I’m excited to welcome my good friend, Monique Mulligan, into the attic today. Many of you already know Monique from our Midweek Moments, and you’ve seen her wonderful photography. Today you get to see another side of her as she shares her thoughts on her main passion: writing.
A former newspaper editor, journalist, children’s curriculum writer and magazine editor, Monique has had a varied career in writing. (Not to mention being a Family Day Care mother, a playgroup facilitator, a reception temp, administrative assistant, government administrative officer, marketing and media coordinator … all of which adds up to rich life experiences). In 2011, she set up a freelancing business from home, and created Write Note Reviews, a blog that celebrates her love of reading. In 2012, through her part-time work at Koorliny Arts Centre, she founded the successful Stories on Stage program, which features authors talking or being interviewed in a theatre setting.
Monique now has her sights set on becoming recognised as an author. Her short romance story, The Point of Love, has been published by Serenity Press as part of the Rocky Romance anthology. She is now working on a full-length contemporary novel, as well as another short story. Or two.
A mother of two grown sons and step-mother to two teenagers, Monique is also a keen amateur photographer who loves taking close up shots of flowers, and a passionate but messy cook, who believes the best ingredient in food is love. Her husband agrees.
Monique can be found on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, and at her website, too.
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WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A WRITER
What does it mean to be a writer?
I could answer this question in a myriad of ways. I could be funny, and talk about ridiculous Google searches, writing on napkins when there’s a lack of paper, writing love scenes when the kids are wandering about. I could be practical and use words like discipline and commitment. I could philosophise about the need to witness reality or imagination, or like, Elizabeth Gilbert in Big Magic, wax lyrical about creative energy needing an outlet.
All of these answers would be ‘right’ or ‘good’ in so far as such answers could be evaluated. At different times, being a writer is all of these things.
But underneath the laughter and the hard work, there’s another aspect of being a writer; all writers understand it, even if they don’t often talk about it.
It means being vulnerable. It means accepting a measure of discomfort. You are revealing a big piece of yourself with others. Putting yourself out there for dissection and analysis. So, when you write, do you hold back or do you let your you flow onto the page?
Being a writer means serving your heart on a plate and hoping readers will be kind, will taste the complex flavours of your dish, and, even better, will want to know your recipe. Being a writer means accepting that what you write will not always be to everyone’s taste, and that there will be flaws.
Being a writer means accepting that self-doubt will be a constant companion, even when it’s silent.
And yet.
I can’t imagine not writing. It’s always been part of who I am. It’s part of my need to live creatively, a need that comes from deep within, and flows through words, photography, drawing mandalas and more. And I’ve always written, in one way or another.
But here’s the thing. It took me years to be the writer I wanted to be. To write creatively and to share my writing with others.
It took great effort to stop letting self-doubt and perfectionism drown my dreams. Outside I came across as confident, assured and strong; inside, I was holding myself back, scared of showing my most vulnerable self. I was mired in the need for approval and perfectionism and it was sucking me down into the quicksand of lost dreams.
When I finally seized the gift of words and gave creativity full rein, when I finally made space in my life for the doing part of being a writer, I was far from strong. When I finally, tentatively, shared my work with others, I felt as though I were sitting on a bed of nails, unwilling to move in case one pricked my skin. What if they didn’t like it? What if they thought I’d written a piece of rubbish? What if? What if?
I had so much to learn. I still do. I have to stop beating myself out when someone points out a typo; I need to armour myself with resilience to fight off my response to internal (self-doubt) and external (critique and reviews) attacks.
I have to dig deep. I have to forgive myself for not always being disciplined. And I have to stop comparing myself to others and let my voice shine.
What does it mean to be a writer? It means you are always being challenged to step out of your comfort zone.
But instead of thinking about taking that step, think about how great it feels after you’ve taken that step, after you’ve completed that challenge. You’ve put yourself out there, been true to something deep within you, told your story, and you’ve set your vulnerability free.
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If you want to read more of Monique’s writing or keep in contact with her, she’s on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, and you can find her at her website, too.
If you’re a writer—published or unpublished, in any genre—and you’d like to write something for my ‘What it means to be a writer’ series, please drop me a line via the Contact page. I’d love to hear your story—your inspirations and goals, the reasons you write, and the obstacles and battles you face. If you’d prefer a Q&A, I can send some questions.
I’m drawn towards personal writing that digs beyond the superficial, but only write what you are comfortable sharing. Pseudonyms are welcome, too. Most posts are 600-1200 words in length, but that’s not set in stone. I also need a photo, a concise bio, and a link to your website and publications.
If I publish your essay, I’ll send a $20 gift voucher from Booktopia (or Amazon if you’re overseas).
I especially resonate with your thoughts about our vulnerability as writers, Monique, both to our own self criticism and that of others. Helen Garner’s words spring to mind: ‘Writing, it seems, like the bringing up of children can’t be done without causing damage’.
Thank you, Elisabeth. It’s scary to be vulnerable, but it can also be empowering if we allow it to be.
Scary but empowering, I like that. A wise person once said to me that the definition of courage is feeling the fear but doing it anyway. It takes courage to make yourself vulnerable—we should never forget that.
I can relate to so much of what you have said, from the feelings of vulnerability to serving your heart on a plate to being able to let your voice shine. Thank you for sharing this part of you. Its great to know I’m not alone in my thoughts. I’m beginning to take those small steps.
Thanks for your comment, Jen. No, you’re most definitely not alone and good on you for having the courage to take those first steps. Keep going! x
It’s often easier to project that mask of self-confidence than share the fear, Jen. Keep taking those steps with us.
Great words Monique that even resonate with a non-writer. By the way, I adore your photographs.
Thank you, Michelle! I think that state of feeling vulnerable has a far wider application – any time we put ourselves out there, we share that vulnerable side of us.
You’re *not* a non-writer, Pinky. Not only are you a very good and incredibly humorous writer, you share a lot of yourself in your posts—that’s why they’re so popular. xx
Some would call us stupid for allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, but I call it courage. I think it helps to keep our blinkers on though, because the peripheral glare of our vulnerability can be spooky. If we are writing on instinct about a subject or in a way that we just know is right, there will be rewards for our readers. Give your auto pilot full control, then leave it to critique groups, beta readers and editors to help refine and polish.
Oh, that peripheral glare can make you wither. Yes, blinkers are best!
I like the concept of giving over the controls to auto-pilot. I love my subconscious—it’s the truest part of me and where all of my good writing comes from. I feel as if I’m wading through treacle with my writing at the moment, and maybe this is the problem—I’m trying to control where the writing goes, rather than giving it over to my subconscious. Thanks for the reminder, M. 🙂
What a wonderful phrase” quicksand of lost dreams” is Monique it encompasses the quagmire of self doubt that inhibits so many of us female writers – I haven’t noticed it in males quite as much. Maybe they just get drunk and write anyway:)
It’s a truly beautiful phrase, Sonia! (Might have to steal it!) I suspect males do feel the same way, but feel pressure to keep it to themselves, which is probably even harder. Thank you for reading and commenting. x