On Being an Accomplished Writer

 

    Accomplished is a smooth word that rolls easily around in my mouth and pops off the end of my tongue. It should be easy to define, but it’s not. 

    When I think of what it means to be accomplished, I think of dog mushing, not writing. I've been working and living with sled dogs for 25 years. I have been writing for only 12. In those early years, I was writing exclusively about dogs and our adventures together, and so I think about what it means to be an accomplished and successful writer through the lens of dog mushing.

    

    In my early years with sled dogs, the dogs ran more on instinct than training. They wanted to run. Every trail held excitement, something to discover. Control was something I only dreamed of. They were not well trained and I struggled to hook even four dogs into a team before lines were chewed. Then when I opened the quick release, letting them bolt wildly down the trail, they had little focus. Everything was interesting to them; even the squirrel at the base of the ravine, had to be investigated. Their unbridled enthusiasm often resulted in mishap and mayhem for me, the terrified passenger with a death grip on the dogsled. To finish a 5-mile run was an accomplishment. Success was defined by the fact that we actually stayed on the trail for the entire outing. My writing was the same. Instinctual, flashy, unfocused, and emotional. I followed tangents to dead ends and struggled to arrive at appropriate endings. Neither the dogs nor I were accomplished. We were only successful in that we were out there, starting to learn, and doing our best.

    As time went on, I became more attentive to the training of my dogs. Our runs became more enjoyable and less frantic. Consistent routine was key to the focus of the dogs and me. I started to learn to communicate appropriately and stopped jabbering at them. Thoughts slowed, and knowing flowed. We traveled farther, and I began to be able to predict when we would arrive at our destination instead of leaving notes for friends to “please send out the Life Flight chopper out if I’m not back by midnight.” My writing morphed in the same way. After only six courses in my MFA in Creative non-fiction program, I've learned how to stay on the trail of writing. The routine of consistent training is just as important in my writing life as it proved to be in my mushing career. In both cases, I am more interested in accomplishment than in success. 

     Success has so many connotations that come from outside of ourselves. If I look only at what the people around me are doing, I am easily discouraged. But if I focus on my accomplishments, the achievements that make me feel good, I start to understand true success. Because, really, why do we do anything? I don’t run dogs to be afraid or be dragged through the underbrush on my face by eight squirrel crazed huskies, I do it for fun. I don’t write about profound experiences in my life only to have well-meaning friends point out that they have no idea what my point is. I write to be understood. That will happen as practice becomes instinct, my stories intentional. I will take readers where they need to go and not leave them on a dead-end tangent of a trail, wondering if I will come back to rescue them.  

    In recent years, I have become an extremely accomplished dog musher with an expert dog team. I know who to put in lead on the trail with the ravine so that we don’t dive into the water below. I know when to hit the brake and which way to lean in the turns. I know that Preston can’t run with Manny, but he will pull hard in his harness to show off if pretty Sefi is beside him. I know snow conditions, wildlife patterns and know that if my lead dog Dory doesn’t take a command, there is a good reason for it. Every single run is a joy and success, even when we run into trouble…because we have put in the work and become accomplished.  We have run together through blizzards, ice storms, and frigid temperatures. We even have won races, but it’s the races we have not won that have been the most successful, like the ones we ran while I had cancer. 

    

 There is a lesson in this for my writing life…keep going. 

    Publishing, like winning races, will always be a goal, but it will not define my success. I feel like I am already successful because I am slowing down enough to think out every detail, and that's what is necessary to become an accomplished writer. Actually, it's what is necessary to become and accomplished Human too, so there's that.