Heartbeats
By Anna Elliott | September 6, 2018 |
photo by Vincent Lock
I’m at the stage where I don’t really look any different. I feel different. (Oh, belieeeeeve me, I feel different, i.e. starting to feel better but still pretty much at least slightly queasy all. the. time.) I’m also at the stage (early second trimester) where I’m past the ‘holding my breath’ mentality and moving into the ‘cautious exhale’. But it’s still too soon to be feeling any of those reassuring kicks or flutters, and it’s easy to catch myself looking down at my not-yet-all-that-different stomach and thinking, Are you still there?
When that happens, I reach for my phone and play a recording I took during my last appointment with my midwife: a hummingbird-rapid but steady thump thump thump that’s– incredibly– the heartbeat of our fourth baby. I don’t usually go for book/baby or writing/pregnancy comparisons, because although everyone is different, the way I love my books and the way I love my babies = not at all the same thing. Also, I would approximately one million times rather write a book than go through all day “morning” sickness. (Although like I say, baby #4, so clearly I’m either a slow learner or insane). However in this case, I’m going to break my own rule, because listening to that little reassuring thump thump thump on my phone, it’s occurred to me that sometimes we need that kind of reassurance during the writing process, too.
I’m also in the early stages of writing a new book, the potential start to a new series. 20,000 words in, I’ve got a good start made, one I’m happy with and having fun with daily. It’s a solid enough beginning that I’m feeling pretty confident that this book isn’t just a will ‘o’ the whisp idea that’s going to die on the vine. But it’s also a bit of a crazy idea, one I’m not entirely sure it makes sense for me to be writing right now, at this point in my career. I absolutely loved Therese’s post this week, That Time Jane Friedman’s Advice Saved My Novel, because I’ve been there, too, one hundred percent. The publishing world is so changeable and uncertain. Actually, the ultimate outcome of pregnancy, though not guaranteed, is pretty much far more assured than the outcome of writing a novel. It’s so easy to give in to the moments of doubt, but so important, I’ve found, to instead tune into that beating heart of your book in progress: that tiny spark of life that made you fall in love with the idea in the first place, the certainty deep down inside you that this is a story you just have got to tell.
And if that’s true for each individual novel, I think it’s even more true for your writing career as a whole. I recently saw a question that someone had written in to another author’s blog: “I desperately want to be a writer. I attended a book signing and I could picture myself doing it, like it could be me. What does it take to make it?”
I have to confess that initially on reading this, my eyes wanted to roll up far enough to enable a view of my own hair growing. But, really, I can’t and shouldn’t judge, because I’m not so sure that the pre-published aspiring-author me would have thought so much differently. Of course I would have said I wanted book signings with hundreds of eager fans, bestseller list placement, etc. Probably most aspiring authors do. But what I very quickly found out, even before I was lucky enough to land my first contract, was that that can’t be your why for writing. Instead of picturing yourself at book signings, you have to picture yourself alone at your keyboard, hour after hour, learning and re-learning and refining your craft, striving to make each story, each chapter, each individual sentence the best it can be. If that vision doesn’t make you happy, if that’s not something that you want desperately . . . well, then, I’m not sure I could honestly advise you to consider writing as a career.
I’m incredibly lucky, because that vision (and the corresponding reality that I’m fortunate enough to call my career as an author) does make me happy– incredibly so. I’m grateful for every sale of one of my books, every good review or piece of fan mail. But, really, the beating heart of why I write is all about just me and the words, the characters in my head and the stories I tell. In his post yesterday, Donald Maass expressed that feeling of being lost in your own story world with so much beauty and eloquence– literally, I got chills reading– and if you haven’t read that post, stop immediately and go read it now because it is the best remedy to any kind of writer’s block or other discouragement I’ve ever read. But sitting alone with my laptop, writing and re-writing until I’ve got a story, a chapter, or a single sentence just the way I want it to be . . . plenty of other things in my life make me happy, of course, but that’s my job, my why for writing, and I couldn’t love it more.
What about you? What are the “heartbeats” that you tune in to, either in your individual writing projects or your writing life overall?
Anna Elliott is an author of historical fiction and fantasy. Her first series, the Twilight of Avalon trilogy, is a retelling of the Trystan and Isolde legend. She wrote her second series, the Pride and Prejudice Chronicles, chiefly to satisfy her own curiosity about what might have happened to Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Darcy, and all the other wonderful cast of characters after the official end of Jane Austen’s classic work. She enjoys stories about strong women, and loves exploring the multitude of ways women can find their unique strengths. Anna lives in the Washington DC area with her husband and three children.
Congratulations on Baby#4 and your new writing project, Anna. Your essay dovetails perfectly with what Don said about loving the writing. Knowing why I write–giving a voice to those who don’t have one–is at the heart of it. Blessing upon blessings to you.
Thank you so much!
I’ve never birthed a child, only stories, but I still loved this post. And since I’m just starting a fresh one this week, the timing was perfect. Each stage of writing a novel is so different, it’s easy to forget how fragile this early stage feels; we don’t yet know where we’re going, so all we can do is trust that heartbeat and keep going. Thanks for writing this!
You’re so welcome! Glad if anything I said helped you tune in and trust in that little heartbeat!
I’m happy to hear about Baby #4! Best wishes to you and your family, Anna.
“It’s so easy to give in to the moments of doubt, but so important, I’ve found, to instead tune into that beating heart of your book in progress: that tiny spark of life that made you fall in love with the idea in the first place, the certainty deep down inside you that this is a story you just have got to tell.”
Words to live by. I am going to pin your quote in my writing journal so that I don’t forget this basic truth (as I so often do).
As it chances, I too am about 20,000 words into a new book in a new series. I think this might be the point at which we begin to hear the voice of the novel whispering, “Yes, this is the story.”
So happy if my post resonated and was helpful! Yes, 20,000 words really does often feel like the turning point for me when the curtain fully lifts and the whole of the story-world is revealed.
Reading your lovely essay reminded me of the old Chevy Chase movie Funny Farm. I haven’t seen it in years, but there’s a scene where Chevy’s character, after moving to a bucolic farmhouse to write the “Great American Novel,” sits down at the typewriter beside his new upstairs office window – the image of himself he’s obviously longed to make a reality – aaaaand… He’s got nuthin’.
It’s funny because so many of us can identify, me included. But I’m lucky. Because, even though I identify with Chevy’s character’s plight, I came to this in more of a backward way. At first I longed to be working with my hands, making furniture in my own shop, all alone with custom tools and the smell of wood, sprinkled in sawdust. And with no employees! (That part was always central to my idealized, post-corporate-workplace life.)
I did move to the bucolic countryside, and become a carpenter. But my attempts at furniture-making showed me that I’d either be paying myself, like, a buck an hour, or my furniture would be ridiculously expensive and unsaleable. So I swiftly ended up as a remodeling contractor. Which often led to additional “handyman” jobs. Which led to Saturday evening calls from customers in crises (such as: “Can you come and fix our toilet? We’ve got company!”).
In other words, I’d found my Funny Farm reality sandwich. But in the meantime, an older longing tugged at me, via the sort of story ideas you perfectly describe as: “…that tiny spark of life that made you fall in love with the idea in the first place, the certainty deep down inside you that this is a story you just have got to tell.”
Even after facing my reality sandwich, I actually do sit at an upstairs office window, at a keyboard, with a bucolic view and a steaming cup of coffee. But the best part? I got sumpthin’ (as opposed to Chevy’s ‘I got nuthin’). The idea that tugged at me brung me to this dance. See? I’m lucky.
Wonderful post in a wonderful week of them, Anna! Wishing you the best with #4, and a lifetime of lucky happiness with your growing family.
Thank you so much, Vaughn! Yes, I think most of us have the same journey of facing the reality sandwich as well as the dream– sometimes at the same time!– but that feeling of knowing that you truly do have “sumpthin” is what makes it all worthwhile!
Anna, many blessing with the new baby!! Honestly, the heartbeat that keep me writing are the very human ones all around me. The ones closest to me for whom I’d like to leave a legacy, and the heartbeats-at-large who might resonate with the things I feel compelled to say. You never know who you’re going to touch by your actions (well, sometimes you get that gift!) but I love what Steven Pressfield says (he quotes Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita but I’ll paraphrase), that doing the work for the love of the work is the way to go. Your post is a life-affirming follow-up to Don’s.
Yes, Susan, love everything that you say so much! I love the writing, but it’s also my love letter to the world.
Hi Anna,
I truly enjoyed your letter. Heartbeats. My two “boys” are grown-ups now, but they still make my heart skip a beat when I think about them. And I remember their births as if it was yesterday. Because it was.
Gretchen Ruben says, “The days are long but the years are short.” Indeed.
You helped me out of my slump. I know what I am supposed to do. Write. I just needed a K.I.T.A. Thanks.
“You done good.” HAHA
Aw, thank you! Yes, babies don’t keep, as they say. And I think sometimes we all need a little kick in the right direction. :-)
Best wishes for you, the little one to come, and your whole family. Babies restore our faith in humanity.
My heartbeats are the individual scenes, as completed and celebrated. Each one is a short story, complete from beginning to end (with much left implied, to the reader’s imagination, or to the building overall arc of the novel), and each is as reassuring as a finished step along the path must be.
There are many other steps to each finished scene, but, until it comes together in that final version, it is only a promise.
Thank you! And that’s a lovely way of mapping the purpose behind each individual scene in a story!
Thanks for this! Every time I think I should walk away from my WIP because–squirrel!–there’s so much other stuff to get done, I eventually remember that I really like the story. I just don’t feel capable of doing it justice. I’m gonna finish it anyway. Someday.
If it’s your story, you ARE capable of doing it justice– in fact, you’re the only one who can! Write on to the finish line, you can do it!
Congratulations on the anticipation of the new member of your family. As one who raised a large family, there is great joy in numbers.
I agree with you that we who write must find, if not always joy, then contentment and happiness in the writing process. It can’t be a daily grind, or we should stop and reduce our level of stress.
On the other hand, I do believe that visualizing positive, successful outcomes is a healthy mental exercise. I once had an agent advise me to make an opening in the row of books on a shelf in my bookcase and imagine my first book being there. It is that kind of mental exercise that is helpful in the face of all the challenges and frustrations of the business side of this writing game. And that can be the “why” of writing in a sense.
I love that visualization! I am a big believer in manifesting our own success each day– that’s how I start out each workday, with a list of affirmations about achieving my goals.