Writing Dailey

Oh, the things a writer carries. The good and the bad, the successes and the failures, the praise and the rude comments. We carry all of this and more. All that changes is what falls to the bottom or rises to the top from one day to the next.

Back in college, my creative nonfiction class read, dissected, and wrote about The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien’s postmodern novel that blurs the boundaries between truth and fiction, and the concept of what we carry as writers has been poking at my thoughts, causing my experience with this work to resurface some thirteen years later.

Pause.

I’m not saying that only writers and writers alone carry the above-mentioned good and bad, so please don’t adopt an attitude of being unseen by me. We all carry *things* regardless of path, profession, passion, or phase of life we happen to be in. I am merely speaking from my experience as a person and a writer attempting to wade through the ever-changing circles of society in her small pocket of influence in Northern Michigan.

With that disclaimer in place, let’s carry on.

In that higher-level college course, we analyzed O’Brien’s Vietnam-era book and the things his presumably based-on-real-people characters physically, emotionally, intellectually, mentally, spiritually, metaphorically, and literally carried. (I understand some of those terms may be redundant, but you must know by now that I love being wordy in my writing.) We acknowledged all the different kinds of things these men carried—rations, weapons, medicine, mementos of home, memories, guilt, pain, morals, etc.

We were then assigned an essay to talk about the things we carried. I don’t recall much of what I wrote about—I’m sure I have a copy of that essay somewhere because I’m an ephemera packrat—but the one part I’ve never forgotten is sharing that I always carried sunglasses with me. Yes, to protect my eyes from the bright sun while navigating campus, but more specifically, to protect myself from others. Strange, you may think, to regard sunglasses as a form of protection, but I operate with the belief that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I don’t believe everyone deserves access to my soul. Perhaps it was an odd thing for a twenty-one-year-old to “carry”—that metaphorical use of sunglasses—but it was true and fit the assignment.

I think about that a lot—carrying sunglasses so as to always be prepared and able to protect myself. Even today, I have sunglasses with me nine times out of ten, and when I apply this assignment to me, the writer, I find that what I carry now are intangibles of light and dark.

As a lifelong writer who has flitted amongst the prefix adjectives of amateur, aspiring, student, professional, and more, I have recognized the beauty and the hurt embedded in the things I carry.

Embarrassment and uncertainty and being far too hard on myself. A desire for perfection: to write the perfect article, story, character, email, and social media post. The criticism of readers and clients. The default of taking critiques and harsh words personally, as attacks on my skill set, expertise, experience, and professionalism. Assuming edits mean someone doesn’t like what I’ve crafted. Berating myself for missing a comma. Yes, I carry a lot of not-so-great things, but on the other hand, there’s a lot to cherish and celebrate.

In my arsenal, I hold a creative writing degree, publications I’ve written, kind notes from readers telling me how much a story or article meant to them, and strong connections to fellow writers who provide advice and support.

Beyond that, I carry some badass ideas, great character names, killer one-liners, beautiful AF descriptions, fun and engaging alliterations, inspiration from writers who have come before me, sassy quips, humor—on and off the page—and a strong desire to create and improve my craft.

Sharing the good, the bad, and the ugly about the things I carry as a writer and reflecting on my long-past college days also brings up the words of a professor I carry with me most days, especially when I question my being a writer. I had four writing professors who left indelible marks on me—Sean Prentiss, Chris Haven, Caitlin Horrocks, and Benjamin Drevlow—with the latter’s words being those I often reflect on.

“The writing life is not easy by any means, and it can be as emotionally taxing as it can be gratifying, but it is also one of few rewarding pursuits I know that is as much about effort and persistence as it is about god-given talent. As the quote goes, ‘Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow that talent to the dark place where it leads.’

And I mean this in the best possible way. You do have talent as a writer, but possibly more important is that you seem to have a talent for pushing yourself to constantly improve. And to me, that is actually more important to becoming a writer. It’s about constantly writing and reading. I don’t know any real writers who write or read every once in a while. The writers who become successful do it regularly—good or bad. It’s not about writing great every day. It’s about putting words on a page every day. It’s about finding new and better ways to put words on a page every day. It’s about finding as many different avenues to improve every day. Those are the writers who become ‘writers.’ And even then, most of them have to write relentlessly for years before the success happens. And that’s the good news and bad news. You can become a successful writer if you want to, but it’s going to be mentally and emotionally grueling—but it can be very rewarding as a result.

I wish you the best in wherever your endeavors take you, but I hope you keep pursuing your writing wherever you go. I think you’ll find it to be a great anchor in your life if you’re willing to put yourself through it.

With your wit, personality, and work ethic, I’m sure you’ll do well in whatever you pursue, but it would be a shame if you didn’t continue to try your hand at writing at least some genre.”

I carry those words of transparency and encouragement along with everything else.

Writing—like all creative pursuits—is emotionally and mentally taxing, and refining one’s craft and abilities requires effort, persistence, relentless practice, and the will to carry on regardless of the disappointments, rejections, and no matter how many darlings you have to kill (forgive the industry slang, #iykyk). So, my fellow creatives, don’t stop believing in yourself, regardless of what you carry.

I’m not saying that I’ll be able to stop carrying all the bad things, but I know that my backpack overfloweth with the good things I get to carry as a writer, and that’s enough to keep pushing me to continue growing and refining for the years ahead.

To Tim O’Brien, the four writing professors, and those who read my ramblings—thank you—I also carry you with me.

Coming up next:

May — Submitting nonfiction