What I Learned from Marilynne Robinson

A few years ago, a friend paid me a compliment I still think about. She said that she admired my ability to set a goal (running four half marathons in a year) and then to carry out and accomplish it. I loved that she told me this, of course. But it also made me feel a little bit disappointed in myself, because there are so many goals I have yet to carry out and accomplish. The one I've been thinking about most recently is my long-held goal of becoming a writer. I've carried this goal with me since I was sixteen—more than twenty years—when I promised myself that one day, I would be able to support myself and my as-yet-just-imagined children by writing.

Before I had children, I worked hard at this goal. I subscribed to (and read!) literary magazines; I studied (after purchasing!) Writer's Market and Poet's Market; I wrote and wrote and wrote and then I submitted my work (without much success!). I collected form-letter rejections and tracked my submissions and gnawed anxiously at my work, wanting to improve, knowing I had much still left to learn.

I did two years of college at a community college where I took every literature and creative writing class they offered, and then graduated with an associates of Humanities because they didn't have an English degree yet. And then I had Haley. Writing still happened—because it is, like running, one of the things I need for my sanity—but I felt a lot like my former student Heather does in a recent blog post, that while writing was important to me, my family needed to come first.

A few years later, when life brought me to the accomplishment of another long-held goal (earning my Bachelor's), I attended my college convocation, where I had the privilege of listening to Madeline L'Engle speak. (I KNOW! It was seriously one of my life's best moments, especially as I had no clue she was speaking until I read the program.) She spoke of wanting to become a writer, but feeling like her children needed to come first when they were small. She realized how both fleeting and demanding those small years of childhood are, just a small portion of a mother's entire life. So she promised herself: she would continue practicing writing, and once they were in school, she would start her writing career.

As I listened to her speak, her words hit me with one of those "these words are being spoken simply for my benefit" sort of crash. I knew, without question or doubt, that that was what I needed to do, too: continue writing, of course, because how would one live without writing, but to not focus on becoming a writer until all of my kids were in school.

This took longer than I expected because of that five-year gap between Nathan and Kaleb, but here I am, arrived at that time I labelled "start writing" on the day of my convocation. Here I am, still: not yet daring to take the plunge. Not yet working on writing as a career. Completely and utterly bound by fear. Because, really: what if I fail? If I don't start, then "become a writer" is something still in the future—as yet untried, yes, but also still possible. Starting carries with it the very-nearly-certain possibility of failure. As well, I feel like perhaps it is too late—that I am too old to begin. Those 20 under 40 New Yorker issues will never contain my work. I have a family relying on me so I don't have time to waste or lose; if I am going to do it, I need to do it successfully.

I have thought a lot about this goal while carrying out my other one (the marathon). A few non-running friends have said some variation of "I could never do that," to which I always respond "yes, you can." Unless there is a physical reason (like Kendell, who doesn't run because his hips won't stand it), everyone can become a runner I believe. It doesn't require you to be an extraordinary person. It just requires a plan, dedication, and willingness to adjust to changes and adapt around injuries and your body's own peculiarities.

But writing? Writing something that is good and also successful? That seems to require an extraordinary person. Someone far more amazing than me.

On Friday, I was at work at my usual library reference desk when one of my fellow librarians asked me if I could do him a favor. He had been scheduled to ride with another co-worker to Salt Lake; they were driving our visiting author back to her hotel. He needed to leave earlier than they would get back, though, so he asked me if I would go in his place.

Ride in a car with Marilynne Robinson? Twist my arm!

She was visiting because we'd read her book, Gilead, for our city-wide book group called Orem Reads. As I did with every. single. Orem. Reads. event, I missed the reading she did the day before—hard as I tried, something came up that prevented me from going. I was thoroughly disappointed as I love her writing. She's won tons of literary prizes—the PEN, the National Book Critics Award, the Orange Prize, and the Pulitzer. More importantly, her writing is beautiful and moving and important. She looks at things through a spiritual lens that never fails to bring clarity to my perspective.

I fairly skipped down the hall and out the door to the waiting car. You know: the car waiting with Marilynne Robinson in it.

But once I got in the car—my mind went blank. What sort of casual conversation do you have with such an esteemed person? I either didn't know what to say, or added random and vague tidbits to the conversation. I wanted to come across as sparkling and memorable; I am certain that I seemed like an idiot. Maybe "idiotic" is memorable, but not in the way I expected. I did, I think, manage to sound fairly intelligent when the discussion turned to poetry, but I'm not sure it mattered because I don't think she is a great fan of poetry.

After the poetics discussion, I lapsed into silence and watched the freeway instead. I thought of the great question burgeoning in my throat, which was this one: tell me, is it too late? Am I too old to start a writing career? Am I good or talented or smart enough? I think I wanted to ask those questions of that particular writer because her books are both good and successful. Quite a few "literary" novels are duds in terms of financial success, but not hers. Hers are well-written and widely read. (How many authors show up on Jon Stewart anyway?) And that is exactly what I hope to accomplish.

Maybe I should have asked the questions of her. What stopped me? Again: fear. I didn't want to come across as taking advantage of her time. It's very nearly a cliche, a desperate writer hoping to make a connection with a famous one.  And I was in the back seat of a car driven my another librarian—and no one in the library knows of my writerly ambition. Somehow it feels slightly embarrassing, like wishing you were an astronaut or a movie star or a ballerina. A child's ambition.

So I watched the freeway, and I looked at the back of Marilynne Robinson's head, and then I noticed: she wasn't talking, either. The car was silent and she looked out the window. I wondered: is conversation difficult for her, too? Or was she just tired from the long days of public and private speeches? A little bit of something seeped into my thoughts. She was just a person, sitting in a car and looking out at the freeway and, probably, the mountains. A talented and brilliant person with opinions and ideas and stories to tell, but still: a person. Not a demigod. Not a prophet or a magician or a caster of spells.

Just a person who writes books.

Even though I didn't ask my writerly questions of Marilynne Robinson, I left her at her hotel with some of my fears calmed. Perhaps, just like running a marathon requires nothing superhuman other than a willingness to set the goal, make a plan, and carry it out—maybe writing is like that, too. What I need is a plan, a way to move forward with my goal, to make it specific and achievable. Small steps, like you take while training for a race, that build endurance and stamina, only I'd be building chapters and narrative instead.

Hanging out for an hour with Marilynne Robinson taught me that books are written by no one else but people. It calmed my fear that I am not extraordinary enough. Perhaps the extraordinariness comes through the process and its results. Perhaps—it's highly likely—I wouldn't achieve a career like hers. But, perhaps, since I am also a human being with ideas and opinions and stories to tell, I can achieve something as well.

Comments

[Shaunte]

Amy- for hell sake! Stop being a chicken, and get cranking on one of those books that I know is already half written in your head. If Stephenie Meyer can sell her...never mind. You are not even in the same category.
You are a beautiful writer. You have a talent for taking complicated emotional life events and putting them into words. You have no idea how many times I have sat in front of my computer reading one of your posts, nodding my head and thinking to myself "Yes! That's it! Exactly how I feel..."
Stop with the self-doubt. Get writing.

[heather hoyt]

I love this post so very much. I love your writing too, so I'm cheering for you and always will.

Thank you for reading my blog post and linking to it. It makes me happy.

Marilynne Robinson is awesome. Back in college, I went to quite a few author events, and she was by far my favorite one. She signed my copy of Housekeeping.

[Judy]

Ditto what Shaunte said - you have a gift for expressing what everyone else feels ... you go for it. Besides, there are incredibly successful writers out there who started later in life (like you're all that far into "later" - HAH) ... and besides, who said it has to end at 40?! I'm so glad you go to meet (and sit quietly with) Marilynne Robinson. That had to be cool, whether you had profound conversational moments or not.

[Becky]

I think we ascribe too many lofty attributes to people who have succeded in doing something we also want to do, and we forget they are human. But you realized this in your drive, and acted human-ly with another human. That is great! Because what works/worked for her in getting published may not work for you.

Remember what you said when you wrote your marathon post: you can do things. You may make it big or you may not. But not trying doesn't get you anywhere, in writing, in running, in anything. Just one word after the other, Amy. You can do it.

[Elizabeth]

Hee, I love what Shaunte said : )

I have writerly ambitions too, and I keep putting them off thinking next year when Bridget is in kindergarten... but the good thing is I KNOW I don't have a novel in me. But gosh I'd love to start writing for a magazine again, and I do have a number of picture books rolling around in my head...

You know how highly I think of your writing, at least I hope you do!! I've even made Matt read a few things you've written : )

[karen]

i just want to say ditto!!! you sit and do it amy! nanowrimo is coming, maybe take that as an excuse to get the first draft out of the way?

[Cheryl]

I can totally relate to your post. Different career. Same fears. Thank you for voicing them.

[Apryl]

I haven't accomplished most of my creative goals yet, but I had an epiphany about 8 years ago that if I didn't start my career, it wouldn't start. Turns out it was pretty inspired, since that career mostly supported our fam while Colby went back to school for four years. I'm waiting for my BIG PUSH TO THE NEXT LEVEL till Gretchen is in kindergarten (in 2 years!) I think I may have told you this before, but I read a self-help book that my self-help-book-addicted mom gave me and it really helped. If you can bring yourself to get over the embarrassment of the Self Help Genre (which admittedly took me about a year), read "The Success Principles" by Jack Canfield and "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron. They're both full of good advice. Sometimes you just need to think about the fact that it may just be possible. Self doubt is so paralyzing! It's stifling. Fear holds all of us back. Fear is the opposite of faith. I have faith in you! You're great!

[SueC]

Here's an idea to think about. Set a deadline for yourself (like the marathon) and then use a site like lulu.com to self-publish your first book. It has a storefront option, too. It's a no harm no foul proposition since there is no minimum order or up front costs to use their site. Of course you would still want to pursue other publishers in parallel. (I am not affiliated in any way with lulu, but I have used their site for a family history book and was very happy with the quality and service.) I was so moved by your posts about your father this summer - you are a very talented writer. Don't give up your dream.

[Melanie Bell]

I'm with Shaunte. You have an incredible gift with words. Don't sell yourself short. I love that you got to ride in a car with Marilynne Robinson, and even more that you got to have one of those aha moments. Some people seem super-human, but really we're all just people.

Funny timing. Someone left a copy of Housekeeping in the BYU apartment in Vienna where my parents are staying this semester. I started to re-read it - it's one of my all-time faves. I didn't get far, and I left it for my mom because I really want her to read it. But I need to get another copy - I lent mine to someone and never got it back - and read it again. I love it when a book makes enough of an impression to make you want to re-read it!

Can't wait to read the next amazing thing to come out of your brain! :)

[Melissa Kaiserman]

Great perspective, Amy.

I love reading what you write here and have no doubt that you will one day be writing for a wider audience.

I'm reading Gilead right now, so it was fun to see Marilynne Robinson star in your post. :)

[Sarah M.]

I agree with the comments above: you are an awesome writer!

There's a book that you might be interested in that I think covers some of those fears you speak of (I haven't read it, but I've heard about it). It's called "The Art of War for Writers" by James Scott Bell.

[Katherine]

What a great story. I really love your writing, and hope you keep at it!