I’ve been thinking about happiness a lot lately. Maybe because I now have two children in middle school. Do you remember middle school? If not, here’s a refresher: It’s that hellish time of life where your body betrays you in a myriad of ways from constant hormonal fluctuation to growth spurts that make you wake up one morning with one arm suddenly longer than the other. Once stable friendships are now confusing and unsteady and you’re not quite sure where (if anywhere) you fit. It’s horrible. HORRIBLE.

But I don’t tell my kids that.  Focusing on the negative isn’t the best way to find happiness and even though they’re going through a difficult time of life, I try very hard to talk to them about all of the things that are going well—we talk about the books they’re reading and how exciting it is to be able to read meatier things and be smart enough to discuss them. We talk about how all of those years of fumbling through music practice are paying off and now they can play things that people actually want to hear. We talk about how middle school was something they thought they couldn’t do and look! They’re doing it! Right now.

Of course, we also have a lot of discussions about worries and fears and friendships and hanging in there because life really does get better. But as much as I can, I try to keep them focused on the things that are working.

Years ago, when my oldest son was in a karate class, the instructor did an experiment. He gave the kids thirty seconds to look around the room and try to memorize everything that was red—and there was a lot of it—red punching bags, red training mats, red blockers, red belts. Then he had them close their eyes and name everything in the room that was—all the kids’ hands shot up—blue. Every hand fell.

Even though there was just as much (if not more) blue in the room than red, the kids had been focused on the red and so that’s what they remembered. Sure, they could tick off a few blue items from memory, but not many. It was a powerful lesson. We see what we’re looking for. We remember what we focus on.

It’s true in middle school and it’s true in publishing too. So how do we find happiness in a world that (like middle school) is full of rejection and disappointment and jealously? We focus on the good—and there’s lots of it! Far more good than bad. Here are some things that have worked well for me.

Celebrate the success of others

Be happy when other writers do well, whether they land an agent or get a book deal or rocket to bestseller-dom. Avoid the temptation to believe that other people’s success is your failure. It’s not. I don’t know about you, but when I finish a really great book, I don’t close it and think, well, that was so good I don’t think I ever need to read another book again. I’m all set now. No! I’m hungry for more. A rising tide lifts all ships and good books sell more good books. Other writers’ success is your success too. Celebrate it!
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Take joy in the things you control

In this business, the only thing you control is the work. That’s it. Every published author I’ve ever talked to says there’s a fair amount of luck and timing that go into a book deal. You can’t control that part. But you can write the best book you are capable of writing and you can enjoy every moment of it.

 Get a support system

Surround yourself with people that are supportive of your writing career. If your family is supportive, that’s a huge blessing. In my experience, some family members will show up with pompoms and some family members won’t show up at all. Either way, I recommend making writer friends. They will understand what you’re going through in a way no one else can. Join a writer’s group, join Twitter, enter contests, not only with the hope of winning, but for the chance to make connections. One of the best things that ever happened to me (writing-wise) was being invited to join a Facebook group for writers. We’ve encouraged each other, shared experiences, asked questions and watched several members get published and get agents. Their support has been invaluable.

Writing is filled with roadblocks and setbacks, but it’s also filled with exhilarating vistas and take-your-breath away moments. And today, I’m going to focus on the blue.

After my first child was born, a funny thing started happening. Older women, friends and strangers alike, would stop me and say, “Enjoy this time. It goes so fast.” At first it was sweet, but after several months of sleep deprivation, I started to get annoyed. First of all, how did they know I wasn’t enjoying it? Did the bags under my eyes and my lovely eau de spit up give away that it’s not party time at our house? And secondly, there is nothing worse than being on that desperate knife-edge of exhaustion only to have someone tell you you’re not mothering with a big enough smile.

But here’s the thing, now that my kids are a little older, I get what they were trying to say. (Although, I will never stop a new mom in the grocery store and tell her to “enjoy this time” without offering to watch her baby while she takes a shower and a nap). The time does go fast. And at the end of it, you do wish that you had savored it more—the knee dimples, the smiles, the delicious smell right where a baby’s neck meets his shoulder.

I think a lot of life is like that—wishing away the “during” parts of life in order to get to a finish line that doesn’t exist. When my husband was in medical school, I treated those four years as “during.” I didn’t really consider where we lived home—it was a temporary stop while we waited for “real life” to begin. But after medical school, we stayed in the same location for internship. And then for residency. And then for fellowship too. We were in the same town for nine years and it was the only home our children had ever known. Somewhere along the way, I realized that this was real life and that there wasn’t some magical starting line that I was picturing.

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Now as I’ve started on the journey to publication, I can feel myself doing the same thing—waiting patiently (or not so patiently) at the starting line for my life as a real writer to begin. I thought I would feel it when I finished my first book. Nope. Or maybe when I got my first offer of representation? No, not then. Maybe when I’d accepted an offer and signed with an agent? Still, no. And then I realized I’m in the “during.” This, right now, is the real life of a writer. The writing. The doing. A book deal or two or ten will be wonderful, but I’m already on the path and there isn’t a finish line.  There will always be more to accomplish, more to reach for, more to do.

So, this time, I’m going to try my hardest to savor all the “during” parts on this weird and wonderful journey. But if you see me and I look like I need a nap, maybe don’t remind me I said so.

For the past two years or so, I have spent roughly three hours a week in music lessons—a combination of cello, violin and piano. That’s a lot of hours. Can you imagine if I’d spent that time running? Or sleeping? Ah, I’d be so fit and well-rested. But, I digress.

Sadly, I am not a student in any of said music lessons (my children get that privilege), so my status as tone-deaf and talentless remains unchanged.  However, I have developed a decent musical vocabulary and learned a whole host of things I didn’t know before. It’s like getting a peek into a world I didn’t know existed.

Last week my boys attended a Suzuki music camp. For those of you not familiar with the Suzuki method, parental involvement is required, so I was expected to attend all of their classes—and by “attend”, I don’t mean relax in the corner with a juicy book.  I mean be present, take notes, pay attention.  So this week alone, I sat through 12 hours of music instruction.

During the very little time I’ve had to myself, I’ve also been revising for my agent*, which has made the two experiences combine in an interesting way for me. (Incidentally, this is how most ideas are born, but that’s a whole other topic.)

There are several things that music can teach us about writing:

Technical skill is a must

In music this is everything from note reading to knowing how to hold a violin properly.  There is no music without knowing something about how music is put together.  Even those who play by ear have absorbed something about the rhythms and dynamics of music.  Sitting down and banging on the keys is not the same thing as playing a piece with skill and passion.

Writing is the same way—to write well, there are technical details that must be mastered and I don’t just mean knowing how to put a sentence together or knowing that all your subjects and verbs need to agree. It takes time to develop your voice, to learn how to weed out unnecessary adverbs and adjectives, to avoid the passive voice and to tell a good story. And just like a musician who improves by listening to others play, reading as much as possible will attune your inner ear to good prose.

There is no such thing as perfection

This has been one of the most fascinating aspects of attending my children’s music lessons. I have yet to hear a child play a piece and have the teacher say, “That was perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.” It never happens. There is always something that could be tweaked and made better. Even after a performance, when the piece is so good it has moved the audience to tears, there is always a measure that could have used more polish or a section where the bow strokes could have been longer.  That sounds like a negative, but I don’t think it is. It just means we can always keep reaching. There is no final destination where we can sit back and bask in the knowledge that we know everything there is to know. Writing can always be improved, but that shouldn’t stop us from sharing our work. Which brings me to my next point.

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 Eventually a piece is “polished enough” to be performed 

Last week during music camp each of my boys had a Master Class with an accomplished musician. I sat through both classes. Each of my sons was asked to play the piece they were currently working on and then the instructor worked individually with them for 30 minutes on all the changes that would make the piece more polished. For one student, the tempo slowed slightly in one section. For another, longer bow strokes would give more dramatic effect and would contrast more with the dynamics in an earlier section.

Listening only to the corrections, one would think that the pieces were far from perfect. However, at the end of the lesson, both teachers said, “I think this piece is definitely performance ready and I’d like you to play it in the recital today.” What?  But we just spent half-an-hour talking about how it isn’t perfect! But it doesn’t have to be. There comes a point when a piece is polished enough and the musician can play with enough skill and raw emotion that the minor flaws won’t detract from the audience’s enjoyment of the piece. Music is meant to make people feel something, and it doesn’t need to be technically flawless to do that.

Writing is like that too. Everyone gets edited and an author’s fifth book is often written with considerably more skill than the first, but that doesn’t mean the first one wasn’t good. The trick is to write enough and to get enough good feedback that you reach the tipping point between “not ready” and “polished enough” that an agent or editor will stay up late devouring your book. This could happen on your first manuscript, but more likely on your second or third or tenth. (One of my favorite authors wrote twenty full length manuscripts before getting an agent.) But if you keep writing, you will eventually reach that tipping point.  And even then, you’ll still be asked for revisions because (see  above) there is no such thing as perfection. 

It’s all subjective

After a certain level of skill has been reached, the rest is subjective. One music teacher may prefer a faster tempo on the exact same piece that another teacher likes at a more leisurely pace. Music is open to interpretation and no two musicians will make exactly the same artistic choices. During my son’s cello Master Class, his instructor wanted a particular section played differently than his regular teacher did. After class, he said, “But, Mom which way is right?”  I told him that neither one was right or wrong. The music could be interpreted either way. The important thing is which did he like more?  He’s the artist, after all.

Writing is subjective too and nothing has ever been written that was universally adored. The sooner that sinks in the better. Think of your favorite book, the one you’ve read over and over again until the corners are dog-eared and the book is falling apart in your hands. Someone else loathes that book. Don’t believe me? Go to Amazon and peek at a few of the one star reviews. They will make you cry with how wrong the reviewers are.  And that book you loathe? Someone else thinks it was the greatest thing ever written. Read those reviews too.

So go write. Improve technically, read, study good books and write some more. Get feedback from people smarter than you and when your work is finally ready, don’t be afraid to submit.

*My agent! It still gives me a little thrill to type that.