Priorities

I find this inspiring.

To think of finding something you love so much when you're that young and to spend the rest of forever doing it. That seems perfectly unattainable to me.

I wrote out a list of my priorities a few days ago. I find it almost embarrassing how clarifying this simple exercise was.

Totally doable, right? Focus. That's all I need.

I believe in myself. I believe in my ability use my time wisely so that I can be happy with what I choose to become.

This is happening.

In the spirit of focusing on my priorities and spending time doing what is important to me, I met dear friend M.C. at OPL for the first night of Orem Writes. It was a fiction panel with Stephen Tuttle, Anita Stansfield, and Dean Hughes. (You can read her account of the evening here.) I wasn't sure I wanted to go to this panel because of the participants. My style and subject matter is vastly different than Mrs. Stansfield's, though I admire both her productivity, her ability to find a unique niche that went perfectly with her writing, and her confidence. While I admire Dean Hughes as a writer, his style and approach to writing seemed to be different than my own. Though the name Stephen Tuttle sounded familiar, I wasn't sure who he was or what he wrote (though after seeing him and hearing him, I swear I know him from somewhere).

Though I wasn't sure about the value of such an evening with these participants, it seemed silly to miss this opportunity when just a few days before I had promised myself that writing was going to be a priority. Also, how similar my writing is to theirs does have any bearing on how much I could learn from them. So off I went to the library with my writing notebook and pen in hand.

It was stupendous. Truly. I'm so glad I went. Here are some of the things that I found particularly inspiring or meaningful:

Inspiration for a story can come from anywhere, including other fiction. It begins with a character or a situation or maybe an event. The story comes as you explore what came before and what comes after.

Mrs. Stansfield related writing a story to an iceberg. As an author, it's important that you know the whole story, that you are aware of the entire iceberg, both the stuff above the water and the stuff below. The reader only needs the tip, but you as the writer must know the rest of it. (That whole tip of the iceberg above water with most of it below seems to make it a great metaphor for a lot of things.) Mr. Tuttle said something similar in that when he writes, he often gets rid of the first few paragraphs or pages, and the last few. It's the middle part that is important for the reader.

To make writing a part of your life, you have to make it a priority. As Mr. Tuttle said, there are always reasons not to write. You need to find your reason for writing and stick to it. Mrs. Stansfield said this may mean that your house is not clean and your floors are not vacuumed, but your writing will get done.

Mr. Hughes decided to write to sell books. Part of him wishes he had the opportunity to do more exploratory writing, writing that he would enjoy but that my not be the type of writing he could making a living from. I still haven't answered the question of what kind of writer I would like to be.

You need to choose who you listen to. Mr. Tuttle talked about the More Dragons, No Dragons dilemma. When you ask others for their opinion, some people will tell you to add more dragons; others will tell you to get rid of them all together. You also need to be open to criticism. Study the criticism, study your writing, and find out what is true for you.

Last night there was a poetry panel. I love poetry though I am a terrible poet. I had intended to go (despite opportunities to do other things last night--good thing I have that handy, dandy card of priorities to keep me focused), but I didn't feel well. I took some drugs and climbed into to bed thinking that if the drugs starting working I could maybe catch the last half or so of the panel.

I didn't wake up until 5:00am. It was super disorienting. My blinds were open and the world was dark and I had no idea why I was in bed in my clothes or what I should be getting ready for.

Is it . . . Tuesday . . . ?

Is it . . . Sunday?

Not my best moment.