. I had to gut large sections of text. I had to reevaluate praise I got in school, because the publishing world didn't respond the same way as my teachers and classmates. I had to admit that some of the "artistic choices" I'd made were the wrong choices.

When I looked at those first chapter critiques, I knew that I'd made an artistic choice with my manuscript, and that choice had lost me at least one reader. But I also realized that for the sake of the project, it was a reader I could live without.  My reviewer assured me that if they found my book on a library or store shelf, they would not turn the pages past Chapter One. And that's okay. I didn't write it for them.

I didn't think I'd come away from that contest with this kind of story. I hoped for a more traditional happy one. But if nothing else, that critique taught me something I hadn't realized I'd only partially believed - that it was okay to disagree with someone who disliked my work. There are situations where it's appropriate to nod, say "that's your opinion" and then get on with life. At the end of the day, it's not worth writing a book unless you love it. There are far easier ways to make money than publishing fiction.

Oddly enough, that bad review only made me more confident in my love for my story. I could firmly say that there were things I wanted that book to be, no matter what someone else said. And that feels pretty darn good.

Grammar sins: To care or not to care?

Years ago, when American Idol was relevant, several friends of mine asked me if I liked the show. Particularly, they wanted to know if I liked the auditions.

Except by "asked" and "wanted to know," I mean that their inquiries were more confident than either of those phrases would imply. It usually went a like this:

"I bet you love the auditions!"
"Oh, I just know you've gotta love laughing at those poor losers who can't sing!"
"Aren't Simon's criticisms hilarious?"

And the answer to all of those questions was no, no and NO again. The auditions for American Idol made me feel incredibly uncomfortable, but people assumed I enjoyed them. Why? Well, because I sing. I was among the stronger singers in my peer group and there was this unspoken assumption that because of that, I must identify with those who were successful in the auditions and see myself as superior to those who weren't. But this assumption was incredibly far off.

While there were always a few downright awful contestants, a lot of the people getting belittled on the show were simply people who weren't good enough. Under the lens of national television, their deficiencies were amplified. Some of these people (I am guessing) probably could sing okay when they followed along with an accompaniment. Or when they had a friend nearby to help them stay on key.

Or maybe they were singing the wrong genre. Singing is not as much of an "all around" skill as it might seem and some people struggle to find their niche. In my case, my voice and training lend themselves to show tunes. I can assure you that if I ever had auditioned for American Idol (or the Canadian version) I would have been turned away and called either uninteresting or pitchy. I suck at Pop music.

But even if it wasn't the case that I, personally, would not benefit from the praise of the gatekeepers of reality TV, it bugged me on a more fundamental level that society was getting its jollies laughing at people brave enough to fail on the national stage. We live in a culture that loves shaming people for not being good at things, crossing our fingers that there will be an extra measure of pride showcased before they fall. I get why that narrative is appealing. I get why we love to see braggarts put in their place and I am certainly not above delighting in the misfortunes of those that "deserve" them.

But I also think it's extremely dangerous to do this if we want to encourage a boldly creative population. Every time we laughed at an unsuccessful audition we were, in some sense, reassuring ourselves for not taking the same risk. Thank heaven we didn't try! The world could have been laughing at us.

Today, I don't believe myself alone in feeling this way about American Idol. That particular style of shaming has fallen out of vogue. But you want to know what is alive and well? The Grammar Police. And I feel about 95% the same way about them.

As in the American Idol situation, people love to assume I have a vested interest in grammar. And I do. Sort of. I need to know how to use it properly for my job (writing) and by understanding it well, I learn how to effectively subvert the rules.

But I do not give two figs about how you say the word "supposedly." I couldn't care less if you could care less. I have no opinion on the Oxford Comma. And lamentably, if you are among my Grammar Police friends (and I have many of you), I will not be your comrade in snarking about these offenses.

I admit, some of my bile for the Grammar Police is irrational. More often than not, they're an inoffensive bunch. They're that kid who got you to say the word "underwear" just by asking you, "hey, what's under there?" (Additional true statement: The Grammar Police spend their time off the beat in donut shops, speaking in nothing but well-timed puns) But I do worry that the Grammar Police are handing out more tickets than necessary. If we want people's use of the English language to improve, often we need LESS policing. Not more. Or at least... better policing.

Here's the deal: In my view, improper grammar is a lot like sketching in pencil before reaching for a paint brush or pen. You want the lines down there to guide you, but you don't necessarily need them in the exact place. Agonizing over exact line placement in the sketching stage could potentially kill your ability to communicate movement in the figure. It's only when you're putting on permanent details that the lines need to be right.

The same goes for speech and writing. Most things we say casually are not permanent. Speech is an ideal time to experiment with language and listen to your own words. Agonizing over grammar might impede your ability to communicate and might kill the flow of your natural voice. The trick, however, is to be self-aware. If you want to change the way you speak - improve at public speaking,  or learn how to make a room laugh - then you will need to be able to reflect on the results you get from what you say. And that immediate feedback will be the rules and grammar that you personally need to follow.

Even more important, if you are someone seriously considering improving your writing, you need to throw your Grammar Police hat out the window. You will not type fast enough with it on. You will not think fast enough with it on. Drafting is ALL about experimentation. It's about making errors and daring to be bad at something, all in the hopes of getting good at it eventually.

One of the most consistent pieces of writing advice I've received concerns this sketchy, drafting phase. When drafting, forward motion is WAY more important than getting it "right." You will have to edit. Extensively. I promise. But your edits will be less meaningful if you do not have the story on the page. Assuming for the moment you're writing fiction, what if you discover that the scene you're working on needs to be cut from the story? All the fussy editing you did to that scene will vanish. Save that energy for when you've got a basic product to work with. Spotless grammar is only useful to you in a finished product, when the work of substance has long been completed.

And while this might sound extreme, I stand by my belief that using language incorrectly is an essential part of developing a creative sensitivity towards it. Most of the writers I know are NOT grammar police. They're willing to play fast and loose with language. They're the people who do things like this:

Writer: I literally died when Joey came in the room!
Friend: Holy crap, did you really just say that? You are still alive so you don't actually mean "literally."
Writer:............ No, I do mean literally. I died. I went to heaven. They have orange soda there. Then someone gave me CPR and I came back to life. IN THE ROOM. I cam back to life in the room and Joey was STILL THERE!!! AND SINCE HE WAS THERE I LITERALLY DIED AGAIN!!!!! LITERALLY LITERALLY LITERALLY!!!!

(Additional true statement: Writers are obnoxious twerps)

And in a backwards sort of way, this is where the Grammar Police do have their value. Let them correct you. Let them teach you. Then try to think through how they could be wrong. Because you're not actually understanding grammar unless you're able to envision a way in which that person, with all their rules and check boxes, could be flat out, deliciously wrong. So fight back and get creative.

I want to reiterate that I DO see the value in clear, crisp, beautiful grammar in a finished product. I re-edit my blog entries periodically for no reason other than that I want them to look nice. I want them to be precise. When it comes to precise meaning, nothing can beat well used grammar.

If you're getting a tattoo, get your grammar straight. If your grammar is so bad, it legitimately impedes your ability to communicate, then yes, improve your grammar. If you're writing a paper for class, you need an exceptionally good reason for ignoring ANY rule of grammar, which means you will need to know the rules. Don't stress out about your text messages. Come up with your own policy on Facebook posts. Accept that everyone sounds like an idiot occasionally on Twitter. But don't let anyone stop you from communicating or using words that confuse you. Use them. Use them wrong. Replay them in your head. Figure them out. We live in a world where people recognize more words than they ever dare speak. Don't be among the silent. Stick those "word-a-day-calendar" words into your conversations and shrug your shoulders when they don't come out right. Write the word you want to use even if you can't spell it. You will learn. I promise.

One more important thing about grammar: To love grammar is to love a changeable thing, but most people who love grammar do NOT love it's changeability. And this rigidity sometimes does nothing more than stifle the natural progression of language. Take, for instance, the word "they" - a legitimate, gender neutral way of indicating a single individual in a sentence. The need for him/her is behind us. I've checked and re-checked this one because people keep trying to "ding" me on it. Style guides might still tell you to avoid it, but not because it is incorrect. Instead, you're counseled to avoid it because people THINK it is incorrect. And heaven forbid this happen to you:

You: I love the present my Secret Santa gave me! I'm going to give them a hug when I find out their identity.
Grammar Police Co-Worker: You mean you'll hug HIM/HER when you find out HIS/HER identity!!!!
You:......................................... seriously?

I'll admit, this entry has been ranty. If you are a proud member of the Grammar Police, know that I am more than happy to "agree to disagree." You are among those who bring a great skill set and depth of knowledge to discussions around language. Value and love your grammar. But if possible, could we maybe make the discussion about teaching rather than shaming? There are a lot of bright, clever people out there who don't feel that way because they haven't figured out the rules you play by.

This is my feeling: We need more people grappling with semi-colons. We need more people who sing in public. We need more people who mess up dance steps. We need less shame. We need more failure. It's the only way to open the door to success.