MAKING IT BEFORE IT HAS A NAME

By Clay Stafford

---

There were periods when I began something simply out of interest, long before I understood why, and, oddly, the not-knowing at times unsettled me more than the effort itself. I am, by nature, a planner and a builder, and to be the best at that, one needs to know from the start what they are constructing. It’s a little irresponsible to build a skyscraper without planning and realize, too late, that you didn’t put the right foundation under the building. The longer I lived, the more I noticed a pattern that didn’t quite make sense to me: some of the most authentic things in my life began before they could be explained, and naming them too early seemed to shrink what they were trying to become, as if definition became a filter or a cell. I didn’t have that concept at the time, but the truth of it lingered as something I wouldn’t understand for years, something that existed long before I found the words to recognize it. I began to realize that some of the most important things in my life only revealed their meaning after I was already living them.

I can think of decisions, relationships, detours, and changes I made in my life that began without language, without an expressed idea, what a writer might call a “thesis statement.” Without a plan, I found myself moving toward people, places, projects, and experiences that couldn’t really be justified. Beginnings were always small, sometimes even unnoticed, like quiet shifts that pointed me away from what was familiar to something new and unknown without offering any clarity or expectations of what might come next. As it expanded into my life, my days, my consciousness, the absence of explanation began to feel like a kind of unnameable negligence, as though I owed myself, if not the world, some sort of rationale before I took the next step. The interesting thing about life, though, and especially adventure, is that nothing meaningful arrives with instructions.

Some beginnings took the form of restlessness, sometimes bordering on boredom. Others came from a pull I couldn’t seem to ignore. I didn’t think or plan my way into those moments as much as I moved my way into them by some magnetic, yet unnamed, attraction. Whatever meaning they carried waited there and didn’t announce itself at the start, like a wrapped birthday present asking to be eagerly opened with childhood innocence, but only when the birthday came. Meaning surfaced only after the momentum of action, movement, or interest, unexplained, but happening, after I gave up wanting certainty that my time or emotions were not wasted. I wanted assurance before I pulled the paper away from the birthday box, wanted to see what was inside before I undid the ribbon.

For much of my life, I resisted this uncertain stage. Maybe it was the way I was raised as a child, but it always felt safer to have clarity before action, certainty before motion. It was inherent in me to want to know the ending, what it meant, whether it was safe, and how I could justify myself if anyone should ask. Without clarity and the words, always the words, which may be why I am a writer, I always felt exposed, awkward in a way that left me sometimes rehearsing the answer, the justification, before I had completely made the choice, even as I was already traveling down an unknown path through a forest dappled with light, leaves flickering with moving brightness, the smell of wet earth rising, without the faintest hint of what it boded.

Being someone who plays chess rather than checkers, beginning something, anything, without clarity required a different posture than I was used to. Those moments asked that I enter them without strategy, even without ambition, but only presence. Being foreign to me, I didn’t have a name for what was happening then other than those moments, things, people, or ideas embraced something that kept me returning to those half-formed beginnings, unidentifiable hopes, and curious opportunities, and that returning to them by some magnetic, unexplainable pull mattered even, at times, if none of it made any sense.

In the worlds I circled, I looked to efficiency and expediency, even in relationships, and from the outside, this way of moving probably looked highly inefficient. In those unnamed spaces, false starts, reversals, and in-between states that didn’t add up clouded the clarity. I collected experiences that didn’t seem connected, yet over time, they began to mark the edges of something that appeared to form out of the mist. They revealed what stayed and what fell away. They traced a shape I did not realize I had been drawing, yet had been seemingly unconsciously engineering from the start.

It was later in life, after I had been married and even after I had a son, that I stopped using the phrases “happy accidents” and “bumbling through life.” Something began to shift when I stopped asking these innocuous beginnings to declare themselves too early. I let them happen. I felt less urgency to start justifying each step. I think part of it was because I had put myself into a world that didn’t require an explanation, a happy place of unconditional love and acceptance, something that came with marrying the right person. Because of this foundation, I didn’t rush decisions simply to escape uncertainty. I let things “percolate,” as my son coined, when he was near an adult. I noticed the quiet gravity of what I kept returning to when those things called to me from the fog, and how nothing real in those voices demanded immediate clarity or even a call back from me in return. Understanding, when it came at all, arrived later, subtle, without fanfare, and I began to let it happen in its own natural way.

The real tension wasn’t in not knowing; it was in the impulse to decide too quickly what something was supposed to be. I saw clearly that each time I started something that seemed to fall into my lap with questions, to name it, to give it a beginning point before it lived, shrank it to match my description of it, rather than allowing it to slowly manifest itself, like the bloom of a flower, into its own possibilities, shape, form, and even my relationship with or appreciation of it. Slowly, through life practice and observation, I learned to wait a little longer. An egg is an egg, but if you wait, to one’s ultimate surprise, a chick may emerge. “Wait a little longer” became my mantra. I needed to allow experience to accumulate before drawing conclusions or judging. Even without my “input,” refinement happened, though it may not have been there in the start, as the Old Me would have desired. In contrast, when meaning did arrive, it arrived as something real, something that could be refined, the “happy accident” seeming predestined on its own. That is how the subconscious works. It is a land hidden, but a calculating world in its own right.

Many of the meaningful shifts in my life didn’t arrive as predetermined or mapped plans. I didn’t select them from a menu of options or make deliberate choices. They appeared first at the periphery while I was occupied with living and paying attention, and they continued even when I couldn’t articulate what they were, what I was feeling, or the purpose or endpoint. I guess what I got out of all this, so many years later, is that life isn’t always the execution of a strategy. Sometimes it is the slow uncovering of one. Venturing into the unknown before I understood the “meaning of it all” wasn’t carelessness or irresponsibility. It was a way, and continues to be a way, of staying open long enough for meaning to emerge on its own through movement and unveiling rather than planning and anticipation. Some of the truest parts of my life found their names only after I let them exist as long as needed without one, and I suspect that might be the only way I would have ever recognized them at all.

---

Clay Stafford is a bestselling writer, filmmaker, and founder of the Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference, Killer Nashville Magazine, and the Killer Nashville University streaming service. Subscribe to his newsletter at https://claystafford.com/.

Staying Motivated in a Writing Career

By Dale T. Phillips

---

“People of mediocre ability sometimes achieve outstanding success because they don’t know when to quit. Most people succeed because they are determined to. Persevere and get it done.”

—George Allen

Staying Motivated

Think of it this way: Failure is a single event, while success is a process.

You should realize (if you hadn’t before) that the road to success is a long, constant journey, not a short sprint to a nearby finish line. Many writers quit before achieving success, including some who were close and would have made it with just a bit more effort. You never know how close you are, where the tipping point will be. In the past couple of years, two of my favorite writers suddenly broke into top-level, best-seller, well-deserved, breakout success after many years of toiling in the trenches. It seemed to happen overnight, and yet they’d been working diligently for years to make it happen and had a number of excellent books out.

Why are you writing? To make money, win awards, get famous? Those are external goals, out of your control. What you can control is your production, your author brand, and how hard you’re willing to work. If you’re not having fun, and it’s taking a toll on your life, it may not be the thing you think you wanted. But if you have that need to write, to get your stories out to the world, you’ll keep going. 

How does one persist when success seems unobtainable? One book I highly recommend is Motivate Your Writing!: Using Motivational Psychology to Energize Your Writing Life, by Stephen Kelner. He’s also married to a writer, so he knows his stuff. 

Before my first novel was published, I was chomping at the bit to get it out. Publication seemed just out of reach for several years, and I had to prod myself to keep going. One Christmas I printed out the book draft, put the pages in a binder, wrapped it, and gave it to myself as a Christmas gift. Though my family thought it strange, it was terrific motivation and gave me a boost to continue thinking about the day when I would hold a real print copy of my first novel. That day came, and many more of amazing success. One Christmas, I had three unfinished novels, another I wanted to write, and hadn’t published enough work in too long a while. So, I printed title covers, attached them to other books, wrapped them, and gave them to myself as more gifts, as a promise and a commitment that I’d get to work and finish and publish them. 

I’m motivated by the stories of amazing writers (and other artists, musicians, entertainers, and creative people) of talent who had a much tougher time of it, who struggled to get published and make a living in years past. Now we can get published whenever we want, but the hard part is getting sold and read. Inspirational quotes and success stories help keep me going. I look outside writing, to success and motivation gurus, to see if I can use techniques for success from other walks of life. By keeping a positive attitude, you can push through the dark days. The habit of success keeps you on track when you encounter setbacks. Do not allow events to stop you. Learn the power of the word NO when asked for things that will suck up your time if they prevent you from finishing projects. 

Chart Your Success

Because our minds gloss over the day-to-day, the usual and familiar, it’s quite useful to keep a writing log for recording what steps you take and see how much you do over time. Writing a book may seem like it goes on forever, so keep logs of what you do, to keep on track and motivated. 

This can be as simple as making a time and word count entry in a notebook, or in a spreadsheet or document on a computer. You want to build momentum, so that a string of days of writing encourages you to do more. Each day that you’ve put new words down is a success! It’s great to look at the accumulated results after a few months of work, and it truly feels like accomplishment. 

You should also keep track of other parts of writing activities and successes. Publications, new editions, acceptances, good reviews, big sales, milestones reached, all that and more come together into a success chart. Record what advances you’ve made, and they will mount up into a tidal wave. You want to look back and see that you’ve made progress. Little steps in the right direction for big results.

---

Dale T. Phillips has published novels, story collections, non-fiction, and over 80 short stories. Stephen King was Dale's college writing teacher, and since then, Dale has found time to appear on stage, television, radio, in an independent feature film, and compete on Jeopardy (losing in a spectacular fashion). He's a member of the Mystery Writers of America and the Sisters in Crime. He's traveled to all 50 states, Mexico, Canada, and through Europe.

www.daletphillips.com