Because Gosh Darn It, Writers are Special
By Heather Webb | April 28, 2016 |
Tower Bridge taken by Heather Webb
I’ve just returned from Europe and as usual, enjoyed my time immensely. Each day, I relished mapping out my plan for the day and traveling around the city unencumbered. There’s something energizing about that kind of freedom—choosing where you’d like to go without a computer or responsibilities, the thrill of adventure zipping through your limbs. I noticed the little things: the kooky signage, the way the light hits the landscape at different times of day, the row after row of buildings from another era. I took in the patterns of people to and fro on the trains, popular dishes and beverages, the scent of cool damp and fried fish, the way people behaved in public. “Civilized” came to mind often. I even reveled in the political conversations I had with Europeans who knew more about American politics than most people I know, including those who are well-educated. Many good times.
Amsterdam Canals taken by Heather Webb
My traveling companions weren’t writers. In fact, they’d never met one before. I’m an extrovert so though I absorb silently, the most peculiar and interesting pieces I tend to process out loud with those around me. For fun, for engagement, for their thoughts on the matter. My companions seemed amazed by all I noticed, picked apart, and analyzed. And perhaps a little daunted at the number of books I purchased and pictures I snapped for research. “Wow, I’ve never thought of that,” and “I would have never noticed that,” became common words on their lips. I’d forgotten what it’s like to spend long periods of time with people who either don’t write, or know nothing of writerly habits. Those closest to me have grown used to my musings and dissections, and the constant puzzling. They watch me meticulously pore over one scene, one line. They see the way I delight in, and dig deep, into world-building.
Somehow, amid the demands of family and life, and those that come with working through intensive revisions, I had forgotten just how special it is to be an author.
But my new friends, oddly, renewed my appreciation for the amazing things writers do on a daily basis. The gathering, synthesizing, and problem-solving. Our sensitivity, our passion. The way we become alive with inspiration when the muse sprinkles fairy dust over us. How we celebrate, when things click into place and it all feels like magic.
It’s good to see ourselves through others’ eyes sometimes. It offers much needed perspective, but it can also be a wonderful boost of self-confidence. In such a difficult industry where we must audition over and over again and wait to be accepted and heralded, or rejected and ridiculed, it’s important to recognize how noble our pursuit is, how it sets us apart from others. It’s important to remember the value we bring to the writing world—and others—and the value writing brings us.
Today I am grateful, and will never forget the rewards of being a part of the community of writers who share in my passion. I hope you take a moment to do the same.
Can you think of a moment that reminded you to “stop and smell the roses”, be proud of what you give to your writing, and what you’ve accomplished?
Heather Webb is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of historical fiction. As a freelance editor and an adjunct in a MFA in Creative Writing program, Heather has helped many writers sign with agents and go on to sell at market. When not writing, she feeds her cookbook addiction, geeks out on history and pop culture, and looks for excuses to head to the other side of the world. To date, her books have been translated to seventeen languages.
Heather,
“I’ve just returned from Europe and, as usual, enjoyed my time immensely.”
Europe? As USUAL?? Just kill me now. I’ve been to Mexico. Tijuana, no less.
When I grow up to be a writer, I hope to see Europe. This article was my “stop and smell the roses” moment. Thanks for making me appreciate myself. :D
Because I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.
You’re hilarious, Mike! “As usual” means every time I travel not the millions of times I’ve been to Europe. I wish! If only my budget could cover such expense… But you are extremely special, sir. I don’t know what your category is, but you should consider writing humor! :)
Sure, sure…a likely story. ;)
I just write the world like I see it. There’s humor in everything if you look hard enough…and sometimes it slaps you in the face whether you want it to or not. And, try as I might (although I don’t try too hard), I can’t get away from adding a sprinkling of funnydust to whatever I write — seriously. :D
Interesting article, but you know, that’s Tower Bridge not London Bridge.Maybe you should try noticing the big things as well…
Thank you for catching my typo! Eeek! Fixed.
Seems to me – if I remember correctly – London Bridge was translocated a number of years ago. Was it not to The USA somewhere?
Cursed 5-minute memory… Am I wrong?
Lake Havasu, Arizona. Weird, right?
It was! To Lake Havasu in Arizona. Some rich guy had the entire thing taken apart stone by stone and shipped over to the U.S. Crazy, eh? There are several other buildings like that in the U.S. like the Cloisters Museum from France moved to uptown Manhattan, NYC and also the Boricua Museum in Spanish Harlem was shipped from Spain. Fascinating!
Heather, loved this. You brought back such lovely memories of our 2-yr stay in Belgium. I still remember how great it was to go to England just to hear English! And to browse English books in the bookstore! And I’m not even an Anglophile :)
We writers do train ourselves to record. My daily journal is filled with observations of what might be construed as mundane but I have learned not to despise the little things. Just a couple of days ago, I rescued a baby turtle … I mean, he was a teensy little thing not even filling the palm of my hand (and I have small hands, like those of a 10 or 11-yr old). He had a perfect little shell and the cutest little head. I wondered where his mama was … and my imagination was off and running.
Our imaginations are special entities. And I ADORE Belgium. Where?
We lived in Verviers in the foothills of the Ardennes. I did my post-doc work in Cologne, Germany and my husband worked in the opposite direction in Andenne. It really was a wonderful time except for the commute.
I love this.!
As a crime fiction writer, I see things quite differently too. I’ve learned to keep most of those wild imaginings to myself or share only with those who understand my perverse sense of imagination and humor.
My husband often says, “I don’t want to hear about that!”
My kid on the other hand is twisted like me. When we go places, one of us will say, “I was thinking the same thing!”
Yeah, it doesn’t go over well with strangers when you say, “That would be a great way to kill someone/hide a body.”
HA! Yes! My critique partner writes murder mysteries and she absolutely cracks me up with the things she notices and says about dead bodies. In theory that’s a frightening thought, but as a writer it makes perfect sense.
Thanks for stopping by today!
I’ve been the European traveler, but on the company’s dime. And I had the same habit of noticing things that the locals have long since stopped noticing. And yes, the political discussions are interesting, to say the least.
I am, however, more of an outdoorsman. I actually stop to watch flocks of geese or a deer in a field. In Michigan, this is a daily occurrence and most push all this beauty to the background. Hunting, I’ve found. leads to many “stop and smell the roses” moments. This last weekend during Michigan’s turkey season, I had the pleasure of being visited by a newly hatched snapping turtle. He crawled out from under my chair as my son and I enjoyed the campfire (yes, this is hunting).
After I saved him from his pilgrimage toward warmth–and certain death–I took delight in studying him for a while. The way his eyes didn’t really work in that environment. How he seemed quite happy to rest in my warm palm. In another year, he’d try to take my finger off. But not this day.
I feel sorry for the Normals out there who don’t notice the small things. It’s a good thing they’ve got us to point them out.
Thanks for the post.
“I feel sorry for the Normals out there”–me, too! LOL. And yet, on certain days I wished I were one of them and not this semi-tortured soul yearning to create something meaningful. Thanks for commenting, Ron!
I’m one of those “details first and foremost” writers who sometimes misses the large picture — thank God for all kinds of noticers :)
And thank God for great writing partners to help us see what we’re missing! Thanks for commenting today, Kelly. :)
I LOVE this post Heather. It’s simple, well written, and forces me to appreciate the world I not only create on paper, but the world I’ve created for myself.
Thanks for the important reminder.
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT
Thank you, Denise! I’m so glad it gave you a little boost of light today. Mission accomplished. Thanks for stopping by!
Very excellent post! Just yesterday I was describing my first writing partner/critique buddy to a co-worker, and was surprised by two things. The first, how I described her like I was describing a character in a book, and the second that my writer friend was a very unique character.
Over the last year I took a break from social work, and found that I still was a mental health type of person, I just wasn’t working a job where those particular skills were required. That’s kind of how I see being a writer. The way I look at the world (and, as you pointed out, writers the world round look at the world) includes skills that other people haven’t worked to develop, but they’re a part of us. Writers help remind people of the beauty of everyday, or the strength inside of themselves, or the good that is sometimes hidden in the world, etc… And that’s a wonderful thing. Thank goodness for artists!
So true. We dig for beauty and tap into it, even in the painful moments. And I know what you mean about a social worker’s perspective. I consider writers to be scientists of human behavior in many, many ways. Thanks, Lara!
Fun post, Heather! Based on your pics it looked like a fantastic trip.
I’m guessing I’m a bit odd to my fellow travelers, too. For example, when I’m in a medieval village or a castle, while others are browsing in the shops, or watching the reenactments or demonstrations, I tend to gravitate to the empty spaces. For me, the memorable moments are found away from the crowds, sighting down a 300 y.o. cannon from ancient rock battlements, or walking a worn but empty rock path beside a mountain stream. I want to breathe in the history, feel the ghosts of a place. Sometimes it feels like I can almost put myself back into different moments – with some places, into many different moments.
Luckily, my travel companion enjoys those moments, too. Otherwise I’m sure I’d find myself hopelessly lost more often. Like the time I was in the bowels of the USS Missouri, wandering beyond the tourist guide ropes, and all the lights went out. The last guest ferry had already left, and I had to ride back with the employees after they cleaned up and shut down. (It was worth it.)
Here’s to getting lost in travel, and to making memories. And here’s to the writerly noticing!
Vaughn, I would have freaked out being left on that boat. I’m a tad claustrophobic so lights out and all gone–yikes! I, too, love to find the quiet spaces and envision what had once gone on there. I was very lucky this time in London at the Tower. NO ONE was there. It wasn’t high tourist season and I stood outside when they opened. I literally shared the entire space with about 10 other people for over an hour. It was so quiet, I could hear the birds. It was incredible! Great minds, my friend.
One of the reasons I realized I needed to write was because of the sheer weight of noticing. All those little details of an environment or an experience build up into an immense burden when you realize that you’re not sure if anyone else is noticing and recognizing the wonder of it all.
I think I first noticed that others don’t notice as I notice when driving down the highway with my husband (though perhaps we weren’t married at the time). I’d see hawk after hawk after hawk in the trees, despite their camouflage, and point them out to Zach.
“Where?”
“Right there!”
“Where?”
“How can you not see that?”
From childhood I’d always been attuned to the natural world and there was a deep sadness any time I ran across someone who didn’t seem to care at all, who just didn’t notice how amazing the smallest creatures or patterns could be. As a teen and college student, I reveled in noticing connections and themes that crossed over the boundaries of a syllabus, how this novel and this political document and this carved relief and this battle seemed so inexorably intertwined. Making those connections always helped me retain what I was learning. As an adult approaching mid-life, I notice people’s expressions and little frustrations and sorrows far more than I used to.
All of this, I want to capture. Because what’s special about the writer isn’t just that WE notice, but that when we relay those little details to the reader in our stories, we help THEM notice as well.
Thanks for this post, Heather. :)
…”the sheer weight of noticing.” That’s beautiful, Erin!
So true, Erin. Our job isn’t just about taking in these details, but conveying them in a beautiful, unique way. Thank you for your comment today!
It looks like you had a fantastic trip. I hope you are refreshed after your journey. I wish I could get back to Europe, but for now I have been enjoying my Rick Steves videos.
I actually tend to notice more after I read books with rich details. They make me think back or want to experience things that I have not tried before. I am always seeking inspiration, and making note of things in my journals.
Isn’t that amazing, the way a well-written and lush novel can open your eyes to things around you that you’d normally ignore? This happens to me, too, all the time. Thanks for stopping by, Cindy. :) And I’ve finally caught up on my sleep! Thank you.
Thanks for the reminder that not everyone is wired like a writer. When I get the (alas, frequent) side-eye from non-writing companions it’s my only cue that I’ve somehow deviated from “normal world” to “writer world.” I figure I’m doing a public service by lifting the veil between the two. Writer World is a helluva lot more interesting space, IMO. (Side note: looking forward to your presentation at the WRW meeting in May, Heather!)
I like that–the “writer world”. That’s a place I’d like to live. Looking forward to meeting you, Keely!
Thanks for this post, Heather. This passage, in particular, struck me:
“In such a difficult industry where we must audition over and over again and wait to be accepted and heralded, or rejected and ridiculed, it’s important to recognize how noble our pursuit is, how it sets us apart from others. It’s important to remember the value we bring to the writing world—and others—and the value writing brings us.”
I think it can be very difficult to hold on to that sense of relevance in today’s world of content glut, endless distractions, declining readership–or whatever other issues can trouble sensitive writers (who, of course, notice the not so fabulous as well as the fabulous things in life). I’ve come to realize that most of the time “writer’s block” is, for me, an ongoing struggle to maintain my belief in the significance of the work.
Yes, darn it, we are special! Appreciate the reminder.
That’s an excellent point that I’ve never thought about before, SK. Writer’s block may very well be a symptom of losing confidence in our work. Thanks for mentioning this interesting point for me to ponder. For me, it’s usually about not having researched enough OR the scene lacks tension, but I can’t pinpoint why exactly. But your point may be true for me as well. Food for thought!
I have lived in London. Some of my favorite things were the round blue plaques on buildings describing a famous event or personage once found there. (Penicillin was discovered here? Wow.)
More memorable, though, were people’s ways of doing things. Red tape in banks. Clotted cream on scones. High street high heels. Queueing for buses. The concentration camps around the perimeter of Heathrow Airport. (Did you catch that? Europe isn’t always quaint.)
The details stand out because they’re different. The challenge now is to capture America in the same way, seeing the differences as a visitor would. We miss so much.
Welcome home.
I really enjoy watching the locals. It’s one of my all-time favorite pastimes. And you’re right. How does one watch Americans with a critical eye?
Loved this, Heather! I came over to tell you that we’re “thought twins” but it looks like we have lots of siblings. ;-)
I’m the person who would notice someone sitting surveillance on my street because I have a vague mental catalogue of my neighborhood cars. (Not to mention that a person sitting in a car for hours would ring ALL my internal alarms.) Apparently, this is weird.
I’m definitely insatiably curious and fairly observant and I LOVE to travel. I end up taking just as many pictures of things that strike me as different or funny on our travels–and at home–as I do of the “tourist” stuff (like laundry hung to dry on a semi-truck’s windshield wipers at a rest stop in Italy, or the raised trash bins in Costa Rica) because I don’t want to forget them later.
Part of the beauty of connecting with other writers is realizing there are people who are “weird” just like me, and not just because I tell stories. Thanks!
It’s not weird, Gwen. We ARE twins because when I see an unmarked white van I still think of the Libyans from Back to the Future or Silence of the Lambs and get all paranoid. Active creative minds, I tell you! And yes, we writers are all weird…in a good way.
I’m not an extrovert, so I admire your connection with the people you happened to meet. I enjoy getting a glimpse of the world through others eyes, and getting a glimpse of yourself through their eyes, that had to be very cool. We certainly are wired differently, aren’t we?
This past week I had a book release. My fourth historical novel from WaterBrook (Penguin Random House). More than ever before, the early feedback I’ve had from readers and a few fellow writers has encouraged me to press on and to believe I can do it again. Because I have never yet begun a new novel without the looming sense that I can’t do it, I have no idea how I did before, I will probably never pull it off again. That passes eventually, but it’s nice to have a book releasing while I’m in the muddle of the next one. It’s been the extra push I needed.
Congrats, Lori!
Congrats, Lori! I think most of us feel that way–we can’t believe we’ve managed to finish an actual novel. After so much effort, angst, and time, it’s daunting to decide to travel down this path again, every single time. Yet write on! :)
Loved this post, Heather. Who was it that said the devil is in the details? As a lover of the intrigue of shadows, especially the shades of history, I have to agree.
I suppose that’s why I love old Victorian houses, they flaunt their stories and ghosts unabashedly in these modern times. And don’t get me started on ancient cemeteries…
I’m late to the reading party today, but I want to thank you for setting my writerly compass in the direction of the muse, this afternoon.
I think for writers there’s a synapsis in the brain that connects travel with writing. Whether in a car or plane, on a train or walking through a field, I find myself writing–in my head. So early on I always brought a notebook with me, recorded what I experienced. I still have them and when I read through them the scenery, setting smells and sounds–whether it was a simple drive to Indiana or walking through Paris–come back. So awesome. Thanks for your post.
Cool post. Too often we compare ourselves to other writers and it is fun to get a “non-writer” oohing and aahing over us every now and then!
Just this afternoon, I talked with a friend about taking time to smell the roses. Great post and eye-opening how differently we see the world. Thank you!
Lovely post, Heather Webb.
I never thought of any of this before: the travel, the analytical brain of a writer, the memories that transpose into fiction, the experiences that drive us to write. I thought I was unique with my analytical mind.
And travel! My word, what travel does for us.
I was two years(1954-56) in Baden-Baden, West Germany. Even so soon after the most destructive war in history I fell in love with the country, the people. Met and was befriended by Frau Rommel, widow of the famous Desert Fox and saw things through HER eyes, learned about the personal charm of Hitler and Goebbels, and the crassness of Goering. And the difficulties her husband had experienced at the highest level of command. Learned SHOCKING things – so shocking that to this day I cannot write of the horrors. But I remember. Those mind-bending days have become the foundation of my historical novels.
Analytical mind? It drives me crazy. I cannot enjoy a simple conversation without analysing it from every direction. I cannot drive down the road without analysing the day. I think it IS what makes a writer differ from a non-writer; and why the non-writer doesn’t understand. My friends think I’m nuts.
Heather, I read and “liked” this yesterday — and today I’m back re-reading it again. Something in me needs that extra boost of inspiration, a fellow writer to nudge me and tell me “Yes, writing is a worthy pursuit.” I’ve been a writer for years but have only just begun sharing my writing and telling others that I am indeed a writer. Perhaps they noticed my noticing all along – but oftentimes not. And yes, we spend our whole lives auditioning over and over again (I’m a singer too, so I know this to my core) — constantly mining our treasure trove to find what we have that others don’t in order to do this thing we call writing. But you already know what we have (these were my favorite lines of your piece): “Our sensitivity, our passion. The way we become alive with inspiration when the muse sprinkles fairy dust over us. How we celebrate, when things click into place and it all feels like magic.”
Thanks for sharing. :-)