If you’d like to receive my blog in your in-box each week, click here.
I try not to revisit similar topics in this blog, and certainly not very frequently, but a few weeks ago I wrote about a pervasive sense of ennui I’ve been noticing not just within our industry but in the world, and the subject has stayed on my mind ever since—not least because of the wave of replies I am still receiving both here and directly via email from authors noticing and feeling some of the same general air of disconnect and disheartenment.
I try not to get overtly political or current-eventy here, but I think we have to acknowledge that no matter where you fall on the political spectrum, things feel pretty unsettling these days in the headlines: global and domestic violence and unrest, relentless polarization, a world that may seem to be moving backward toward darker times, not forward toward the light.
On top of that publishing is going through a seismic shift, with AI shaking everything right at the foundations, not to mention all the other current uncertainties of our industry: a crowded marketplace, diminishing advances, marketing challenges, and so much more.
And yet in the middle of this, I find myself thinking so often about hope.
Creatives and Hope
I’ve written before about the purpose and the need for art and artists in our world—and not least is that authors are often the purveyors of hope. We are the ones who explore human nature and draw people together through story to find common ground. We are the ones who may offer a vision for a better world, the one we want to see and live in, the one we literally can create in the pages of our stories, the happy ending we long for.
We are the ones who may record the forgotten people of history who helped bring us out of dark places, and the ones we invent who do the same for themselves, for their communities, who may literally save the world.
Read more: “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells the Stories?”
That’s a heavy mantle to throw over our shoulders, and it’s certainly not the responsibility of the artist to explore only the best side of human nature. But I do find that many stories and creatives seem to drift toward it, to believe in our better angels and in the ever-alive possibility of hope. Far fewer stories end in complete bleakness than those that offer at least some sense of hope. So often, even amid tragedies, something good and promising and positive can come out of terrible events, both in fiction and in life. It’s as if we’re wired for hope.
Hope is also a potent driving force of our stories and characters; after all, what is your character’s goal and motivation other than the hope for something better than what they have or what they’re capable of right now? What is their journey except a quest toward that hope?
But when events of the world or our industry or our creative careers or our personal lives are weighing us down, it can be hard to hold on to that feeling of hope. To bring it to our work in a way that may not only inspire others, but inspire ourselves and feed that spark we rely on to create our stories.
Read more: “How Can Writing Matter in the Face of Suffering?”
Hope Requires Action Requires Hope
On a recent road trip for a girls’ getaway weekend with women I have known since high school and have been vacationing with ever since, I drove through Smithville, Texas, with sprawling billboards on the highway trumpeting the town as the location where the 1998 Sandra Bullock/Harry Connick Jr. movie Hope Floats was shot.
Not a great movie, and not one of my favorites, but I certainly love the title—and the concept. Hope is buoyant. It might be held under by forces temporarily greater than its own, but ultimately hope will always spring to the surface. It can’t not; that’s its very constitution, its nature.
Hope is both our engine and the fuel that powers it. When we face a blank page we hope we can fill it with the words and worlds that fill our head. We hope we can express all the vivid color and texture of the tales in our imagination on the page in a way that brings them to life for readers.
We may hope to find an agent or publisher, to defy the odds and break above the crowded playing field of our industry, defy them still further and make real money from our writing, become a bestseller, create the career of our dreams. We hope readers and critics love our books, that they show up for our events, that they clamor for more.
Hope without action is like a fully fueled Ferrari that sits in your garage, never getting out on the road.
If we’ve managed to do any of that once or even multiple times, we hope we can do it again, hope we can maintain it and build on it over the course of a thriving career. If resilience and persistence are the most necessary traits an author can have, hope is their source and their wellspring.
We hope for a better life for ourselves and those we love, a better world.
But hope cannot work in a vacuum. Hope without action is like a fully fueled Ferrari that sits in your garage, never getting out on the road.
The reason most people who say they want to “write a book” never do it is because they never tie that hope to action: the work of learning the craft and the day in and day out, the discipline of practicing it.
Our hopes of publishing can never come true without the action of polishing our stories, making them as good as we can, then pushing ourselves harder to make sure they are competitive and marketable in a crowded publishing environment. Of knowing when it’s ready and letting it go, submitting our work and releasing it into the world.
Our best hopes for career success may fly in the face of the realities of the publishing industry and its steep odds of breakout bestsellerdom, but if we don’t keep that hope alive and continue to take the action that may help lead to that outcome, it’s guaranteed not to happen.
The same goes with every single element of this vexing, complicated, challenging business we have chosen to pursue. So much of it is out of our control, but the part within our control is the writing itself, and what we decide to do with it, and the hope we must nurture to keep that animating spark burning and put it into action.
The same goes for our own lives, and for the world we envision and hope to help create. We must hope—but also we must do. Our individual actions may feel like drops in the ocean—but collectively they can add up to a tidal wave.
You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.
Nurturing Hope
Keeping that flame burning is not always easy. Hope may float but it also falters. Even that high-performance Ferrari needs fuel and maintenance and occasional repair.
Know where you get those things. For me it’s my immediate support system: my husband and family and friends. The community I’ve built around me and the ones I seek out and participate in. The colleagues and compatriots who understand what I may be struggling with and have walked those hard roads themselves, who can bring me the gas can or tools that I need, or help point me to the nearest gas station or mechanic, or take me there themselves.
Often I find it in the stories of others who have faced challenges and triumphed—both in life and on the page.
Sometimes, if things feel bleak and hopeless enough, then it may be a therapist or other professional who helps lead me back to the light.
Whatever the sources of restoring our flagging hope, we must seek them out when needed. Hope doesn’t always just happen; we must pursue it. With hope all things are possible, but the only thing that can defeat us and silence our voices is the loss of it.
Hope doesn’t always just happen; we must pursue it.
I know when I need rest and reprieve, to take a break and let my batteries recharge. And I also know when to lean in. Sometimes you have to feel what you’re feeling, mourn and grieve and rail so that you can process and move through it, knowing that on the other side you’ll always find hope waiting for you.
It’s been a challenging week here in the Yates Martin household. We lost Alex, our beloved pup, are navigating family concerns, and, like so many of us at the moment, current news headlines have been filling us with unease and dread and sorrow and anger.
But then some friends sent pictures of the recent protests where millions of people around the globe peacefully gathered with joy in hope of a better world. I read this heartening report of swelling support for science in the face of recent efforts to undermine it.
This morning one of the thinkers I deeply admire sent this post in her own blog, reminding me of the greatness of which people are capable, and the difference each of us can make in the world by simply joining together with those of goodwill and good heart and common hope that we may help move the needle in the world toward that good.
My friends and community—including many of you here—have been so kind in remembering our lost dog and offering words of comfort. Our other dog, Gavin, continues to be a loving, good-natured, frequently vexing toddler of a creature, and he comforts me and my husband. We comfort each other. We remember all we have to be grateful for.
And despite the heaviness of my spirit over this past week, I felt that buoy of hope inexorably rise, reminded that we are better than our worst moments, individually and collectively. That the world is cyclical and no state is permanent. That this, too, shall pass.
We can remind ourselves of this when our spirits may founder and that buoy of hope is pulled under. We do it through connecting with others, reminding ourselves that we are not alone in our feelings, that we are all, no matter our beliefs, more alike than we are different. We do it by connecting on that human level—deeper than politics, deeper than our differences.
Then let hope get you right back into the chair—or at your standing desk, darlings; it’s better for you—and take action.
Hope is a thing with feathers, but we are the ones who have to fly.
Authors, tell me what gives you hope, and how you restore yours when you feel that flame flicker?
If you’d like to receive my blog in your in-box each week, click here.
22 Comments. Leave new
So sorry for the loss of your sweet dog.
Thank you for writing this. Made me think and I will share it with others.
Thanks for your kind words, Jill–and I’m glad this hit a chord.
“Rebellions are built on hope.”
Cassian Andor
Love that, Jody.
Hope is what led my husband and me to protest in our small Michigan town last Saturday and to march in Spartanburg SC in April when we were driving through the state. What are we hoping for? That others will join in, even if, like us, they are disinclined to publicly declare the issues that matter to them. That judges at every level will be emboldened to stand up for the rule of law. And that members of Congress, witnessing the growing protests in their states and districts, will start doing their job.
Yes, Sandy…and I have found that the very act of joining together with other like-minded folks who also are hoping and working toward a better world itself can rekindle guttering hope, much as Sharon McMahon points out in the post I linked to. I can’t seem to stop hoping that our better angels, collectively, will reassert themselves.
First of all, my condolences on your loss. So long as those who knew him continue to breathe, Alex lives on.
Hope is everywhere, it’s what I write. Every story. “We hold these truths to be self evident,” and, “We the people,” give me hope. History gives me hope, because evil does not endure, while righteousness speaks “softly” and carries “a big stick.”
On my birthday in 2010, when I woke up in the ICU, I knew the time had come to fight, even if only I believed that. Four months later, the doctor recommended hospice. I refused. I instead went to National Jewish Hospital in Denver and began my 7-year road to recovery.
While we breathe, there’s hope. If the unexpected doesn’t rise to lead, then we must do the unexpected and rise together. Like life, freedom finds a way so long as there is a breath to carry it. Fill your lungs. That’s hope.
Ah, thank you, Christina. It’s indeed a great comfort–and delight–to us that so many people seemed to have cared about Alex, even those who didn’t know him. Last night on our walk with Gavin, our other dog, a neighbor said how sorry he was, and that his cousins in Corpus would be sad to hear it too: “I tell them all about that big polar bear dog,” he said. Neighbors posted on our Facebook page that “Alex got my kids through COVID” (a bunch of neighborhood kids took to coming over to play with him in the backyard during quarantine), or how he helped their kids overcome their fear of dogs, or how much they just loved seeing and petting his big furry self. It makes us smile that Alex cast such a wide net with his charm and gentle loving nature.
History gives me hope too–that these cycles of moving forward and then backward setbacks are natural, that we’ve come out of dark times before, that this too shall pass. It sounds like you know the power of hope (and action!) firsthand in your amazing recovery. What a gift that must feel like every day. What else can you do but hold on to hope after something like that? Thanks for sharing.
Thank you for this post, Tiffany, it is truly comforting and inspiring! It brings to mind Pandora’s Box and how the last thing out of the box, after all the terrible sickness, death, curses, unexpected troubles and misfortunes, was hope.
I keep on thinking that I can make the world a better place through technology and have been busily dreaming up inventions since I was very young. Now after retiring and drifting into my 70’s, I can see that in many ways I have been tilting at windmills. But not to worry, I can always express my hope for the future in my writing. The joy and catharsis of writing a fiction novel is wonderful therapy. My fervent hope is that readers will enjoy my stories.
Great reminder about the Pandora’s box myth, Jeff–it’s easy to forget that last straggler out of the box, but it’s arguably the most important one.
There’s a Southern saying about leaving a place a little better than you found it, and I think any efforts we may make to do that put good into the world. Maybe your tech inventions are trees you’ve planted whose fruit you may not be here to eat…maybe your writing is too. I think that’s what we have to do, though–we enjoy the fruit of trees we did not plant, and we have to plant our own in turn, and have faith that they may help leave the world a little better one day. Thanks for the comment.
Great stuff, Tiffany! I’m forwarding it to my Creative Writing students past and present. Great to start the day with a shot of optimism 😀
I’m glad it hit a chord, Robert. Writing it was a shot I needed too. 🙂 Thanks for letting me know–and for sharing.
Although distressed by the political climate in the US, the bombing of Iran, and climate change, I find hope in the spontaneity of grandchildren, the staggering range of human talents, the beauty of nature, and the resilience of people. Music is uplifting, as are my spiritual practices. I’m thrilled that my church family will celebrate 4 baptisms before the end of this year! I find a reason to laugh every day, which is also uplifting.
How beautiful, Lee. Those seemingly small, quotidian things are so much of what gives our lives meaning and shape. And taking time to pay attention to them, appreciate them as we experience them, is what lays a foundation for contentment and joy. And laughter–lord, yes, it’s my salvation, and I’m grateful on the daily to share that humor with my husband and so many of my loved ones. Thanks for sharing this.
First, I am so sorry for your loss of Alex. I really admired his desire to keep going, to be with his family for as long as possible. A big fur-baby. I bet you even miss all that hair around the house.
Tiffany, I’ve always perceived you as an optimistic person. You root for authors to succeed and provide a lot of constructive guidance. Thank you. I just wrote an article for WWWB about why I stopped publishing and now write only for myself. Loss of hope was one element, but I didn’t have the stamina other authors have to withstand all the challenges mentioned here. I truly admire them and will always support them. And I will always appreciate the talent and hard work that goes into publishing one book after another.
Thank you for your kind words about Alex, Rebecca. It’s comforting to hear. (And I DO miss the hair! Funny you say that–it’s freakishly clean around here.)
It makes me sad when I hear that an author is feeling discouraged from sharing their work. That said, sometimes I think we have to take a break, a step back. Maybe you’ll return to publishing and maybe you won’t–it really doesn’t matter, I don’t think, because as you point out, the heart of our writing is the creative outlet it offers to us. But if you do decide you want to share your work again, I hope you won’t let the challenges of publishing deter you.
I made a mind shift a while back that my focus wasn’t on achieving big sales numbers or tons of money from my writing (don’t get me wrong–I wouldn’t turn it down!). I started focusing on why I do it and what I want from it at the core. I think that’s why I stopped writing fiction–at the core, it had stopped scratching that soul-deep itch. But the writing I do for authors, about writing, still does–big-time. So I write articles, create courses, post these blogs, and keep working on craft books. None of it is making my fortune, but it’s rewarding nonetheless: in the writing itself and working out the theories I share, but also in hoping it may be of use to authors, on whatever level of “success” I achieve in hard metrics. I hope you refill the well and choose your path forward with your writing that means the most to you. Thanks for the comment.
I’m sorry to hear of your loss and your personal family issues. I agree with you about the unease of the world, I also have the pit of anxiety wallowing in my tummy and you hit the nail when you said “heaviness of my spirit”. I’m with you.
We must have hope. Thank you for sharing.
Sharing those fears and hopes with others is a comfort to me, I find–and helps keep that flame of hope alive. There are many who worry about the direction the world seems to be heading in, and who want to help shift things back toward the good, the kinder, the community-oriented. Thanks for being here and being one of them, Syl–I hope the weight of your spirit lifts.
Great post, Tiffany! I needed this one to help me get back on track, as my creative voice has been a struggling whisper. Though I had started writing my most recent newsletter, (the first one I have written this year!), I wasn’t sure about it’s context. But I also want to be honest with my readers about why I have been MIA on the newsletter front. After reading your post, I knew how to proceed. Because it gave me the push I needed, I also linked your newsletter on Hope and Action into my newsletter. (You can read my post here: https://markofthefaerie.com/holding-on-to-hope/)
Thanks again, Tiffany. Keep up the good fight.
I wish I weren’t hearing so many versions of the creative struggles you’re having from so many authors these days, Patti, but I am. I think it’s tough to create amid so much upheaval, uncertainty, and unkindness we’re seeing in the world lately, as you relate in your lovely newsletter post. But I took some uplift from the decision to embrace joy that you write about; thanks for sharing it. And thanks for sharing your thoughts here–nothing fuels my hope like the community of good people around me.
Thank you for this post, Tiffany, and for your posts in general, which I think of as thought-provoking balm for the writer’s soul.
Recently atThrillerfest, the wonderful author Lisa Scottoline made an interesting point on this topic. To paraphrase, during this time in our history, where it seems egregious behaviors escalate without consequence, we need the writers of fiction – where bad actors are (usually) held to account – more than ever. Whether as escapism, inspiration or re-affirming our collective sense of right and wrong, that’s no small thing, is it?
Ah, Pat, you’ve made my day. Thanks–it means a lot to hear the posts are helpful or resonant for authors.
Love Scottoline’s advice. I agree–I think artists are often the soul of humanity, the conscience–and the reminders of our better angels (and the consequences of ignoring them). Thanks for sharing.