The Joys of Coming Late to the Table: An Older Writer Shares Life Advice by L Mari Harris

Confession:  I am fifty years old, and even though I’ve been writing for decades, I did not start submitting my work until last year.

I earned both my undergrad and graduate degrees in English Literature in the late 80s, where I workshopped my poetry and short stories and served as a reader for my university’s now-defunct literary magazine. I had every intention of making a career as a writer happen, figuring I could get an easy desk job after graduation to pay the bills while continuing to chain smoke in coffee houses at night, filling up notebooks with my angsty poetry and short stories (chain smoking/writing in longhand scream the late 80s, don’t they?).

Then—life took over. That easy desk job soon turned into an offer to try my hand at sales, and I found myself writing jazzy client presentations, occasionally drinking too many whiskeys while entertaining those clients in the evenings, and sprinting through airports to catch my connecting flights. I thrived on the non-stop pace, most weeks usually flying out on a Sunday and not returning until that Thursday or Friday evening. Weekends would be spent doing laundry and repacking for the next round of cities.

I had managed to back myself into a corner, though. I had no true friends or boyfriend (who had time for that?), my mom lived 600 miles away in a small town with no close airport, and I sure as heck wasn’t doing anything about making that writing career I had wanted so much actually happen.

But what I did have were books to read and my notebook to scribble in. There is a lot of downtime when you’re always on the road—a delayed flight meant I could lose myself in a book on the Russian Revolution or the latest Louise Erdrich novel. Lonely hotel rooms in even lonelier cities meant I could look down on unfamiliar streets from twenty floors up and rearrange my sometimes deafening solitude into a few awkward stanzas on finding grace within that silence.

Then ten years ago I stopped: 9/11 really shook me up. I slowly had increasing difficulty boarding flights as those first years after the attack passed. The idea of quitting the rat race had been percolating for a while, and one day I just did it. I gave my notice, and on my last day I quietly left at the end of the day and went home, where I slept for the next three days.

It took a while for my body and mind to readjust. For the first time in my life, I made my health a priority. In those first few weeks, I went hiking twice a day on the wildlife refuge near my home. I’d forgotten how much I loved the smell of fresh air, the rustling of prairie grasses, and the sounds of the meadowlarks and red-winged blackbirds that surrounded me on those hikes. I’d come home and cook real food, joyously overwhelmed by the smells of bread rising and vegetables sautéing on the stove.

And I’d read. Oh, how I’d read. History, philosophy, economics, true crime, memoirs, novels, and poetry—I’d roam my library’s isles and pull books often for no other reason than I liked the title or the cover.

My body and mind quickly fell back into a relaxed equilibrium, and I’d never been happier. Smelling the proverbial roses turned out to be exactly who I was all along, yet I’d spent years fighting it and always pushing myself for more more more. I eventually got a job that kept me in the office each day instead of running through yet another airport, and I’m happily still there today. I leave by five, so my evenings are free to nurture my family and hobbies. One night a week I’ll disappear to sit in a coffee shop, where many times I’ll write, but sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I just need to sit and read a new poetry chapbook over a latte, enjoying the words and the solitude.

And after years of keeping those poems and short stories just for my eyes, I began to submit them last year. It’s a slow process. Let’s face it—getting an acceptance from an editor is hard. But we all try our best to keep submitting, having faith that our piece will find the home it was meant to find all along. It can get discouraging when you’re on your tenth rejection for a piece you know is good. But these rejections don’t define your self-worth or your talent as a writer. I see too many other writers on social media berate themselves, fretting that they’re no good because all they’re seeing are the successes of others—Why isn’t that me?  I deserve that, too. Yes, you do deserve it, and it will happen.

Social media is a double-edged sword. I urge you to use it judiciously. We all know how easy it is to fall down that rabbit hole of letting it control our lives, constantly scrolling our feeds, engaging in petty arguments when something riles us. Resist allowing this to be you. I am on social media very little, and when I am on it I’m using it to discover incredible writing and journals I otherwise would never have known about. I love nothing more than sharing a poem that wowed me with the world. It’s up to you to make the writers’ community on social media as great as it truly is, or as base as it many times allows itself to be.

Write on a schedule that feels right for you. My schedule is highly irregular. I will go weeks writing every day, then I won’t write a word for an extended period of time. Maybe life’s responsibilities need tending. Maybe I need to refuel my soul by losing myself in the classics for a while. Maybe I just need to step back and go for solitary hikes every day. When I’m ready to start writing again, I pick up where I left off by just putting one word after the other on the page to get those juices flowing again.

Just keep coming back to your writing. And for me, even more crucial is to keep reading. Read ten times more than you write; read for relaxation, yes, but also for understanding. Everything you read opens you up to new ideas, and more importantly, helps you improve your own writing. Why are you attracted to a particular poem or short story? Is it the theme, how the writer turns a phrase, or how the writer so deftly spins the piece so each word propels the next to another level? Don’t be afraid to pick apart a piece you’re reading to discern the whys and the hows.

And while you keep submitting and writing, you keep living. Make spending time with those who love you and lift you up a priority. Make other interests that bring you joy a priority. Make your health and fitness a priority. Live. Your writing will be easier and better. The inevitable rejections will be easier to take. And the eventual publication acceptances will feel great, but they still will not define who you are.

Because you are so much more than a writer.

L Mari Harris lives in Nebraska, where she works as a copywriter. Work has been published or is forthcoming in Black Fox Literary Magazine, the Same, Silk Road Review, the collaborative chapbook On This Path We Travel: Women Writing About Feminism and Nature (Moonchaps Press), and others. Follow her @LMariHarris.

L Mari’s poetry appears in Black FoxIssue 16.