Five Things I Learned About Writing and Life from My Oldest Daughter

Oldest Daughter turns 20 today. Which now means I have one adult child in college, one in the middle of high school, one in middle school . . . and one just starting kindergarten. It also means I am insane, but that's a conversation for another day.

My daughter is a classical violinist. When she was three, she saw a classical violinist on PBS and said, "That's what I'm going to do with my life." After her incessant clamoring for a violin for over a year, I got her one that was 1/32 the size of a regular violin, found a university with a young strings program, and she was on her way.

Since I knew nothing about music/classical music, or the violin, this has been a life lesson for me to. So on the occasion of her birthday, I thought of some of the lessons she has taught me because of music--and often how they apply to writing. And life.

1. Listen to your heart's desire. NOTHING was going to deter her, at four and five, from pursuing music. Not even her mother. She innately knew she was called to this instrument. Most of us, at some point or another, want to throw in the towel about writing. But chances are? You can't. You're a writer. It's in your heart, blood, brain . . . it's who you are.
2. Listen to yourself. One time, when she was 5, she refused to play her violin right after her teacher tuned it. "My G-string is flat." "I just tuned it . . . it's fine," said her teacher. "It hurts my ears. Please tune it again." She refused (STUBBORN!) to play. Her teacher took the violin, played the string and said, "She's right . . . it's out of tune." Most of us, in writing, have an inner voice that knows when we are correct about a scene . . . or sentence. Or alternatively, when we are out of tune. And if you haven't developed your "ear" yet, give it time.
3. Find a good teacher. Despite knowing a flat G-string at 5, she needed teachers. My family has criss-crossed the East Coast to summer camps, lessons. At times, when money was tight, we gave up haircuts (me), a decent car (her stepfather), and fancy vacations (pretty much never--for all of us) for violin teachers and lessons. But they are the reason she progressed. Same with writing. Find a mentor, a crit partner, a beta reader, a good editor. Your writing will thank you for it.
4. Listen to all kinds of music. She loves classical, but she listens to rap, rock, alternative, even pop. Writers should read everything they can get their hands on . . . all kinds of different authors. Different genres. We all have the kinds of books we love, but it really only helps your craft to occasionally check out things outside your reading comfort zone. See what's out there, what's popular, why it is popular. People love to malign certain very popular authors . . . but they do some things well. Maybe it's the storytelling. The rhythm of their writing. If you really hate a certain genre . . . why?
   
5. Keep at it. She went through a two-year period in high school when I thought she was going to quit. I can remember one fight between us . . . and I picked up her violin and said, "If you aren't ever going to practice, we should sell this violin and get you a cheaper one, since it doesn't matter as much." She got really, REALLY upset and said, "Just you touching my violin makes me nauseous. Put it down now." I did. I realized then she wasn't REALLY going to quit, that the violin was an extension of her. That . . . she would return to it. And she did. To play the violin reasonably well, you need years and years of practice. Writing is the same. I estimate a million words until you really know what the hell you are doing.

So happy birthday to my oldest baby.

Thoughts on writing and life?

The Journey

Tuesday night, Oldest Daughter plays violin on this stage. My mother and I are packing an entire box of tissues.

When Oldest Daughter was three, we were watching PBS (this was back when I had only ONE child and had the luxury of watching highbrow shows instead of these guys). She saw a woman playing violin at Lincoln Center and said, "That's what I'm going to do with my life." To which I looked at her and thought, "Eccentric for a three-year-old, but what are you going to do."

For a YEAR, she begged and pleaded for violin lessons. For a year, I put her off. I found her classical music appreciation classes with this woman. She learned about this composer. She also learned about all the notes--which she then pronounced with a Russian accent for a year because her teacher was from Moscow.

Finally, after a year . . . she started violin. She wasn't in kindergarten yet. Her violin was 1/32nd of the size of a usual violin. She learned to hold her hand a certain way on the neck of her instrument ("So a lizard could slide through" was how they taught the kids). And I became a Suzuki Mom. A Suzuki Mom is, for those who don't know, a mom who attends said violin lessons WITH her child so she can mirror what the little child is being taught. It meant an hour and a half of lessons a week--two different days. It meant me learning the notes and where her fingers went. It meant me going to lessons through pregnancies #2, and #3. By #4, she was just being DRIVEN to lessons and I didn't have to stay. It meant breastfeeding through lessons. Occasionally, when nine months pregnant, it meant sleeping through them, exhausted. It also meant financial sacrifices of monumental proportions, not just lessons but instruments and camps--eight hours away sometimes.

But on Tuesday, I will sit in my seat at the Kennedy Center with my box of tissues and for not the first . . . for not even the thousandth time, know it was all worth it that she could have the gift of music. The gift of following her three-year-old's heart.

The first time I ever got published it was here. Next year, I have a book coming out with them. I started out thinking, "If I ever just see my name in print somewhere . . . " to seeing my books on the front table at B&N.

It's a journey. Sometimes, you don't even realize you're making progress. All you hear is a squeaky violin, all you have in your mailbox is a pile of rejection letters.

But you keep going.

It's a holiday weekend in the U.S. Some people will travel literally. Some of us travel figuratively.. So . . . share . . . how's the journey going?

The Violin

My oldest child is 17 and an amazing violinist. She started at age 3 . . . every day for a YEAR, she pestered me for a violin and lessons. At 4, she started at a university in a young strings program and took to it like a duck to water. From there . . . she just skyrocketed. Until now, at 17, she is auditioning for conservatories and playing professionally in a quartet. And we are getting ready to upgrade her violin.

For anyone who doesn't know--and believe me, the last 14 years have been an education--your instrument is important. Audition on a piece of crap, and no matter how good you are, you may not be able to get your foot in the door. A bow costs as much as a car. Her violin upgrade, even trading in TWO violins, will cost about $10,000. And that doesn't include the bow. Or reconfiguring the strings so she has a GOLD E-string.

As I explained to my parents last night, arts in this country (because no actual public school programs offered what she wanted to take as a child) are way down on everyone's priority list, I think to the detriment of all children. And certain arts--like the violin--are out of reach of the middle class, let alone the poor. I have four kids, and I can tell you the sacrifices for the violin have included driving only one car between us all, giving up haircuts for my significant other, and countless other things, big and small. And HAD I KNOWN what a long, expensive road we were embarking on, I might have said, when she was 3, "Hey kid, why not take up SOCCER?"

But really? I wouldn't have. Because this is what makes my child's heart sing. And I couldn't do that to her or anyone.

So bringing it back to writing . . . is there something I know now that I wished I knew then? I don't know. If the joy is in the journey, then no. I guess not. I needed each experience--good and bad--along the way. There are little things I might have wanted to know. Like I might have taken a pen name all the way through my career. I wished I had known about that pesky passive voice in high school rather than later. I might have warned my young self how hard it would be to succeed in this brutal biz. Or that I would meet people who are less than nice or less than honest. As well as find some writer pals who would mean everything to me. But I don't think so. I think my journey was as it was meant to be.

So how about you? Is there something you know now that you wished you knew then? Would you rather have taken up needlepoint than writing? Or the violin?

Peace,
E