Fear is your friend

What? you might think. How could fear be a friend?

As part of Jennifer R. Hubbard's guest series on facing fear, I suggest a whole new paradigm for how writers might approach and think about fear. Stop on by to learn more at my guest post "Writing through Fear."

You might be surprised to learn that it's through writing poetry that I learned this lesson. Poetry often has the reputation of being trite, dainty contemplations of flower petals and sunsets; the best poems are so much more.

How has writing shifted your perspectives?

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Leaving fear, grasping hope

Once I made the decision to self-publish Never Gone, a funny thing happened. I became completely paralyzed by the sheer volume of what I needed to do.

When I think back to my life in high school, I can't believe how I juggled band, choir, art club, school newspaper, honors classes, a part-time job, and scribbling stories every spare moment. College wasn't much different, though theater, music ministry, and literary magazine were my passions of choice. I never pulled an all-nighter in college and still graduated magna cum laude. After college, I worked full time, went to grad school, did freelance graphic design projects, and served as editor and publisher of an international literary magazine, About Such Things.

I used to be a high energy person, so why the paralysis at this phase of life?

I'd become irrationally afraid. About setting up my business wrong. About getting bad feedback that makes the story wrong. About my title choice and cover design ideas. About failing in a huge, public way.

A funny thing about listening to fear--it takes away your power to contradict it.

Getting into better headspace about the project came when I let voices other than the voice of fear really sink in. I went back and reread notes from the three groups of people who'd critiqued over the years. Sure they pointed out weaknesses, but they also had a lot of immensely encouraging things to say--that it's an important story, that it's moving, that it kept them up late reading. Friends and family alike kept asking how the book project was coming along, wanting to know when they could get their hands on it. Even my daughter was itching for this book to come to fruition.

When you're in the presence of other writers, it can be easy to forget what an extreme act of bravery it is to create worlds, characters, stories and put them out for public consumption. Non-writers are always amazed by it. I think in our circles we're only beginning to talk about the reality of fear when we create. Alex's Insecure Writers Support Group is one such place, and I'm always encouraged by folks' posts.

See, bravery isn't a lack of fear, it's a willingness to move forward in hope despite the fear. There are still moments when the voice of fear picks up on my doubts and shouts them at me. But I turn away and listen to the voices of hope instead.

Because hope energizes. Hope keeps on trying. Hope is patient. Hope believes.

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Blog Ramble News

See my interview with Anglea Felsted at My Poetry and Prose Place, discussing how my life experiences do and don't show up in my novel Never Gone.

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Have you wrestled with fear? How do you tune into the voice of hope instead?

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Why I love (and hate) Little Women

While laid low with a cold over the weekend, I rewatched the old Winona Rider version of Little Women, an odd mix of wonderful and terrible acting, and a sentimental journey for anyone who writes.

For some reason, this watching I was most struck by Prof. Bhaer's opinions about Jo's first novel. He assented that yes, sensational, exciting stories sell. But Gothic romance seemed to not admit any of Jo's best qualities: "There is nothing in here of the woman I am privileged to know." I'm not entirely sure if Alcott intended this as a smear on pulp fiction; perhaps so, perhaps not.

But whether you write literary realism or more fantastical work, I think there's something to his assertion that the very best books, the one that are loved for generations, are works of extreme courage. "There's more to you than this," the professor says, "If you have the courage to write it."

In Jo's case, she doubts that her life experiences are worthy subjects of fiction. The most courageous thing for her is to expose her "quiet" upbringing for all its humor, beauty and drama. But another writer might have been raised in an environment that shunned imagination and was always thoroughly Philistine. In his case, it would take great courage to write light, humorous fantasy. In so doing, he'd have to own up to suppressed desires and embrace what he fears others might not value as much as he does. Honesty is the supreme act of courage.

Do you have a story you lack the courage to write? I do. It's been niggling at me for years, and Prof. Bhaer's wise words have again it pinned front and center on my imagination's notice board. Even the holiday busyness hasn't been able to push it into a closet it this time. For once I have a sense of just how the story wants to be told. So here's to courage!

What does courageous writing look like to you?

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Validated by...fear?

Busy day today, folks, so this is going to be a quickie.

In The War of Art, Steven Pressfield says:
"The more scared we are of a work or a calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it.... the more fear we feel about a specific enterprise, the more certain we can be that that enterprise is important to us and the growth of our soul."

What do you think? Discuss.

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Putting the con back in confidence? Or the fide?

Periodically I fall into these ditches of apathy, where I have no desire to write or even blog. Every idea strikes me as stupid and I'm absolutely certain I have nothing of value to add to the already burgeoning blogosphere. I read thirty blog posts and comment on three. I feel afraid to be honest about it, because I worry it might be catching. Who wants to be the person turning others' inner worlds into one big "whatever"?

I can stupidly assume others don't get tied up in these neurotic knots. But who's to say they don't? Nothing like apathy to keep you from breaking the silence.

Instead, they (and I) can pretend. "Fake it till you make it," right? Confidence is really just a big con, after all. Pretending you have what it takes. That you're invincible. That death isn't lurking closer than anyone wants to admit.

I don't know about you, but this approach to confidence never works for me. My own soul screams at the fakery. I can remember Samuel picking a king for Israel and having God tell him, "man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."

The word "confidence" literally means "with faith," believing something is true. But believing what? There's the rub.

One can be quite confident that life is futile. Or that suffering is an illusion. Or any host of things. This kind of "negative confidence" leads, as one might expect, to negative outcomes.

Your confidence is what you believe. Not a mask you put on, but a set of truths you live into. Becoming more confident doesn't involve developing a better facade, but discarding lies and genuinely discovering and hanging onto better truths.

Here are a few I'm hanging onto today:

~No one is alone; If I'm in this world, I have a part to play.

~Evil prevails when good people do nothing.

What ideas have given you "negative confidence"? What better truths do you desire to hang onto?

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The slow-growing hero

Today, I'd like to talk about a character in the Harry Potter books I've most enjoyed watching change and grow over the series: Neville Longbottom.

In Rowling's world of evocative names like Pomona Sprout and Severus Snape, Neville's is one of the most interesting. "Neville," from the French, means "new village" and Longbottom, more obviously, means one who remains lowly, at the bottom, for a long time. Put them together, and I see prophecy: the boy who stays long at the bottom will be the foundation of a new civilization.

Like Harry, Neville lost his parents traumatically during Voldemort's first uprising. Unlike Harry, Neville knows everything about it. He knows what happened to them (cruciatus curse), who did it and exactly where she is (Bellatrix Lestrange, prisoner in Azkaban). You get the sense that his extended family draws a certain pride from rehearsing the story of how Frank and Alice refused to give up information under torture and went into catatonic shock because of it. Like Harry, Neville is haunted by his parents, but his ghosts are corporeal and he gets dragged to St. Mungo's to be regularly re-haunted by them.

If anyone has reason to become dark and twisted, it's Neville. And yet, he initially reacts to it not with anger but by shutting down. He's notoriously forgetful, as if this is his regular mental pattern. He wants to just forget, to be numb. The magical world scares him--he's seen how powerfully evil it can be. He works against himself subconsciously, not really wanting to be a wizard. His great uncle Algy finally manages to trigger some magic in the poor boy by shoving him out an upper-story window, and Neville's magical instincts kick in to save him from injury. This will remain Neville's pattern for many of the books--magic only under duress--until he can get a handle on his fear and begin to grasp his own inner strength.

Greatness has been thrust upon Neville by his Gran, who fully expects him to live up to his auror parents' example. Her expectations seem to hurt more than help, and yet, having someone see something worthwhile in him does provide a foundation from which he can change.

Harry has empathy for Neville from the beginning--he sees a kid likely to be bullied the way Dudley bullied him and his protective instincts kick in. While others get fed up with Neville's bumbling, Harry continues to defend him in his weakness. In book one, Harry tells Neville, "You're worth ten of Malfoy." For Neville to hear that from a peer, one who has had as tough a beginning as himself, sets more foundation stones for Neville's storehouse of courage.

In Prisoner of Azkaban, we see a parallel of Neville in James's generation--Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew eventually becomes a betrayer because James, unlike his son, never took any pains to encourage his hanger-on and treat him like a true friend. In Harry's friendship with Neville, we see hopeful signs that Harry will succeed where his father and the older generation failed.

It is not until Order of the Phoenix that Neville begins to come into his own, for two reasons. First, Neville's peers work hard to bolster his confidence. Second, Neville at last opens up to others about what happened to his parents. I wish the St. Mungo's scene had been included in the film, because it is so pivotal to Neville's development in the book. His parents being alive but catatonic has long been a sore point for Neville. How can heroes look so, well, embarrassing? Again, Harry's reaction to Neville's shame is affirming, and this clearly enables Neville to stop his pattern of self-sabotage.

By book seven, Neville is able to fill Harry's shoes as the head of the D.A., and endures torture from the Carrows with the same bravery as his parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom.

I have to admit, one of my very favorite parts of book seven is when Neville proves himself a true heir of Gryffindor, grasps Godric's sword and destroys the final horcrux.  Neville has come a long, long way from crawling, teary-eyed, on the floor of Hogwart's Express searching for his toad.


What are your thoughts on Neville's transformation from the butt of jokes to the heir of Gryffindor?

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Thoughts on courage

Tuesday I wrote about taking up an "unresolution"--One Word. Many of you chimed in with a desire to embrace this idea and select a word that for you encapsulates a vitrue or idea you want to grow toward and pursue.

I chose the word COURAGE because it encapsulates what I admire in the most mature people I know. I also chose it in response to an amazing conversation I recently had with my mother after reading something she'd written for her memoirs class. Hearing about some of the tough stuff of my childhood from her perspective made me realize I'm a heck of a lot more resilliant than I ever give myself credit for. Fear makes one forgetful, it seems.

Anyway, as I take steps toward a brave, new me in 2011, I thought I'd share some provocative quotes about fear and courage:

"Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point."
~C.S. Lewis

"Courage is fear that has said its prayers."
~Dorothy Bernard

"Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of readiness to die."
~G.K. Chesterton

"To live with fear and not be afraid is the final test of maturity."
~Edward Weeks

Which of these quotes resonates most with you? Has remembering a past moment of bravery ever given you courage in a tight spot?

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