Good Communication

There is one thing I actually heard Pastor Morris Venden say on my wedding day, as I stood before him with my handsome groom by my side and stars in my eyes: “The key to a successful marriage is communication. I’ve found this advice to be as sound for relationships with my colleagues, friends, and children, as it has been for my relationship with my husband. And writers are all about communication. It's what we do! Here are a few keys to successful communication. See if you can figure out how they apply to writing:

Find time for personal contact. In this age of technology, we often find ourselves emailing or texting our words. For basic communication, there’s nothing wrong with a quick conversation; however, if you have something important to say, you need face to face interaction. When people meet in person, they can read facial expressions and body language, which may prevent miscommunication. There is nothing like the connection created by personal contact.

Be nice. Liz Strauss, over at Successful Blog, loves to say this, and if this sounds like something you learned in Kindergarten, that’s because it is. No matter what you’re saying, it sounds better in the context of “please” and “thank you.” If you’re discussing something that is sensitive or emotional, it is more difficult to maintain an attitude of courtesy, but courtesy shows that you respect and care – even though you may be upset.

Be consistent and clear. Again, this is more difficult to achieve when emotions are involved. It may be helpful to have a conversation with yourself first, to ensure you know what you want to say and what you don’t. Have your conversation out loud. Sometimes hearing yourself say something will clarify just how straightforward or confusing your comments are. Make sure your words are appropriate for the audience. Children sometimes require different words that adults, and spouses sometimes require different words than friends. If it’s important enough to say, make sure you say it clearly.

There are at least two sides to every story. If you can remember this going into the conversation, you’ll come out on a much better path. Conflict resolution is never about a right and a wrong side. It is always about the perception that led to the conflict and the ideas behind the action or reaction. Whether you’re talking to children, a spouse, a colleague, or a friend, find out what their perception of the situation is before explain your own. You may find some issues become invalidated once you understand each other more clearly.

Before you say a word, listen. I admitted earlier this month that listening is my goal for 2009. Good communication has always been about good listening, and it still is. No matter how you’re feeling inside, be sincerely interested in what the other person is saying. Listening validates the speech, which validates the speaker. When you listen, you’re basically saying “I respect you enough to give you my time and attention.” There will come a time when it is your turn to be heard. If you give someone your complete attention, they’ll be more likely to return the favor.

What I Learned by Getting Burned

I guess it's a sign of the economic times, but a lot of freelancers seem to be talking about getting burned by publishers. Susan Johnston at the Urban Muse posted a couple of pieces along these lines after she got burned last year. Then today I read an article by Jenny Cromie at The Golden Pencil about the same problem.

That's all fine and dandy, but I always assumed these freelancers were talking to other writers. It wasn't going to happen to me, because I'd been careful. Well, in honor of hindsight, here is my addition to the pile of lessons learned from getting burned:

1. No matter how careful you are about selecting publishers, you may find yourself without payment. This is because no matter how "great" a publisher may be, these days no one is above running into financial trouble. When it happens to them, it trickles down to you.

2. Losing a client you were really happy with can be a good thing. I've been distraught for the past month because one of my most steady publishers suddenly stopped paying me. Eventually (after great anxiety) I had to get over it and move on. When I was able to think clearly I realized this was going to be a good thing for me. This particular publisher took up a great deal of my time with enormous projects that kept me from doing some smaller jobs that were equally important to me. Now I find that I have time to do a lot of other projects that I wanted to do last year but didn't have the time for. Additionally, although the work was steady with that other publisher, the pay was really below what I can make elsewhere. Sometimes we need a shove to get us out of a comfort zone--in this case, of steady work.

3. Sometimes it takes getting burned every now and then to shift your perspective. It's a tough way to learn, but when things are always going our way, we get complacent.

What's your take on all of this?

Listening in 2009

Last night as I was driving home from work I was talking with my mother. She asked how the kids were and related to me a comment made to a friend of hers by his grandson. The little boy said, "Grandpa, I like to come to your house because you listen to me."

"I hope we listen to our kids," my mom said. "Do we listen to our kids?"

It's funny she should ask that. Last weekend my son was watching the football game with my husband in the family room (he's a Chargers fan), and I was watching TV in my bedroom. About every 15 minutes or so he'd come running in, so excited or anxious (depending upon the play) that he could barely contain himself, relating to me the play-by-play.

I couldn't care less about football--ever--but every time my son came in I'd pause the TV and just lay there in awe looking at him and watching him relate every detail of this sport that is so important to him. I honestly don't remember what he said, but I do remember what I was thinking.

I thought how awesome it was that he cared enough about me to come rushing in after each play and tell me exactly what happened, knowing how little I care about football. I thought how wonderful it was that something so ultimately simple could excite him so very much. And I wondered if the day would come when he would stop wanting to tell me about the things that are important to him, when it would no longer occur to him to share things with me. I hoped not.

I came very close to gathering him up in my arms that night, squeezing him, and whispering in his ear "Please don't ever stop telling me about football." But I knew he'd probably say "oh. . . kay" and give me the look he gives me when I act in that confusing way all moms act when they're thinking about something very far away from what's happening right now.

Here's to becoming better writers in 2009 by becoming better listeners.

Cutting the Clutter

I have a list of article submissions and queries I try to accomplish on a regular basis. These are jobs that get pushed to the back burner for when I have a moment of time to work on them. As a general rule of thumb, I try to work on one a week. Last week I had a submission I wanted to get in on an article I'd had sitting around for a long time; however, I'd need to cut over 200 words to get it to fit the submission requirements. I thought the topic would be a great fit for this particular publication, so I began cutting.

Every article has a little bit of cutting room, and the article is always better for it in the long run. All writers know this. In fact, Anne, over at The Golden Pencil, talks about this in her recent post "Just Eliminate Some of Your Deathless Prose." 200 words felt to me like an enormous amount of cutting, though. I wasn't sure I could actually do it and end up with anything substantial, but I wanted to try, so I began cutting. At first it was relatively painless. In fact, it felt good--in that way that getting rid of clutter always does. Then it began to hurt a little--then a lot! There were several sentences I contemplated cutting and then decided to leave for last. I had to come back to them, though, in order to make those final steps toward reaching my word-count goal.

I was certain when I did my final read-through this chopped-up article would be lacking something, wouldn't make sense, wouldn't resemble my original intent. Was it different for the cutting? Absolutely. It didn't follow the exact direction intended in the original article. I was amazed to discover, though, that what I was left with was still a good article. There are a couple of sentences I'd put back in today, if I could. I'm missing them that much. In spite of that, though, there sure was a lot of stuff in there I could do without. The problem is, we are attached to our words. They're like little pieces of us embedded into our work. We find it difficult to believe that an article can exist without them, but it really can.

The "Good and Evil" Myth, and Critical Thinking

Let me preface by saying that if you don't believe in the general concept of the existence of good and evil in this world, then this post is not for you. These thoughts are based on the assumption that good and evil are a real part of our day to day life.

No matter what form of Faith they may embrace, most parents teach their children that good and evil are black and white--one existing over here, and the other existing on the other side of the spiritual fence. I believe this is a proper concept of the world for unpracticed little minds. In fact, black and white is where we all start, out of necessity. As we grow, though, what I call the "grayness of life" becomes more and more evident. This presents a situation that I see growing increasingly problematic in our current society, because for many Christians, grayness causes problems.

Grayness

The first problem is that Christians are taught from the beginning that the "rules" (the Ten Commandments) are black and white, that obedience is non-conditional and non-circumstantial. While I believe that obedience is always required, I also believe that the rules become grayer and grayer as time passes. I wouldn't have believed this to be the case 20 years ago, but as I grow older I have learned that grayness is real. This has nothing to do with God being unclear. The fact is, we live in a gray world. And this brings me to the next problem.

Where Good and Evil Live

Grayness exists because the youthful idea that "good" is here and evil is "there" is simply false. The truth is, goodness exists in a place where it is intricately surrounded by evil, many times to the point of it being nearly impossible to identify one from the other, without careful consideration. I believe this is by design. An evil wound complexly around good, like the roots of an old tree, becomes difficult to discern--and there is the added benefit of distorting the appearance of the good. Because of this, there needs to come a time in a child's life where he is taught to look at life (and by this I mean literature, art, philosophy, music, etc.), and distinguish within it elements of truth--which leads to the next problem.

Guilt by Association

Critical thinking is an area many Christian adults are uncomfortable with, whether they're parents or teachers, because it means some level of exposure to what they may believe is untruth. And with that comes a natural level of fear--mostly for the children, and even often for themselves. Adults who don't have sufficient practice with critical thinking are uncertain of what might happen if they expose themselves to something deemed by others as decidedly "non-Christian" in nature. These same adults, then, are unprepared to teach their children the skills by which they can discern good from evil or, at the very least, truth from fiction.

Authority by Association

When the apostle Paul spoke to the Greeks in Athens (Acts 17), he demonstrated a clear understanding of Greek mythology and philosophy. This foundation gave him the authority to make his own arguments about Christianity. Another less studied speaker would certainly have held less sway with the ancient council of elders at the Areopagus. Is it dangerous? Of course. Life is dangerous. But I'd certainly rather have myself and others whom I trust exposing my children to the world--when they're ready--than to leave it to them to make their own associations. Exposure is inevitable. It's simply a matter of time. The skills to make enlightened choices come only from practice--and ultimately it is our choices that define us. If we're going to make a difference in this world (which I see as life's purpose), we've got to get people to listen, whatever our message. This means we have to know what we're talking about and why we believe what we're saying. Our audience is going to always be aware of the source of our authority--are we?

Stuff I Learned From my Kids--Entry 42

Tell people they "look pretty" more often.

My kids tell me this all the time, and it always causes me to stop and smile. It really brightens my day. I was thinking about this, and it seemed wasteful to me to see something pretty and not mention it to someone. It seems such a simple thing one can do to make an enormous difference in someone's day, so I've been trying to do this. The other day I saw a girl sitting in the hall outside of my classroom who had these great tan pumps on, so I said, "Those are beautiful shoes." Last week I passed someone on the stairs who had on this awesome fuschia sweater, so I said, "That sweater looks beautiful on you." I have a feeling people cannot hear the word "beautiful" used in reference to themselves too much. I know I can't.

Guess what? This works for writing too. There is so much writing out there that is simply not attractive. If you see pretty writing, compliment it. Take the time to leave a response when you see something noteworthy. It really takes very little of your time, but it can make a huge difference in someone's perspective for the day--yours included. Seeing the beauty in the day-to-day stuff doesn't always come easy. As with everything else, practice makes perfect here too. If you make it a point to look for beauty and respond to it, you'll have an easier time recongnizing what's beautiful (and what's not) in your own writing.

The Aesthetics of Writing

When I was in the 10th grade I took a couple of college preparatory courses to become familiar with the ways of college and earn a few credits. One of the courses I took was Interpersonal Communications, a course in which one became familiar with herself, as well as learning to verbally communicate effectively with others, which was very popular in 1979.

One night the professor had an assignment in which we were to sit and talk with another class member for 15 minutes, get to know them, and then report to the class something about who that person was. The professor paired with a student and took her turn with the rest of us in giving a report. What she said that night changed my life in a way that still affects me today.

The professor said that the student had the most beautiful handwriting she had ever seen, and from that moment there were two things that became important to me. One was somehow getting a glimpse of what the “most beautiful handwriting” looked like, and the other was to make my goal in life achieving the lofty status of having the most beautiful handwriting ever!

I would spend the next year or two consciously working on handwriting styles, altering particular letters when I saw someone else write something in a way I found attractive, and changing from curls and loops to straight lines and back again, as the emotion or style of the times might dictate. I forced myself to go back, erase and rewrite a letter if I subconsciously slipped and put a loop where I intended to make a straight line. I learned how difficult it was to learn to write all over again, even if it was just remodeling my current methods. Going back through my books and letters I can see the difference in styles as they progressed and changed. Eventually I came to find a style of writing I felt comfortable enough with to call my own (some eclectic mix of loops and lines), but I never came close to achieving the most beautiful writing ever.

In addition to being a conscientious student of writing, I am the daughter of a woman whose is noted for its complexity of style and aesthetic beauty. My mother has naturally flowing and graceful writing. I can remember helping her address Christmas cards as a child and watching in awe as she created tiny masterpieces of writing in gold and silver ink. On occasion I tried to learn her technique, but for the most part I was aware that her talents were far out of my league. Even my goal of having the most attractive handwriting in class, I realized, would never take me to her level. She was a natural. If I could just obtain a style of writing that was both legible and attractive I would be pleased, but I still harbored a secret desire to be one day recognized for my penmanship.

Although I never learned to write like my mother and never obtained the status of most beautiful calligrapher in college, I learned a valuable lesson that night in my Interpersonal Communications class. I learned that writing is an art form in appearance, as well as content, and I learned that the physical process of writing is critically important, as it gives unique meaning and heightened sense of value to the words that are written. As a writer I understand the significance of words, but somehow any piece of work seems more noteworthy when displayed through the art of beautiful penmanship. The Declaration of Independence, for example, always feels more impressive when displayed as a reprint of the original document, as opposed to a typed version in a textbook.

When I was learning to write nearly 40 years ago, there were no computers around to deny me the opportunity to develop a beautiful style of writing. Although I am the first person to defend the increased opportunity provided by modern technology, even for writers, I worry today that my children will never learn the importance of good penmanship. It was, after all, the attractiveness of their father’s writing that appealed to me when he left that "secret admirer" note on my door 18 years ago. Now that they are writing, I plan to instill in them the value of occasionally taking a break from their computer keyboard to write a letter to Grandma with a pen and paper.

The View from the Lakehouse

We just returned from three days at Pamela’s lake house in Georgia. Pamela is my husband’s cousin, fondly referred to by my children as “Aunt Pammie.” We take a trip to Aunt Pammie’s every year, so we can catch up and she can see the kids. She recently became engaged to a man who owns a house on the lake, and she still has her home nearby, so whenever we visit she gives us the run of her place. It feels very much like our own private condo.

Aunt Pammie’s house is in one of the quietest neighborhoods imaginable. You’d be hard-pressed to find more than one soul to chat with, should you feel the need. Aunt Pammie also has the finest of fine things. Years of extremely hard work have put her in a position to afford the things she desires, and it is obvious that comfort is one of them. Aunt Pammie’s sheets have a thread count higher than I can count! Even her toilet paper has a richness uncommon to the masses. So here is how a typical day at Aunt Pammie’s goes:

My husband and I drag ourselves from her triple-cushion bed only when “just a little bit longer” becomes no longer acceptable to the kids. Then we put on the thirsty, white bathrobes she hangs on the back of the bathroom door for us, pick up a cup of gourmet coffee, and head out to Pammie’s spacious, Southern front-porch. After a leisurely discussion about how quiet the neighborhood is (among other things), we slowly drag ourselves in to shower and dress for a day on the lake. Then we drive a couple of miles over to the lake house and spend the day enjoying water sports. We alternately swim, bask in the sun, read, swim, lunch, boat, swim, jet-ski, socialize, dine, and socialize until late into the evening (or the kids fall asleep—whichever comes first), at which time we make our way back to her house and fall into the triple-cushion bed with zillion-count sheets with smiles on our faces. And with little variation, this is how the entire weekend goes.

So this weekend, as I was lounging near the lake, I began thinking about what this does to the writer’s perspective. Because every time I return from Aunt Pammie’s house, I feel extremely motivated and filled with ideas. The first thing you might be thinking is the same thing I thought—that it is a simple matter of rest and relaxation: A well-rested mind has creative energy. But upon careful examination, I think it’s more a matter of distance than rest. It is a shift of perspective that comes from being geographically far from your “real world.”

Time goes at a break-neck pace in our world. And even though Pammie goes about that same speed on any given day, her world is--quite simply--not ours. When we’re there, we’re on a mental vacation. The neighborhood seems quieter, the day seems calmer, the house seems cleaner, and the laundry is out of site. So are deadlines and commitments, by the way. And that shift of perspective, even for a few days, offers us the freedom to think and create and be artistic without any glaring reason why we should. That view is so lovely and peaceful--and welcome.