In The Midst
Irreantum is at the printer, and I am relieved. Glad, too, and proud of what the staff and writers have accomplished, but I am enjoying having a little window of time open up in my day again, time that I can dedicate to the myriad other responsibilities (and joys) of my life. I must admit, for a month or two I wondered if I’d be able to keep all my balls in the air (and all the marbles in my head)–and, okay, I probably dropped a ball and lost a marble. But it’s been worth it. As time consuming as editing and writing and teaching can be, more often than not, it’s a blessing. An exhausting privilege.
I remember going back to school in 1999 and wondering if I was up to the task. Not only was I unsure about my abilities as a writer–did I have any talent at all??–but I didn’t know if I could squeeze grad school into the nooks and crannies of my already busy days. As the students went around introducing themselves on the first day of class, I started to panic: most of these people were single, and I imagined them repairing each night to their tastefully simple Minneapolis lofts, writing glorious sentence upon glorious sentence in solitude and silence. Me? I repaired to my suburban split-level with its dirty floors and dirty laundry. I spent my evenings feeding a hungry baby and wrangling a rambunctious toddler, cooking dinner, facing the daunting task of creating a non-lame Sharing Time for church on Sunday, and attempting to make meaningful eye contact with my husband.
In truth, my life was not that hard. It was the life of almost every other late-twentysomething Mormon mom I knew. But it was not a stereotypical writer’s life, of that I was certain. And I wondered if I was kidding myself. Could I be a student again, and attempt to be a writer, and do it well, given my circumstances at home? And conversely, could I be the kind of mother I wanted to be, and wife and friend and (even, yes) counselor in the Primary Presidency given the additional strain that school would put on my time and attention?
It’s been almost 10 years since I went back to school. Ten years, and I STILL find myself without good answers to either of these questions. I know my writing has occasionally suffered because of my family. I know my family has occasionally suffered because of my writing. But ultimately, I believe that both my family life and my writing life have achieved a kind of symbiosis–that one without the other wouldn’t be complete.
In doing a little research on the writer Scott Russell Sanders for my BYU creative writing course, I came upon an excellent interview he gave for The Writer’s Chronicle. Much of what he says is interesting and profound, but I found the following particularly resonant:
Certainly the hectic pace of our days, the electronic media, and the proliferating distractions make it more and more difficult for anyone to lead a gathered life. But writers face an additional risk, which is to accept the view most famously stated by Yeats: “The intellect of man is forced to choose / Perfection of the life, or of the work.” I don’t expect to achieve anything near perfection in either, but I also don’t believe the two pursuits must be at odds. My living nourishes my writing, and my writing guides my living. I write not to escape life but to enter it more deeply, with more awareness and appreciation. Of course there are practical conflicts. When my children were young, I felt guilty whenever I withdrew from them to work on a book. As my mother aged, I felt guilty over not building an addition to our small house so my wife and I could take her in. I earn a living by teaching, and have done so now for thirty-six years, and so I am on call to thousands of current or former students as well as to colleagues and administrators, any of whom may claim my attention at any moment. So, like any writer, I struggle to preserve the mental space necessary for creative work. But I’m not willing to abandon the students and others who depend on me, I’m not willing to exploit my friends, and I’m not willing to sacrifice the people I love in order to produce a more nearly perfect book. So I go on struggling to make my imperfect art in the midst of relationships and responsibilities.
Most human beings–even writers!–have responsibilities to juggle. But very few of us here at The Red Brick Store live the “idealized” writer’s life of solitude and silence I imagined ten years ago. We have spouses and children and jobs and church callings. I have to believe, though, that in the fullness of these lives, our art can be enriched instead of diminished.
It’s exhausting, yes. But it’s worth it.
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November 19th, 2008 at 3:41 pm
Angela,
I soooo know what you mean. Noelle and I arrived in Alaska with not only an intact marriage, but two children, one barely a year old. There was one other student who had a marriage and children (he was Mormon too). But, from what I could see, he was only barely getting by while his wife supported them teaching high school English. The rest, as you say, were single (and throughout the next three years, in and out of relationships with each other).
A husband and wife with children trying to get graduate degrees in the arctics of Alaska?
Amazingly, it worked. In fact, I kind of wondered if this wasn’t the best way to go about it. There is no doubt in my mind that Noelle and I learned more than anyone in that program because of the simple fact that THIS WAS OUR CHANCE. The rest of them could drink themselves under the bar each night and shake it off. They could fake their way through the classes and write up their papers the night before they were due and not have a family to feed afterward. On the other hand, we had actually learn something. We had to come out of that program with real live skills, otherwise, we’d just put our family’s future in jeopardy.
It was motivation, I tell you. And that mindset has continued with me. When I sit down to do a writing project, I have to either admit that I’m writing for leisure, or I have to figure out exactly what I’m doing and approach it as I’d approach any craft. There is no room for floundering around wondering when the muse is going to alight next.
November 19th, 2008 at 3:43 pm
P.S. I’m jealous that you’re at the end of your publishing cycle. I’m just coming up to the most intense part where it all has to come together, and where all the stupidest mistakes are made.
November 24th, 2008 at 10:48 am
I so admire your work Angela. I’m up to my eyeballs in writing and photography right now– to the point where I am constantly apologizing to my husband, “I won’t take on so much next year. I’ll do better, I promise.”
When I go through long periods where I absolutely CAN’T write, I reassure myself that I’ll be a better author after all the living I’ve done!
November 24th, 2008 at 12:42 pm
Angela–
I meant to respond to this a few days ago when I read it. I’m terrified that I won’t get in to the grad school programs I applied to for next year. But I’m also terrified that I won’t get in. When I did grad school the first time, I juggled it with full-time work. When I taught at the college-level, I had one or two little kids at home. Both of those experiences were a great challenge, but ultimately very worth it. Now that I have four kids, and feel pulled back to school, I can’t figure out how it will possibly work out to take classes and teach classes and write and be the kind of mom I want to be. But I also know it’s a leap of faith I have to take.
November 24th, 2008 at 1:04 pm
Like many people who write, I’m still trying to figure out if I am in fact, a “writer.” I will always write, because it’s how I process and find meaning; but I’m not sure how to (or if I should) try to become a working, published author. Sometimes I take it all too seriously and want to write things that are thoughtful and profound. Other times, I think I should just churn out a few candy novels to see if I can pay some bills. In the midst of struggling with how to balance writing with family, I feel like I’m also struggling with how to define myself.
Thanks for this post. It’s nice to struggle in good company.
November 24th, 2008 at 2:55 pm
Stephen, the whole “this is my chance” thing is so true. I’m embarrassed to say that I cried during my thesis defense (but the women on my committee were wonderful friends by that point, so they weren’t embarrassed for me . . . I think). But I was just so grateful. Purely, bottom-of-my-heart grateful to have had the experience I did. It changed the way I approached getting my degree and made it more meaningful.
Michelle, I apologize to my husband, too. (After apologizing just yesterday, I said, “But remember last year? I was so much more busy last year. Let’s be glad it’s not 2007.”). Our dear, patient [mostly] spouses.
Shelah, it will work. You can make it work. I had a woman lean over to me at the Elder’s Quorum social Friday night and whisper, “I’m going to Law School. I haven’t told anybody else because I’m afraid of what they’ll say . . . but I’m going to Law School!” I was really happy for her. And it is a leap of faith–and some people will grumble and wonder why you’re doing it, and some might even intimate you’re neglecting your children. But you can do it. I’m going to requote my favorite Chieko quote (and I say requote because I think I’ve used it on Segullah already)–but it’s so applicable:
“Only you know your circumstances, your energy level, the needs or your children, and the emotional demands of your other obligations. Be wise during intensive seasons of your life. Cherish your agency, and don’t give it away casually. Don’t compare yourself to others—nearly always this will make you despondent. Don’t accept somebody else’s interpretation of how you should be spending your time. Practice saying, ‘I feel good about my decision to . . .’ and then fill in the blank with whatever you’ve decided.”
And Melissa, I think you know deep down what kind of stuff you want to write (even if they won’t make enough money to pay the bills
.
November 24th, 2008 at 4:04 pm
I love that, Angela. Thanks so much! I have this one from President Monson on my computer: “Do not pray for tasks equal to your abilities, but pray for abilities equal to your tasks. Then the performance of your tasks will be no miracle, but you will be the miracle.” I’m not sure that I’ll ever be a miracle, but I love the idea of becoming equal to my tasks.
November 25th, 2008 at 2:52 pm
Angela,
Loved reading this in part because I just like reading you period, and in part because it reminded me of some writing advice I read this summer that has hit closest to home for me most recently. It’s from an interview with Wendell Berry, a writing/thinking/activist hero of mine, in The Sun, July issue. Fearnside is the interviewer.
“Fearnside: For me, as for many people, being a writer means getting up early in the morning — sometimes when it’s dark — writing as much as possible, and then going out and working a full-time job. I’m content with this, knowing that I’m doing my best under the circumstances, and I define myself as a writer even though I’m not writing full time or earning my living from it.
Berry: That’s good, but you need to realize something else: that you can lead a perfectly good and satisfactory life even if you’re not a writer. When I figured out that I could be perfectly happy and not be a writer, I became a better writer.
Fearnside: But you never gave up writing.
Berry: No, but I don’t think you ought to let your happiness depend on writing. There are a lot of worthwhile things you can do. The unhappiest people in the world may be the ones who think their happiness depends on artistic success of some kind.”
Maybe this is the “on the other hand:” of what you were talking about, but I think I too often get hung up in that “artistic success”=meaningful life kind of thinking.
November 26th, 2008 at 3:44 pm
For me it is more about creating visiual art, but I can understand the feelings. It is a constant struggle/balance. To not get distracted thinking of what color to put in part of a painting while playing uno with my 7 yr old or letting my mind wander to a new composition formulating in my head while reading my 3 year old a story and reissting the urge to get the paints out when my baby wants me to play roll the ball with him. I so appreciate the richness that my art brings to my life and the lives of my children. My husband and I were just talking today about all the experiences that have come into our lives as a result of creating niches for my passions in my life. I consider these talents blessings to be exercised. My family life inspires my art work, and my art work inspires me to get through the more mundane moments of work in my home.
November 27th, 2008 at 8:34 am
I struggle with balance a lot. I never feel like I’m giving enough to my family, or enough to writing. I think I’ve gone overboard with writing/editing the last couple of years, because I was so starved for that kind of thing. But I need to pull myself back into balance.
I agree, though, that my experiences with my family make my writing richer. Not just that: they make it possible. I would not have much to write about without them.
November 29th, 2008 at 12:10 am
Angela,
Thanks for another great post. I have this problem like all the others who’ve said so. I have two jobs, four kids, a demanding Church calling, and I’m still trying to get my undergraduate degree finished up. I also am prone to sickness if I cut out much sleep, which is a big reason school has taken so long. Graduate degrees are still an object of envy (though not covetousness) for me. Plus I have these writing and film projects nagging at me. Fortunately, one of my jobs is home based and it gives me the chance to spend more time with my family – also to work on some of my creative projects. My wife is so incredibly understanding and supportive. We both know that for the sake of survival I can’t really stop any of this right now, but it shreds me up at times to have to keep going. It brings me to tears not infrequently. The strength I receive from words like yours are often what motivate me to try anew. I know I’m doing things the hard way, but I also know its the right way for me and mine. I wouldn’t change the order of things in my life even if I could. While I lack perfect certainty about when I’ll get another project out the door or how much they’ll ever contribute to the support of my family (thus relieving some of the other tasks), I do have the conviction that I’m creating for the right reasons. For now, that’s enough.
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