“What Kind of Writer Are You?”
Thoughts on artistic identity
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In March, I finally got around to reading Anne Lamott’s iconic book on writing, Bird by Bird. I knew it would be fantastic because 1) it’s Anne Lamott, for goodness’ sakes, and 2) because pretty much every other writer has said so, including the critics.
What I didn’t realize when I picked up Bird by Bird from the library queue was how this small, quirky book about words would encapsulate so much of the interior world of a writer: the desperation to create, the general boredom and self-loathing, the longing to be seen, and the delight of witnessing it all come together, whatever it may be.
I laughed aloud when I read this passage:
“Seeing yourself in print is such an amazing concept: you can get so much attention without actually having to show up somewhere.”
And, Anne continues, “you can’t hear them boo you right away.” Yes and amen.
We writers are admittedly strange creatures. Writing itself is a practice in isolation, and rarely is it enjoyable, but it’s as instinctual to our lives as eating, or sleeping, or having sex. One of Anne’s friends is even quoted in the book as saying, “It’s not like you don’t have a choice, because you do—you can either type or kill yourself.”
That about sums it up.
The bigger challenge in my own experience has come not from asking will I write, but in identifying what, exactly, I will write about. It’s the first thing people want to know when I tell them what I do professionally (so perhaps I only have myself to blame) and I always bumble about with the answer as though someone else wrote those four books on my shelf.
Do I write fiction? Nonfiction? Christian books, or just words about God on the internet? All of the above? I never know where to point people, so I’ve begun replying simply that I’ve written both novels and nonfiction books with the hope they don’t ask for any more details.
Because when it comes to what kind of writer I am, I don’t actually know the answer.
Most of us have a lane. We write historical fiction, or romance, or literary fiction. We pen books on Christian living or social justice or systematics. Unless you’re Colleen Hoover—who has inexplicably managed to write every sort of book imaginable and be adored for it—you typically have a niche. I thought, after Good Enough, that I had found mine. Writing about faith was natural to me, and I was (am?) good at it.
But once the book was on shelves and I sat back down in front of the blinking cursor to start afresh, I found that I had already poured everything that mattered most to me into that story. I’d left it all on the page, and the thought of producing another entire book based on my own personal reflections as a Christian exhausted me. Instead, what turned up on my computer screen a few months later was a speculative fiction novel I’d been plotting in my head for about three years. I started it in January of 2022, finished in May, and have been querying agents on and off ever since. In the meantime, another novel is already brewing in my brain. So I think I might be a novelist. Maybe?
I could wax poetic on this forever, turning myself in circles as I try to determine what feels like a crucial plot point in my own life—but perhaps the answer is actually just a different question: Does it really matter all that much?
My years of blogging, in which I examined so many of the same thoughts I wrote about in Good Enough, laid the groundwork for that book. Now it feels like the kind of writing that examines the realities of motherhood, marriage, faith, and living with mental illness is best suited for this space alone, where my words are written largely in real-time for a community of people who’ve chosen to be here specifically for that purpose. It’s just as valuable to me as a book, that’s for sure, and I hope it’s the same for you, even if you cannot hold these words in your hands. After all, I must either type or die, but it’s up to you how to consume what is offered. The good news is the publishing industry appears to be shifting with us towards a more flexible way of looking at art. As Lore Wilbert wrote in her latest newsletter,
“…when we start telling art what it must be instead of letting art tell us what we must do, it stops being art and starts becoming something else.”
So I’m learning to ask myself “What must I do?” What story must I tell today? What work makes me flourish, despite the insanity that Anne so deftly described, right now?
Thinking back on my first post in The Nook, I can see the answer was already there.
Like you, like all of us, I’m a lot of things at once.
And while I cannot promise to stay in one single lane, I can promise you that wherever my words go, I’ll be there.
Reading In The Nook
Before I share what I’m reading right now, let’s talk about reading this summer. That’s right, friends…it’s time for a book club!
You are invited to join me for three read-alongs this summer—one for each month—beginning in June. I’ll post thoughts on the books throughout our time reading and I’ll also be hosting discussions here on the Substack chat feature.
You can participate in the chat using the Substack app or you can do it via the web, but I find that the app is easier and more accessible. Once you have it downloaded, you’ll automatically see any new essays or discussions I post if you’re a subscriber. All you have to do is click on the chat icon to join in!
The book club will be available to everyone and May’s newsletter will include a poll where you can vote on the books you’d most like to read. The three with the highest number of votes will be chosen as our selections.
Are you thrilled? I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to be a part of this book club with you!
Until then, here’s what I’ve been reading lately…
Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott — I think you get it at this point.
The Ghost of Drowned Meadow by Kelley Skovron — Lucy loved this appropriately creepy novel about a girl living in a house haunted by a boy who drowned escaping American Nazis. You know, casual reading. So I’m reading it now on her recommendation while she’s reading my old favorite, Wait Til Helen Comes. (No one writes middle-grade ghost stories like Mary Downing Hahn.)
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid — UH.MAY.ZING. Best read of the year so far. Such a gripping, glittery book.
I’m also still waiting on some of my March library requests to come through. I’m number 17 out of 34 on the list for Beth Moore’s memoir. #fixitjesus
Links Lately
I have happier links I could share, but a Nashville community’s grief requires a long, hard look from us all, and so I share these with the hope that such lament will move us to more tangible change in our daily lives.
My writer friend, Taylor Schumann, is a gun violence survivor and wrote a brilliant book that should be required reading for every American adult.
Thanks for joining me in The Nook this month. I’m so happy to share this space with you.
xo,
Wendi
And what a blessing that you’re great at each lane you’ve pursued!