Writing a job description for the mature writer

Mature writers can be described and often recognized as those who have gained experience, found ways to reach out to readers, and begun to develop proficiency in their work. They probably have acquired at least a few publishing credits too.

Contrast that portrait with the very first stage of writing when we started to write with little thought of anything else. To be fair, though, in our writing infancy, that’s really all we need to do – just write.

So we write and practice at being grownup writers, and we write some more. We don’t worry too much about the needs and concerns of our potential readers or editors. We just write and hope they will love every jot and dot.

Before we know it, we’ve started toddling along, trying to gain our balance in the big, sometimes overwhelming world of publishing. Then a rejection slip trips us up, or we feel shocked that no one picks us up right away as the next great poet, novelist, or nonfiction sage. Like, who do they think they are?

Most of us whine awhile. Some of us decide to do things ourselves, and some of us keep on trying. Then, with or without an occasional good cry, something starts to happens.

Sometime somewhere for some – no, for most of us – a creative spurt with new growth occurs. Suddenly we start to take ourselves and our work seriously, enthusiastically, even studiously. We start to read as if we have just discovered reading. We start to study works in our genre.

We study journals, magazines, and books to see what we like and why.

We study guidelines produced by publishers we like.

We study markets to see what’s hot or where there’s a gap our writing can fill.

We study terminology, techniques, and tools of our trade.

We study words – how they sound together or how their connotations add layers of interest, mystery, and meaning.

We study our first drafts and read them aloud to hear if anything sounds off in sound or sense, and if so, we fix whatever needs fixing and go on.

We study ourselves to find out what we’re especially interested in writing about and to whom we most want to speak.

We study our potential readers – from the titles and topics that draw them to the ads that intentionally target their specific priorities, interests, and needs.

And we read.

We read books, journals, e-zines, anthologies, and information on a variety of reliable Internet sites.

We read our poems, novels, children’s stories, and how-to books out loud, and we read aloud each revision.

We read the publishing industry by what’s up or down or undecided.

We read editorial responses as personal words of encouragement as evidenced by even the tiniest personal note.

We read our readers, whom we care about and have gotten to know as friends.

We read ourselves, honestly but matter-of-factly, as the writer or poet we are gradually becoming – the mature writer, the mature poet whose maturing work we just love to read.


~~

(c) 2010, Mary Harwell Sayler



~~

Writers and stress

Everyone knows what stress is. Without it, fiction would have no plot. Most of us would be bored, and nothing much would change. Sometimes, though, poets, writers, and other sensitive people perceive stress as, well, a burden.

In the last couple of postings, we discussed (okay, I did) the importance of sitting in a neutral position at your desk but also leaving your computer or dropping your laptop (not too forcefully) and walking away to exercise your muscles and bones, to flex your joints, and to strengthen your whole body. But sometimes that’s still not enough.

At any desk at any age, the body of a writer is more than a machine, more than a computer, more than a body of writing. Separating ourselves from our work can be difficult, but the simple act of doing something different will often bring a new perspective or a burst of creativity.

Without exercising that healthier outlook, stress becomes a culprit, rather than an interesting plot. The body clamps down in a protective mode that can be self-defeating and not at all creative.

So, what’s a body to do? Change intents. For instance, consider:

Stress may be a sign we’ve taken on more than we can handle.

Stress may be a sign we’re working on a project to which we are not drawn.

Stress may be a sign of exerting our own importance into our worries or work.

As a writer and poet, I still get caught up occasionally in productivity and deadlines, not because of the demands of editors or of readers but because I want to share what I have learned. I want to make a difference. I want to inspire readers. Or, to put it another way, I get caught up in my own sense of self-importance.

Poets and writers seem especially hopeful of helping the whole world become its better self. Ironically, though, my outlook and my writing seem to improve dramatically when I become a conduit for words, writing them down, as I am now and seeing where they lead. Because I’m a Christian as well as a poet-writer, I suspect that leading has to do with the power of God, whose importance can not be overstated, but who puts up with me, stress and all, just waiting – waiting for me to take a breath and listen, stress-free, and hear.


~~

(c) 2010, Mary Harwell Sayler, all rights reserved.













~~