3 Types of Writers You Should Know

I’ve learned a lot studying for my MBA, from marketing techniques to filling out an Excel spreadsheet. Yeah, I’m still trying to figure out that second one. It’s a steep learning curve. But one of the things I’ve enjoyed so much about the course is the way the professors encouraged each student to study what they’re interested in—particularly the area of business they wanted to pursue.

My interest lies with publishing and book retail. I did projects on various companies, from Bloomsbury Children’s Publishing to Barnes & Noble to my own idea for an independent bookstore.

One particular piece of advice that I’ve taken from my studies has been concerning leadership and learning. If you want to improve your skill, you should know three different types of people. And I thought, “Hey! This can apply to writing as well.” So I’ve put the following categories into writer’s terms.

The Student: A Writer with Less Skill

When it comes to learning, one of the best teachers is experience. Another is teaching. I’ve heard it said that if you can’t explain a concept in simple terms, then you don’t really understand it.

Not only do students help me refresh my memory on a concept I’ve heard about a million times (e.g. what is POV?), but they also teach me things I may have forgotten or may have missed (e.g. new words!). When it comes to classes where I’ve taught writing, I like to review the material myself and do extra research so I really know what I’m talking about. The same goes for editing or beta reading. Just because I may have been writing for years doesn’t give me an excuse not to pick up my Chicago Style Handbook, Writing the Breakout Novel, or even the dictionary.

Yes, talking to a less-skilled writer may make you feel smart, but it’s also a great way to pass on knowledge.

The Ally: A Writer with the Same Skill Level

The allies are perhaps the most fun to hang out with. No offense to the mentors or the students, but it’s easiest to make references and jokes when you better understand where the person is coming from.

Writers with a similar skill level also make great critique partners. That’s not saying you shouldn’t have somebody with more skill look over your writing. You probably should. Writers whom you can easily relate with are pretty good at catching mistakes you may have missed and critiques are easier to receive when they come from your peers.

That and when you’re done talking about your stories—Haha! That’ll never happen—you can talk about the latest books you’re reading.

The Mentor: A Writer with More Skill

I like to think of myself as a humble writer, but if I’m going to be completely honest, sometimes I can be particularly arrogant. I’ve been writing since I was twelve; I earned an M.A. in English Literature; and I’ve self-published a novelette series. (See, I even know what novelette means!)

Recently, I was put in charge of the writing group at my local library, and I was super excited to kick off our get together for the fall. Two people aside from myself showed up, one of whom is a published author (with an agent and everything!). When we got around to talking about querying agents, the author switched into teacher-mode and went into some of the details I feel like I’d heard or read countless times before. I wanted to say I already knew what she was talking about, but I kept my mouth shut for the benefit of the other writer who hadn’t heard it.

I had to remind myself that sometimes it’s okay to listen to advice instead of show off what I already know. Even though the meeting didn’t go quite as I expected, I still walked away with some valuable advice on showing emotion in writing, something I’ve struggled with for a while.

Mentors help keep writers humble. At least they do for me. While they can also make me feel uncomfortable sometimes, what with my lack of skill or review of concepts I already know, they can still help me learn.

If you haven’t already, find a writing mentor. You don’t have to go and stalk the writer closest to you (actually, please don’t), but ask for advice. This mentor can be a teacher, an indie author, a traditionally published author—so long as they have more experience than you. You may just learn something.

Let’s chat! How many of the writer types do you know? When’s the last time you talked with a writing mentor? What are they like?

***

Similar posts: How to Write What You Know Without Writing Nonfiction, Why Writers Should Study Their Craft, and 7 Facts About Critique Partners (For Writers!)

Grades, Grad School, & Goals: Studying Abroad in Germany

Usually this is the time of the month when I post a book review, but alas, I haven’t had the time to discover many new books lately. In fact, not long ago there was a period of two weeks where I read a grand total of twenty pages. *gasp* Was I dying? Yes, I was. I blame school and work. Note to self: don’t work two jobs and take six credit hours and then invite a friend over to visit. It’s a trap! Somehow, I’m still alive.

When I was a kid, I used to calculate how long it would take me to get out of school. If the average student finished high school at eighteen, and college lasted four years, I should be done by twenty-two. As it turns out, my life took another direction. I didn’t stop after my undergraduate, and now I’m studying for my Masters of Business Administration (M.B.A.), my second graduate degree. And when I say I’m studying abroad, I’m actually studying at an American university this time. I just happen to live overseas.

I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself a degree-chaser though. There are days when I get tired of schoolwork and academia and want to light my Writer’s Reference book (the one with all the formats: APA, MLA, etc.) on fire. But as I’m anti-book burning—no matter the book—I will happily watch it collect dust after graduation instead.

Just kidding! I’ve been thinking about going back for another degree. (Maybe I am a degree-chaser?) This time, I’m thinking about a PhD in library sciences. I just have so many questions. Why the Dewey Decimal System? How is it decided whether a book is deemed a classic and placed in nonfiction or still a classic and place in fiction? How can I help budding readers discover the joy of reading?

There are so many things to learn!

That being said, here are just a few things my M.B.A. has taught me:

Not everybody knows what M.B.A. means.

Me: I’m studying for my M.B.A. 

Person: Cool! What’s that in? 

Me: …Business. 

Person: Oh. Pretend I didn’t just ask that. 

(An actual conversation I had.)

I listed it above, but I’ll repeat it—M.B.A stands for Masters of Business Administration. As a military brat, I’ve had to explain that a commissary is a grocery store, and as a writer, I’ve had to explain that Deus ex Machina is the ending of a book that’s solved too easily by some greater force. Academia also has its own lingo.

I don’t care about grades anymore.

When I said this to one of my classmates, she just stared at me like I sprouted another head. But it’s true. After studying in England, where receiving 50 out of 100 is a pass, I’ve learned that it’s not so much the number but rather the learning experience that counts. Instead of focusing on achieving a grade, I try to focus on learning something new, whether it’s how to input finances into an Excel spreadsheet or how to confront an obnoxious classmate about inappropriate behavior.

It’s okay to change career directions.

I started my M.B.A. with the mindset that it would help me in the writing industry. Then, I wanted to start my own editing company. Now, I’m considering opening my own bookstore. I had, in fact, mentioned this final idea to one of my friends when I first visited Oxford. We were walking along the River Thames, watching the horses trot across the fields and the weeping willow branches sway across the water and talking about our dreams and all the possibilities we could achieve.

Things changed when I started my M.A. in English Literature. I moved to England to learn about stories and dragons, and I did. But I also learned about how hard it is for bookstores to survive today. I watched one of the bookstores on one of my college’s campuses close for a while. On Easter Break, my family and I visited Naples, where we got to walk along via San Biagio dei librai (“Saint Biagio of the book sellers’ street”), a street once famous for having hundreds of bookstores but now has only a few. At school, I borrowed most of my books from the library and bought the copies I wanted on Amazon or at the school bookshop.

I wondered how independent bookstores today could survive.

Then, I figured it was time to move onto something more practical than a bookshop and nearly let my dream die.

Just this semester, during my class on marketing, I did one of my projects on Barnes & Noble and remembered how much I liked the idea of starting up a bookstore. So I’ve switched from editing, though I still enjoy it, back to planning on running a bookstore of my own. I spent way more time on one assignment than was probably necessary, researching and writing a detailed marketing plan. While I probably could have saved more time and submitted a less-detailed assignment, I wanted to know what I was getting into.

I didn’t just complete the assignment for the sake of doing the assignment. I did it for my future business endeavors. During my research, I even came across an article that explained how independent bookstores in the United States aren’t actually dying out: “How Independent Bookstores Have Thrived in Spite of Amazon.com.”

That’s when I came to realize I can do this. I can start up my own bookstore.

This past year has been quite busy! While I haven’t had nearly as much time to read lately, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Now that I only have one class left, and I’m done with one of my jobs, I can get back to reading and writing regularly.

If you happen to find yourself confronted by a dream that seems impossible or implausible in the world today, may I just encourage you with the lyrics from one of my favorite songs:

Every night I lie in bed

The brightest colors fill my head.

A million dreams are keeping me awake.

I think of what the world could be

A vision of the one I see.

A million dreams is all it’s gonna take.

A million dreams for the world we're gonna make.

(“A Million Dreams,” The Greatest Showman)

I’m working on re-designing my blog. Would you take a minute to answer my reader-feedback survey?

Create your own user feedback survey

Let’s chat! What about you? What’s your dream? *cue music from Tangled* What have you done to pursue it?

***

Similar posts: 4 Ways to Find Time to Write; Anxiety, Depression, and Literature: Studying Abroad in England; and Editor vs. Anxiety

The Scholarly Fangirl

College is full of memorable experiences. I remember one particular day when I was sitting in senior seminar, a prep class for graduating students in the Humanities Department, when two of my friends got into a debate about literature. While it may not sound atypical, this particular topic got heated quite quickly. One of my friends argued for the importance of teaching classical literature, like Shakespeare, and the other argued that contemporary novels, like young adult fiction, would become the new classics.

Although the debate quickly became passionate, the two made it up to each other before the end of the semester. Another of my friends even wrote a play for creative writing based off the encounter. The main problem I had while listening to it all was that I agreed with both of them. I’m a classicist in that I like sitting down with a book that challenges me intellectually. But I’m also a fangirl who enjoys books that make me laugh, cry, and want to throw the book against the wall.

Once upon a time, I didn’t like Shakespeare. He’s seen as the patriarch of English literature and the standard for most writers to ascribe too. I wondered, how can anybody live up to such a title? And how could one person have so much influence over literature while other writers are considered lesser?

Eventually, over the course of my undergraduate, I came to appreciate and enjoy Shakespeare’s plays and poetry, though I still don’t consider him the greatest writer known to mankind. I even came to have favorite plays, having written a paper on As You Like It. Throughout my college career, I came to learn a lot about my reading preferences.

The intellectual in me thoroughly enjoys studying literature, especially if it’s more difficult to read. I like discussions about literary tropes and trends in styles. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I started this blog—to express my thoughts on books and encourage discussions. I like to learn, to expand my mind, to grow. Reading challenging literature does just that.

When I was studying for my M.A. in English Literature, I spent a lot of time studying Middle English (think Shakespeare). A. LOT. So much so that when I decided to watch The Hollow Crown: War of the Roses for FUN. Part of the way through Henry VI, Part 1, I found that I could understand nearly everything they were saying. When I first started reading Shakespeare’s plays, I had to look up everything on SparkNotes and really analyze the text. Now I have little problem with it.

That doesn’t mean I don’t have difficulties. I still have to study the plot and characters to fully grasp them. Sure, sometimes I even have to look up some of the lesser-known phrases. But I find hearing language or reading the text presents few challenges. And understanding, whether historical or linguistic, makes literature far more enjoyable.

Perhaps that’s what it means to be a master at something: overcoming learning challenges to discover how to enjoy a text.

I mean, can a scholar really enjoy studying a Hamlet with the same relish as a teenager fangirls over The Hunger Games?

Yes.

Why not?

While the response towards the text may be different, there’s no rule saying that scholars can’t enjoy their work. I never would have pursued a degree in English literature if I didn’t enjoy reading it. Of course, literature often makes me think, but there are some instances when it makes me feel too, and more than just boredom. Richard III, A Modest Proposal, and The Telltale Heart made me shudder.

On the other hand, there are times when I’m tired from a long day, or a long semester, and I want to be swept away by a story instead of being encouraged to think. It’s these moments when the fangirl in me will pick up a young adult novel and connect with the characters and the story.

But that isn’t to say that I don’t learn. Sometimes a story will have a particularly interesting writing style or character development that I’ll note for my own writing. Or a story’s theme may inspire or challenge me. Or maybe a novel just moved me with every single aspect—the plot, the characters, the voice, the research, the theme—that I want to rush out and by myself a copy if I don’t already have one.

These types of books tend to be commercial instead of literary. But that isn’t to say that they don’t have literary value. A book that brings me to tears—or close to it—while it may not have the heavy descriptions typical of “literary” books, can still impress value through theme or other details. 

The Book Thief (historical fiction) is classified as young adult, but it’s also poetically profound with the way it values life and friendships. 

Illuminae (sci-fi) is another YA novel but with a unique writing style, told through chats, video feeds, and AI data. But the dedication of the characters towards the pursuit and exposure of the truth is astounding.

Inkheart (fantasy), the start of a YA trilogy, explores the importance of place and the value of words.

Now that I’ve finished my schooling in English and literature, I’ve started picking up books like Moby-Dick because I can’t resist a good intellectual challenge. But that’s not to say that I don’t enjoy YA books. I’ve read perhaps ten while I’m in the process of getting through this whale-obsessed narrative/study. Next time, I may pick up a less dense classic.

Until then, I will push through.

And just because I’m not technically a young adult (ages 13-18), doesn’t mean I will stop reading and writing YA.

As an intellectual, I will learn about cultures and histories, languages and sciences.

As a fangirl, I will laugh and stress with characters, turning pages late into the night.

Of course, the best books—whether classic or contemporary—encourage both.

***

Related posts: Escaping Fiction, The Greatest Literary Thieves, and The Power of Fiction

Literary references: William Shakespeare’s As You Like It; Henry VI, Part 1; Hamlet; and Richard III; Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games; Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal; Edgar Allen Poe’s The Telltale Heart; Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief; Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff’s Illuminae; Cornelia Funke’s Inkheart; and Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick.

Do you consider yourself more of a scholar or a fangirl? What’s your favorite genre? Why? 

Anxiety, Depression, and Literature: Studying Abroad in England

It was another sunny morning in Italy. The sky was blue, and the day was full of potential. Or rather really annoying questions from people attempting small talk. Here is a legitimate conversation I had right after church:

“So, how’s the dissertation going?”

I looked the guy dead in the eyes. “I want to set it on fire.”

“So, it’s going well.”

Try small talk, and I’ll give crazy answers like this. I’ve even come up with sassy answers to what I plan on doing after graduation: join the circus as a unicyclist/trapeze artist, get married on the moon, and conquer the world. On second thought, I may just throw my graduation cap instead. (Do graduate students get the same caps?)

Last September, my dad and I loaded up his car with my stuff and drove all the way from Italy to England. Yes, that’s right. My life is pretty crazy. Last March I got accepted to the University of Nottingham to study for an MA in English Literature. I like books so much, I decided to go beyond the four-year degree and tackle an accelerated one-year program in a foreign country.

After all the stress of filling out all the paperwork to get my visa (which every international student hates, by the way), my dad helped me move into my flat in England. My room was perfectly located right across the street from Lidl and not even a block from Jubilee Campus where I’d go for plenty of walks. I lived all the way on the top floor (yay, exercise!) with a great view of the street where I could people and bird watch.

Wearing my borrowed fencing kit.

The pen may be mightier than the
sword, but beware the sword!

I bought a bike, which I used to go to classes (usually beating the campus bus by five minutes) and explore the city and the parks. I especially enjoyed going for walks along the lakes and bike rides along the canal and the River Trent. I even joined the fencing society at school because I always wanted to learn how to sword fight.

I was super excited to attend a university in England, even though I knew it would be difficult. But I was also scared. I had so many questions. What would the classes be like? How hard is the grading system? What if I failed?

In all, the classes weren’t that different from my undergraduate back in the States, except they were two hours long and only once a week. In the end, my schedule was pretty empty. I spent most of my time cramming in as much reading as I could, planning my reading schedule, and panicking because I thought I wasn’t reading enough. It took me a while to realize that all the external reading not assigned every week was recommended not required, but I still tried to read as much as possible.

So far, I haven’t failed. I haven’t gotten spectacular grades, but English professors grade a LOT harder than the Americans. They still use a one-hundred-point system, but a 50 is a pass, 60 a merit, and 70 a distinction. Woah, what? So far, I’ve done alright. I’m still waiting on results for my dissertation, my final project which is the equivalent of a master’s thesis in the States.

I also attended a Vineyard church where I joined a small group. Aside from my classes where I spoke to practically nobody, I saw people twice a week: once at church on Sundays and once during small group on Thursdays. Even for an introvert, it was rough not talking to people on a daily basis. I was lonely, and I missed the community I had back at Evangel University where I could just wander down the hall and chat with the girls on my floor.

I didn’t know any of my classmates. How do you start a conversation with somebody during class? After class? Before? And what on earth do you talk about?

I had a couple of friends in my small group, but most of them were busy with their own schedules—work and school and such. I felt like I could be myself around them, but I didn’t get to know anybody very well.  

In England, I felt like I had nobody.

And it wasn’t all from a complete lack of trying. It may have been cultural. It may have been that particular year in my life because I was so focused on coursework. It may have been any number of things.

Halfway through my second semester, I overstrained my Achilles tendon while fencing, and suddenly found I couldn’t walk without pain. Thankfully, I could still bike, but I stopped taking walks, which I did for study breaks. Instead I spent most of my time in my room reading. And reading. And reading. Around the same, a couple of my friends stopped coming to small group.

I never felt so alone.

On a weekly basis, I broke down in my room crying. The smallest things would set me off—a conversation with a professor, crossing the street at the wrong time, a small, insignificant thought, a books I read. I started calling my parents nearly on a daily basis, feeling broken. Weak.  

I hated myself for it.

I prayed a lot, but I didn’t feel like God was speaking to me. Last year, he told me I’d go to grad school, and I did. This year, I had no work. No direction. People kept asking me what I planned to do after graduation when I didn’t know.

The only passage of Scripture that really spoke to me was II Corinthians 8-12, “Three times I [Paul] pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Like Paul, I was weak, am still weak. I begged God to take away the pain, the loneliness, the insecurity. He gave me this verse instead. I’m still learning its implications.

After my ankle healed and I came home for Easter Break, I was finally able to relax around my family a bit. I also had my first appointment with a psychologist, where we talked about my struggles, anxiety and depression. I wanted to do everything and nothing for fear that it would all go wrong. What a combination.

After speaking with a psychologist and my family, I went back to England to finish up my essays and start my dissertation. Gradually, my mood began to improve. I cried less. I started singing in my flat again, probably driving my flat mates crazy. I found listening to K-Love helpful, particularly Matthew West’s “Grace Wins”:

I wanted to travel places and do things with my life. I even got to hang out with some of my friends from small group more often, which only made it harder to say goodbye when I came home for the summer.

Now that I’ve turned in my dissertation (no, I didn’t actually set it on fire), I still don’t have much direction in my life. In July, my friend Faith visited for a month, but now that she’s gone, I’m lonely once again. But at least I have my family.

I’m not the same person who went to Nottingham a year ago. I’m a little older, a little more experienced, a little more broken. But that’s okay. 

When I say I just want to be normal, I don’t mean I want to be like everybody else. I just want to be myself. Whoever that is now, I’m not sure. But I’m still finding out.

Life is a discovery process.

One of the many view of the weather from my flat,

featuring one of the local crows, who I named Fidget and Speck.

I could have had it worse, and I still have bad days when I just lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling wanting to do nothing. But those days are few and far between. Every day, I’m discovering how to appreciate the sunshine and the rain, the melancholy songs and the joyful ones, the tragic stories and the happy endings, the good days and the bad days.

And that’s okay too, because that’s life.

***

Similar Posts: Do what YOU Enjoy and 7 Steps to Keep Writing When You Feel Like Giving Up

Let’s chat. How do you deal with bad days and insecurities? Were there ever days when you felt like giving up? What inspired you to keep going?

7 Steps to Keep Writing When You Feel Like Giving Up

We all have those moments when we get bored with our current project, our eyes get tired, or we just have the intensifying urge to scream and throw the computer out the window. (Please tell me I’m not the only one.) Sometimes we reach a point—whether or not it’s burnout—when we just want to quit writing. It’s hard work. One word after another. And it seems like all the ideas are too hard, too unoriginal, too dry.

I’m not just talking about writer’s block. Maybe it can be the cause or the result, but it has many terms. For students, it’s known as senioritis. For postgrad students like my dad, it’s known as college-brain. I like to say my brain is tired. Sometimes I reach the point where I say dumb stuff like “I can’t English.”

Whatever the reason, we can all grow tired even of something we enjoy doing. I love writing. But some days I feel like quitting. Recently, I’ve been working on my dissertation for my MA in English Literature, and as much as I enjoy reading, I’m sick of working on this project through the summer when most of my family and friends are on vacation. Now everybody’s getting ready to head back to school, and I’m still working on my dissertation.

But over the years, I’ve found several methods to help me get through it all. Here are just a few that have helped.

1) Set goals.

Whether it’s 1,000 words or 100, setting goals for each day, each week can help you make them. Projects like NaNoWriMo give you a set quota for the day based on your final word count goal. Make sure you set achievable goals, like don’t strive for 5,000 words a day if you can barely write 2,000 usually. You can work up to that instead. 

Every bit of progress counts. Even if you don’t make your quota for the day, don’t beat yourself up. There’s always tomorrow. (Unless that’s the deadline, in which case, CHUG COFFEE).

2) Share your project.

If you tell people what you’re working on, you’re more likely to receive encouragement than if you keep your writing project secret. This isn’t to say that you have to share every last word as you go, but friends are a great way to keep you going. Back in July, when I was spending the month with my friend Faith, I’d spend the morning writing my dissertation, and when I finished my goal for the day, Faith would cheer me on, even if I thought my writing was complete crap. Thank you, Faith!

3) Set aside time and space.

Know what writing environment works for you and stick to it. Set aside certain spots for writing and relaxation. For example, in England, I wrote in my room or at the library and spent all my relaxation time outdoors. At home, I worked on my dissertation in the living room but read or wrote for fun on the balcony or in my room. This allowed me to separate my work space from my relaxation space, and believe me, it’s helped my mental health.

As for time, it’s good to know when you focus best. For writing, I focus best in the morning and the evening after dinner. I cannot for the life of me write in mid-afternoon. But I can edit anytime. Knowing what time works best for you can help optimize your performance and help you meet your goals.

4) Just write!

Often times, the best way to do something you don’t want to do is to just do it. If you don’t want to write, just write. It may not sound like much fun when you think about it, but if all you do is think, you’ll never get anywhere. If you want to make progress, go out there and make it. Just thinking about it won’t get you anywhere.

5) Pace yourself.

Back when I was studying for exams and doing homework, I used to study for 45 minutes and take a 5-10 minute Pinterest or Facebook break. This works well for writing too. Now, I like to put on a movie soundtrack and work until the last song. Then I’ll take a short break.

Your brain can get tired of work, especially when you’re bored. But be careful not to take a break before your allotted time, and if you’re on a role when you reach the end of your set time, keep going! 45 minutes is a great time period to work with short, 5-10 minute breaks so you don’t lose concentration. Repeat the process and take 15-minute breaks every other hour.

6) Bribe Reward yourself.

Whether it’s with an enjoyable walk, a TV episode, or a bowl of ice cream, treat yourself after you make your quota for the day. Back in my undergrad days, I used to reward myself with a chapter for fun after 45 minutes of studying. Lately, that hasn’t worked because I’d end up reading half the book for fun instead. Now I have go for a nice long bike ride or have a bowl of Reese’s peanut butter ice cream. Tell me you wouldn’t work on homework for ice cream.

7) Remember why you started.

Did you start writing for fun? For the joy of discovering what you believe? For school? For work? Whatever your reason, reminding yourself why you started writing can help you keep writing. For my dissertation, I could keep telling myself I that if I don’t write the thing I’ll fail my MA, but how encouraging is that? Instead, it’s helpful to remind myself why I picked The Faerie Queene and Paradise Lost to write on—because I enjoyed reading them and I wanted to learn more!

Having a mission statement works great. But if you’re on a tight deadline, don’t feel like you have to write one out.

Finally, I’m thinking about starting a newsletter for all my lovely followers. If you’re even remotely interesting in receiving more direct updates, please fill out the following 10-question survey. Thanks!

Create your own user feedback survey


Have there been any circumstances when you felt like giving up? Which of the above tips have helped you? Do you have any helpful tips for meeting your goals?

The Muse: A Poem

Everybody has favorite small talk questions that they can pull out of their hat at a moment’s notice as though conversations are mere magic tricks to be mastered by a selected few. I don’t know how most extroverts do it. I’ve written on Small Talk before, so I shall not belabor my dislike for it. I get it. Sometimes people don’t know what else to ask but general questions. One of the most common questions I get asked lately is “What’s your dissertation about?”

Over the last couple of months, I’ve been researching and writing on The Faerie Queene and Paradise Lost, comparing Spenser’s and Milton’s references to the Muses and inspiration. Inspiration itself is a huge part of any writer’s life. What would we do without it? Inspiration comes in many forms—breathtaking landscapes, quirky people, profound books, and mouthwatering chocolate.

However, many experts claim that writers should not fully rely on inspiration. If I always waited for inspiration, I would never write. Instead, sometimes I’m encouraged by friends or deadlines, and other times I’m pressured by not wanting to down a cup of coffee with nothing to show for it. How could I waste such precious caffeine?

Nevertheless, Inspiration is a great help. I’ve never been able to write poetry without it. Those that I forced myself to write, I’ve vowed never to show the world. Partially inspired by Carrie Hope Fletcher’s On the Other Side and partially inspired by a late-night bike ride where I spent five minutes under a street light watching a spider spin a web, this poem is all about that—inspiration. Well, that and a writer’s muse.

The Muse

She dances on air, her skirt trailing behind,

above, the dust—she could write her name in

it—but her feet never grace the floor. Some

say that magic is merely things we don’t

know—others call it faith. This girl keeps pace

to tunes unheard, an imaginary

swift, violin. Sometimes she pauses, suspended on

mid-air, to cock her head to one side and

whip out an invisible bow, before she will sweep

into a glide on glass. Step-step-step-twirl—

Maybe this mystery is real magic when I

just trip while walking. She can make her moves

seem like art—she is Da Vinci, telling

a myth on her tiptoes, of how this cave-

man brought her a flower and fell in love.

He sprawled upon the floor, sweeping up all

the dust with his blue coat. She helped him up

and handed him her bow. He stared; she held

her violin too. Take it, said she. Play a song

so I may dance freely. He took them in

his hands and set his fingers on the strings.

Magic, he thought. There’s no alternative.

Here I play, shrieking out sorry tunes like some

earthbound pterodactyl, and still she smiles

and sweeps across the floor, dancing on air.

***

Let’s chat! What’re some of the small talk questions that bugs you? Do you believe in magic? What are the sources for your inspiration?

Some Notes on the Three Days of Summer: A Poem

For many people the weather is just a menial form of small talk, but I find it fascinating. I relish the feel of rain dripping down my face and soaking my hair (unless I have someplace important to be), and I cherish each moment of blessed sunshine warming my entire body. I mean, come on, the very name Word Storm should tell you something about my inclination towards weather, particularly in its extremes. 

If there’s one thing the English like to talk about, it’s the weather. Having spent nearly a year studying abroad in England, I’ve experienced plenty of England’s internationally-acclaimed horrid weather. But come on, it’s not that bad, right? A little rain never hurt anybody. But, as Alan Parish (Jumanji) reminds everybody, “Yeah, but a lot can kill you!” Well, as you can see, I’m not dead yet. Key word: yet.

Besides, England is not the only place known for weird weather. Washington State gets rain year-round so that when the sun comes out, locals refer to it as a “sun break.” Missouri has a claim on having bipolar weather. In other words, residents experience four seasons in one week. I kid you not, I got sunburned in January because I was wearing a tank top and had the sunroof down. Then it snowed. So England may not be the only place on earth with odd weather, but it certainly has some. 

One of the most recent examples of English weather I’ve experienced was the brief-lived summer. Being so far north, instead of hot summer days, England gets—you guessed it—rain. But there are times when the sun comes out from behind the clouds. This phenomenon is often referred to as the “three day of summer”. (Never mind that we had a full week of glorious sunshine and that random day in February.) And that’s what this poem is about really—weather. Well, that and bugs and people and bike rides and tea. Lots and lots of tea.

Some Notes on the Three Days of Summer

England is like a sleepy giant, hitting the snooze button again

while the rest of the world is waking from winter.

Just five more days, and suddenly it’s spring,

everywhere it’s green like the nation finally shook itself awake

and downed a cup of Earl gray. It’s a dour May,

but the daisies are alive and doleful, dancing beneath a cloud-streaked sunset.

Suddenly it’s summer—the perfect warm weather to get outside.

I’ve been sunburned in England of all places. #Lifegoals

I should not be punished for actually leaving the flat. 

Where did all these people come from?

Who knew so many resided in the city?

They’re like cockroaches—fair weather friends—

and summertime has disturbed their peaceful rock.

My flat mates call it hot, but my skin knows the difference

between this English sun and an Italian one.

This mild sweat is nothing compared to the blistering heat of the south.

A warm breeze tickles the hair on my bare arms,

and the oak’s shade offers a cool solace.

The only clouds now are the bugs by the river,

thick as thieves. The blasted bugs are pelting my face

as I cycle through them. Help. I’ve inhaled a gnat.

The thing is tickling my sinuses with its tiny little legs.

Getitout-getitout-getitout!

The other day, I sauntered into a café

to meet a girl for afternoon coffee and cake.

Before the sun sank another even’, I curled up on a couch,

a cup of tea in my hands, amongst friends on a movie night.

Finally—finally—I’m not alone.

But why is it people decide to wave hello

just as I’m breaths away from smelling the fresh black ink of my itinerary?

I don’t miss the winter. My spirits soar

as the days stretch before me like a cat before a sunshiny window,

like a dog sprawled out in the flood of light—the ray of death.

Next week’s forecast: rain.

***

Let’s chat! What’s your favorite type of tea? Do you think your hometown has the weirdest weather? If so, why?

Do What YOU Enjoy

When I was a kid, I used to daydream about how soon I’d be out of school. If the average American graduated high school at 18 then spent four years at college, then I would be free from school by 22. But life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan. As my dad would always say, “If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans for the future.”

As I neared the end of my senior year in college, I said I’d never go to grad school. I’d heard too many horror stories of people who went to grad school only to give up reading because they never wanted to touch another book again or others who had grad school completely kill their creativity. What kind of torture could possibly make anybody stop reading and writing? How could I survive? Then there was the workload. I cried after a grad student came into our senior seminar class to talk to us about what it was like to study English Literature at a master’s level.

That’s when I made up my mind I’d NEVER go to grad school. Long story short, God had other plans, and now I’m studying English Literature at the university of my choice. During my first semester, I decided I’d be creative anyway, despite what everybody else said. So what if other people found postgraduate studies to have killed their creativity? That didn’t mean it had to kill mine.

So it was that I’d spend most of the week reading for classes, stressing out on a weekly basis, and editing my novel as study breaks. That’s right. My study breaks. Yeah, sure, I’d still pick up a book every now and then, though I’d try to limit it to the weekends because I tended to get sucked into the novels and neglect my coursework until I got to the end of the book. That only lasted a semester though. Last spring, for every book I read for school, I read two for fun.

Double rainbow during one of my many bike rides.

If anything, I’d say that studying at a postgraduate level has made me more creative. Every other week, I jot down a poem, which I didn’t use to do. Whenever I get a rejection letter from a literary agent, I just send out another query. And I set aside every Sunday to ignore my school completely and just write. Or read. Or go for bike rides to my local park.

Aside from all the stuff I’ve been learning in my classes, I’ve learned that my circumstances don’t have to determine what I enjoy. Just because my coursework can get pretty overwhelming doesn’t mean I should give up doing what I enjoy. No two people are alike, so why should I become less creative just because somebody else was? Life is too short to stop doing the things I’m passionate about just because I struggle with my day job as a full time student.

So if you enjoy writing or painting or whatever, go for it! Make your passions a priority. And don’t let other people determine what you can and cannot do.

While I may not have all the time in the world to write, I look forward to the day when I can write more often. Perhaps even on a daily basis. And I still look forward to graduation. As for the possibility of my studying at a doctorate level—well—it would take a miracle. But my mom always used to say God has a great sense of humor…

***

What are you passionate about? Were there ever times when your studies/work conflicted with your passions?

Living Under a Rock

Typically, the first year I live anywhere is a blur. It’s that unsettling year of confusion trying to find out how a place works and figuring out how to make a routine and friendships. The first and only year I lived in El Paso, Texas is an exception. I remember lots of things—the mountains and the view of Mexico from my bedroom window, the day we had to put our dog down, the afternoons I spent riding and grooming my horse Connie, and starting community college.

I remember when I was signing up for my classes in community college and my advisor sat me down, glanced at my high school records, and asked if I didn’t want to major in law instead of English. Essentially, why would anybody want to waste talent on studying a language they already speak? I was flattered at the remark on my previous grades, but I stuck with English anyway and breezed my way through my freshman year.

As the spring semester rolled around, my dad received orders to move to Germany. And I was determined that I would go along with my family. There was only one problem—my education. How would I manage to major in English in a non-English speaking country? After much consideration, and several changes of plans, I ended up attending Evangel University that fall.

And many more things changed.

I still majored in English but I also took up a minor in writing and joined Epiphany, the university’s literary magazine staff. But it didn’t take me long to learn that university life was much harder than community college. I panicked when I received my first D on an essay, and not for lack of trying. Having been used to getting all As, such a grade was an unheard of disaster. And while I adjusted to a new level of work, I never quite got used to the reading lists—there were so many readings lists for so many literature classes.

Sitting in British Literature one day, staring at the assigned texts for our course, I realized that I recognized most of the titles but had only ever read maybe one or two of them. And I was an English major! Looking at my friend and classmate, Faith, I said, “I feel like I’ve been living under a rock my whole life.”

Wasn’t I supposed to be a bookworm? How was it that twenty books for a college class should make me feel so ignorant? That semester passed, and the next, and the next. Now that I’m in grad school studying English literature, I still don’t think much has changed. Yes, I’ve read countless books in the past four years, but I’ve also learned that there is so much more to learn.

Studying English in my undergraduate gave me some of the basics, and majoring in English literature at a postgraduate level showed me there are even more things to learn, let alone read. I may have taken a class on Shakespeare, but I haven’t read all his plays. I have studied A Tale of Two Cities, The Faerie Queene, and The Great Gatsby, but I have yet to read Great Expectations, The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, and 1984. And my to-be-read (TBR) list is ever growing.

Studying English has given me a mere sampling of the world’s literature. It’s shown me that learning is a continual process and that there’s more to being an English major than being a Grammar Nazi. (Which I’m not by the way. I don’t want hold people up to such standards when I can’t spell half the time.) And it’s like my mom used to say, “The more you know, the more you know you don’t know.” I don’t have to feel like I’ve lived under a rock my whole life, basking in ignorance just because I had different experiences.

Connie

I may not have read Les Miserables yet, but I’ve seen Paris twice during summer break visiting my family in Germany. I may not have studied Antony and Cleopatra, but I got to see it performed at the Globe Theatre. I may not have read Black Beauty, but Connie had a beauty of her own despite her shy, awkward temperament. 

On the other hand, I’ve visited Israel with Sherlock Holmes in O, Jerusalem when I might never visit in person while turmoil continues. Through reading, I’ve seen fictional worlds such as Narnia, Middle Earth, and Hogwarts. I’ve even visited Mars within the pages of Out of the Silent Planet and A Princess of Mars.

So no, I haven’t lived under a rock my whole life, though sometimes it feels like it. There’s just more places to discover, more books to read, and less to take for granted—even the ordinary days when I’m at home with family and a shelf full of books. 

Have you ever felt like you’ve lived under a rock when considering what you haven’t read? How many books are on your TBR list?

Literary references: Charles Dicken’s A Tale of Two Cities, Edmund Spencer’s The Faerie Queene, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, Charles Dicken’s Great Expectations, Howard Pyle’s The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, George Orwell’s 1984, Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables, William Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra, Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty, C.S. Lewis’ Out of the Silent Planet, and Edgar Rice Burroughs’s A Princess of Mars.