Things I Forget to Remember: Writing Is an Act of Faith
By Sarah Callender | August 14, 2019 |
I have an idea! Let’s play a game of Word Association. You give me a random word or phrase, and I’ll say the first thing that comes to mind. Ready? Go.
Snail: mobile home
Simone Biles: dynamite
Jumping jacks: I pee my pants just a little
Royalty: Toni Morrison
Chocolate: yes
Red lipstick: Grandma Jackie
Grandma Marge: Coors Light
Armadillo: Steel Magnolias
Work-in-progress: nightmare-bitchslapped-torture-surrender-abandon-despair-HELP!
I know. That’s a long word.
A quick recap: In 2010, I got an agent to represent my first novel. We worked on edits and tidied up the manuscript, but before she took it out on submission (i.e. before she started pitching it to editors) she realized she didn’t want to be an agent anymore. Devastated by her decision, I waited for her to change her mind. That didn’t happen. She left her agency and moved to Texas.
In 2011, I started agent search 2.0 and found fantastic Agent #2. She took Book #1 out to the biggie traditional publishers. Two editors wanted to acquire it, but their editorial teams worried I had written a novel with genre identity issues. The story had a child narrator, but editors worried the plot was too mature for kids and the voice too immature for adults.
Still hopeful, I wrote Book #2 for Middle Grade readers (typically kids age 8-12). Again, we came close to selling the manuscript, but more than one editor expressed concern that “a middle grade book can’t end the way this book ends.”
Well, because writing a different ending would have been like stapling a peacock’s plumage to a sloth’s arse, Book #2 was also relegated to no man’s land.
That was 2013.
My agent offered to take the wrongly-ended manuscript out to mid-size and smaller publishers, but ultimately I decided that first I would write Book #3, really making sure that whatever I wrote would fit neatly into the arbitrary and artificially-processed definition of that genre.
It all sounded so easy. It was such a good plan. Nothing but Hope! (It was 2013. Hope was easier.)
Thus, as Captain of the S.S. Hope, I wrote a version for an adult audience. When that was a bust, I wrote another version with a YA audience in mind. Again, a bust. Merrily, I rowed along, writing a few other partial, not-right drafts for Middle Grade readers. It went on from there: versions with first person narrators, others with third person narrators, another with a creepy adult narrator creepily reflecting on her creepy childhood.
I tried writing from multiple narrators’ perspectives. I tried writing in the voice of an adult male, in the voice of a thirteen-year-old girl, in the voice of a thirteen-year-old boy. I wrote in a box with a fox. In a house with a mouse. On a train in the rain and in the park in the dark.
After more than a few years of prolific word wastage, I started to wonder: Was this book so hard to write because putting together a novel is roughly as easy as stitching two clouds together with needle and thread? Or, was this book so hard to write because the story itself was simply not viable?
I wanted someone to tell me.
Well, it’s now 2019, six years into such silliness, and I still want someone to tell me: Fish or cut bait. Poop or get off the pot. Boogie or leave the dance floor.
I’d really like someone to tell me … and by “someone” I mean somebody who is prescient, smart, and utterly savvy about the publishing industry. This someone must be bigger and stronger than my doubt and insecurity. This someone must see potential in the story and, ideally, laugh at my jokes. I’m thinking this someone is a nice blend of Toni Morrison and Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother.
I have not yet found this someone. I have found no one who can give me a definitive answer to this question: Am I wasting my time with this particular book?
Usually when I’m writing, I hear and trust the still small voice that’s nudging me along. But recently, there’s nothing telling me to have confidence in things unseen. Under those circumstances, it’s hard to maintain my faith.
I remind myself that in other circumstances, when I have felt close to losing my faith in God or humans or my country, I have forced myself to do three things:
- Make sure I have a good community surrounding me, people I can trust to guide me and support me when I feel adrift.
- Remember that faith rises and falls like the tide. My job is to bundle up, stand barefoot on the dry shore, and wait for saltwater to start licking at my toes.
- Ignore the niggling, doubt-making voices in my head. Change the locks on my ears. Rig a security system complete with video cameras and screeching alarms. Remind myself that these voices are the opposite kinds of voices we need in this world. Give them the heave ho, kick them in the natchies, challenge them to a thumb war. And win!
Yeah, but in the case of Book #3, I already had a trusted community, the patience to stand barefoot in cold sand, and the ability to block out the voices. I had those things, yet I still didn’t know whether my faith in Book #3 was misplaced.
That’s the problem with faith. There is no proof. Faith is, by definition, unseeable and unprovable.
But just this week, when I realized I was driving myself bonkers by trying to know what was unknowable, it occurred to me that perhaps I should focus on what I did know.
I gave that a shot, making a list of things I knew to be true:
- I know I love stories.
- I know I love the power of words and language.
- I know I love eavesdropping on strangers, then trying to figure out their stories.
- I know I am still curious about the characters in my work-in-progress.
- I know writing is hard.
- I know I am becoming a better writer every year.
- I know the alternative to writing is not-writing.
- I know I don’t want to not-write.
I looked back over my list, and one statement stood out: I know I am still curious about the characters in my work-in-progress.
And it hit me. If I abandoned the story, I would always wonder what the characters could have been, whether they would have gotten what they wanted, how their plans would have been thwarted or their dreams shattered. Whether they would have recovered.
I didn’t need someone to tell me whether I should keep going. I needed to ask myself whether I was still interested in the story.
Madre de Dios!
I kept on asking questions: If I was the only person on the planet interested in this story, would it still be worth writing? (Yes.) Would I care if I wrote a story with an ending that wasn’t genre-perfect? (Nope.) Would I be alright with self-publishing my novels? (Sure, why not?) If, mid-story, I lose my sense of curiosity and wonder, am I allowed to stop writing this particular story? (Yep. Life is short.)
So there. For now I remain faithful to this moody, still-shapeless work-in-progress. I will trust in the roughhewn characters that can’t be seen by anyone else but somehow manage to pique my curiosity. I will continue to believe in untapped and invisible stories that sit, simmering in the minds of writers, creative wonders who aren’t afraid to faithfully leap, then leap, then leap again.
Your turn! Will you share what you do when you lose your faith in a story? Under what circumstances have you set aside a work-in-progress, and have you ever returned to it? Or, if you want, we can also play Word Association …
Thanks, WU’ers for reading and sharing such rich parts of your lovely, messy journeys.
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
One thing is for sure: You have a story to tell. That is not in doubt. It won’t let you go.
You also have options and questions about the best way to tell it. Who is the right narrator? What is the right tone? What genre is it? Who is the audience? Good questions–and ones without easy, clear cut answers.
Your bouncing between a story for adults or one for kids puts me in mind of Harper Lee. She originally wrote Go Set a Watchman, an adult story of a Southern young woman returning home to face the racism of where she came from. It didn’t work.
A New York editor had the unenviable job of rejecting Lee’s novel. I can easily imagine that editor’s thinking: “Lord, this manuscript is nicely written but so terribly quiet, with a passive protagonist who has nothing special to do except observe. I mean, it’s not bad it’s just not that good. What the f–k am I going to tell this writer? There’s no “fix”. It’s just…dull. Might as well throw her a Hail Mary, suggest she try it a different way, maybe write it for kids?”
We know how that turned out. Harper Lee then wrote To Kill a Mockingbird. My point is that there is no one right way to write a story. There are multiple approaches and the best one is the one that unlocks everything that the writer is aching to say, and does so in the most dramatic fashion.
Is To Kill a Mockingbird a book for kids? It has kid characters, so it ought to be but it’s not written that way. Is it a horror novel about the monster living down the street, and also the greater monster of racism in Mayfield? Well, no. Is it, maybe, a mystery or legal thriller? There’s a hell of a trial in it. Uh no, not exactly.
Harper Lee could easily have driven herself mad with wondering if she had the right tone, genre, POV characters and audience in mind. As far as I know, she didn’t stress about those things. She just wrote the story that was in her heart. She didn’t get it right the first time. Writing from the POV of the child Jean Louise Finch, however, was liberating. The child’s POV somehow gave her license to say the things she couldn’t when writing from the adult young woman’s POV.
So, if your question is are you wasting your time on this novel, my answer is no. There’s a story there. It won’t let you go. My question in return for you is, what approach to telling the story sets you free? What erases your doubts, makes the market go away and simply makes the story the only thing that matters?
What makes it easy? That’s the right way to go.
This is beautiful and so encouraging, Don. Thank you.
I’m so glad you brought up the idea of freedom. Trying to shoehorn my books (and especially this third one) has been the opposite of freeing. There have been many times when I have wished I could churn out a story that would be the poster child of Middle Grade or YA fiction. But if I did (and when I have) it turns out pancake-flat and as lively as a brick.
Thank you, wise and generous fellow, for giving me permission and the encouragement to shove the monkey off my back.
Happy August to you and your family!
Well, Sarah, here’s what I always forget to remember: You make me feel less alone. That sounds simple on its face, but please don’t underestimate the power of it (or your generosity in doing so). I happen to think that it’s WU’s greatest attribute, among so many. And you’re among the best feel-less-alone-providers here, so thanks.
You know, so much of my life has had that “meant-to-be” feeling about it. And for a while now I’ve been inclined (induced?) to abide the possibility that, for the writing thing, there would be no “meant-to-be” type outcome. Boy, does that ever stir up the ole’ faith-muse (turns out she’s a feisty and cantankerous one). The faith-muse’s refusal to abide forced me to examine the possibility that I’m looking at it all wrong. I mean, who am I to say what the meant-to-be outcomes are? Because there have already been outcomes, and I’m quite sure there will be others. Just looks like they won’t be the ones the ole’ ego coveted.
Also, from a fellow tried-it-a-dozen-ways writer, we’ve got a lot going for us. Each of those (so-called) “failed” attempts has taught us something about the story-truth we’re seeking. It’s like a sculptor, chipping away chunks, getting rid of the excess; step-by-step, little-by-little we reveal a truth so pure, so diamond-hard that we will know it to be impervious. (Because, heaven knows, this world will seek to prove it pervious. But we will know otherwise, and will smile as the perviousness tests are pressed upon it, again and again.)
Wishing you enduring faith in impending imperviousness, oh mighty provider of feel-less-aloneness. Chip on!
Pervious. I love that.
And thank you for your generous, thoughtful words. The older I get (and the saggier my neck and my butt become) the more I believe that all of us who have plunked here on the planet at the same time should find ways to muddle through this life together. Together! Wouldn’t that be nice? That’s what WU is for me: compassionate, group muddling.
Thank you for co-muddling. :)
Another fabulous Sarah Callender essay! I would read any book you wrote, not kidding. There’s something about your voice that speaks to me. Especially appreciated the Dr. Seuss inspired touches.
This bit is great advice: “Remember that faith rises and falls like the tide.” I don’t often stumble upon the easy or free way Don describes above until I’ve floundered around for a good long time. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to maintain the faith (which, for me, is really about having creative energy to tap), so I take a break. Lately I have a good friend cheering me on, and that helps immensely.
By the way, I’m writing a middle grade story too. I keep thinking I’m making it too complicated, and yet I know it’s too “young” for young adult.
Oh boy, can I ever relate to the floundering! And, I’m so glad you have a cheerleader. Isn’t that an essential part of this kooky endeavor? (Kooky? Kookie? Kuqui?) It’s a rare gift to find that “person.”
I don’t know about you, but I get irritated with a lot of middle grade because I feel like it can really underestimate a tween’s thoughtfulness, wisdom, and ability to handle real stuff. I loved the novel Counting by 7s so much because it didn’t dumb down the pain and the mess of the protag’s situation. Yes, it’s a fine line–some topics are off limits–but maybe tweens are more sophisticated than many adults think?
How about you and I keep going … I’ll buy your book someday. :)
I haven’t had your problem but can feel your exasperation. You might want to get in touch with Joyce Sweeney. It will cost, but she is great.
Thank you, Irene! Writing a novel really does require a village, no? happy writing to you. :)
Sarah, I too, so so deeply appreciate your generosity in sharing your journey. Like you and Vaughn, I tried spinning my novel this way and that to find the sweet spot. And down the (many) years of spinning and whirling, I had some pretty dark moments. But one thing kept me going. I loved the story and the people in it. Plus the damn thing just wouldn’t let go of me. Don’s comment was right on. Keep going.
Spinning to find the sweet spot. Yes.
Dark times. Yes.
Keep going. Yes (and I am saying that to both you and me).
I love seeing your name pop up in the Comments. You’re fabulous. Here’s to a long era of light times and a total absence of spinning. In fact, I am going to be hopeful and optimistic and throw away my cartons of Dramamine.
Happy writing!
In my head I was giving you an ovation at the end of this essay: go Sarah!! I know you’re still wrestling, but it’s wonderful to see you tap into that creative energy and share it with us. Thank you for that.
What have I done when I’ve lost faith in a story? Well, I put a story on hold/in the drawer last fall. I’m still very curious about the characters and how they evolve, but I’d hit a point of wandering in circles in the forest (picture Pooh and Piglet tracking the Heffalump), and I decided I needed literal and figurative distance. Plus I kept feeling I wanted to start a fresh idea, and I’d been telling myself “not until the other one is sorted out.” I think “until” can sometimes be a very tricky, weaselly word that keeps us from being *here,* in the present.
So I’m working on something new. I reserve the right to go back to those characters and that WIP eventually, and I reserve the right to make that decision *later,* after I’ve gotten this one at least drafted. It may be that when I dig it out again I will find that it needs another overhaul, or I need to salvage the best bits and start over, but I’m not worrying about that right now–which, given my tendency to worry is already a bit of a victory.
Here’s to feeling the tide begin to reach your toes–I’m sending good vibes!
Every word you wrote, Alisha, resonated with me. Your lovely words also remind me how I have have given myself the right to stop reading a novel (someone else’s novel) when it’s just not grabbing me. I used to feel guilt and obligation, but why?
And thanks for giving me (and many others) permission to put the book in a drawer. That’s liberating too. Good for you for giving yourself a break and following the idea that’s currently calling your name. Sometimes a relationship runs its course. Other times, we break up with a partner, only to return. Sometimes, as was the case with me back in 2005, I get dumped, and then the guy who dumped me and I get back together, only to have him dump me again. :)
Happy writing to you. I wish you many, many days of eager writing.
“I know I love stories.
I know I love the power of words and language.
I know writing is hard.
I know I am becoming a better writer every year.
I know the alternative to writing is not-writing.
I know I don’t want to not-write.”
Loved and related to so much of this. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you, sweet Kristan, for your empathy. It’s so good to hear I am not the only one. That’s the beauty of WU, no?
Thank YOU for being here.
:)
Sarah, I just read an article on Steinbeck’s writing of Grapes of Wrath. Here’s what he said after he finished the book: “It isn’t the great book I had hoped it would be. It’s just a run-of-the-mill book.”
Yeah, that bloated, Pulitzer-Prize winning piece of crap. It’s so hard for us (and often for others too) to judge our work, but I’m with Don when he said you have a story to tell, because it’s tugging at your lashes, your ears and your frontal lobes.
As for word association, Sarah Callender: soul sister, phrase maker, teacher, wit witch, novelist, good soul. Go for it.
Tom! Well, thank you. Last night, I moved what was once my top five fave novels of all time onto my list of “meh” novels. Thanks for letting me know. I don’t know what I was thinking.
Seriously, thanks for letting me know! That’s amazing and weirdly heartening. Though it just occurred to me that maybe “run of the mill” had a different definition back then?
Thank you for the words too. Wit witch. As first, I didn’t see the “wit” part, and I thought, “Yep, that’s what my teenagers would say about me this morning.”
Will you be my soul brother?
Done.
Thanks Sarah, you reached me on this one. Don’t forget to remember…
1. You are not alone in your writer’s journey.
2. Your story is why we’re all here. To muddle through together.
3. If you answered the right questions honestly, you know in your heart what to do. Giving up writing is not the answer, unless your passion is knitting. Or making jewelry. Or hanging out at the nearest casino. No – scratch that last one. Costs too much. And writing is free! (I just sent my collection of beads to my cousin)
My best advice: what Don Maas said. He’s got the right questions. Answers may vary.
Note to self (& you): write that story from your heart!
Hi Sarah, I know the feeling too! I started writing my WIP without thinking much about the age of the target audience. I kind of assumed I was writing for adults. But now, in the middle of revision, I am wondering: Will adults like this? Compared with other stories of speculative fiction, is there enough action in it? Is it maybe too “soft” (not that books for children are soft, some are pretty hard, but maybe you know what I mean). But if I am writing a story for children (or teens?), should the protagonist not be younger? My hero is in his beginning twenties, and although it would not be completely impossible to make him younger, I am not sure it would benefit the story. I am still happy with the story as such and my characters feel real for me, but sometimes I feel I am writing not only between genres but also between age boundaries.
Gosh, it’s so hard! And yes, I understood (and have experienced) everything you said. I understand why Big Publishing need to know a novel fits tidily into a particular genre; it also infuriates me. While the idea of self publishing has never appealed to me (not because of the platform but because I the bizness side of writing is not my forte) but it’s becoming more and more attractive to me.
Let’s both keep going, J. I will if you will!
:)
Not going on is definitely not an option! I cannot let my protagonist down, he deserves living in a proper story! :-) And I will try to throw the story into the world, promise! – Same here about self-publishing: I am not crazy about doing all the business things myself … so I will try traditional publishing first. We will see. I am writing in German (my mother tongue), so the publishing business might be a bit different here than in the US (although everything in Europe gets more and more Americanised by the minute). – But I keep telling myself my commitment is to the story. Where it leads I will follow. – Good luck to you! I would love to read your stories on whatever platform they will be available! And whatever age label is attached – a good story will always be a good story, no matter the label!
Your sense of humor made me laugh and hearing your writing journey has bolstered me even more to persevere. Thanks so much and here’s to stories that won’t fit in a box or retire away to unknown parts. :D
Oh, Lara. Thank you. I sheepishly write these self-absorbed posts (because I prefer to leave the heavy duty craft posts to people who know what they are talking about). In doing so … what I receive in return is invaluable empathy. It’s incredibly selfish of me.
Thank you for being here and for taking the time to comment.
Let’s toast to persistent stories!
:)
Sarah,
One thing you said jumped out at me. When I think novel, from now on I’ll automatically think, “Stitching two clouds together with needle and thread.”
I need that Fairy Godmother too. When you find her, please pass my email along.
As for the second wind in your post, which carried me as a reader today out of those familiar doldrums of despair you outline and I know all to well—what a marching call.
A common misconception I’m learning to overcome is what I like to call “last draft syndrome” and it goes like this: it takes so much energy to write a draft, we sometimes think when we get to the end of each one that *this is it*. Phew, wow I did it.
If only. There’s a story germ to be nurtured in every story. Every seed planted in the garden has the potential to grow fully, bearing fruit. Not all do, at least not every season. Putting a story aside for a time, after a given draft, is smart, because that story is gone but not forgotten. I like to think of it like bottling wine. Some wine is best after it’s been sitting for 50 years, some just a few, but you learn as you refine the art.
So instead of this last draft syndrome that often has us itching for the next agent or book deal, I think as writers we’re wisest to connect to next draft excitement. Deeper on an older story, or new soil on a new story, new water for the soul, maturation of the vintage for later drafts bottled with wisdom.
Agents saying yes, and editors saying yes, and, most importantly, readers saying yes yes yes—those are accomplishments. Much as we wish, short of telepathic powers, we can’t tell our audience we clap. We can only work on the next act, and keep coming back on stage, driven by love for what we do. And never give up.
Thank you, John. This is such a great reminder. And, I loved the idea of a story “germ.” Sometimes it feels like a story is germinating … in a lovely way. Other times? It feels like the nasty kind that should be killed by hand-washing and antibiotics.
And I owe you an email! Thanks for your patience.
:)
Wow! I didn’t want to post, because all the other posters were so eloquent in what they said, but I just had to say, ditto to Vaugh Roycroft when he said, “Well, Sarah, here’s what I always forget to remember: You make me feel less alone. That sounds simple on it’s face, but please don’t underestimate the power of it (or your generosity in doing so).”
I couldn’t agree more. I have been trying to wrestle my WIP to the ground for more years than I’d like to admit, and though it is the single most satisfying venture in my life, it can feel lonely and sad at times. It was wonderful to read that you have experienced something similar. Thanks for your humility, humor and light. You are a beacon for fellow writers who have temporarily lost their way.
That’s funny to be called a beacon (and very generous) because that’s exactly what you all are to me. Thank goodness for WU, right? And let’s both put on our singlets and keep wrestling with our stories. Full nelson!
Thank you, Sheree, for being here.
I knew this post in my email was another delightful Sarah Callender work of art by the second paragraph! You have such a wonderful recognizable style, Sarah, and if that comes through in your books there is no reason to put them in the top drawer. They are YOU. And last time I checked, there is only ONE of you. Do what you need to do to get Sarah out in the world. We’re right behind you.
Lorraine! You are such a gift. Thank you for the encouragement. I wish YOU an August full of being you.
Happy writing, and thank you for your lovely words.
:)
Dear Sarah. Every time I read one of your posts I feel like a friend has reached out to me. Your authentic voice, humor and vulnerability welcomes me in. Your journey (all that I know) speaks of truth. I know each day unfolds in its own way and we can keep going with our hands open or give up with our hands tight fisted. I have been working on a memoir and just started one chapter in a novel idea. I can only imagine the discouragement Keep the faith sister!
Is there any chance you’ll be at the I conference? I’d love to meet you.
Becky