I’ve been
in an MFA in Creative Nonfiction Writing program for a year and half, a process
that has transformed my writing from dedicated journaling into thoughtful story-crafting,
working toward the goal of creating a manuscript suitable for submission to
publishers.
Along the
way, I have set and achieved smaller but valuable goals, like writing a
compelling, 15-page profile of my drumming mentor, acting as a helpmate and
supporter to my fellow writers, or even just finding a way to balance work, school,
and intimate relationships without having the whole thing topple. These successes have
enlarged my view of who I am and what I’m capable of.
This week, my Intro to Publishing instructor invited me and my classmates to use our blogs to address what it means to be an accomplished writer. Because I am a total word nerd, I went right to the dictionary app on my phone, where I discovered that Miriam-Webster defines “accomplished” as being “proficient as the result of practice or training,” and is synonymous with being “cultivated, polished, refined.”
On a personal level, my sense of being accomplished (at writing, or anything else) is less finite than this definition, less of a static destination and more of a continuum, an ongoing process of self-realization and self-actualization. To me, being an accomplished writer means challenging myself to consistently occupy the space of active observer—or witness—of life, and striving to honestly document both what I see and how that seeing impacts me. Telling stories connects me to deeper parts of myself, connects me to others, and, hopefully, connects others to bigger ideas about life, itself.
Over the course
of this program, I have stripped away layers of fear about my writing (What if
I hurt, anger, or alienate a loved one with my words? What if readers think me
too self-involved and a fool? What if no one actually reads my writing?) and
discovered new depths of courage and honesty. Yes, cultivating a more
consistent writing practice has assisted me in this process, as has receiving
copious feedback from trusted readers. But what provides me the greatest fuel
is a continuing hunger for challenge. In this writing program, as I work to
meet a 25-year goal, I feel more intellectually and creatively challenged than
ever before, sometimes to a deeply uncomfortable degree. And when I yield my
fear to the challenge, I discover new territory I didn’t know I could occupy. I’m
growing—as a writer and as a human being—and I consider this a very good thing.
If success
(as Miriam-Webster suggests) is the accomplishment of a goal, I can say that
becoming a more accomplished writer—a more conscious witness of life—has
translated into also becoming more successful, as I have achieved an important
goal: getting out of my own way, freeing my mind about what is possible in a
lifetime, taking on more than I think I’m capable of. What’s exciting is
knowing that there are always new levels of understanding and expression to be
experienced. I was affirmed in this belief just last week, when I encountered a
woman in her eighties—an artist who did not know I write—who insisted that our
creative lives get better as we age.
“Most writers say they produced their best
work after 55!” she exclaimed.
