Call me 'cute'

Today I was listening to Life Matters on Radio National, in which comedian Dylan Moran was being interviewed and talking of life’s four stages: Child, Failure, Old and Dead. I understood the humour in that, but it got me wondering about where I'd sit on the continuum. I often still feel like a child and a failure (like most people who have lived long enough to screw up a few things), but I suspect that given my adult children have started referring to me as ‘cute’, I’m somewhere between the Old and Dead stages. It means I’ve hit that age threshold where keeping connected with the modern world are seen as me making an effort as the world moves away from me. Aww. Isn't she cute? 

Sometimes in your 20s and early 30s, middle-age and beyond looks to be so far away, that those in the younger age group are unable to conceive of what life is like so much further down the road. In fairness, what do they have to compare it to? Certainly not the depth of experience, the mistakes and the learning. Often there is an assumption that older people do the same thing every day. That they are not open to change, and yes, occasionally they try new things, which makes them, well—‘cute’. It’s hard for them to imagine that people continue to have dreams and aspirations and desires until the day they die. Sometimes these are silenced by other demands and by the perceptions and disinterest of others about how those in middle age and beyond should, or do, behave.

Coincidentally, the day before listening to the program, I had read an article in Overland Literary Journal, about emerging writers and questioning why it was usually young people who were entitled to emerge. As a more mature writer, and one not having had the opportunity in my younger years to follow this path, I do feel occasionally that I’m struggling with the perceptions of what I would bring given that I’m ‘emerging’ at a later stage. But it’s not stopping me. I will keep doing the work and finding new ways to improve myself. 

So, yes, I will remain ‘cute’ and possibly expand my cuteness. I’ve already warned my children that if I am hit by the proverbial bus, there is to be no reporting that the grandmother of *insert number at the time* was collected by the 903 to Mordialloc. No, no. They are to ensure that it adds—social worker, corporate trailblazer, writer, author, artist, teacher, mentor and a PhD candidate—to the descriptions of wife, mother and grandmother. While I love what those parts of my life give me, I was a whole lot of other things—ME—before them and I don’t want them forgotten because I'm ‘cute’. Some of my accomplishments started and carried through from my youth and others I have come to in later years. I have not stopped. Yes, I've been slowed down by heart surgery and chronic pain, but so what? The space between Old and Dead is full of possibility and vibrant, not just with desires and dreams, but with action and accomplishment.

In the interview, Moran said, 'People sort of look at older people and go, "Oh, they just wake up at the same time every day and they eat a cheese sandwich at lunch and they walk the dog." But it’s not like that. People are quieter about their inner life, but it’s still happening.'

He absolutely right and I'm not going to be quiet about it anymore. 

Image via The Nth Degree 

It’s not easy being green

Kermit the frog sang It’s Not That Easy Being Green with typical Muppet wisdom. In the song, he laments feeling too blended in and not sparkly enough. When you see other writers pass you by in the publishing world, you can identify with Kermit’s sense of ordinariness. We writers can be green too, not that we want to own up to envy and jealously. I suspect some writers have these feelings in spades. It’s hard seeing other writers being published and gaining recognition, while you’ve been slaving away on your work with hardly a nibble of interest. You want what someone else has and feel it rightly full was yours: the agent, the publishing deal, the place on a panel at a literary festival. It’s easy to slip into the sort of covetous thinking that does you no service.

The creative industries can be a tough place to make a reasonable living. Sure there are the lucky few bestselling authors, who seem to have come by it all with ease. Yet, I suspect for them, their ‘luck’ came about when they had done the work needed, when they had broken though their personal barriers of self-doubt, and harnessed their persistence and resilience, and just kept going, believing in what they had to offer, until finally they found themselves in the right place at the right time. Not seeing that background, it’s easy to think it’s always going to happen to around you rather than to you.

Some of my immediate writer group of writer friends are doing great things; being published, building a profile, being acknowledged. It would be easy to get sucked into feeling miserable that it will never happen to you. Instead, it’s useful to look at what they are doing, measuring up the effort they put into their projects, and being honest as to whether you do the same. The other traits these writers have in common, is that they are extraordinarily generous both in sharing knowledge with, and in being supportive of, other writers. They don’t have the mentality of scarcity like some writers, who choose to believe that there is a limited amount (of interest, publishing opportunities, readers) to go around. One of biggest barrier is a lack of confidence. When that escalates (as invariably it does from time-to-time) you're almost ready to bin your laptop and empty your fountain pen. Listening to writers who are open to all the lessons the industry affords, is one way to get your thinking back on track and enjoy the success of others. One day they will be enjoying yours.  

It’s not always easy to maintain this attitude but it’s worth the effort. It gives you a greater chance of ending up in the published basket. Meanwhile, if it all gets too much and you still need to be a little bit green, you can sit with Kermit and soak up Clive James’s wonderful poem The Book of My Enemy Has Been Remaindered.  Read it. You will be glad. 

Pardon my big but

All creative artists have to deal with rejection. It’s the reality of being in a competitive field where technology and globalisation are changing the game. When your work is out there waiting to find its home, and it comes back with a ‘thanks, but no thanks’, the first reaction is that it’s a rejection of you. They don't like me! ‘They’ don't even know you. What they have said ‘No’ to is a particular piece of work at a particular point in time. Does this mean the work is terrible? Possibly, but you submitted the piece when it was a good as you could get it, didn't you? Let’s assume you took care of all the basics (worked on the piece to perfection, formatted it to industry standard, complied with all submission guidelines). Once that's out of the way, there are lots of reasons that your work is pushed back. The response may be because they have just published a similar piece, maybe they have too many pieces in that genre. Sometimes, it’s about right time, right place. Unfortunately, even when you understand the logic of it, the emotion remains. Disappointment is not something you ever get used to. That's okay. You wouldn’t have an artist’s sensibilities if it didn’t sting a little. You are allowed to feel a tad sorry for yourself, but not for long.  

One of the things we tell writing students is this: persistent will win out over talent in the long run. We see many talented budding writers who give up when success doesn’t come as fast as they want. There are others whose talent may not be as great, but who dedicate themselves to improving their craft and muster the courage to send their work out, repeatedly, despite the many ‘thanks, but…’ responses they receive. 

In my early days, I received a piece of great advice from an established writer when I chewed her ear about my growing pile of rejections and feeling like a failure. She said, “Lucia, just do the work.” It’s as simple as that. Focus on doing your best writing, give it wings and let it go out in the world. Accept that not everything you write will be published. Let it come back to you with its lessons. Whatever it teaches you will help you build your ‘overnight success’—the background preparation that no one sees before it all starts to fall into place. 

You have to believe in your work before anyone else can. That might sound trite, but the truth is that the basis of believing in yourself involves exactly what my writer friend said: continuing to do the work, honing it, giving it opportunities to be accepted and not investing in rejections; in fact, despite them, trying again. Yes, you’ll bomb out, possibly many times—many ultimately successful writers have—don’t let that stop you. Every piece you write has its home, be it published and on a bookshelf or in your bottom drawer. So next time someone gives you a great big ‘but’, get off yours and have another go. No buts about it.