Giving Up and Giving In
By Kathryn Magendie | January 14, 2017 |
Flickr Creative Commons: Shira Gal
Please join us in welcoming our newest contributor, Kathryn Magendie, to Writer Unboxed! Kathryn is an Amazon Kindle Bestselling Author of five novels and a novella, as well as short stories, essays, and poetry —Tender Graces was an Amazon Kindle Number 1 bestseller. She’s a freelance editor of many wonderful author’s books and stories, a sometimes personal trainer, amateur/hobby photographer, and former Publishing Editor of The Rose & Thorn Journal (an online literary journal published with Publishing Editor Poet/Songwriter Angie Ledbetter). Magendie’s stories, essays, poetry, and photography have been published in print and online publications. You can follow her on Facebook and on Twitter, and learn more about her by visiting her website. Welcome, Kathryn!
The Law in The Land of Writers: “Real writers” never ever give up or give in. Writers (always no matter what) write, right?
Well, unless we don’t wanna.
Writers are an often discombobulated bunch and just as with any society we must have laws to keep us from running amok. If someone breaks the “writers write” law, then what? Will the entire system shut down? Will our society crash and burn to leave charred ruins that future generations dig up and place in museums, marked: “Writer. Extinct.” And there we are, frozen in time, hands petrified over our keyboards, vacant-eyed, hollow-boned.
I broke the writers always write law for over two years. The writing-life-is-killing-me feeling was insidious, a creeping up of discontent and dissatisfaction, and exhaustion. I chucked everything author/writing-related. I turned my back so fast and so hard I spun a hole to the depths below Writer Land.
And all the way down I screamed, “You’re dead to me, Writing! Dead to me!” And I became a—gasp—Regular Citizen of the Regular World, with a whole new dirt hole dwelling.
Writing searched me out, but I only heard its faint call—I shoved more dirt in my ears to drown out the whispers.
There comes a time in a writer’s life when it all is just too much. The writing life feels bastardized. The Iconic Writers of the past have done it, said it, written it, and what’s left for us? And while there may be a few modern-day writers who become icons for about a day or three, most of us swim in a vast ocean pushing wave upon wave upon wave onto a shore that accepts the wave and then immediately rejects it.
The pressure to write a great book, one that will be loved and make lots of money and win awards and allow us to be the darlings of the literary community as well as to be popular to the masses at large, creates a constant striving, constant hope, constant “failure” compared to these ethereal happy-go-lucky authors we think exist.
I became an expatriate. One who dirtied her authorial robes. You know what dirt tastes like? Dirt. There’s no good metaphor to hide behind. It’s simple and organic and somehow comforting. And it’s really quiet! You can hear the sound of your own voice—the one you forgot about? You know, that one?
When you hide away from your writer’s society after you dig your dirty hole, magical things may happen. Consider that you not only hear the voice you forgot about, but you recognize that you have nothing left to lose—you’re hiding in a hole, for goodness sakes! You are a law-breaking non-writing writer! You’ve lost income, your identity, your citizenship.
Everyone has moved forward to fame and fortune and success, while you munch dirt.
And one fine morning you finally recognize that it is you who created a weird society where laws restrain you. Then, there you are, the wiggly dirtied creature, rising up out of the primordial muck, blinking away at the bright wonder of the calling voice you once heard so clearly.
And you listen. And you hear. And you consider how: you aren’t on the New York Times best-seller list; have no viral book that people are snapping up so fast the head spins; no call from Hollywood for your book’s movie rights; no Oprah’s book club; no perfect-storm novel that soars above all others and makes you an icon of the ages. It is just you and the writing and the remembered joy of your fingers flying across the keyboard as you create words and worlds.
Like it used to be, back before you placed so many conditions on your writing that all you could see were conditions rising up and blocking out reason, and joy.
The society of writers opens its arms to you and you cautiously but unapologetically step back into its embrace. Did you think they would throw stones at you? Nope. They do not. Will not.
I didn’t die from not writing; you won’t either. I didn’t cut off my right arm; you won’t either. I didn’t lose my mind (well, maybe a little); you won’t either (except a little). No one called me a loser dirt-mouthed non-writing has-been; you won’t be called those things either—and if someone does hurt you? You’ll find an open community of writers who will rally around you, heal you from the hurt, and give you renewed strength.
And guess what else? Your reader believes in you even when you no longer believe in yourself. They’ll rally around you, too.
If you declare, “You’re dead to me, Writing!” So what? You’ll be fine. Your voice will return once you spit out the dirt you’ve been feeding on.
You owe nothing to anyone and no one owes you a thing. Writing is yours to give freely, or to take away freely. You will survive, and maybe thrive.
I believe that sometimes we have to shut it down, hibernate, and then come out hungry.
Allow yourself to grieve any lost dreams. Then say: “So what? This is my reality. Dirt tastes like dirt.”
You aren’t a New York Times best-seller. So what? Your royalties aren’t what you envisioned. So what? You haven’t won an award you desired. So what? You don’t feel like writing for a day/week/month/2 years. So what? Your last book didn’t live up to expectations. So what?
Hole feels safe? So what? Either you will come out or you will not—taste the comforting organic freedom from conditions. Maybe you were meant for something else and your new journey is only a sideways dig ahead.
Writing will wait for you. Writing will always love you. Writing will always be a part of you. If you want it, writing will provide the words and the love of the craft again.
Never ever give up? Well, I say, yes, sometimes do give up. And after you give up, see how it feels. Find out in the giving up if you do indeed really want this life.
Author, Content Editor at Edge of Arlington, and along with Angie Ledbetter, former Publishing Editor of The Rose & Thorn online journal.
Her short stories, essays, poetry, and photography have been published in print and online publications. Her novels are available in print and ebook. TENDER GRACES, Magendie’s first novel, was an Amazon Kindle Number 1 best-seller.
She lives in the Smoky Mountains in a little log home in the Cove at Killian Knob in Maggie Valley, Western North Carolina with her wonky-toothed little dog named Bear. Trees surround her. The mountains hug around her. Critters love her. Crows follow her around the Cove. Bears stare at her through her window. One day she’ll finish another novel.
Some or all of this is true.
Hurrah, Kat is here! And she’s back to the writing world. This is great news.
Sometimes I don’t know quite how I do it, and perhaps it will become more difficult as the years pass, but I’m somehow able to separate the writing itself and the rest of it. It usually takes a while for each project, but once I’m immersed, and the words are flowing, I don’t think much about how those flowing words will apply to the world at large. It’s just for me, and perhaps my ideal reader (or an imagined version thereof). It’s only when I emerge blinking (as you did from the non-writing hole) that I wonder and fret. But that’s when I need my writing tribe most.
And so, as far as quitting goes, I’m sort of the opposite. I have often felt like quitting, but the thing that keeps me from doing it? My community. This community. It’s probably partly because I’ve never had pub success, so never any real pressure. But these people I’ve met, and who have embraced me (including you, Kat), are one of the best parts of my writing journey. Which is the best part of my life. So yeah, you’re all pretty much stuck with me.
Here’s to finding the passion that grabs ahold, and really doesn’t ever let go. Great to have you here, my friend!
And you are one of my favorite people, and writers, Vaughn! So I’m glad you aren’t quitting!
I will say – the 2 years left my head filled up with cray-cray that must be released with my writing *laugh*
Thank you, Kat. Your writing is eloquent and beautiful as always. You’ve put your finger on the pulse of what it is to struggle with art and the business of it.
Glad you’ve joined the blog. ❤
Smiling warmly at you . . . .
I’m not feeling a desire to quit (right now), but this is wise and beautiful and I will tuck it away for that time in the future.
Never give up when the fires are alight!
“You owe nothing to anyone and no one owes you a thing. Writing is yours to give freely, or to take away freely. You will survive, and maybe thrive.”
This.
Welcome to WU and thank you for your wise words. So much resonates because I did quit … the academic scientific life to raise my children. And recovered this childhood dream of writing. I’ve been at this for 15 yrs now and it’s like coming home.
It is like coming home! That warm and welcome embrace of home and comfort and familiarity.
Kathryn Magendie:
I love the photo of the worn-out keyboard topping your essay. How did you come up with your dug-into-dirt-in-a-hole description for your two years of distancing yourself from writing? I’ve never totally distanced myself from it. I taught myself to use Twitter in January 2012 at age 69. Its 140 character limit has taught me how to tighten my writing.
thanks. I needed this.
Smiling . . . .
Yaaaay! Welcome, Kat! As you know, I’ve always loved your FB and blog posts, and I have to say that *this* post really spoke to me. I’ve been in the land of too-much-work and too-much-kid-stuff and too-much-health stuff and I’ve been wondering if the writing life is really, truly, actually for me.
But it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do—since before I could write. Your post has inspired me to keep on, to dig in. To keep on.
Thanks, my friend!
It can make us stronger writers, because leaving it teaches us how much we simply can’t do without it!
Beautiful. Eloquent. The pathos of a poet.
I especially understand the part of lying fallow. It’s true. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, sometimes we just need to roll around in the mud and look up at the stars.
Without the mud, we can’t grow the seed.
Welcome home.
It does give new perspective. Clears the way for something more . . . .
Thanks for the beautiful words and the insight. This came at the right time for me.
And that makes me glad . . . .
Wonderful post, Kathryn.
One might take the stance of surrender as negative, but I agree with you, there is only positive to be gained by listening to your heart and head, no matter the situation. Writing is a passion, pure and simple. It either feeds the well or it doesn’t.
Kudos to you, for acting on instinct, digging within, and finding your true voice.
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT (Gift of Travel)
Yes! For I didn’t see it as “giving up” in the sense of failure, but in the sense of exploration!
I spent so many years living the lives of my characters, I forgot to live my own!
There are countless writing articles that say “don’t give up!” so it’s refreshing to hear your advice that writers CAN give up, and still have something to come back to if they choose.
I always say that’s we can do what we damn well please! Right? RIGHT!
WHUPOW and AWOOOOO!
Wonderful read! I’ve felt the same way about my photography as you have about writing…that’s why I escaped into writing! Now that my novel is to a state where the momentum will carry me through I find myself vaguely wandering back to images. Taking away the pressure to be something to ourselves and others is one of the most rewarding trips we can go on. I’m glad you ‘came back’ too!
I stepped away from my ametuer photography hobby for a long while too – after my beloved Nikon landed in a Louisiana Bayou. Lawd.
But I notice my photography itch is coming back, too.
It’s all connected, isn’t it?
Write on, bestie, and welcome back to the land of the living! It’s good to eat a little dirt every now and then. Love this: “I believe that sometimes we have to shut it down, hibernate, and then come out hungry.” AaawwwWWoooOoooo!
Waiting for your book of poetry! Can’t wait!
Welcome to WU, Kat! You are a great addition to our roster of writers. I’ve been following your saga over the past couple of years and it has resonated with me. There have been times in recent years when I’ve felt overwhelmed by what life has thrown at me and I’ve toyed with the idea of giving up writing. What I’ve found is that writing sustains me; it’s part of my identity, even when I’m struggling with it. I’m glad you’re back writing again. I’m a big fan and I can’t wait to read your next book.
The lost identity feeling was apparent with me so I do get that – smiling
Kathryn,
Thank you for this authentic post. It was a breath of fresh air. Sometimes, circumstance (life) take us away from the keyboard. Our voice fades to but a whisper, but if we lean in rather than resist, we learn a new truth and find our voice again. @sheilamgood at Cow Pasture Chronicles
Leaning in – I like that!
Never before has a WU post made me want to grab a shovel and start digging a hole in my back yard. THANK YOU, Kat, for this reminder about being still, letting go, and regenerating. I needed this, and I’m so glad you’re now a part of the WU team. Welcome!
I’m very honored – thank you,
I love this post. Thanks for your honesty and your sharing. All via the written word you’re returning to : )
Smiling – thank you!
Helpful. Lately I’ve been wondering what’s the point?
I had to find my “point” again – and I remembered when I wrote my first novel, what became Tender Graces, and how it was just some “thing” I was doing because I felt compelled to – and how I didn’t even think of myself as an author or writer at all – I was just some woman writing stuff down. So that’s what I’m going to be: just some woman writing stuff down and see what happens from there.
“…you placed so many conditions on your writing that all you could see were conditions rising up and blocking out reason and joy…”
A sobering reminder—life is hard.
And the writer’s life, even harder?
When you pen profound beauty and pain, despair and agony, joy and wonderment—expecting an ovation and is met with silence.
Or with accolades.
Then you ponder, you pause—you look inward.
Often a sabbatical leads to healing—after bringing perspective.
Thank you for the honest sharing, Kathryn!
Life can kick us in the gut pretty hard sometimes, can’t it? And that can affect our writing. But, when we finally rise up out of the dirt and look around, we find all those crappy experiences can give us new perspective with which to write!
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it *laughing*
Welcome back! I’ve always found Maggie Valley to be a place of healing and quiet to refill my soul.
It is my sanctuary – I can’t imagine being anywhere else but in these mountains.
Given your firecracker-hot writing, I’m surprised–or maybe I shouldn’t be–that for a time you burned out on writing. Welcome back and welcome here.
Maybe there was a sign, though, that you’d recover and return to the real world of the unreal: Dark black coffee runs through your veins. Big clue. My kind of person. Can’t wait for your next post.
There is that old saying, isn’t there? That what flames bright burns out quickly? Although, there’s always that smoldering burn that “never” goes away – like old tires – laugh!
Drinking a big old cup now – *sip*
I know the feeling(s) well, which makes this wonderful piece of yours all the more reassuring. Sometimes there’s no separating the act of writing (which genuinely sustains me) and the process of submission/rejection/submission/rejection, (which can get demoralizing). It’s true, retreat almost always brings a kind of renewal. I love the way you put it: ‘shut it down, hibernate, come back hungry.’
What other job has such weird “benefits” and pay promise? Can you imagine taking a job where they say:
“The pay is – well, we don’t really know! You may be paid and you may not. You may work for weeks, months, -years even! Haha! – and never be paid! Etc etc etc.”
Been in the dirt myself. Still in the dirt, but writing again. Writing in the dirt is actually kind of fun.
Love this, Kat. ❤️ Happy you are happy back in your cove.
I’m happy, too – it’s a little terrifying how much I love my alone-ness. I’m going to be one of those old mountain women, settin’ on the po’ch chasing off strangers “GIT OFF’N MY PROP’TY!”
Lawd.
Thank you, Kat. Perfect for me today.
You are welcome *smiling*