Writing Integrity

I read each new issue of the Writer, Writer’s Digest and RWR cover to cover, feeding on the advice, those gems of wisdom from writers far more experienced than I do—published writers, writers who give workshops, write how-to books for writers. I’ve been doing so since high school many decades ago. I still have yellowed pages torn from old issues. The magazines gave me my degree in writing, such as it is. The magazines where a consistent teacher was always available when I was, supportive even when the idea of success was buried beneath diapers, housework and railroad widowhood.

I would say I have a doctorate in writing advice, if time spent, advice taken, practiced and improved counts for anything. Times have changed, though. Publishing has changed. Making money from writing has changed. Writers have had to change their approach. Lately, a lot.

We can blame the internet for much of that change. Of noted interest and maybe, worry/ second thoughts, not just for writers but for our children was Internet Brain by Hillary Casavant in August 2013 issue of the Writer.

I’ve found advice is a funny thing. You can read it, take it but it’s the timely advice that sinks in and takes hold. In this same issue (August issue of the Writer) another article sank in deep and got me thinking— Separation Anxiety by Julie Krug. Krug wrote about writing or the inability to during times of trouble, pain, illness, sorrow. You know—life.

I’ve gone through my own troubled times where writing was impossible, where illness, family needs, grief, disaster has sidelined my writing and I see more of it in my windshield. If you’ve read my blog you know, I’m primary caregiver to a ninety-six year old parent, which is something I have to knit my writing around. Without a doubt, that will change to something else. Something I know will challenge the flow of my writing, even more.

Writing is challenging at any time, but I’ve found having writing integrity has helped. What is writing integrity? For me, above all, it’s being honest with myself, being kind to myself and having in place several plans for those tough-spot times. Go-to measures I can reach out, almost with second nature to keep my heart, mind and hands in the writing.

My go-to plan when actual writing would be impossible. When grief, illness, disaster turns my world and work upside-down: Read, read fiction, read writing advice, write poetry, read poetry, watch movies that pluck at emotion, take notes of what I want to write, journal, draw or paint, take pictures, research, heal, take care of myself, give myself time to gain balance and perspective, find a listener, be a listener, do something kind for someone, for myself, spend time with my dog, cat, garden, play music from my youth, rest, walk.

I keep this list in an emergency file along with prompts, ideas, articles for writing emergencies.



I’ve had to learn to do this. Learn what it takes to hold me close to writing and not let that dream all spin away. In the process, I’ve learned how strong I really am, even when I’m not certain that I am. I’ve learned what supports me, what I need and how to ask for it, what gets my writer’s mind going. It’s not been easy to learn. I’ve had to try and fail, hang on with tooth and nail, pay attention to what actually works, what doesn’t.

When I started back writing after my illness, I struggled to get back into the work I left half-down, deserted. For one, it just frustrating and heartbreaking to see what I thought was the finishing up of a book was in disarray. Worse was, I just couldn’t get back into it. I was so anxious to start working again, but my mind was still affected by medication. I was overwhelmed with the idea of backtracking before I could go forward. I didn’t have the energy to do it and worse, I was so afraid I’d lost the ability. (That was one of the worse parts about the illness-that fear. I felt so much like I’d lost a part of myself)

Thankfully, I found poetry could be my entry into writing. I always had been. I just didn’t realize it. I had to learn that for myself. So I learned to: Be purposeful. Trust time. Trust that, if I was a writer I would have to come back to it. I’d have no choice. I had to trust that I was a writer and that had nothing what so ever to do with what had been published or bought.

I think now, that time of crisis, that time of doubt and trying to find my writing again was the best thing for my writing. It has made me appreciate every word I write. It makes me anxious to get to my desk. It makes me fight through every kind of block and fear.

So, let there be tears, false starts, garbage on the page. It’s hard. It’s gonna be hard. It will always be hard, ‘cause the thing is, troubled times don’t end or go away. They just are. Muscles atrophy, even writing muscles. So, each time I stumble or get shoved off the road, I start again—small. With one word, one sentence, even if I have to steal it from someone, somewhere else. And I do steal. I claw, I write. I live and write some more. My heart breaks, I write. The first thing I think about in the morning is writing. Something wonderful happens I don’t text, I write.