“It is solved by walking.” – St. Augustine
I have an ornament with this St. Augustine quote that I keep in a kind of altar—a glass case filled with talismans and little bits of inspiration, as well as objects I find on my morning walks that I’m convinced are the universe’s way of telling me I’m on the right track. (It’s rather amusing how much power I can assign to one shiny copper penny.)
So many things in my life have been solved by walking, whether it be coming to terms with a watershed decision, working through issues of personal growth, or simply sorting out a passage of dialog that doesn’t yet have the right zing. But there are also times my soul yearns for stillness—when I need a quiet spot in nature to ponder my way through a problem—some off-the-beaten-path gem where I can disengage from the noise of daily life and figure out—without the counsel of others—where to go next.
As I mentioned in my last post, (Crickets and What’s Next), after receiving a pivotal rejection, I hired an editor (the brilliant Rob Bloom) to perform a manuscript review with the hope that he could help me see the flaws in my novel I’ve not been able to see on my own. At the end of April, he delivered a 17-page editorial letter, along with margin notes, on nearly each of my manuscript’s 321 pages. His feedback was detailed and provocative, honest and direct, and full of care.
But—and in Rob’s own words—it was also a LOT. So much of a lot that I think for several weeks I underwent the editorial equivalent of the 5 stages of grief—the most significant and prolonged stage being that of “paralytic overwhelm”—because as truly extraordinary as his feedback was, what it wasn’t, was a silver bullet. Just as no marriage counselor can fix your relationship for you, no life coach can tell you what your purpose is, no editor can make writing that next draft any easier.
I’ve often thought about the process of editing a novel as being similar to what it would feel like to empty every closet, cupboard and drawer in your home and throw the contents into one giant heap on your living room floor. Your first instinct would probably be to take a match to it all (I did go through a couple of weeks of wanting to burn my novel), but eventually, you roll up your sleeves and begin to develop a system.
You might start by identifying the items that are sure keepers, moving next to getting rid of anything too tired and worn to be saved. Duplicate items might be a little tougher to decide what to do with---do you really need four similar jackets when you only wear the one, and the other three don’t really look that good on you anyway? (Do you really need forty pages that have your main character treading water, or can you take the parts that are best and edit out the rest?) Eventually, you’re left with the really hard choices—those beautiful, expensive 6-inch heels that at one point meant so much to you, but you know you will never wear again. Just like that passage you once thought was so lyrical, but that you now see no longer makes sense. Once you’ve brought a semblance of order to the chaos, it becomes a little easier see what’s missing—that you might need to round out that closet filled with black with a few new items that pack a more colorful punch.
Over the weeks of allowing myself the gift of stillness, (which admittedly, at times looked a lot more like procrastination) I began to find my way through the chaos. And not solely as it relates to the manuscript itself, but as it related to the editorial feedback I’ve gotten over the years. (Rob was not the first editor I’ve engaged.) And in doing so, something that I’ve understood from an academic perspective became viscerally clear: No two readers are ever going to see your work in exactly the same way. And if you make art with the goal of pleasing others, you are bound to disappoint yourself.
In the beginning of my creative journey, I was so desperate for approval—for people to like this art I was struggling to make—that I often jumped to change what was on the page to make it “more” of what I thought that reader or editor (or literary agent) might like. With experience, I’ve been less apt to make those mistakes, but sometimes, out of I don’t know what—laziness, sloppiness desperation, fatigue (?)—I’ve jumped to make changes that moved the work backward rather than ahead.
I’m not exactly sure what it was about Rob—or about me in partnership with Rob—but as I approach this next draft of my novel, I feel different as a writer and as an artist—more creative and simultaneously more certain of what is needed to make me feel good about the work, irrespective of what anyone else might think. (And isn’t that what the very best partners do? Help you get to the answers that serve you and your work, without any ego-attachment of their own.)
These days I don’t have much time to sit in solitude in my hidden spot, languorously watching the ferries as they make their run across the Puget Sound, while allowing the gently lapping waves to act as a kind of guided mediation for my thoughts. Now that I’m working on this next draft, it’s back to those 4 am wakeup calls, followed by long, tedious hours hunched over a keyboard, and the need to make every minute count.
But at some point each morning, after I feel like I’ve done enough work to earn a break, I will engage in what for me is the very best form of multitasking—getting an hour or two of exercise out in nature (rain or shine) while listening to something that helps my mind and perspective grow.
Recently, I listened to Jay Shetty’s interview with music industry giant, Rick Rubin, whose bestselling book, The Creative Act: A Way of Being, was released in January 2023, to great acclaim. That interview coalesced so much of what I’ve recently come to believe with respect to art and creativity, that I’ve decided to share some highlights of what Rick Rubin had to say—but would also recommend that you listen to either this interview, or Krista Tippet’s—if for no other reason than the soothing, melodious sound of Rick Rubin’s voice.
“As an artist…. success comes when you say, I like this enough for other people to see it. Not, other people like it so it’s successful…..because other people liking it is out of your control. I can’t predict what someone else would like, so if I’m authentically true to myself, that’s the best chance of someone else liking something. People want to be accepted. The best way to be accepted is to be yourself. It’s not to change yourself to what someone else thinks…
I (used to) talk about it as greatness. My interest (was) in making something great.. And I came to realize recently, it’s all an offering to God. And if you’re making an offering to God, you’re not thinking about—oh, what’s the budget or, I hope this segment of the audience is going to like it…. It’s a higher vibration. We’re making the best we can make, to the best of our ability, out of love and devotion. That’s what it (art) is.” Rick Rubin
I like the idea of viewing art as an act of devotion—whether it be to God, or in my case, to the memory of my mother-in-law, and to the woman and creative spirit I’m endeavoring to become. And perhaps having the courage to be authentically true to ourselves is the biggest act of devotion of all.
I would love to hear any thoughts you might have on the creative process—and invite you to join the dialog in the comments section. And if you listen to either one of those interviews, I’d be interested to hear what you think.
Thanks for reading, Diana
I completely agree with solving by walking - for me, more than sitting, but I could do with stillness from time to time! I appreciate this post and the nod to the simultaneous importance of listening to yourself and others. Tough to do, but critical for evolving life's work.
Joe always believed that! He would walk / hike every morning! During the work day he would walk out of his office and around town to clear his mind. It was good for him until the day came that he could not walk ever again. It is a very sad day for sure and as you know it spiraled down from there.
We will keep his spirit alive 🙏❤️🙏