Note: This was posted at The Rabbit Room recently. So, you may have seen it there. Do not read it twice. It’s like seeing yourself in time-travel. –sam

Last night I wrote a fable. It’s fabulous. And by that I mean it’s a fable.

With me?

Words really mean things. I want to be some one whose appreciation of this fact fuels more intentional investigation on word origins.

I only have one book on my shelf that I can think of right now about word origins in English. That book is pretty amazing (now I’m thinking of what amazing history the word “amazing” might have), but I ought to have more. I almost have aught.

I remember hearing Ken Myers talking to some fellow about how he was grading a student paper where it was said that a boat had “arrived half-way across the ocean.” The fellow was objecting to this use because the word “arrive” has in it the notion of coming ashore. So one cannot arrive half-way. It means to get there. Specifically to “come to shore.”

So, at Hutchmoot (the Rabbit Room conference) this idea of the power and origin in the original power of words arrived on the sandy beach of my mind. Courtesy of Walter Wangerin, Jr.

Walt (I call him Walt, because I was close enough to yank his pony tail –but I didn’t, amazingly) was amazing. <—– I haven’t looked that up yet.

I felt a thousand things as he spoke, which I feel incapable of putting into adequate words. I feel like a clever monkey trying to explain to Beethoven (who is deaf and dead) the joys of flinging poo. I felt validated, inspired, full, hopeful, peaceful, joyful and the list goes on and on like a long, long list.

But here is one thing. Walt knows words.

He inhabits language like the oldest local. He speaks as one with authority, as if in his naming the thing may finally –again– be itself. It was not that words were used by him, or that he was commanding with them. I can aspire to that. It was more.

He cooperated with words. Co-operated. He and the words were on the same side. He has arrived on their side after a long, literate life’s journey.

His relation of the history of schap (forever on the chalkboard of my mind) was a significant life event for me. Because, in so many words, he told me who I am.

I am a schap. A shaper. This is how he talked about storytellers.

And words are the tools of my trade. I will use them, care for them, add more to my bag and hope that one day I will do more than use them. I will inhabit them. Know them like an intimate friend. Partner with them. Conjure up with them a vision for those without eyes to see. And tell stories.

Like Walt.

Or, it’s more about connection than it is about self-expression. And, of course, it depends on what we’re after. If we want people (who are not our mothers) to read us, then we need connection way more than self-expression.

I’ve never read Yancey, but I like this video (below). Especially at about the 23:20 point where he expresses how difficult writing is. As Pete Peterson said on the Story panel at Hutchmoot: “Many people say, ‘I write because I can’t not write.’ I don’t get that. I can easily not write. That’s the easiest thing in the world to not do.”

Well, he said something like that and he took the words right out of my mouth, so I’m putting them back in just as I like.

It’s easy not to write. It’s painful. On the self-same panel, Jonathan Rogers explained that when it’s easy it’s not usually worthwhile.

“I’ve written books that didn’t hurt, and to tell you the truth, they’re not all that good.” Jonathan Rogers

Well, this might have been easy to write.

OK kids, back to Yancey.

At one point he advises writers, “Don’t do it alone,” and goes on to say that there are many creative people, but:

“…they’re all into self-expression…but you don’t make a living in self expression, you make a living by connecting with people who want to pay money…to say ‘this is worth my time.’”

Good point, Phillip Yancey. Good point.

Also, you have an amazing ‘fro.

I have shared this vidya content before, but thought it might be good to do again. I thought those thoughts with the thoughts in my mind.

Writers are a pretty pathetic bunch. Especially, perhaps, those of us who want to have a book published, but haven’t yet. We have these odd tensions that are unresolved, like so many guitar strings tuned to the point of snapping. I don’t know if this ever changes, but one thing we writers do is try to convince ourselves that it’s everyone’s fault but our own when we fail. The excuses erupt.

It’s the state of publishing, the “ecomony,” lazy agents, the stupidity of book-buyers (Twilight, Left Behind, choose your hated success story), etc. –whatever makes us feel like it’s not us. It couldn’t possibly be that I stink.

Sit near struggling writers and you will smell the distinct odor of burned martyr. The unvalidated genius at the stake. “It was too good for them!” he cries against the flames.

Of course, sometimes it’s true. I think I know of some cases, myself. (I mean, people really do buy teen-angst, vampire books like crazy.)

I don’t have much to say about this pathetic streak in us, just wanted to let you know that it’s normal if you know some one struggling with P.W.S. (Pathetic Writer Syndrome). So, hug your writer friends and tell them, “There, there…poor baby,” in a gentle way.

As for us, the writers? At best it’s an annoying thing we need to get over. At worst it reveals an idol in our lives that we need to let go of/destroy. Because rejection by a publisher (or agent) is not our personal hell and publication/success is not our personal savior. If we are thinking of this situation in a religious, all-consuming way…maybe it’s a worship issue. We are made to be worshipers. Ourselves, ensconced on a throne built of literary success, makes for a lousy idol.

Here’s a cartoon from Rachel Gardner’s blog. It’s a self-deluded writer’s perspective on things.

Though some of this “Bewail the state of things!” is grounded in truth (and seems to be, perhaps, increasingly true), I still think that if our work is good enough it can and will be published (perhaps by a small press –that option is increasingly attractive in many ways). But things do have to line up for us and we have to work really hard. And that’s not even factoring in the sovereign hand of the God who does things for his own glory and our good, including sometimes allowing (or even causing) us to fail.

Like most things in life, this isn’t easy. Whoever said it was easy is lying, or selling something.

At least that’s what it looks like from here. But what do I know? I’m not a success story.

Yet. But it’s legitimately not my fault. It’s, um….it’s…

“Inspiration usually comes during work, rather than before it.”

Madeleine L’Engle

HT: Jeffrey Overstreet, amazing novelist

This is basically my “life verse” right now as a writer. -sam

“The most valid form of censorship is that practiced by writers upon themselves. Scrupulously revising or destroying all writing that fails to let readers vanish into the life of their language is every author’s duty. What we are morally obligated to censor from our work…is our own incompetence.…”

David James Duncan

HT: Abraham Piper

“In a very real sense not one of us is qualified, but it seems that God continually chooses the most unqualified to do his work, to bear his glory. If we are qualified, we tend to think that we have done the job ourselves. if we are forced to accept our evident lack of qualification, then there’s no danger that we will confuse God’s work with our own, or God’s glory with our own.

“It is interesting to note how many artists have had physical problems to overcome, deformities, lameness, terrible loneliness. Could Beethoven have written that glorious paean of praise in the Ninth Symphony if he had not to endure the dark closing in of deafness? As I look through his work chronologically, there’s no denying that it deepens and strengthens along with the deafness.

“Could Milton have seen all that he sees in Paradise Lost if he had not been blind? It is chastening to realize that those who have no physical flaw, who move through life in step with their peers, who are bright and beautiful, seldom become artists. The unending paradox is that we do learn through pain.

“My mother’s long life had more than its fair share of pain and tragedy. One time, after something difficult had happened, one of her childhood friends came to give comfort and help. Instead of which, she burst into tears and sobbed out, ‘I envy you! I envy you! You’ve had a terrible life, but you’ve lived!’

“I look back at my mother’s life and I see suffering deepening and strengthening it. In some people I have also seen it destroy. Pain is not always creative; received wrongly, it can lead to alcoholism and madness and suicide. Nevertheless, without it we do not grow.”

Madeleine L’Engle

HT: Ron Block

“Don’t do anything else until you’ve written five hundred words.”

Daniel Pink

Seven more Rules for Writing from Mr. Pink (if that’s his real name) here.

HT: Andrew “Red” Mackay

Some helpful tips on writing from Doug Wilson. To read the (very brief) details go here.

1. Know something about the world, and by this I mean the world outside of books.

2. Read. Read constantly. Read the kind of stuff you wish you could write.

3. Read mechanical helps. By this I mean dictionaries, etymological histories, books of anecdotes, dictionaries of foreign phrases, books of quotations, books on how to write dialog, and so on.

4. Stretch before your routines. If you want to write short stories, try to write Italian sonnets. If you want to write a novel, write a few essays.

5. Be at peace with being lousy for a while. Chesterton once said that anything worth doing was worth doing badly. He was right. Only an insufferable egoist expects to be brilliant first time out. (Emphasis mine -sds.)

6. Learn other languages, preferably languages that are upstream from ours. This would include Greek, Latin, and Anglo-Saxon.

7. Keep a commonplace book. Write down any notable phrases that occur to you, or that you have come across.

I just grabbed the beginning of each. The whole thing (which, as I said, is brief)  is useful.

My advice to add: Turn off the internet.

If you are a writer and/or a lover of clever humor and you are on the world-wide Twitter then…

You should be following The Novel Doctor. Here —> https://twitter.com/noveldoctor

He has excellent advice for writers and potentially death-inducingly funny tweets. He also has a blog that is [positive adjective]. His last post was a collection of some of his tweets. Worth a read if you like to chuckle forth.

He also offers editorial services and I have thought very seriously about going in for that.

There are trazillions of “Writer Advice” websites, and most really stink or are boring (like I know what is good, I’m so successful). The Novel Doctor has a good bedside manner. His laughter is like unto good medicine. Check him out.

Any “Writer Advice” websites you guys like?

Ira Glass of This American Life has some fascinating thoughts on the building blocks of good storytelling. I found this very helpful, and inspiring. His remarks on failure are particularly useful (in parts 1 and 3), whatever kind of work you’re doing.

Here’s parts 2, 3 and 4.

HT: Brannon McAllister