This past Saturday, Dave Pollard at How To Save the World linked to an essay in his Links of the Week that he described as brilliant and liberating, and I agree.

The essay, by William Tozier of the Notional Slurry blog, is titled, There are exactly two ways: one, and many. The two ways he discusses are specialization and generalization.

William Tozier proposes the notion that we’re all evolved to be generalists, that specialization isn’t normal. I tend to agree when I consider that many of our forbears were more general in their skills and knowledge than we are. Even today, skills tend to be more generalized in humans living closer to nature, and survival in a wilderness requires a lot of flexibility.

When I think about it, the only things our earliest ancestors planned was to survive, and they were never sure how they would have to do that. The only things they finished were a good meal when food was available, or a new tool or garment when an old one wore out — often taking time to add improvements or embellishments, so even they were never finished. They paused to take in their world and observe it. They learned from everything around them. They were creative, they were nomads, and they were students of life. They paid attention to what came their way, they took them as signs of what they needed to do, for now.

William Tozier discusses the problem of explaining to specialists what we generalists do, how to label ourselves in today’s world. It can be a problem, and I think this must be why, long ago, I started to think of myself as a writer. Aside from having an aptitude for English and composition, a writer has to read and learn about many things in order to do what she does. Writing provides an excuse to research anything and everything, as possibly relevant to a project. Later still I began referring to myself as a creative person, because that can involve lots of different interests too, even more than writing. It can encompass activities that are finished when they’re finished, or never finished, rather than finished to deadlines. Of course writers have deadlines, if they hope to make money at it, and there the generalist has to adapt to the specialized modern world.

I conformed to the specialized world for years, in being a reliable employee and meeting deadlines. I glued myself to my chair and focused on my job. I met deadlines, and earned awards and promotions for my conformity and work ethic. But I wasn’t happy. I didn’t even feel healthy doing that. Eventually it became habit, and I got so I felt uneasy if I didn’t have a plan. So then I was really stuck — uneasy with my schedule and commitments, and uneasy when I didn’t have any.

After a lifetime of thinking I wasn’t doing life right, that I needed to be more energetic, and get more done, finish more things, I feel relief and satisfaction to realize that I’m a generalist and always have been — and there’s nothing wrong with that. It explains so much. Some people may think of being a generalist as a bad thing and call us dilettantes, or unwilling to commit, and some may even think it’s a sign of a problem, one of those recently defined mental disorders for which there always conveniently seems to be a new drug. (When did we start inventing diseases to match the drugs instead of the other way around?) Heaven forbid any of us should be anything but cookie cutter normal, whatever that means. In our culture it apparently means we have to specialize in something, we have to plan everything out, have goals and deadlines, in order to succeed. We have to finish long lists of things, and fill every minute with structured activity.

Today we don’t just have a work ethic, we have a work ethic on steroids.

I for one am ready to stop the madness. If we were intended to plan everything out, then why do we need artificial planners like Daytimers, Palm Pilots, and Blackberries? If we’re supposed to have jam-packed calendars and meetings overlapping meetings, then why didn’t we evolve to keep our schedules in our heads, and to be in two places at once? If we were supposed to travel the same road everyday, then why do we love vacations so much?

Unfortunately, being generalists brings some of us less material success in life, since it’s much less likely that we decide on distinct, well-defined career paths, and even if we do, we get this itch to change careers now and then. We’re looked down on when we tend not to finish things to a schedule — and I agree that makes sense when others are depending on us to finish so they can do their things. We’re often better off working on our own, to our own schedules, which are pretty much nonexistent, and without anyone else depending on us conforming to a schedule. Sometimes we’re called Jacks of all Trades.

Provided you figure out eventually that this is how you’re supposed to be, that there’s nothing wrong with you for wanting less structure and commitment in your life, being a generalist can bring a great deal of freedom and happiness. After all, what makes you happier than being yourself, no matter how many directions that may lead you?

I’m a generalist, and have been all my life. I’m grateful to finally figure this out. Thanks, William and Dave.

Introverts tend not to be as outwardly expressive, or to let others deep into our worlds as readily as extroverts. We’re not bubbly, cheery people for the most part. We tend to ponder. We enjoy time alone and many of us don’t like noise or interruptions. Introversion is a natural personality trait, and though introverts are probably in the minority, there’s nothing wrong with being so. We don’t dislike people, but people are sometimes difficult for us to be with. I think this has a lot to do with energy exchange and personal boundaries. It doesn’t mean anyone’s done anything wrong. It usually means we have different styles of interacting. Different people respect varying personal thresholds.

Is either an introvert or an extrovert better than the other? Of course not, and a world of all one or the other wouldn’t work for me. I see this as a yin/yang kind of thing. I hesitate even to group people into broad classifications like this. Each person is unique, a blend of many elements, but most of us lean one way or the other toward extroversion or introversion, some more so, and I think it’s the “more so” people where introversion is concerned who wind up with others trying to change them, and feeling misunderstood.

As a quiet person, I’ve sometimes been misperceived as shy, depressed, weak, or negative. I may not always look happy, and I don’t think quickly on my feet, but I have a vivid internal life, an ability to focus, thrive on down time, and think complex problems through. I don’t like attention focused on me, and I don’t like crowds. I work best in the background. I’m better at writing than speaking. I keep a tiny, close circle of friends.

When I was young the world seemed to tell me there was something wrong with being an introvert on this planet, so for a while I tried to change who I was. Experience has taught me that short bursts of such adaptation are fine, when they fill a purpose or need. But whenever I’ve tried to force a permanent personality change in myself I’ve wound up exhausted, with a constant feeling of not measuring up. I prefer to be true to myself.

I may read and write about a lot of serious topics, but to me that’s not being negative. I wouldn’t feel honest ignoring the negative side of life, and I don’t think a one-sided view is healthy or allows for solving the very real problems in the world. When I write about serious subjects it’s likely I’m in a positive frame of mind. It’s a sign I’m optimistic that something can be done if only more people would educate themselves and voice their opinions in the right places, if they would think through how they vote, how they spend, and what in the world they support. When it’s a serious personal subject, I focus there because I think all parts of one’s life should be examined and acknowledged, there should be awareness. I try to keep a balance, to see the clouds as well as their silver lining. I don’t think being happy means I should never be serious, that I should ignore the clouds and focus only on sunshine. I can, of course—I’m often silly in fact. Others rarely see my silly side, but my husband, close friends, and pets do.

Maybe seriousness isn’t all about being introverted or extroverted. Other factors come into play in the totality of who anyone is. I like to explore the variety of cultural, social, political, familial, spiritual, historical, geographical, and ethnic backgrounds people come from. But perhaps the most noticeable and meaningful categorization I’ve found (after gender) among people, in a social or work setting, even when I look at cheerfulness versus seriousness, is that of introverts and extroverts. I’m an introvert, and sometimes I need to convince others and myself that that’s not such a bad thing.

If you’re an introvert who’s felt guilty about being one, or if you’re an extrovert with introverted friends, children, family, or coworkers and you want to understand them better—especially if you know an introverted child or teen—I recommend reading The Introvert Advantage, by Marti Olsen Laney, Psy.D. I wish I’d read it much sooner. I wish it had been required reading as soon as I could comprehend it. The author is a psychologist and an introvert herself, so she knows our type from the inside out. I’ve read this book more than once and keep it on hand as a reference tool for its helpful checklists and tips on how to live as an introvert in an extroverted world.

When I’m writing fiction, I tend to read mostly nonfiction, often research related to what I’m writing, or a good book on writing, creativity, or personal growth. Anything that helps understand people and their motivations better is helpful to fiction writers, as well as anything that improves our story building skills and instincts—which isn’t necessarily limited to books on writing. I don’t go for the type of self-help books that offer quick fixes to personal problems. I classify most of those with fad diet books. But I’m drawn to books that help me understand human nature and the human experience on a deeper level.

My most recent satisfying nonfiction read is Sam Keen Inward Bound: Exploring the Geography of Your Emotions, first published in 1980 and revised in 1992 when it was resurrected from out-of-print limbo. This is the second time I’ve read this book, and I’ve come away with something new each time.

A few months ago I might’ve answered Susan’s question differently. I only recently realized I avoid reading fiction while I write it. I think it was a remark Eric Mayer made on his blog a few months ago that first prompted me to examine my reading habits. I sometimes try to pick up a novel while in the throes of a fiction writing cycle, only to notice I keep wanting to write instead, or that I begin to move away from my story in a way that isn’t helpful to my writing process. Now and then, when I burn out on my own work, I take a break and read fiction, but then I have to wiggle back into my story again. When I’m creating a populated fictional world I want to keep that world and its characters alive in my mind, not fill my mind with someone else’s. Reading fiction can inspire me to write, but I find that once I’m doing the creative bit, I’m caught up in a flow that I want to avoid interrupting unless I get stuck or burn out. I even sometimes find myself reading nonfiction from the mindset of a character in my story.

Movies and TV don’t have this effect, just reading. I watch my favorite movies and shows, and they don’t seem to hamper my illusory dream. But then I don’t have to work at watching those the same way my mind needs to be active while reading. If I was a TV writer or a movie maker that might be different.

I know I’m burning out when my own writing begins to invade my dreams at night, and those dreams prove more repetitive than refreshing. Then it’s time for a break. If it’s an extended break I may turn to novels.

Fiction writers need to read, and most enjoy reading lots of good writing, both fiction and nonfiction. My breaks tend to include some fiction, both as entertainment—one of my favorite forms, ever since I was a kid—and as a way of keeping up with the best work out there, letting the greats teach me by example. This year at this time I’m watching other blogs, reviewers, and reading lists like DorothyL, for their best reads of 2005, so I can build my own reading list to choose from at my next break. That way I won’t wind up one day, desperate for fiction, grabbing the first thing I glimpse in the grocery store—too often a source of disappointment. Word of mouth and careful browsing tend to lead me to the better books.

I’ve had mixed success with resolutions. Some I’ve succeeded with, some have been failures. I try these days to come up with no-fail things, like getting more in touch with my true desires, what’s really important to me. That was my resolution last year. This is also the time I like to review what I’ve done over the past year.

During 2006 I’ll work on my attitude. The mindset I meet each day with. How I feel not only about my actions, and myself, but also about everyone and everything. Do I judge others, or do I let them be? Do I state a desire and let it go, or do I act on it? Do I act simply and with patience, or do I demand and hang on tenaciously—and if so, to what? What’s really important? When is it time to act and when is it time to back off and let things develop, to be patient?

The Dalai Lama teaches, in Advice On Dying, a need to be continuously aware of how short this physical life is, so we’re always mindful of the need to keep learning, growing, and living with purpose, including our preparation for the next life, whatever that may be. What this life’s purpose is may be up to each individual, but I think it’s also important to remember how each of us affects every other individual, every other thing on the planet, and even, in these days of space travel, the universe. How much impact does each of us have? That’s a mystery no one here has all the answers to, but it gives pause. Does each thought, each action, each word we speak, reverberate in the universe forever? Where does it end?

Whatever you focus on this year, may it bring you happiness, satisfaction, and a deeper commitment to life.

Many blessings to you and yours for a Happy New Year!

The days are too short, the nights are cold, the traffic is terrible. If you’ve ever walked through the toy department this time of year, after the crowds have picked it over, you have a special understanding of the term “Armageddon.”

Can’t we just agree on something?

It seems to me most traditions teach kindness, goodwill, and all sorts of hopeful things this time of year, even those that have no holiday scheduled in December.

So who started these wars? Apparently we can’t blame this one on the White House.

A lot of people are going along with the wars instead of the spirit of the season, letting the whole month be upset by whatever diabolical force is responsible for the wars.

It’s making me cranky. I’m not celebrating anything at this point, just attempting to refrain from being cranky. May I suggest this ridiculous war thing is making everyone a tad cranky. No good will come of this.

The real question is, why would anyone want to divide people at this time of year? What do they hope to gain? All the eggnog for themselves? An empty lane on the freeway? No more fuzzy candy canes or fruitcake?

When you figure out what they have to gain from it—refuse to give it to them. Relax, follow your hearts, and love one another. Or, if you can’t love one another, at least leave each other the heck alone.

Happy Whatever! Really, I mean that.

Edited 01-01-2006 to add related link: US Jews feel threatened by religious right

It’s probably healthiest for the aspiring writer to look at fiction writing one of two ways. 1) As an after-work side job or business that one is willing to give up on if it doesn’t pay off, or 2) as a beloved hobby to pursue in one’s spare time—after time with family, after taking care of responsibilities, and perhaps even after just goofing off.

There were a few years when I spent every evening and weekend writing, and every vacation editing, revising, or otherwise working toward publication. I wish now I’d just taken a trip somewhere. That would’ve made me happier, healthier, and perhaps even fed my writing more effectively. I might’ve had something more interesting to write.

Many of us grew up with the notion that if we give up on a dream, or anything we’ve invested much time or effort in, we’re quitters—failures—the next worst thing to total losers. We were taught to never quit a job unless there’s a better one already waiting. That’s probably the worst way for an aspiring novelist to think about writing with the dream of publication. An aspiring novelist’s desire to be published is sometimes like a gambling addict’s urge to place the next bet. Every failed effort leaves us planning the next time—because next time we’ll make it big. This realization hit me hard, because I don’t even like to gamble.

There’s more to life than writing.

There’s also more to writing than being published. At one time I was unhappy, and convinced myself my unhappiness was due to not being published. I quit writing altogether after a wounding critique from an agent I’d actually paid to drop me into such a trough of self-doubt. The really awful thing was, he was right, about that manuscript. I just stopped. I didn’t write any fiction for a year. After that year I still didn’t want to write for publication, but I realized I had to write this one story that had been developing in my mind for years. I needed to write it. I started it because the story wouldn’t leave me alone. After a year of writing nothing but miserable journal pages, I plunged into the first draft. I wrote my best work yet. Maybe the reason it was better than what I’d written before was that I didn’t care whether it would be published. I just wanted to write it, for me, and for the story itself. It had to come out of my head onto paper. This took a long time. It was a long story. Too long. The cutting and editing process seemed to go on forever.

As it turned out, I couldn’t interest an agent in it. Fifty submissions—yes, fifty, and not random, but well thought out submissions to selected agents—resulted in two offers to read my manuscript for a fee and “doctor” it. Instead I self-published Shadows Fall, first through iUniverse, and later on my own. A few years later I self-published Snow Angels on my website as a free ebook. (My reasons for that are a whole other post.)

These days I still want to be published—by someone else. Self-publishing is too much like publishing, which isn’t writing. Besides, it doesn’t pay. I never broke even on expenses, in spite of some glowing reviews and personally rewarding feedback from readers, which happily continues to trickle in.

I eventually realized it’s more important to live than to live for publication. In my case living includes writing, spending hours at the computer or sometimes with pencil and paper, crafting a story, and being happy doing it. As soon as I begin thinking again that I must be published, I find the writing isn’t nearly as much fun. I still visualize seeing it published. I don’t think I’d care so much about the writing process if I didn’t. But that’s no longer a reason in itself to continue writing. My happiness as a writer no longer relies on it. Instead of focusing on wanting to be published, I’d rather expend my passion on living the best life I can, including doing the best job writing when I’m doing that.

So, yeah, I’d like to be published, and published big if at all possible. I’d also like to win the lottery. But I’m not giving up the rest of my life in hopes of winning the lottery, so why would I give it up for a dream of publication? I write because I like to write.

Does this love of the process mean I’ll keep writing no matter what? No. I like to do other things, too. I have a passion for needlework, and for watercolor. I like to take lots of time to cook. I hope to travel more. Perhaps another new career altogether will take hold of my passion. (I retired early from my last career, in technical writing, editing, and distribution, and I’m not 50 yet.) I take fiction writing one project at a time, these days. While I’m writing, I have that loose possibility of publication in my head, mainly because I need to have a reader, an audience, in mind. I think that makes me a better writer, it keeps me reaching for excellence. But I don’t commit myself to continuing no matter what. If I finish this book and it sells, so be it. If I finish this book and it doesn’t sell, so be it. If I finish this book and never want to write another story again, so be it.

If a writer still enjoys the writing process and wonders if she should continue, after any length of time spent unsuccessfully attempting to publish, the primary questions I believe she should ask herself are—Am I improving as a person through writing? Do I stretch myself in the direction of publication and reader enjoyment? Do I seek feedback and can others derive satisfaction from what I write? Do I have an instinct for telling a story? Am I growing my skills? Or do I engage in this only for my own narcissistic pleasure? Because whether she does it for herself or for publication, if publication is even a vague goal, the writer needs to keep that possibility, and the need to treat this like a business, in view. Fiction is a form of communication, and that implies others will get something of value from it if they choose to read it, even if it’s simply for entertainment.

Published or not and writing or not, I intend to be happy living my whole life, not just the writing life.