It’s Labor Day in the U.S.

For many, that means cookouts and rushing to crowd several weekends of fun into one last fling before the weather turns colder (unless you live in Texas!).

On most holidays, I stop for a moment in my office and think about what the holiday means to me.

Labor Day has always been a reminder of how far hard work can take a person; it’s also a reminder that people died so that we could all have a 5-day work week of 8-hour days. And yet, many of us work well beyond that time.

If you love what you do, I can think of few things better than working hard and seeing the fruits of your labor blossom. But most people who put in 40+ hours a week do so at a job they are often not too fond of.

We all deserve a fun day at the lake, beach, or that last camp out of summer on Labor Day Weekend.

On Labor Day, I choose to work…on something I love. The long weekend has always been a great weekend to write — not just because I love to write, but because it’s a reminder that while I work harder than most people at my day job, my day job is not my dream job.

Every day I don’t write is another day I have to go to work; for me, Labor Day has always been a symbolic protest against the daily grind.

For me, Labor Day has always been a day of work, because I can think of no better labor than to sit down and write all day.

I have a confession: with few exceptions, I don’t discuss writing with many other writers.

When it comes to talking about writing, I prefer talking with artists.

Next to talking about writing with two friends in my writing group, I prefer talking about writing with my wife (an artist), and my friend Jeremy (an artist).

I’ve spent many evenings that turned into mornings talking about writing and art with Jeremy. While what we do is very different, we both strive for a certain sense of rawness to our work.

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When I attended the Writers’ League of Texas Agents Conference in June, I attended a panel with agents talking about how they like a sense of rawness in a manuscript. From there, they went on about how they can often tell what university writing program a writer attended, based on the way their works sounds.

The agents talked about how many MFA writing programs “workshop writing to death,” so it all sounds the same. While it may be technically sound, it lacks emotion; there’s no spark. In short, the rawness the agents like seeing in a manuscript is often stripped from the writing of many writers with an MFA.

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In my late-night/early-morning talks with my friend, Jeremy, we often talk about reducing our work to a base level. For me, it means not being overly descriptive and sticking with basic words to tell a story. For Jeremy, it’s about reducing lines and finding basic form in all he sees as a cartoonist.

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The photo of the goose above was taken at the writer’s conference I attended in June. This goose hung out near the windows where writers had their consultations with agents.

It’s funny how many people I heard talking about how relaxed the goose made them feel before going into a little room to talk for ten minutes with an agent of their choosing. For some people, the presence of this goose made pitching their books easier, like it was there to say, “Relax, it’ll be okay.”

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While I love Jeremy’s published work and the paintings he creates for gallery shows, I feel very lucky to have the chance to thumb through his sketchbooks when I visit.

Jeremy delivers pizzas on the side, and he often stops and quickly sketches things on deliveries.

There is a rawness in Jeremy’s sketches that I’ve always loved. One night, while thumbing through the pages of a sketchbook I hadn’t seen, I came upon some sketches of ducks.

I loved the contour drawings, and Jeremy showed me how those drawings stick in his head so he can reduce all the lines to the style he strives for in his cartooning.

He showed me a piece of Bristol board near his drawing table with the cartoon version of the ducks. There was one drawing of a duck I loved so much, Jeremy cut it out and gave it to me.

Looking at this basic drawing of a duck, you don’t see the decades of studying anatomy, tens of thousands of sketches, and pain and toil Jeremy went through to get to the point where he can pick up a pen, dip it in ink, and draw something with seemingly no effort.

As a writer, I want my writing to not get in its own way; I want it to seem as effortless as Jeremy’s inked line. But there’s still a spark of rawness in the sketch of the duck.

As a writer, I want that raw edge exposed in the words I put down on paper.

As a writer, I will always strive to have the rawness of this duck!

Before tackling the first adult novel I remember reading, John Irving’s The World According to Garp (Modern Library) (affiliate link), the first adult fiction of any kind I remember reading was James Thurber’s short stories,  “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” and “The Catbird Seat.”

I read them because they were available, and they were short.

Also in the bookcase was a collection of John Cheever short stories. I didn’t read them all, but I wanted to read the books my mom, sister, and stepfather read that were in the bookcases in our house. The shorter introduction to more serious fiction was the perfect segue to bigger things (which consisted of John Irving, Stephen King, Richard Adams, and Robert Pirsig at the time).

I love reading short stories, and I love writing them.

I recently saw Cal Morgan of Fifty-Two Stories (among many other things), speak at the Writers’ League of Texas Agents Conference. Since then, I’ve been catching up on short stories on the site.

Some of my other favorite places for very short writing (some of which aren’t short stories, but still…they tell a story, sometimes, better than something much longer):

@veryshortstory – One of my favorite writers online.

@hellobigfoot – Not necessarily stories, but Bigfoot’s Twitter feed puts some funny stories in my head!

Six Sentences Blog – Stories told in six sentences.

Unhappy Hipsters Blog – You may not agree with me, but one of the best writers online!

Ballard Street – Some of Amerongen’s strips say so much with so little.

“Humor is the great thing, the saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our irritations and resentments slip away and a sunny spirit takes their place.”
- Mark Twain

“Humor is an almost physiological response to fear.”
- Kurt Vonnegut

“You can’t deny laughter, the sound of which has always seemed to me the most civilized music in the world”
- Stephen King

Even if you’re writing something serious this week, don’t forget the power of humor.

Saturday night, instead of writing, I plopped down on the couch and watched a couple movies with my wife.

I had plenty of writing-related things I needed to do; in fact, the plan for the evening was writing for me, and movies for my wife.

I knew she’d enjoy the movies even more with company, though — so instead of writing, I sat down and watched a period piece and a chick flick with my sweetie.

I love writing, but given the choice of being alone and successful in my writing, or surrounded by people I love and never seeing success, I’ll take the people I care about.

I’m lucky to have them in my life.

This week, whether you’re slammed at work, lost in writing, or bogged down with other tasks and responsibilities, step away and devote some time to the people you love.

You’re lucky they support you in all you do; it’s the least you can do to remind them how much you love them.

I’ve only read one Amy Tan book: The Bonesetter’s Daughter: A Novel (Ballantine Reader’s Circle) (Affiliate link). The novel’s protagonist is a ghost writer, and Tan uses the character to point out some of the pitfalls of being a writer when it comes to the way others sometimes view the profession:

• People thinking you have time to pick up their dry cleaning.
• People thinking you have time for lunches that last all afternoon.
• People thinking you have time to play tennis, shop, or hang out.

Many people think writing’s this easy thing that just happens when the Muse decides it’s time. Nevermind the years of skill it takes to get good–people say things like “I want to write a novel someday…” as though writing a novel is something done on a whim that everybody can do.

Imagine the response if people said, “I want to do a triple bypass on somebody’s heart someday…” or “I’ve thought about creating blueprints for a skyscraper someday…”

I’ve heard people talk about how “lucky” full time writers are, as though making it isn’t a matter of drive and talent, but rather, some literary lottery where one day you’re toiling away on a loading dock or in a cubicle, and the next you’re invited at random into a literary society where you meet in the evenings to sip sherry, discuss writers of yesteryear, and do all kinds of “lucky writer things” things until you’re inspired to write.

Writing’s hard work.

I don’t mind hard work. In fact, I love that writing a novel isn’t easy.

Writing doesn’t physically exhaust me like some jobs I’ve had, but it takes something out of me in ways no other task ever has.

Most people who read The Juggling Writer have day jobs and write when they can. Most of you know that writing isn’t easy. Easy is sitting down in front of the television after a day’s work to relax.

In its own way, writing really can be a bit like donning a hard hat, climbing on top of a big chunk of concrete you worked hard to pour, and then attacking that chunk with a hand drill to make it something more.

This week, I hope everybody works hard, and has a lot of fun building something cool!

If the idea well seems a little dry, I know a store most likely in your town (big or small) you can visit and come out full of ideas!

Each time you visit, it’s different; each time you browse and leave, there’s the potential for discovering something new.

The store?

Your local antique shop!

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My wife and I like going to antique shops and looking around when we get bored. It’s always fun to see stock changing; it’s always fun to see the things you’d never buy in a million-and-seventeen years, but you’re glad to see exists.

More than killing time, though: If I go into an antique shop with a mind ready to see writing opportunities, I always come out ready to write.

Here are just a few of the things writers can find in an antique shop:

Ideas

If you open your mind to ideas before stepping inside an antique store, it’s overload city.

We’ve all heard the line, “Every person has a story”? Well, so does every item.

Antique stores are packed full of rare and unique items just waiting to be written about.

What if that goblet tucked away on that shelf with piles of other things turned out to be the Holy Grail?

That old wedding dress immaculate in every way except for the obvious wine stain along the side…what happened, there?

The people you see in old photos: what are their stories?

What kind of evenings and trips did those old cuff links see?

And those really strange finds…what did they mean to the people who owned them; how did they end up in an old antique store instead of being passed on to others?

Get the idea?

Research

My second novel is a paranormal mystery set in Chicago in the late 20s/early 30s. On a recent trip to a couple antique stores, I saw:

• A 1929 World Almanac.
• A collection of department store catalogs from the 20s and 30s.
• A book of Chicago public transportation routes and maps from the time.
• Furniture and other items from the time.

Sure, I can find some of the facts from the almanac online, but being able to browse through the book for inspiration and ideas instead of seeking out specific information is worth the [usually very affordable] price in the store. And being able to see the ads–to see that the $150 typewriter on a shelf in the antique store today cost just $3 in 1929 is invaluable.

Having information like this handy to browse through helps open the mind when you’re needing to write and looking for something new.

Motivation

Sometimes you see something you really want to buy, but you can’t justify breaking free of your budget to make the purchase.

If that’s not motivation to write an article or two for some money, I don’t know what is!

Desks!

Because face it: writers like desks!

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If you’re at a loss for ideas this week, get thee to an antique shop!

Blank minds go in–full minds come out!

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Oh!

One warning about antique shops…

Sometimes you find…

The stuff of nightmares!

I recently watched Richard Nash’s talk about the future of books and publishing. (I found it here, on Booklife.)

There are some great points made in the presentation, but there were two that really stuck out:

1. The reminder that the long form narrative is a feature, not a bug.
2. Most writers — whether they know it or not — want a connection.

Feature, Not a Bug

Some writers and publishers are thinking short and gimmicky these days.

They see a report saying books sales are a little down and they think people don’t have time to read, so they must go with shorter content, or make enhanced e-books that can compete with video games and the Web. (At the same time, many people miss the line in that linked report stating that adult long form fiction saw an almost 7% increase in sales in 2009.)

Nash talks about the strength of the long form narrative, how the medium is a feature, not a bug.

I’ve seen a lot of buzz about this video for an enhanced e-book version of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland the past couple weeks. If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you know I’m in favor of e-books. But this enhanced e-book demo leaves me flat. There’s nothing I see in the demo that enhances the reading experience. It looks very distracting and gimmicky.

More than that, it seems to treat the long form narrative as a bug — not a feature, like something in need of repair.

There’s strength in the time it takes to read a book.

Nash talks about this and the importance of connections for writers and readers.

The Connection

Nash has seen many writers who thought being published would make them happy. He’s seen writers who seemed let down when they finally got a book on the shelves and was left with a feeling of is that all there is?

More than being published, Nash speculates, most writers really want a connection.

Nash talks about the investment of time, and what readers and writers get from the time it takes to read a book. (By treating the long form narrative as a feature, not a bug.)

Nash talks about how when you buy a book the author is “…inside a person’s head for 15 hours and you own that proxy object, that cultural proxy object that connects two people to one another in a deeper, deeper way than any other medium.”

Books connect people.

Deeply.

When I’ve heard people talk about TV shows at jobs, the talk is rarely deep. But when I’ve heard people talk about novels, there’s a much deeper connection. They don’t just talk about what happened like TV talkers — they talk about how what happened affects the world around us. They often talk about symbolism and social issues, not just who kissed whom in a grab for TV ratings.

The writer, Seth Godin, is big on Tribes. He sees importance in being the person who connects people to other people, even if that connection doesn’t directly benefit you as the leader of a group. It’s about sharing and connecting people; it’s about being altruistic and hopeful.

Writers have the ability to connect people like this in big ways.

Even if you never hear from the fans reading your writing, if you have a following that’s stuck around or grown, it’s a safe bet that it’s at least in large part because you connect people.

Readers invest more hours with one story or idea than any other medium out there. To stick with it, whether they contact the author or not, the author’s made a connection with the reader. And when a reader has invested so much time in something and they find somebody else who invested that much time, they connect and talk, sharing the experience and the ideas that came with the experience.

The act of writing is the act of creating tribes.

If you’re looking forward to having time away from your day job this weekend to write, think about how readers will connect with you and how you will connect readers when you sit down to write.

Writing can be a very powerful thing.

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If you have some time to kill, here’s Richard Nash’s presentation:

I recently finished Haruki Murakami’s memoir about running and writing, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.

While it’s much more about running than writing — even if you don’t like running — it’s worth reading if you write. The parallels between distance running and writing a novel are obvious even if you don’t run, but in Murakami’s hands, the parallels carry even more meaning.

There are so many great lines in the book, but this line when Murakami discusses his decision to become a writer stuck out for me:

“I placed the highest priority on the sort of life that lets me focus on writing.”

It seems obvious: if we want to be writers, we need to make writing a priority.

But I know people — some of them with the potential to be great writers — who always mean to get to writing, but never do.

It’s a lonely profession that seems attractive to many people, but because it’s not easy and it takes time to build up to the point you can finish even a weak novel, it’s easy to put it off and say you’ll get to things another day.

I’ve been guilty of this at times; it’s an easy thing to do.

At the same time, I’ve placed a high priority on creating the sort of life that allows me to make writing a priority most days. Obviously, for a writer juggling a day job, writing, and life, there are times other things take priority.

The important thing is making writing a priority on some level, and letting that priority grow.

For me, it’s meant passing by promotions that would have required overtime, taking away from time to write, exercise, and spend time with loved ones. I’ve spent vacation time writing, instead of taking vacation. (That’s something I’ve fixed in recent years — getting away from work and writing even for a couple days is important.) I’ve passed up some social events in order to write…and I’m pretty social and enjoy getting out.

Maybe for you it means waking up a little earlier and writing, or getting away from your desk and other people on lunch break and writing for an hour in the middle of the day. Maybe it means occasionally going to a library all day or even checking into a hotel overnight to dedicate a block of time to writing and remind yourself that it’s worth making writing a priority every day.

Murakami was a busy man when he really began focusing on writing. He owned a jazz club working long hours, booking musicians, working behind the bar, and running the business.

Somewhere in it all, he made time to run and write.

At the risk of losing other things that made more sense to him and the people around him, he placed the highest priority on creating a life that allowed him time to write.

Have you?

On a walk last night, I thought about how I didn’t start writing seriously until I was 20.

I always enjoyed writing, but it wasn’t something I thought I’d do when I was younger. (I thought I’d be an artist, a wildlife biologist, or a juggler.)

As I walked along, I thought about the earliest memories I have of writing, and that led to me thinking about my earliest memory showing some of the character traits that define the way I approach writing.

I came up with this:

The Little Bastard

When I was five or so, my mom and grandfather took me to a forest preserve to let me run around and go fishing.

There was a small, stone wall dam on one of the ponds. I decided that would be a good spot to fish.

I saw bluegills in the water; I was eager to start catching them. I used bread for bait. I could see the fish, but couldn’t catch them. Each time I lowered the hook, it was swarmed by bluegills stealing the bread.

I squeezed the bread harder before putting it on the hook so it would be harder for the fish to steal and started catching little fish. I saw a bigger bluegill and decided I wouldn’t stop until I caught it.

The bigger bluegill probably got bigger because it was smarter than the other fish. It was down a little deeper. By the time the hook reached the fish, the smaller bluegills had pecked at the bread, making it easy for the bigger bluegill to take it off the hook without being caught.

After many rounds of this, I calmly said, “That little bastard,” and went right back to trying.

My mom overheard me call the fish a little bastard and said, “Chris, what did you just say?”

“That little bastard.”

My mom went on to explain that while there were worse words than bastard, it wasn’t a word a kid should use. So I thought about what a little bastard the fish was, until finally catching it.

Then, I let it go.

Why it’s a Defining Moment (And How it Applies to Writing Years Later)

I didn’t just walk up to the shoreline and start fishing — I scoped out the pond, determining the best place to be was on the tiny dam at the far side.

In writing, don’t always go with what’s closest (i.e. easiest). It’s important to assess each step in where we want to go and work at getting ourselves into the best spot we can to succeed.

I could see the fish, but couldn’t catch them.

There are many close calls along the way when you take writing seriously, and it’s frustrating when they break the line and get away. The important thing to remember: there are still a lot of fish down there; sometimes, the one that got away comes back to your hook.

I squeezed the bait onto the hook a bit tighter and started catching fish.

Sometimes it’s important to pack the bait on a little tighter, changing our approach, and seeing what happens. It’s great to think big — that the first novel you write will sell — but the reality is most writers catch some smaller assignments along the way, preparing them for the big catch.

I was persistent and finally caught the little bastard…then, promptly released the fish.

Just because you finally catch the big fish, it doesn’t mean your job is done. Maybe you’ll land a writing deal worthy of mounting on the wall, but at some point — in some way — you have to release it and move on to the next catch.

J.D. Salinger and Harper Lee may have landed records that sustained them for life, but most of us will only catch a few biggies that are worth displaying. Most of what we catch will only sustain us for a couple meals — We starve if we don’t keep fishing.

What about You?

What moment or moments from your past define you as a writer (or other profession)?

Feel free to discuss them in the comments.

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Have a great weekend, everybody — I Hope you all get plenty of time to write!