When You’re the Passive Protagonist of Your Own Writing Life
By Kathleen McCleary | October 13, 2021 |
A while back I wrote three novels in eight years, all of them published to some recognition—one was an IndieNext pick, one was a Target Emerging Author pick, one was a finalist for a literary award…you get the idea. Since then, I’ve written many other things (poems, essays, magazine and newspaper articles), but I haven’t written a novel.
I have wrestled with this—why have I started and stopped two novels? Why don’t I have that thing, that idea/passion/story I have to tell? For a long time, I thought it was because I wasn’t devoting enough time and energy to my writing, or because I wasn’t working hard enough on my craft through taking classes and reading books and going on retreats, or because I simply lacked the creativity to fuel another novel. And then a few weeks ago, a close friend commented, “You stopped writing novels when your mother moved to town.”
This stopped me cold. And I realized that just as the protagonists in our fiction are “active” or “passive” (as Donald Maass and Kelsey Allagood have discussed brilliantly in recent WU columns), so are writers. Sometimes we drive our futures forward, writing the stories we want and need to tell and tackling obstacles with courage and hard, hard work. But other times we’re the victim of circumstances, trying to pursue our visions and write our stories but caught up in the reality of mortgages, marriages, ailing parents, young children, health set-backs, and, once a century or so, global pandemics.
My mother, who died last December, was a smart, thoughtful, caring woman with an unforgettable laugh and a great sense of humor. She was the most well-read person I’ve ever known. She taught me to read when I was four, from an old McGuffy’s reader. I attribute my own love of reading and words, my appreciation for nature and for art and a million other things, to her influence. She fully supported my writing, was proud of me, and loved my work. It would have appalled and upset her to think I had stopped writing fiction because I was caring for her.
Caring for my mother for ten years was hard, but it wasn’t all-consuming. In the decade she lived here I also kept up a steady freelance writing and teaching career and did many other things. I can’t claim I didn’t have the time to write, or that I lacked the financial resources to spend time writing. But what I didn’t have was the emotional energy to write, the sense of agency and purpose that had propelled me through those first three novels.
As Donald Maass put it, “Passive protagonists aren’t stuck in suffering. They move forward, seeking.” If you’ve become a passive protagonist in your own writing life, how do you move forward?
You wait. Waiting—resting, pausing, taking a time-out—is undervalued in our culture, and is particularly undervalued in writing culture. We are the ones who get up early to write before work, who write in mini-vans in parking lots at our children’s soccer practices, who write on trains during commutes, who write on vacation, who forget to eat because we’re writing. If inspiration is flowing through you and your brain is on fire, write away. But if it’s not, if you’re stalled or exhausted, it’s okay to simply rest and wait and (this is important) be okay with resting and waiting.
You indulge your muse in whatever form it takes. In the ten years since my mother moved to town, I’ve taken art classes and learned to paint with pastels, and taken several online poetry-writing courses and written dozens and dozens of poems. I’ve done this because I feel like doing it and it makes me happy. If your fiction isn’t flowing, try writing haiku or learning to tango or bake a coconut cake. Creativity comes in many shapes and sizes, and they’re all opportunities for the creative force within you to express itself out in the world.
You journal. Let me say upfront I hate journaling. I feel no need to document my thoughts and feelings and activities because my brain overthinks all those things as it is. But this last year I started doing “morning pages” per Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, and it’s been great. For me, the key thing is that I don’t ever have to look at what I’ve written—indeed, she suggests NOT rereading what you’ve written. So my subconscious gets to run a little wild and it is freeing.
You immerse yourself in art. Go hear live music. Listen to music while you cook dinner. Read a poem a day. Watch a movie. Go to an art museum, or a fantastic garden, or a fashion show. Read about a mind-blowing scientific breakthrough. Surround yourself with creativity. It will seep through your pores. It will whisper to the slumbering creative force within you. It will keep you whole.
Have you ever been the “passive protagonist” in your writing life? Why? How did you handle it? How do you feel about it now?
[coffee]
Kathleen McCleary is the author of three novels—House and Home, A Simple Thing, and Leaving Haven—and has worked as a bookseller, bartender, and barista (all great jobs for gathering material for fiction). A Simple Thing (HarperCollins 2012) was nominated for the Library of Virginia Literary Awards. She was a journalist for many years before turning to fiction, and her work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, Good Housekeeping, Ladies Home Journal, and USA Weekend, as well as HGTV.com, where she was a regular columnist. She taught writing as an adjunct professor at American University in Washington, D.C., and teaches creative writing to kids ages 8-18 as an instructor with Writopia Labs, a non-profit. She also offers college essay coaching (https://thenobleapp.com), because she believes that life is stressful enough and telling stories of any kind should be exciting and fun. When she’s not writing or coaching writing, she looks for any excuse to get out into the woods or mountains or onto a lake. She lives in northern Virginia with her husband and two daughters and Jinx the cat.
I love this, Kathleen. I think so often we don’t give ourselves permission for necessary rest–worse, that we may judge ourselves harshly for it, feel inadequate as creators. Filling the well is essential for having something to draw from it, and life comes before art–in fact there’s no art without all those life experiences and people who affect us. It can’t exist in a vacuum. I love your loving, accepting attitude toward this, and yourself–and that you let yourself indulge your creative impulses in other ways.
I also love how the community of WU keeps engendering more and more interesting conversation about the topics we discuss in here.
I’m so sorry about your mother. She sounds exceptional, and what a blessing you were able to spend so much time together.
Thank you, Tiffany. One of my favorite things about the WU community is how it keeps me constantly engaged, challenged, intrigued, and connected to so many talented, interesting people. I was indeed lucky to have so many year with my mom. Thanks for your comment.
You’re spot-on! These are my sentiments exactly! Of late, I’ve had a tendency to ask myself “What’s wrong with me?”, as if I’m not a fully-developed writer/artist/human being if I’m not churning out great works (or any work) the way I did with my recent novel. That is what I call “should-shaming”. And, the crazy thing is, it’s not like I’m not letting my creative juices flow in other ways, it’s just that I’m setting unfair and unrealistic expectations for myself. When I feel like painting, I just put my brush to the canvas and go with it, not necessarily with any inspiration or direction. Morning pages, journaling, typing a page full of blah-blah…whatever! Not every writing endeavor has to lead to my next novel. Even responding to this post felt good :)
I love this, Eileen! Yes, exactly, many of us are far too accomplished at “should-shaming” and not accomplished enough at “let it be.” It can take as much dedicated intention, focus, and practice to be comfortable with resting, waiting, and letting go as it can to dig in. I so appreciate your comment,
All this is encouraging and relevant in a timely way for me, Kathleen. Thanks so much.
You’re welcome, Thomas. I’m glad it resonated for you.
Hi Kathleen–Coincidentally, I just saw a social media post from a writer friend who said something along the lines of, “I tried to take some time off, but couldn’t, so I’m back at it again.” It’s funny, while I admire this person, and I’m happy they seem to have a handle on “knowing thy self,” the post sort of made me sad.
I have SO much work to do. I’ve got copy edits to get through for one book, a second to get ready for line editing, and a third that’s yielding notes from betas. Still, my wife and I just got back from a week at a favorite retreat in Northern Michigan. We walked the beaches, hiked a changing forest, took a ski chairlift to the top of a mountain–sans snow–just for the view, sat outside at a local distillery for some live music, read and napped at will. Zero news, almost no TV. We saw a fox eating a beached salmon and had an eagle soar over our heads at about 30′.
Throughout the week, I remained aware of the work waiting for me on my desk. Granted, I have no deadlines, but I never once felt guilty or stressed. Quite the contrary. I knew I was refueling, felt a certain spirit filling me. I thought deeply about the work, and feel like I’ve gained some new perspective that I think might improve it thematically. Feels like time well spent.
I don’t believe we writers need to actually write every day. But I’m positive we serve the work when we *live* every day.
Excellent take on an ongoing topic here on WU. And great life advice, to boot! It’s lovely hearing a bit more about your mom. Sorry for your loss. Keep her in your heart. Having her there is a part of living every day, after all.
I’m a native Michigander and know well the beauty and solace of northern Michigan. I love hearing about your retreat, Vaughn, and love even more that you were able to give yourself and your wife the gift of that retreat in the midst of such a busy time in your work life. Refueling is a key part of the work, too. And I’m grateful for your comments on my mom. I miss her every day.
Wonderful post, Kathleen, and one I needed today.
You’re so right that when we take a break, we need to allow for it without guilt, otherwise it’s not really a break. How can you relax when you feel an anvil over your head?
I’d also love for “emotional energy” to gain a healthy level of respect–not just societally but within myself. I wonder if art and journaling are especially suited to filling those tanks?
Thanks, Therese. I’m grateful you have given me the opportunity to connect with so many thoughtful people here on WU!
So marvelous, I’d like to hope I could have guessed it was you just from that elegant touch on the ball you always seem to show.
I never thought about this, which should come as no surprise. And there are certainly steps here I could never adopt. Just one example, I re-read everything I’ve ever written, both before and after sending. An ultimate egotistical proof, I’m sure. But I agree with you about journaling and can’t believe you persevered with it despite that.
I do run out of gas on creativity easily and I think you’ve hit on it. Of course, it doesn’t take nearly as much distraction as caring for an older parent for me. I go into a funk when my team loses… I think part of becoming active again is the need for thicker skin or just a little fortitude. A lot to think about- dang you lit-fic authors, you do that to me every time.
Will, you juggle so many balls in the air at the same time that I don’t know how you do it. We all need to become more adept at being comfortable with the ebb and flow of our creative selves.
Oh Kathleen, I’m reminded of a quote by Katherine Paterson:
‘As I look back on what I have written, I can see that the very persons who have taken away my time are those who have given me something to say.”
I’m so glad you had ten years with your mom before she died. I’m so sorry–you must miss her a lot. It’s always the little things, too. Sending you virtual hugs and real prayers across the miles. I was also a reluctant “morning pages” writer but I love how much it has helped me both in writing and life. Creative expression takes so many forms as you point out. We are blessed to be able to strive to make our very lives a work of art. God bless.
That Paterson quote is electrifying. Thanks for posing, Vijaya.
THAT quote is terrific, Vijaya. Thank you so much for sharing it. What a healthy way to think about the inevitable frustrations and losses that affect all of us. Thanks, too, for your kind words about my mom, and the virtual hugs and prayers. I’ll take all of it.
What a terrific post. I really liked this bit of advice: Surround yourself with creativity. It will seep through your pores. It will whisper to the slumbering creative force within you. It will keep you whole.
That is exactly how I feel when I go to art exhibitions or live theatre. I can feel the electricity in the room that is certainly creativity floating on the atoms.
Hi, Maryann. Thanks for your comment. I know exactly what you mean about feeling that creative electricity in the presence of great art. I’m glad the column meant something to you.
Love hearing your story, Kathleen. You shared so much. In the years I lived in Iowa, I wrote three novels, all unpublished. I did try, I did query. Then my mother died and we moved to California. Writing never leaves me, but I know I was so busy enjoying life that I often didn’t write. Then through a small press I published a collection of stories. It felt great and I wanted more. I rewrote, and started querying my first novel. I had nibbles, but lost them all. Sometimes it’s hard to keep going–but the good news is that I will never stop. It’s a major goal now, one that keeps me working and writing. As always, I so appreciate your posts.
Hey, Beth. It’s always great to hear from you. I love hearing about your journey, too. I’m glad you were busy enjoying life in California–did you feel like your mother’s death affected your desire/ability to write? It’s a different journey for all of us. Hope you are doing well.
Kathleen, my mom was the wellspring of all of my writing interests; her death last year left a hollow place, of a piece with so many of the dull echoes of the pandemic and political blitzkrieg.
I’ve been mostly a writing zombie for a while, but I know I’ll get back to the work (after I’ve eaten enough brains).
Thanks for a thoughtful piece.
Mmmmmn. Brains.
Hi, Tom. I teach English to immigrants in my spare time, and after my mother died one of my students wrote to me in her imperfect English: “Dearest Kathleen, I accompany you in your loss.” I think it’s pretty much the most perfect thing anyone has said to me about grieving. I accompany you in the loss of your mother, and hope your creative muse begins to sing again soon.
Hi, Tom. I teach English to immigrants in my spare time, and after my mother died one of my students wrote to me in her imperfect English: “Dearest Kathleen, I accompany you in your loss.” I think it’s pretty much the most perfect thing anyone has said to me about grieving. I accompany you in the loss of your mother, and hope your creative muse begins to sing again soon.
Kathleen, this is exactly what’s going on for me at present, but for once, I am being gentle with myself. I spent all of yesterday and this morning creating and framing a collage of photos, and the process made me giddy in the same way composing a well-written scene has done in the past. Meanwhile, stories keep flitting through my mind, being refined a little more each time they brush past. I can feel myself gearing up to write again–the longing deepening–and that feels delicious too. How much healthier to spend fallow time in anticipation rather than self-flagellation…
Fabulous article, Kathleen. I get it on EVERY level. Thank you.
I loved this article, Kathleen!! It really spoke to me! The publishing world has thrown much good stuff at me but a lot of hurtful things too and I really heard your words particularly about losing “the sense of agency and purpose,” and the loss of “the emotional energy to write.” I have printed it out to read and thank you so much!
I think this explains me, life happens.
Thank you – I really needed to read this right now. I’ve spent most of the time since about 3 months before COVID, NOT writing.
I blogged and journaled, but didn’t make any progress on my book. There were reasons (life reasons), from a too-present husband underfoot, to multiple family trips for sick kin, to personal health challenges.
This spring, we began looking for a house closer to family – and, that process sucked up nearly all of my energy and time.
So, yes, I will think of this time as a ‘resting’ period. When I am ready, I will once again head back into the game.