Ramblings

The Secret to Creativity

May 16, 2019May 16, 2019 Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

IMG_8248(1) — Photo by my dear and talented friend, Bobbi Jo Brooks

Over the years, I’ve made a habit out of celebrating the Friendiversary of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien on May 11th every year. Wether this is truly the day they met matters little to me. Instead, I let this made up holiday serve as a reminder of why I make time for creative community in my life.

I usually celebrate by making scones, drinking tea, and reading some old favorites. This year was a little different. I spent the day camping with dear friends, miles from the nearest cell phone signal. As the sun set behind an old country lake, we ate barbeque and sat until midnight talking by campfire. My post this year is a little late, but I like to think that Lewis and Tolkien would have approved of my choices. You see, while I like to celebrate their friendiversary on May 11th, their habit of being active in creative community is something we can practice year round.

I remember when I first started writing. Alone with my lukewarm coffee, I would sit on my porch morning after morning trying to create magic out of nothing. Truth be told, my hands spent more time on my head than on my keyboard. But that was the life I had chosen as a writer, or so I thought. I pictured Lewis, walking down an old country road, brilliantly forming complex characters in his mind which he would put to pen as soon as he got home. Tolkien, I saw, sitting in his study with the fire slowly burning down into ash, laboring over his languages while everyone else was snuggled in their beds.

Both of these men did indeed have their moments of solitude, but what is truly fascinating is not how they worked as individuals, but how they cultivated a friendship that spurred each other on to be who they were created to be.

Hear this. These men met together regularly and learned from each other for many years. They did work in solitude, but they also spent a significant portion of time sharing their work with one another and asking for feedback and critique. I think so often we only see Lewis and Tolkien as they were at the end of their lives, and we fail to remember that they were ordinary people who needed help, encouragement, and sometimes even strong critique. I would like to submit to you all that it was their friendship with one another, and the company they kept, that spurred their genius. I believe that their literary masterpieces are a direct result of their friendship.

Before the Inklings, Lewis was a mostly unknown poet who had never tried his hand at fiction. Tolkien was a philologist who was more interested in creating languages than chiseling away at a plot.

How many of us have held our breath alongside Ransome as we watched the battle of the Garden take place once more on Perelandra, hoping that this time mankind would make the right decision? And yet, it was Tolkien who dared Lewis to write a story about space travel in the first place.

How many of us have mourned the loss of beauty in a once-untouched middle earth and smiled ear to ear at every mention of a second breakfast? And yet, it was Lewis who encouraged Tolkien to spend less time creating languages and elvish anthologies and more time writing plots.

In order for these two men to become who they were created to be, they needed each other.

These men discovered – or rather, rediscovered – the secret to creativity: community. We were not made to work in solitude, but to share, to borrow, and to build upon each other.

I passionately believe that every artist needs their Inklings. You might be thinking, “Yes, well, I’d love it if there was a group like that around me, but there isn’t.” Well then, I’m challenging you to create one. All you need is one person in your field, a place to meet, and a desire to see each other succeed. I think so often we keep waiting for our own personal Lewis and Tolkien to show up at our door and meanwhile we miss the life-filled, flesh-and-bone artists around us.

In the fall of 2016, I was just beginning to try my hand at fiction. I attended a novel-writing course that met once a week for eight weeks. Two of the women from my course and I began meeting at coffee shops throughout the city to sit quietly at a table and write together. It was painstakingly wonderful. I’d go even when I didn’t feel like writing and I’d write. When one of us had writer’s block, we talked it out. Slowly, we found we didn’t just need each others’ presence and encouragement; we also craved each other’s feedback.

Nearly a year after that first writing class, four of us gathered in a living room with chapters of our novels in hand. We met again two weeks later, each bringing new chapters. A few months later, we invited another person to join us. Within the next year, we gained another new face. Finally, our numbers were at six. Six people from five different countries speaking four different mother tongues. We had very little in common, but we showed up at each other’s houses twice a month and we did the most gracious, loving thing we could do for one another: We tore each other’s novels apart.

We pointed out plot holes, spelling errors, flimsy characters, repeated lines, everything. It hurt. It was embarrassing. But each time I left that group thinking, “of course! Why didn’t I see that before?” Three years later, these people know my novel just about as well as I do. This group has been my eyes when I was too blind to see past the next chapter. They have picked up my pen and dipped it in ink when I wanted to call it quits. They have coupled encouragement with critique, and they have turned this lonely task of writing into a story of how I found my people and found my voice.

There was no Lewis, no Tolkien, no Barfield, but we kept meeting and we kept growing. We never intended to start a long-term writing group, we just kept showing up. If you know one other artist, you can start a creative community. That’s all it takes. Two people with a commitment to show up in a common, physical space every week and lovingly make each other better. Anyone could do this. You could do this.

I believe that our success as artists directly correlates to the community around us. Today, I’m not just celebrating Tolkien and Lewis, I am celebrating the six people who sit in a living room with me twice a month and make my creation more lovely, more true, and more captivating than it could ever be with just me.

If you don’t have your Inklings, I challenge you to find them. It will take time, but find them and let them revolutionize your work. They will, I promise.

Ramblings

Inklings of my own

May 11, 2018March 21, 2019 Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

Inklings 2018 pic It’s that day again… the day I bake scones, drink coffee with friends and celebrate two wonderful writers whose works cultivated a love for myths in me at an early age. C.S. Lewis, author of The Chronicles of Narnia, and J.R.R. Tolkien, author of The Lord of the Rings, met on this day over ninety years ago. Shortly thereafter, Tolkien sent Lewis an epic poem he had written. It was filled with lore and myth and the fantastical realm, passions they both shared. Lewis returned the poem several days later with notes, critiques and even suggestions for how Tolkien could make his lines flow better. Can you imagine actually critiquing Tolkien? It sounds almost absurd. But Lewis did, as well as passing along one of his own poems. And so began a small community revolving around this idea of sharing and critiquing one another’s works. You might know them as the Inklings.

But today, instead of talking about the original Inklings, and their vast influence on each other and the countless books birthed through their gatherings, I want to tell you about my own set of Inklings.

In 2016, I moved to Berlin for a 9-month internship. (Yes. Yes. Two years later I’m still here, but that’s another story.) About three months in, I realized the short story that I had been playing around with wasn’t a short story. Much to my great displeasure, it was a novel. I was a little baby writer who had written a mere handful of things. This craft was new to me, and I had no idea what I was doing. To be cliché, I found myself in front of a mountain with no map, no supplies, and no training whatsoever.

By grace, I had moved to a city that embraces artists and I found a writing class targeted toward people who were just starting to write their novels and needed guidance. Oddly specific right? Kate, my teacher was brilliant, wise, experienced and kind. (*Insert shameless plug for the Reader Berlin and Kate who is AMAZING).

We spent the first four weeks learning the basics of novel writing, and the last four weeks reading a chapter of each other’s work and critiquing the pieces in class. Once again, I had no idea what I was doing. My typical response to art had always been “I really liked it” or “this is so beautiful.” And that wasn’t good enough here. It was fine to say those two phrases, but it needed to be followed by a “because…” or a “but…”

I also learned it was okay not to say those two phrases. That is was perfectly fine to look at a writer and politely say, “you know, this wasn’t really my thing. However, I did appreciate when you…” For a half-southern girl raised in the land of buttered words and sugared expressions, being open and honest when I didn’t like something felt like I was slapping someone in the face and kicking them in the stomach once they fell in the dirt. But then it was my turn to have my piece critiqued, and I realized that critique isn’t a slap in the face at all, but a friend telling me to pick up the pen and try again. Critique can be a loving teacher pointing out what I need to work on and how I could improve. Every single person at that table took time to read my work, think about how it could improve, and share their thoughts with me. They didn’t do this to be cruel, they did this so that one day my dream of seeing Aedaliegh of Arceldör in a bookstore might become reality.

When the course ended, a few of us would meet at coffee shops throughout the city to sit quietly at a table and write together. The next course came and we signed up again, seeking more feedback and more knowledge of writing as a craft. When Kate offered her next course, an entire 10 weeks solely spent reading and critiquing each other’s work, I immediately signed up. This, I was learning, was how I really get my novel to go somewhere. Yes, it was helpful to learn about different styles of narration, using third person verse first person, and so much more. But I found that the critique is what spurred my book to be better. Not just when my own piece was critiqued, but also in the critiquing of others I learned what worked and what didn’t, to spot a mistake, and even to anticipate what some of the feedback might be and make it better as I was writing the first draft.

Somewhere at the end of the third course, Kate hinted that some of us might be able to do this critique thing on our own. As we walked back to the subway that night, a few of us asked, “Could we really do this? Start our own group? Do we even want to?”

That August, five of us met in a living room and began this process on our own. We didn’t know how long it would last, but we wanted to see where it would go. It’s been hard. We’re all incredibly busy. Some of us have families. Some of us have had to leave the country for three months. I started a new job that makes me get up at 4:30 am on Tuesdays even though writing group last until 10 or 11 pm on Monday nights. We have had to make sacrificed to be in this group. We’re tired. We have little time. But all of us have made our books and this group a priority because we know it is one of the keys to our success.

A few weeks ago, I shared a scene I’d been hiding from this group for nearly two years. I was so nervous they would read this scene, throw the paper across the room and say something like, “What in the world, Bekah! You must be absolutely insane to write something like this.” But after two years with the group, I finally decided I trust them enough to share it. They loved it, which is still the most shocking thing that’s happened. They absolutely loved it and made me promise not to take it out. Then came the “but..” at the end of the chapter with a really sweet and lovely little moment I had written between Aeda and Fryderik. And my girl, Laura, looked at me, and said, “I was shocked because Aeda would never do this. It’s not her at all.”

She was right. It took me a minute to see what she was saying, but it hit me. Aeda would never do what I had her doing at the end of this scene. It went against everything she was. That night, Aeda got a wardrobe change, and all because Laura, over the past two years, has gotten to know my character almost as good as I have. I’ve said it for the last two years and I’ll say it again now…

The secret to creativity is to surround ourselves with a community. We were not made to work in solitude, but to share, to borrow, and to build upon each other.

When I tell people about this group, and what we do, they always say, “Oh, I must be hard to critique someone’s work. I could never do that.” And while that used to be my same opinion, I reply, “It’s not so hard after a while. I love their work, and I want to see them succeed.” And it’s true. I want to buy their books one day. I want them to buy mine. And in order for that to happen, you need more than one set of eyes.

The secret to the Inklings success was each other. C.S. Lewis may have never gotten some of his works published had it not been for Tolkien’s connections and recommendations (not to mention that his Space Trilogy actually started out as a dare from Tolkien.) Tolkien may have never gotten his head out of languages and anthologies long enough to write a plot had it not been for Lewis urging him to write the next chapter so that he could see what happens in the story.

If I ever get Aeda published, it will be because of these women. They have kept me writing when I was tired and wanted to forget Aeda altogether. They have given me ideas when I had no idea where to go. They have given me encouragement and critique. They have helped me see things I never did, and have made turned this lonely task of writing into a story of how I found my people.

I passionately believe that every Artist needs their Inklings. I will never stop proclaiming this. If you’re a lonely artist, you don’t have to be. Join a group. Create a group. Less than two years ago, these five women were strangers from five different parts of the world with three different mother tongues. And yet, two years later, here we are because we showed up, we spent time thinking through each other’s work, and we were honest with one another.

I believe that our success as artists directly correlates to the community around us. Today, I celebrate the five women who sit in a living room with me once a month and make Aeda more lovely, more true, and more captivating than she could ever be with just me.

If you don’t have your Inklings, find them. It will take time, but find them and let them revolutionize your work. They will, I promise.

Ramblings

A Friendiversary and A Graduation

May 11, 2017May 11, 2017 Rebekah EckardLeave a comment

It’s that time of year again. The time when I pick a new scone recipe, read a book on the Inklings and write a little rant of a blog post about how we need community. Today is the day that spurred countless books to be written, turned unknown professors into world renown authors, and created an entirely new genre of literature that had never seen before. Today is the Friendiversary of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien.

These two men, at first greatly opposed to one another, became friends after discovering a mutual love for Nordic Myths. They began to meet on a weekly basis, reading and translating together, until one day Tolkien arrived with a myth of his own to share, the Lay of Leithian. Lewis not only returned the poem with margins covered in notes and changes that should be made, he also brought one of his owns poem to read. And so the Inklings began.

Over the next twenty years, others, such Owen Barfield and Charles Williams, would come to join their meetings and share their literary works with the group. Every week, would begin the same way, with Lewis lighting his pipe and asking accusingly, “Well then, has no one got anything to read us?”

We will never fully be able to weigh the effects that question made. Out of this group, literary giants emerged and countless books were written. Before the Inklings, Lewis was a mostly unknown poet who had never tried his hand at fiction. We have Perelandra because Tolkien dared Lewis to write a story about space travel. Tolkien was a philologist who was more interested in creating languages than chiseling away at a plot. We have Lord of the Rings because Lewis encouraged Tolkien to spend less time creating languages and elvish anthologies and more time writing plots. In order for these two men to be who they were created to be, they needed each other. Their success hinged on their friendship.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again now: The secret to creativity is to surround ourselves with a community. We were not made to work in solitude, but to share, to borrow, and to build upon each other. My community is what kept me up to midnight last night typing at this computer because I promised them that I would send them a new chapter of my novel by the end of the night. My community is what spurred me to even consider writing a novel, when a friend looked me in the eyes, and said, “Maybe Aeda isn’t a short story, maybe she’s a novel.” My Community gave me the courage to pick up a pen. And when I thought I was too exhausted to write another word, my community dipped my pen in ink and whispered encouragingly, “just one more line.” You can always write one more line.

As I’ve read through Glyer’s Bandersnatch: The Creative Collaboration of the Inklings, I began to see my own accomplishments in a different light. Saturday I will graduate with a Masters Degree that’s been four years in the making. I joked with a friend that when I receive my diploma, I want to place an asterisk beside my name, flip over the piece of paper and write out the names of all the people who labored alongside me. Since I won’t be able to walk across a stage (flight tickets from Berlin to Dallas are extraordinarily expensive) today is a chance to for me to celebrate all that my community and I have accomplished together.

*Nancy Postler, my mother, who never let money stop me from following my dream. She never once hesitated when her adult (and self-proclaimed independent) daughter called her freaking out that textbooks cost $700 for one semester. She watched me make mistakes and still helped me pick up the pieces when I realized that she was right all along. Sometimes I forget how great she really is, and then she’ll say, “Don’t worry. We’ll figure all this out.” So thanks, Mom, for always helping me figure out a way to follow my dreams.

*Stephanie & Christopher Elmerick, my parents across the pond. I was 18 and stupid, proven by the fact that I said in an interview with you, “If you hire me as your intern, am I going to have to babysit your kids? Because I don’t like kids, and I’d rather not do that.” You told me no, that I wouldn’t. But then life changed, and I found myself spending the summer falling in love with three kids. I flew home in August and changed my major to Early Childhood Education. I found my greatest passion because you both welcomed into your family. There is so much more I could say to you two. I could talk about how Stephanie has mentored me in grace and humility and wisdom. I could talk about how Christopher has pushed me to be kinder and more servant-hearted. But I’ll stop there, and simply say that I look more like Jesus because y’all are in my life.

*Nicole, who at one point shared my apartment, my major, and my last name. Thank you for forcing me to volunteer with you in that 2nd grade class on Wednesday Nights. It was my first real experience teaching and I haven’t stopped since.

*John & Ismael, two of my first bosses who both gave me jobs I was unqualified for. They told me that I was good at something and that maybe I should pursue it further. Every job I have since applied to comments on how much experience I have for a person my age. The irony is not lost on me. I am now considered qualified, because of the grace you both showed me.

*Katrina, who let me follow her around as she visited grad schools. I didn’t end up at any of those schools, but it was on the 12 hour road trip back from Chicago when she looked at me in the car and said, “Hey, what about DTS? I’ve heard they have a good program.” We googled it on our smartphones, and I started an application the next day. She has shown me the beauty of being a nerd, and have given me a safe place to be strange. This blog is the product of one of our four hour long conversations of following rabbit trails and youtube videos when she encouraged me to be less of a consumer and more of a creator. I am a better artist because of her.

*Jenna, the first person I met on campus at DTS, and my first friend. She picked me up from the airport at least fifteen times, and let me sleep on her couch when I needed to. She let me ugly cry on her bed. She let me angry rant when a classmate did something that upset me. She is my kindred spirit on a campus where it was hard to sometimes fit in, and I would not have stayed at DTS had I not met her. (Also, she graduated on Saturday too! If I would have made it, we would have stood next to each other in line. So, Congratulations Friend! We made it! I’m so proud of you!)

*Corielle and Beth, the two women who provided me a house and a job when I hit rock bottom my second semester in grad school, moved home, and tried dropping out altogether. They made the rest of my life as easy as possible, so that when I recovered, the damage wouldn’t be as bad. They cried with me, watched HGTV with me, and gave me hard advice that I didn’t want to hear. You both were there for me in one of the darkest seasons I’ve encountered. Thank you.

*To my professors at DTS who let me be who I am. I am proud to have attended a school that encouraged my creativity. In Spring of 2015, I took a class in which we were required to write two poems. Those poems led to a song, which led to me remembering how much I loved writing as a child. Three months later, I started this blog, which led to a short story about a little orphan girl named Aeda. I am a writer because I went to a school that encouraged me to use my creative talents in an intellectual setting. I realize now how rare this truly is.Thank you.

*Lauren, my best friend. When she came home to me crying over a paper that I couldn’t finish, she sat down beside me and talked me through concepts I didn’t understand. She was my sounding board, my “hey, what do you think about this? Am I crazy? Could this be right?” person. And besides being the brilliant woman she is, she proofread all my papers, catching every grammatical error time and again. (Though she didn’t proofread this, so I’m sure she’s wincing a little as she catches all of my mistakes.) Furthermore, in addition to my schoolwork, my novel wouldn’t exist without her. I’ll never forget the moment she looked at me and said, “It’s not a stupid idea. It’s really beautiful actually.” Those simple words spurred me to start telling a story that I’d been too scared to even attempt for four years. A year later, she looked at my little short story and encouraged me to consider turning it into a novel. She always knows how to say the right thing, the true thing, and the scary thing all at once.

I am graduating on Saturday because of these people. It may be my name on the Diploma, just as it may be Tolkien’s name on The Lord of the Rings. But we all know that I would not be at this point without these people. They are my community. My family. My Inklings. They have pushed me to start things I thought were beyond my reach, and have held me up when I thought about quitting. Thank you for your struggles, your sacrifice, and your work on my behalf. If I have accomplished anything, it is because of you all.

So, today, let’s celebrate friendship. Let’s celebrate what a community is capable of.