This past weekend I surrounded myself with writers, artists, and masters in the craft of storytelling. The 2017 SCBWI Summer Conference held new opportunities and growth in friendships that I had never thought possible. Having begun my career as an illustrator, I had struggled to make myself fit into the genres and categories in which such work was needed. I also had stories I wanted to share and no one seemed to be writing them, so I decided to try writing them myself.
I wrote a picture book about a little coyote that wanted to show up his sister by catching the most fish. I had made a dummy and illustrations and showed this work at the last conference I attended for critique. I revised the manuscript—it was 1250 words—but each time I worked on it, I slowly but surely lost interest. It sucked… I sucked.
Doubt, doubt, doubt, doubt…
Then fear kicked in.
Did I really have a story to tell? What was it exactly? It wasn't anything like the cute and humorous things that everyone wanted to publish, but I could feel it rising inside of me, like a dark swell of thunder clouds. Then I realized something. I was trying so hard to be what everyone else was telling me I should be that I was ignoring the voice inside. I needed to do what that stormy cloud was telling me to do. I needed to expose the dark turmoil that nestled inside my heart, to share the passion I had for gut-wrenching, emotional scenes and to communicate the universal themes found in folklore across the world.
Then I sat down and wrote.
I really wrote. I spent hours, weeks, months writing. And when I finished, I was amazed. I had never completed anything longer than fifty pages before and here I had a 90,000 word novel. I knew it needed work—LOTS of work. But I knew where to look for help. I engaged with the SCBWI community, which I had long been a part of, and discovered that there were others that wrote things similar to mine. Others with similar journeys and similar passions that involved dark and stormy themes.
So I’m all set—armed with questions and goals for the Summer Conference after revising my manuscript for the tenth time, and I’m ready to share it. Only I’m caught off guard by a deceptively simple question: what is your mission? I floundered trying to answer the question, only because there were so many things that I wanted to say and I wanted to be as honest and as truthful as I could without sounding like an idiot, or worse, a fraud. But when I think on it now, I answered in truth. It might have sounded a little corny when I said it out loud initially, like a blubbering buffoon—but I came back to it, and gave it some thought, and some more meat.
Here it goes…
My Writing Mission:
I write because I love story. I love how it serves as a mode of communication between people, between cultures, across spheres of influence. It changes and grows with each new telling, incorporating the thoughts and souls of all who shape it, and touches the lives of all who receive it. Story is the great equalizer: heroes conquer insurmountable odds against indomitable enemies, the weak become strong, and sometimes the villain also learns a lesson and changes heart. I want my stories to impart similar messages; to inspire; to make the reader more aware of themselves and of others; to create empathy and help shed light on paths not often taken. I write for children, and those with an open heart, because they have not yet built the walls of knowledge too high around them. They can still grow.
What's your mission?
What's your mission?