Putting ourselves out there

 

I well remember how I felt when I saw the cover of my first novel Heléna for the first time, way back in 2007, in the middle of cooking dinner. What a moment! I tried to take in all I saw in that email attachment—the artwork the publisher had chosen, the layout, the back cover blurb, even the spine. But what caught my eye above all else was my own name in large, capital letters across the top of the front cover. Even now, fifteen years later, I still remember the shock I felt at seeing it there and the question I almost blurted out loud.

‘What have I done?’

Of course, I had known my name would be there on that cover. But in that moment, the sheer vulnerability of having a book published finally dawned on me. So many questions tumbled through my mind, one after another. Would anyone want to read this novel I had so loved writing? Would they be able to relate to the storyline? Would they like or hate my characters?

Was it… was it too late to change my mind about the whole idea?

It definitely was, I knew that. Now, eight books later, I am so glad I didn’t. Yet with each new book I launch, I still experience that feeling of deep vulnerability and reluctance to reveal my work in public. And that is why I particularly appreciated the email I recently received from a youngish male friend who had read my latest novel Down by the Water, released in January last year. He had bothered to write a lovely review of it on Goodreads and, because I knew him, I wrote to thank him. Here is part of his response:

It occurs to me that authors like you show great vulnerability to offer your work to the general public where anyone can say whatever they like in a public forum like Goodreads. So, I honour the risk you take in publishing your work, and not just your ‘work’ but your treasured baby that you have poured yourself into for months and even years. I try to honour that risk in my reviews…. I hope you find publishing is worth that risk—because, if you didn’t publish, so many of us would miss out on enjoying your gift.

I share these gentle, thoughtful words of his here to encourage us all that there are those out there who appreciate the risk we take in being published and cheer us on. From my own experience too, I would say that walking this vulnerable path is so worth it. If God has given us stories to share, we need to work hard to refine them, then put them out there. There will be those who criticise and point out flaws in our writing, some of which may well be justified. This is, after all, how we learn. But even if that criticism is unfair, does it really matter? After all, as Christians, we follow the one who made himself so vulnerable, walked the humble road and endured so much for our sakes. So, let’s all take courage, keep writing and keep putting ourselves out there!

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. 1 Peter 4:10

Jo-Anne Berthelsen lives in Sydney and is the author of seven published novels and two non-fiction works, Soul Friend and Becoming Me. She holds degrees in Arts and Theology and has worked in teaching, editing and local church ministry. Jo-Anne loves encouraging others through both the written and spoken word and is a keen blogger.

www.jo-anneberthelsen.com

www.joanneberthelsen.wordpress.com

Get Real

In my writing workshops, I often discuss character weaknesses and how we writers can use these vulnerabilities to engage our readers. By ‘reader connection’ I don’t mean a collective whole, rather a ‘this could be me or my best friend’ type of significance. But how?

November 1, 2016, I celebrated the release of the final book in my young adult techno-crime thriller trilogy. Activate completed the set, easing tensions from Replicate’s rocket-ride action and loose-ended resolution, whilst bringing full circle the story of Integrate’s Blaine Colton, teenage GMO and survivor of mitochondrial disease (mito).

In creating Blaine, I was inspired by a real life mito hero. But this week I learned a friend had died from one of the types of mito I’d referenced to construct for Blaine a uniquely complex version of the disease. I’d known this friend for years, but our lives had taken different paths. Despite remaining in contact via social media, I’d never realised they had mito. When I heard of their death, I felt … numb. It couldn’t be true! Someone was playing a cruel joke and any moment, as I scoured my friend’s Facebook wall, I’d find it was a mistake and somehow, silly me, I’d misinterpreted the message. Instead, I found words of grief and sympathy. Suddenly Blaine was in my world, only it wasn’t Blaine. It was my friend. And they were dead.

This moment confronted me, forced me to revisit the power of writing authentic characters. It was like my advice was working in reverse, where suddenly I was being drawn into my character’s world through reality.

Mid last year I was privileged enough to be one of 180 poets included in the Veils, Halos & Shackles international poetry anthology, a collection of poems depicting the wounds and struggles of women worldwide, presented as raw, personally impacting experiences. The influence of works such as this makes me increasingly convinced a significant key to connecting deeply with our readers involves a willingness to give voice to our own vulnerabilities. Yet, our modern society doesn’t like the impracticalities of a candid response. ‘How are you?’ is often a rhetorical question, asked while keeping up a brave front.
Was this how I’d missed my friend’s illness?

By writing out of the honest, messy reality of our brokenness, we may not necessarily create characters that are all peaches and sparkles. But maybe, like Blaine turning up in my real world, we can allow readers a place to cry in the ashes with characters that will turn up in their world.

I know other authors have created such a place for me over the years. Perhaps our willingness to become vulnerable as writers will give our readers permission to agonise with our characters, experiencing their challenges, and give room to identify mutual pain. And knowing the hope we’ve found in even the darkest moments, maybe we can also use our vulnerabilities to share comfort and invite them to journey with us along the path to healing.

Queensland author Adele Jones writes young adult and historical novels, poetry and short inspirational, fiction and non-fiction works. Her first YA novel Integrate was awarded the 2013 CALEB Prize for unpublished manuscript. Her writing explores issues of social justice, humanity, faith, natural beauty and meaning in life’s journey, and as a speaker she seeks to present a practical and encouraging message by drawing on these themes. For more visit www.adelejonesauthor.com or contact@adelejonesauthor.com