Finding a Teacher

A blogger I follow — Laura Young at No Safe Distance — recently posted on the importance of carefully choosing role models. This got me to thinking about all of the teachers I’ve had over the years who’ve helped me to understand how to accomplish various goals. They’ve also helped me see the reality of various goals I’ve set for myself. When I actually talk with successful novelists, for example, it helps me see that there’s nothing magical about their lives, so I don’t expect to somehow be transformed into a carefree, happy-go-lucky charmer if my next novel makes the New York Times Bestseller List. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like it to happen. I just know that the reality is, I will still have to deal with rejection, editors who change jobs, royalties that take a while to arrive and all of the other usual challenges of the writing life.

I’ve found teachers in various ways over the years. Here are some suggestions for how you might find yours:

Consider who in your life right now might be a good teacher for you as a writer. If you have someone in mind, consider yourself an apprentice. It doesn’t need to be a formal relationship. You could offer to buy the teacher lunch if he or she will give you some pointers about writing.

If no one pops to mind, then keep yourself open to finding a teacher. Don’t force the issue, but do pursue opportunities that you may have disregarded before. For example, take a writing class at a nearby college or arts center. Attend a writers’ workshop. Join a writers’ organization and participate in local meetings. Go online and take part in writers’ listservs and bulletin boards. Hit the library and find books by writers you admire, and books about writing that can guide you. Let others around you know that you’re open to finding a teacher or mentor who can help you shape your writing and your writing career.

What are some ways you’ve found a teacher?

The Warrior Lays Down Her Sword

I was five years old when I decided I wanted to make my living writing novels. It’s the only thing that has never changed about me. As I grew older, friends and family let me know how difficult it was to make a living as a writer. Becoming a writer, it seemed, was not a very practical plan. I listened to everyone else who told me what I should do instead, and I tried that for a while.

I went to college, then worked for an insurance company. I wrote novels in my spare time, and put them in my drawer. Now and then I’d send one out to an editor somewhere, and when it was rejected, I would be crushed and spend my evenings doing something else. Then the need to write another story would come along, and I would eventually write it, and put it in the drawer, too.

When I was in my late 20s, I started training in martial arts. Sometimes I think this was the first good idea I’d had all by myself that I didn’t need anyone else to endorse or validate. On the very first day, my instructor showed me how to kihop (the Korean word for the martial arts shout that you remember from all those Bruce Lee movies). I felt like I had finally found my voice. I learned that I could say something out loud, even a thing someone didn’t want to hear, and nothing awful would happen.

Of course, sometime later I found out that awful things could happen, but that’s another story for another day. In the meantime, I learned how to stand up for myself, to make choices for myself and to stop listening to other people. This experience actually led me to a writing career, although not exactly the one I had always sought. I began writing about martial arts, about women and empowerment. It was a wonderful experience and I don’t regret a minute of it. But it was not the kind of writing I had wanted to do from the time I was five.

When I was 40, a succession of mistakes, bad luck, fate (or possibly karma, but then I’d have to believe that I was a *really* bad person in a former life) and the accumulated fatigue of a long life of effort made me step away from everything I was doing and just say “stop.”

I had to find my voice again. I had to give myself a real chance to be the person I wanted to be. For me, that meant getting rid of pretty much everything I had (except the kid and the immensely cool dragon I got in Chinatown) and starting again from the ground up.

It’s now a few years later, and I’ve done enough navel-gazing to know that the lint isn’t going to reveal any secrets any time soon.

What now? That’s what this blog’s about. I hope you’ll chime in with your stories about your pivotal moments, your “what now”s, your second acts. Together we can figure out what works and what doesn’t and how we can build the life we want from the ground up.