English Majors Unite!

The other day there was a bit of a kerfuffle on Twitter. I know, quelle surprise!

A very successful writer was asked for a bit of advice from a young fan as a new English Major.

The writer’s response? English Major = “Do you want fries with that?”

I mean.

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She told the fan to get a degree in something that would get them a lucrative job and write on the side.

Yeah. Sure. Some people totally do that. But to completely belittle the fan’s already chosen path while also tearing down the service industry? REALLY?

You won’t be surprised to find out that I, myself, was an English Major. I have a loverly BA in English with a concentration on Creative Writing. A major I created myself because it didn’t exist at my school at the time. I was very lucky that my adviser was also the department chair at the time so getting it approved wasn’t quite the battle it could have been.

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I am damn proud of my degree. I have both dyslexia and dyscalculia. Believe me, getting dyslexia under control has been much easier than my dsycalculia–there was no way I was going to be a math or science or business major. But guess what? As a self-published writer, I am running my own business. My husband also runs his own business, but I also help with that. I run the office for both of us. And my degree helped me, believe it or not.

English degrees teach you critical thinking, creative solutions, and so much more.

Now, do you need an English Degree to be a writer? Of course not. I know many writers who are also something else. Writing isn’t paying the bills just yet for them. But it might some day.

Did I need an English Degree to be a writer? To be a good one, yes.

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I can say with a little confidence that I had “raw talent” when I was younger. When I got to be creative with my English assignments, I always did well. I actually remember my senior English AP teacher writing “I can’t wait to see what happens next!” on a paper I turned in. It was an amazing feeling. I really thought I could write. I thought I was a good story teller.

Then I went to college.

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I had professors who were published novelists and playwrights and poets.

And they let me know raw talent wasn’t enough then and it wouldn’t be enough in the future. They tore my papers apart. I had one professor (the aforementioned adviser) who knew I was turning in the first drafts of papers and would automatically deduct a full letter grade because of it. I went to him, demanding to know why I kept getting B’s on my papers and he told me. He told me even if the paper was an A on the first try, that just told him the second try would be that much better.

My poetry was ridiculous. It was flowery and vague, like I didn’t want my reader to know what I was talking about. My professor shredded my poems until I learned to paint a damn picture that he could see.

I am the writer I am today because of the lessons those professors gave me. It was well worth the time and money. Maybe I would have gotten to that point as an English Minor, or just taking a couple of classes for fun, who knows? But I know being an English Major changed my life and I am damn grateful for it.

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Do you need to be an English Major to be a successful writer? Of course not. Or maybe you do. None of us are the same. Some of us need the instruction, some of us don’t. Some of us will write a NYT bestseller in our 20s and others will do so in their golden years. You are special and different and need to decide what is right for you. Don’t let some random person–even if they are a NYT bestseller themselves–tell you what is the right path for you.

Oh, by the way, I was a waitress all through college. It was the most thankless, degrading job I’ve ever had and I worked in insurance after college. Never tear down the service industry. Customers are assholes and service industry people are overworked and treated like shit every day. Everyone should have to wait tables on Mother’s day, or run a cashier over the holidays. People would be far, far nicer and learn some damn manners.

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Now. Thanks to that English degree, I’m putting out my 16th novel (under this name), and it is up for pre-order now! If you were a fan of my Ash & Ruin Trilogy, this is a companion novel, maybe you’d like to take a peek?

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Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Kobo Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | ibooks

 

Resist || Create

Hey guys. How’s it going? Are you doing okay? It’s been a whirlwind, right? Everyday we brace ourselves to see what else is going to happen. It’s exhausting, right?

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We haven’t been political on the blog, not because we don’t care and not because any of us are supporting the current administration, just because sometimes we all need an escape for a few minutes and there’s nothing wrong with that. So we’ve tended to post lighter things, stuck with topics about writing and craft. Tried to make this a nice break space for you.

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But holy shit does each week get harder and harder to keep that up.

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On Saturday I participated in my local march, like many of you did around the world. It was inspiring and invigorating. I tend to be one of those borderline introvert/extroverts who is happy to say yes to making plans but then is secretly really happy when you cancel so I don’t actually have to go.

On Thursday night, I found out our little town was in fact having a march (yes, I could have gone to LA but crikey that one was crazypants huge), so I was going to go! I was so excited and rage-faced and ready! Then Friday night I waffled. My husband couldn’t go because of work and I didn’t know anyone going (which turned out to be wildly untrue) and did I really want to go? I’ve donated and spread the word about causes and called my reps weekly, I don’t have to do this one thing. I was going to talk myself out of going. But then as it came closer and closer to go to bed to wake up in time to get downtown I knew I had to go. I had to. I couldn’t miss this. This was important.

And then, when I was standing in our crowd as it got bigger and bigger the closer to the start time we got, the organizers said we were one of nearly 700 marches, in every single state, in 80 countries. Can you imagine if I’d convinced myself to stay home? I would have missed being part of history. I would have hated myself.

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It was a great day. And I was so wonderful to see so many diverse faces and when people honked and waved at us as we marched, we were pleasantly surprised to see so many of the drivers were men–cheering us on!

But then the week has gone on and while we’re still fighting and spreading the word, every day something else comes out to steal a little bit of our fire. It’s hard. I was fully ready and excited to start work on a new witchy story this month and can’t seem to find the inspiration for it.

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I have 4 other story ideas on deck for current series I have out that I could work on and save the new story idea. But I’m finding it so hard to find my motivation to actually do it. The last time depression and sadness worked for me as a muse was when I was a teenager. People think pain pain makes good art, and it does, but security and support and happiness can make some amazing art too.

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But we have to try, right? Just like I couldn’t talk myself out of going to the march by myself, I can’t talk myself out of writing, out of creating art and escapism for myself and my readers.

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So, I guess that is the point of this post. Don’t give in to the sadness. Don’t give up. Keep up the resistance. Rise and rise again, everyday, get up and keep moving. Even if it’s just one step, one page, one action. That’s how they win this, through attrition. Do not give in.

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The Meaning of Life

adventureDon’t worry, I’m not going to get all deep and philosophical on you. Not today at least, 😉 One of my goals for 2017 is to have more of a social life. I’ve been really neglecting that part of living for the last few years while I holed up at home working to make my writing career come to life.

Now that it has, the meaning of the phrases “I have no life” or “get a life,” have been on my mind a lot. But I’ve come to realize that for writers (or at least for me) “having a life” means something different than for others. Bear with me here.

Like 95% of other writers, I have a full-time job. That means my writing/marketing, domestic duties, and social time are crammed into weekends and the five hours a day that aren’t spent sleeping, commuting, getting ready for work, or working. (I know, wah, first world problems.)

I’m in my mid-to-late 30s, so when I do go out, it’s not the same way I used to think of “going out.” I’m so beyond the bar/club scene of my early 20s, I never want to think about it again. Most of my friends are married and have kids (I have neither), so we don’t interact in the same ways we used to.

Given this, I guess it isn’t  surprising that many of my friends are now people I know only online (*waves to Spellbound Scribes*) or who I know from writing groups. I think part of that is just the way the world is going and part of it is because as writers, we’re online so much anyway and we naturally flock together.

Once you are out of college, making friends gets way harder. That is one of those things I wish someone prepared you for beforehand. Having a life morphs into finding your tribe, which for me, just so happens to be mostly online. (Without the internet or social media, we might be having a very different conversation.)

The more I thought about it, I realized, I do have a life, just not one that fits traditional parameters like a hobby, sport, or regular social gathering such as drinking or going dancing or playing poker. It wouldn’t play out well on a TV show. Let me explain:

  1. For me, reading and research are kind of hobbies, even though they both also feed into my second job as an author. They are both solitary pursuits and that suits my introverted self just fine.
  2. I interact with writing friends online on a regular basis by email, social media, blogs and messenger. I’ll be honest, I trust and like some of them way more than some of the people I’ve known IRL for years.
  3. I meet with my local Romance Writers of America chapter monthly, and several of the members have become my friends outside of the writing world. I am immensely grateful for them. Because that group doesn’t know a stranger, I’ve even come out of my shell more.
  4. I go to several conferences a year, so I have the chance to interact with my tribe face-to-face and also meet new friends. This also gives me a great chance to travel, usually by myself, to places I otherwise wouldn’t get to see.
  5. Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I don’t go out. I take myself to dinner frequently (dear God, I am an expensive date!), get a monthly massage, and sometimes go to the movies if there is something I really want to see. I’ve even been known to go to the art museum by myself.

Based on this, I think what I’m wanting to focus on is throwing in a few more “just for funsies” type things that don’t involve either of my jobs. Going to see a play/musical, taking a class not related to writing, something like that. I have a life, I would just like to enrich it.

How do you define “having a life?” How do you work in a social life with the rest of your life? What do you do just for fun? 

PS – Thank you to Shauna for posting for me in late December when a personal matter left me temporarily unable to think of anything else.