Category Archives: The Writing Life

A guest post by Dylan Blacquiere

When I was younger, I dreamed of being a professional author. I dreamed, like many I knew, of seeing my name on placards in the book store announcing my latest signing, of getting invitations to the book talk programs on public radio, of being the next Robertson Davies or Mordecai Richler. An Important Author. The thought comforted me through some difficult times, and for a great part of my life, I thought of my studies and my career as the prelude to my Great Discovery. And I did write; I won some writing contests and managed to enter, and complete, the three-Day Novel Contest twice. A good start.

But there came a time when day-to-day life intruded, as it always does, and writing became just one of the many things that I needed to accomplish in any given day. My wife, who has similar aspirations of making a career as a writer, dealt with this by diving headlong into the Business – she set aside writing time each day, found contests to enter, and ultimately has found some success by getting some publications in anthologies. She knows that this will be her main career, and that with enough success and good fortune, she will be able to make a career as a professional author.

My greatest gift, however, is in learning that my path is different.

I’m struck by how many people start out with dreams like mine and who, like me, find that life gets in the way. It can be an excuse, of course. If the dream is strong enough, then one will find the time and the will to press forward. But sometimes there are extenuating circumstances. Sometimes you realize that a dream is not enough to carry you forward. In my case, I don’t want my writing to be my primary focus. I am also a stroke neurologist, and that demands time and attention if I want to be excellent at that role. Soon I will be dealing with all sorts of responsibilities and duties at work that are as important to me and to my aspirations as the name on the placard ever was. Other people face similar dilemmas, and others fall into the worst of both worlds – they neglect the one in favour of the other, and they end up tainting both. The pursuit of writing as a business takes discipline and focus and time, but so do the other things.

When I realized this, that being truly excellent at either of these goals would require a level of devotion that would harm the other, I knew that I had to make a choice, and I chose medicine. It meant that I had to give up the straightforward path to the dream I had when I was younger, and that I likely won’t be able to devote the time and the focus in the same manner as my wife does; nor will I see the rewards that seemed worth anything. There is a certain grief for that, and I can’t entirely shake the feeling that I’m justifying giving up in some fashion.

However, the more that I think about it, the more that realization seems like the greatest gift that I have received as a writer. Not everyone gets to be top of the charts, after all, and not every creative outlet needs to be in service of a career. Knowing my limits has freed my work to be more personally satisfying; when I do write, I can write knowing that it isn’t carrying my livelihood on its shoulders. I can explore other outlets for my creativity that fall outside of the traditional publishing model. There is a growing field of narrative medicine, studying how the way we tell stories leads to better health care, and I have started to explore this in earnest as part of my work in neurology. As well, health care needs good writing too; being able to write clearly and coherently about how medicine works makes me an ideal person to write things like blogs or newspaper columns that help people navigate the health care world that I know so well. And of course, there is always something to be said about writing for writing’s sake; the gift of just putting words on paper, even if for no one else than one’s self, is sometimes hard to remember when we talk about things like sales margins and promotional materials.

I’ve realized that I, personally, have to let some of those old dreams go. But that’s left me free to find other ways that writing can be a part of my professional and personal lives. I don’t mean to suggest that everyone needs to be a hardcore realist about it; for some people, taking the chance on becoming a professional author is the only way for them to be true to themselves. But for the rest of us, the realization that there are other paths, that the creative urge doesn’t have to lead down only the one road – what else can that lead to but self-awareness and contentment? It can be a gift to learn where your limits are, and it can bring with it another gift – learning where other roads can take you. I’m glad that I learned those lessons when I did. They aren’t for everyone, but for some of us, they are precious beyond compare.

Dylan Blacquiere Bio:
Dylan Blacquiere is a fellow in stroke neurology at the University of Ottawa, soon to be a full-time stroke neurologist in New Brunswick. He has worked on research projects involving writing, metaphor and medicine, including an examination of how people who have survived cancer treatment use metaphor in telling their stories. He has published short stories in “In Our Hands”, an anthology of medical writing, writes a monthly newspaper column on life in medicine for The

Northern Star Newspaper in Central Queens, PEI, and twice won the Cynthia Davis Writing Prize in medical school. He does have several writing projects on the go, but suspects they will be done in good time.

Your Gift, Should You Choose to Accept It…

December 9, 2013

Evan Braun

This month, the Fictorians are writing about the greatest gifts we’ve received as writers. Last month, we wrote a lot about the business of publishing, and the month before that we delved into the tangled web of indie marketing. Just this past Friday, I wrote about a recent experience I had with the launch of my new book. Today, I want to very briefly bring all those subjects together.

Almost seven years ago, well before I made the decision to pursue writing professionally, a close friend of mine, Clint Byars, who also happened to be a coworker, pulled me aside on a Saturday afternoon and told me he had something to share with me. Instead of some piece of juicy workplace gossip, I was surprised (and intrigued) to hear that he had a story idea. He knew that I was a writer, or at least that I had a loose endeavour to become one, and he had a story that he couldn’t tell on his own.

That story took a long time to develop, and went through a number of permutations, but the result was a novel that, five years later, finally got picked up by a publisher. It’s called The Book of Creation, the first installment in The Watchers Chronicle.

If I were to make a list of the greatest gifts ever bequeathed to me as part of my writing career, this particular story idea would have to be in my top five—maybe even my top three. There’s a reason, after all, that The Book of Creation ended up becoming my first published novel. From the moment my friend shared the premise with me, I knew I had to write it. I fell hopelessly in love.

Specifically, what drew me to this project was its combination of action-adventure and mysticism, characterized by the best Indiana Jones stories. Ever since I was a little kid, I had dreamed of writing this kind of book. Well, I had in mind a screenplay credit, but upon reflection a novel credit is very nearly as good, and in some ways better. At stake in the story is the discovery of archaeological artifacts which suggest the veracity of some truly outlandish historical “truths” straight out of the some of the apocryphal Bible texts—notably, the Book of Enoch, which contains some ideas that wouldn’t be at all out-of-place in a sci-fi novel.

The second novel, The City of Darkness, is already released in paperback, and will soon be available in the major ebook markets as well, but that’s an announcement for another day. In anticipation of that release, and in the spirit of the holidays and this month’s theme of writerly gifts, The Book of Creation is now available for free in the Kindle store. Click here to download your free copy.

This book won’t stay free forever, as I’m ordinarily a big believer in charging for my work—even if it’s very little. I think artists are often too willing to give away the fruits of their labor. But for the next three days, I’m making an exception. Take advantage!

On that subject, be on the lookout later this month for a wonderful post by Mary Pletsch about why writers should only give away their books very judiciously. In my opinion, it’s an important lesson.

The Fan Club

December 6, 2013

Evan Braun

Evan Braun Motivation Publishing The Writing Life 5 Comments

The Fan Club On the evening of November 7, a small group of readers gathered at my parents’ home to hear the first reading from my new book, The City of Darkness. This was the pre-launch, and it was reserved not for close friends but rather the people who had responded the strongest to the first novel in my ongoing series, which had been released two years earlier. (An unconscionably long gab between books, by the way, but that’s a subject for a different post.)

It was an interesting mix, to say the least. If I had merely invited close friends and family, this would have been a very different sort of evening from what it turned out to be. We would have snacked and visited… and yes, had a few drinks. We would have talked a little bit about the book, I would have shown them the cover art, and then we would have moved on to other subjects. It would have been comfortable.

Not that it wasn’t comfortable. It certainly turned out that way. But this was a combination of people unlikely to get together for any reason except to discuss my book. Over wine and cheese, they peppered me with insightful questions about the plot and characters, about where the story was heading, about how many books I would publish in the series and when they would be released. It was heady and strange.

At some point in the evening, one of the guests sidled up to me and remarked, “How does it feel to have your own fan club?” I smiled politely and waved her off. This was no fan club. A book club, kind of, but a fan club? Movie stars have fans. J.K. Rowling has fans. Me? I have a few readers, sure, but…

Thankfully, I knew better than to say any of this out loud. As I walked away, I realized how wrong I was. My self-deprecating side had shown up right on cue to downgrade the compliment, but the more I thought about it, the sooner I realized that these were my fans. And all I had done to accumulate them was write a book, and then another book. Some of these people had known me for years, and others I really didn’t know at all, but they all had one thing in common—their appreciation for my writing.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. What a powerful gift it is to have readers—and not just any readers, but sharp and intelligent and engaged readers.

Well, my fan club is small, but I am so grateful for what they have given me. It’s now impossible to do any kind of writing without thinking about them, and the thought of them spurs me to write faster. And hopefully better. When I’m sitting on the couch watching TV, the thought invariably occurs: I should be writing. These people are waiting for me, and I shouldn’t make them wait a moment longer than necessary.

Just two nights ago, all of my marketing efforts culminated in my actual launch. It was held about forty-five minutes away from the small town where I live, at a big bookstore. I had worked hard to ensure an exciting turnout. My fans, too, were exerting a lot of pull to draw people in. Sometimes I couldn’t believe that they were willing to do all this legwork for me, but nonetheless, the work got done, and I could sense that the launch was going to be a big success.

When I woke up on Wednesday morning, all ready to do my final preparations—practice my reading, gather my notes, decide what to wear, etc.—I heard the sound of a keening wind outside my bedroom window. My heart began to race as I ran to the front door and looked outside. Snow, snow, everywhere snow. There was a storm advisory. More than a foot of snow had already accumulated on my driveway, and I knew it would be hopeless to try backing out of the garage through it. Worse: I knew it might be hopeless to drive forty-five minutes through open countryside to get to my launch. Even worse: Assuming I could get there, would anybody else brave the trip?

Over the day, the emails and Facebook messages poured in: “So sorry, Evan. I was planning to come, but I’m snowed in! Good luck this evening!” After about a dozen of those, I was good and truly discouraged. I wanted to hide in a dark corner and just forget the whole thing. How embarrassing it was going to be to venture into this big venue and sit in an empty room after months of preparation.

But I practiced my reading, anyway. I gathered my notes. I decided what to wear. And I made the drive, though it took a bit longer than usual. Certainly, the turnout would be down from what I had anticipated. I feared being alone. I feared being a complete failure.

Well, the turnout was down from my original expectations. Down by two-thirds. Maybe more. But something wonderful also happened. As the minutes ticked by and I waited nervously, people started to arrive. First just a handful, then a dozen, then two dozen. Three dozen. Four. On an evening when I didn’t think anyone would care enough to brave some of the harshest winter conditions imaginable, more than fifty people came. And among them were so many members of that fan club—not to mention many new members, who will surely be invited to my next pre-launch soiree. A few feet of snow, high winds, and barely navigable roads weren’t enough to stop them from having to wait even one more day to read my book.

Talk about humbling!

I’ve often said that writing is reward enough. If need be, I would write for the sole purpose of entertaining myself. I’ve said those things and I will continue to say them. But as of today, I can say a new thing: from now on, I don’t have to write just for myself. I’ve got a fan club—and they have my back.

The Friends Who Stayed

December 5, 2013

mary

The Writing Life 3 Comments

“If you don’t need to be a writer, don’t.” I’ve heard this advice and found more than a little merit in it: writing as a career involves long hours, hard work, constant uncertainty, and sometimes worse.

Sometimes, it hurts.

When I went to Superstars in 2010, having come to a point in my life where I no longer found fanfiction fulfilling and hoped to create and sell original stories, I was working a night-shift security job, 11 pm to 6 am. My duties were simple: assist customers who needed help, answer the phone, and tour the building once an hour. The rest of the time? Do what you like, as long as it’s quiet and keeps you awake.

Writing fit the bill. So did role-playing, and social media, and chatting online, and all sorts of other things. I had time to burn, time in which I got paid, wrote thousands of words each night, had an active online social life, and still had family time on my off hours.

This whole scenario changed when I took up an office management job. Suddenly, every hour of my workday was spent…doing work. I no longer had long swaths of paid time when I had nothing else to do. Suddenly, writing and socializing were in direct competition with family time and housework.

Suddenly, sacrifices had to be made.

I didn’t want to be a hobby writer. I didn’t want to be that person who only writes when he feels like it, or who puts writing at the bottom of her to-do list and wonders why she never gets around to it. I had to carve out dedicated writing time to focus on my goals. That meant I had a lot less time for role playing and marathon video-game sessions and movie-watching parties and fandom.

Yes, I lost friends.

Friends who felt I wasn’t giving enough to the friendship. Friends who complained that I wasn’t available enough, that I was too hard to get ahold of. Friends who thought I wasn’t any fun any more. Friends who didn’t understand when six-hour visits turned to one-hour visits.

There was a point when I was on the verge of asking myself whether writing as a career choice was worth it. Maybe I should do what other people did, work my 9-5 and let my evenings and weekends be my own. Maybe I should be a hobby writer, get my friends back and spend my spare time hanging out and chilling out. Was it worth being a writer if I lost touch with everyone I cared about?

Then I made a list of who stayed.

My husband stayed. My best friend stayed. Several of my online role-playing friends stayed, telling me that “no game was more important than real life” and that they supported me. We’d play more slowly, that was all, posting every few days instead of multiple times a day.

A former co-worker and some local friends stayed, telling me that yes, they absolutely understood that I had a previous writing commitment when I couldn’t accept a last-minute invitation or declined to attend an event. And no, they didn’t stop inviting me to things. They just understood when I had to say no. It wasn’t about me not liking them any more, or losing my previous interests, or “getting an attitude.” It was about me having a job, just like they did. A job that sometimes has to come before fun.

When I looked at the list of people who stayed, I realized that I wasn’t driving away the most important people in my life.

I still miss some of the friendships and good times that my writing career has cost me, but I know that I still have the people who care about me and support me.

This Yule Solstice, I’m thankful for the people who stayed. For the friends who stood by me when writing became a job, not a hobby. For the people who understand when I have to put in the long hours. You are the reason this need of mine hasn’t cost me everything else I care about. Your understanding–and support–is my greatest gift.