A few weeks ago, after I shared this How to Write a Book post, a writer I didn’t know emailed me. That writer’s name was Karen Lee, and she told me that she’d read my post whilst at the hairdressers. It was the first time she’d visited a salon in the five years since she’d become a mother, and she’d been feeling guilty that she was spending three hours of babysitting time on herself instead of at work or writing.
‘(Your piece) really spoke to me, and in some way gave me permission to say okay. Spending time on myself is okay. I think we forget to value ourselves as women, especially after children and when I read your piece I actually exhaled.’
It thrilled me to know I’d made someone exhale in relief and helped them feel better. Today, it’s even more of a thrill to share Karen’s piece for the attic. Here it is:
Karen is the CEO of a small not-for-profit, and a writer of Chinese-Malaysian origin who currently lives in Brisbane, Australia, with her husband and two children. She is passionate about stories with Southeast Asian focus. She particularly loves books by writers that explore the complexities of culture and growing up as a minority in a Western country, as well as historical fiction
Karen is also a freelance travel writer, always on the lookout for their next destination and loves writing about the adventures of discovering a new place with her little brood.
You can find Karen’s work at her website as well as on Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn.
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IF THE CLOAK FITS
I came to writing and motherhood late in my life. In fact, they seemed to arrive hand in hand. I don’t know if becoming a mother precipitated creativity or whether it was there all along, lying in wait for me. Whatever it was, I found myself here five years down the track, two young children in tow, with a manuscript under my belt and another one on the way as I wrestled with the growing unease of calling myself a writer.
I’m perfectly at ease with the other titles I hold, such as mother—having given birth twice, I certainly qualify. Check. CEO—double checked my business card and the fact that I get paid to do this job. Check. But writer? That’s a tricky one. I’m not a published author, I haven’t won any awards or prizes, nor do I hold any writing credentials to my name.
If you asked me 20 years ago if I’d ever envisaged myself here, I’d have laughed. I had been a solicitor and jumped into the intriguing world of federal politics working as an adviser, and later as chief of staff to two Senators. I travelled extensively, met the most incredible people and achieved things I was proud of.
Fast forward to the present, my world had changed as the tide of my working life ebbed and flowed along with the arrival of my gorgeous children. Being a mother was a game changer, life-affirming. But there was something within me that still yearned for something. I was restless, little did I know my muse had been whispering, nudging me for years as I turned myself inside out to figure out what I was searching for.
My muse whispered, telling me to take my writing seriously. It was a powerful revelation. It didn’t come roaring down the highway heralding its arrival; it was a quiet sort of epiphany.
It was in Palawan, the Philippines sitting on the wooden balcony of my resort, overlooking the lush tropical gardens. Coconut trees towered above, filtering the harsh afternoon sun as the sun scattered diamonds across the turquoise waters of the Sulu Sea. My little family paddled in the pool as I blogged about our latest trip when my muse whispered, telling me to take my writing seriously. It was a powerful revelation. It didn’t come roaring down the highway heralding its arrival; it was a quiet sort of epiphany.
Yet, I struggled with it. I had been brought up like all good Chinese daughters to believe that education and being employed in a respectable profession (code for being a doctor, lawyer, or engineer) was the foundational requirements to set up your life. Becoming a writer seemed almost frivolous. But something shifted when I became a mother, it gave me the courage to try. So, I gave myself permission to explore it.
But, as I would discover, becoming a mother also meant I had to battle to carve out time to write in amongst the business of life’s responsibilities. Working part-time, I felt I had to devote every child-free moment I had to work which paid the bills. It felt decadent using that time for anything else. I gradually realised that while I had given myself permission to explore writing, I hadn’t attributed much worth to it. Calling myself a writer felt fraudulent. I felt I hadn’t earned the title or right to call myself that. I was waiting for that magical moment when a contract would land on my desk, announcing my worth as a bona fide writer to the literary world. I had become so wrapped up in the ‘getting there’ bit, I had almost missed the journey itself. The learnings, the mistakes. The growing into the craft.
It reminded me of a conversation I’d had with a senior Whips Clerk when I worked in parliament. We were watching newly minted Senators navigate their way around the Chamber’s process and protocols. She said something that had always stayed with me:
‘You can always tell the moment they become the Senator, after months of acting like the new kids on the block, comes the time where they slip on that cloak and become the real deal.’
Like all writers, I have my days where I am on the verge of giving up. When competitions roll by without a hint of my name of any lists, when the deafening silence of all those rejections tell me I am no good. When I wail and moan to my writer’s group about the futility of it all. Then when I hit rock bottom, I remember a paragraph from Elizabeth Gilbert’s, Big Magic that gives me a kick in the pants:
I have a friend who’s an Italian filmmaker of great artistic sensibility. After years of struggling to get his films made, he sent an anguished letter to his hero, the brilliant (and perhaps half-insane) German filmmaker Werner Herzog. My friend complained about how difficult it is these days to be an independent filmmaker, how hard it is to find government arts grants, how the audiences have all been ruined by Hollywood and how the world has lost its taste…etc, etc. Herzog wrote back a personal letter to my friend that essentially ran along these lines:
“Quit your complaining. It’s not the world’s fault that you wanted to be an artist. It’s not the world’s job to enjoy the films you make, and it’s certainly not the world’s obligation to pay for your dreams. Nobody wants to hear it. Steal a camera if you have to, but stop whining and get back to work.”
I repeat those words back to myself whenever I start to feel resentful, entitled, competitive or unappreciated with regard to my writing: “It’s not the world’s fault that you want to be an artist…now get back to work.” Always, at the end of the day, the important thing is only and always that: Get back to work.”
So, I’m getting back to work. Perhaps, one day, when I least expect it, that cloak will fit me like a glove.
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Urgent call for posts for Writers in the Attic!
For the first time since I began this series, I’m running low on posts, and if I run out—god forbid—I might have to bore you all with one of mine!
So, if you’re at all inclined, please write a post. The topic is anything to do with writing—your writing life, what writing means to you, or what has influenced your writing. 600-1000 words is a good length, and I acknowledge the time and effort involved in writing these pieces by sending a small gift as a thank you.
If you have any questions or would like more information, feel free to contact me.
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Goodreads Giveaway
If you haven’t read about it already, Allen and Unwin have made 20 copies of my book available to win over on Goodreads. If you’d like to be in the running, slip over there to enter.
To further entice you, here’s the back cover blurb:
Karen, I really enjoyed your piece . I look forward to reading your first manuscript as I am sure you will be published. Keep writing!
I agree with you, Dee—it’s a beautiful piece and Karen has what it takes to be published in spades! 🙂
I think you’re very much a writer, Karen, you have all the required doubts! Yet your writing is beautiful and I love this post of yours. Gosh, don’t we writers give ourselves a hard time? I certainly give myself a hard time, all the time! 🙂
Yes, to be a writer self-doubt is the #1 requirement, closely followed by giving ourselves a hard time! The other thing we all seem to have in common is persistence! Stick with it and we’ll get there. 🙂
P.S. I agree with you that Karen’s writing is lovely. 🙂
Karen and Louise, I really liked this one. It’s so hard to call yourself a writer, but if you write that is what you are. Good luck with everything Karen 🙂
The difficulty we have calling ourselves writers has been a bit of a theme of recent posts, hasn’t it? Hopefully, we’ll write it out of our systems and start believing it!
Thanks for visiting, Sam. 🙂
Yes it has been, fingers crossed you’re right and we do all start believing it 🙂 And no problem, I love your writers in the attic posts.
That’s nice to hear. Thank you. 🙂
I do love everything you write, Karen. This was another beautifully emotional and evocative piece.
Yes, it is a beautiful piece, and lucky you having read more of Karen’s writing! Thanks for visiting, Kali. 🙂
Oh, yes, this really strikes a chord. And I love the quote about getting back to work. A good reminder for when the next rejection email comes in! Thanks Karen and thank you Louise.
I love that quote, and it struck a chord with me when I read Big Magic, too. Readers owe us nothing and there’s no point lamenting it, or saying they have no taste, or that the publishing industry only publishes commercial rubbish (which isn’t true, anyway, but I’ve heard people say it). If we want readers, we’ve got to work and deliver the goods—simple as that! 🙂
I can’t remember the day the cloak fitted for me, Karen but I well remember the agonising first few years when everything I wrote seemed like it did not deserve to see the light of day and then one day it changed. I can hear it’s already changing for you from this wonderful piece on your writing life. I hope your cloak keeps you warm.
Yes, it’s a lovely piece and thanks for commenting, Lis. 🙂
P.S. I’m not sure my cloak fits yet, although it’s starting to feel more comfortable!
I really enjoyed reading this. Thank you Karen and Louise.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Alyssa! 🙂
What a lovely essay. Thank you!
I’m glad you enjoyed it, Theresa! 🙂
This is yet another writer’s essay that called me. Thanks so much, Louise.
It’s amazing that her epiphany happened while in the Philippines. Granted that I have not been to Palawan but it’s still a place in my home country so it’s like I was meant to read this one. I believe in serendipity. 🙂
I checked out the synopsis of Karen’s novel and there it was again: the Filipino thingimagijjie… I have been deliberately living as a South African instead of a Filipino (I must have a reason why) and I consciously avoid writing stories that remotely points to anything Filipino-specific until recently when someone in The Write Practice community said something about my culture being rich (with Philippines and South Africa) which could make for a great novel (for my 100 Days Book). I thought maybe it was time to bring in the Filipino flavor (that I have been avoiding for fear of excluding other readers who may not find a connection with a Filipino main character) and Karen has somehow made me seriously consider that fleeting thought.
Oh, and I was thinking of writing a post about feeling like a fraud either as a writer or as a financial person or both, while driving home after attending the first day of the Finance Indaba (Conference) Africa. She did write about being fraudulent. She might just be that “stranger kindred spirit”.
This is lovely to hear, Anne! I’m glad Karen’s post resonated with you on so many levels. It’s always good to write about where we come from—always rich and fertile soil for stories. 🙂
I will bear that in mind especially when I go back to thinking my culture and special circumstances are a disadvantage. 💖🤗
Definitely not a disadvantage—the opposite, in fact! 🙂
Thanks so much, Louise! Much love and hugs. xxx
🙂
Lovely post! It’s amazing how many times I hear people who are obviously very talented at writing say they find it hard to call themselves a writer.
Good luck Karen! And thanks for sharing that bit of advice from Big Magic – it’s a great reminder that we are doing what we love and that we need to just put our heads down and get on with it.
It takes a long time and many books, I suspect, to feel as if we’ve earned the right to call ourselves a writer. Just listening to Richard Flanagan tonight, once again I’m reminded of how little right I have to the title! 🙂
Oh, Louise! You have every right! 😊
Oh, he was fantastic, Marie! I hope he returns for the Writers Festival, and if he does, go see him. So intelligent and articulate, and what he had to say about writing—inspirational!
There’s just so much to relate to here. Thanks for sharing Karen.
Glad you enjoyed reading it, Kirsty! 🙂