Sheila Grinell, author of Appetite (She Writes Press, May 17, 2016) – a Redbook Spring Pick – and our May Issue cover girl, shares her experience writing in her “second act.”
I spent forty years creating science museums across the U.S. Towards the end of that career, I began to write fiction. Now, fully engaged in this “second act,” I am about to publish my debut novel, Appetite, while writing novel number two. There are a lot of advantages to writing at this stage of life, advantages writers in a “first act” might not suspect.
I’m not talking about craft. We writers know there’s only one way to learn how to create sturdy, evocative sentences, or to string out a realistic conversation without extraneous dialog tags. You must write, and write more, and reflect on what you’re doing with the help of other writers or instructors. I paid my dues in classes at a local community college, and later in a group of writing friends. But in both settings, as I slogged along developing craft, I was able to approach the practice of writing in ways not necessarily accessible to novices.
First of all, I felt free to fail. Having had professional success over the years, I no longer had to prove myself to the world, or to myself. I had already faced the challenge of starting a completely new project with a five-year timeline and seeing it through to the end. In fact, I’d done it several times (and I understood the focus required). If writing would prove to be an intractable challenge for me, so what? My sense of usefulness in the world would remain intact. I was immunized against writer’s block.
As work on my first novel progressed, I discovered that many techniques from my former business life applied equally well to writing. Commit to a schedule and stick to it (and revise it when necessary); consult experts when a gap in knowledge appears; don’t second guess your moves (there are no perfect solutions to problems, so you might as well use the solution at hand). I felt comfortable in my old habits, and the page count slowly mounted.
In 1992 I had published a book about science centers, and in 2003, in collaboration with the editor at my professional association, I had revised it. When my second act began in 2008, I discovered that writing technical material and writing fiction are different animals. I could produce two paragraphs of story in the same amount of time it took to write a thousand-word article about earned income. But based on my past book-making experience, I could envision a completed manuscript, and a helpful editor, and a designer and, eventually, a product. The thought sustained me as I groped my way toward completing a draft.
In my first career, I had visited 68 science museums in two dozen countries and interacted with many hundreds of people—staff, donors, politicians, academics, advertisers, protesters….. Boy, did I have material! I was a champagne bottle, and writing fiction popped the cork. I didn’t have to stretch far to find themes and characters. (And what fun it was to tell tales without having to back them up with spread sheets!) Plot came readily, too. I was hooked. My new passion—almost a compulsion—reinvigorated me to no end.
Which brings me to the principal disadvantage of writing in one’s second act: the act is bound to be short. While writing novel number two, I’m sort of thinking about number three, and having to stop myself from fantasying number four. I keep reminding myself that it’s good to think in five-year increments—life can be unpredictable at any age. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if many such increments lay ahead? Then my writing could get better, and better. There’s always so much to learn!
Born in a taxi in Manhattan, Sheila Grinell studied at the Bronx High School of Science, Harvard University, and the University of California, Berkeley. Towards the end of her forty-year career as a creator of science museums, she began to write fiction. Appetite is her debut novel. She lives in Phoenix with her husband and dog. To learn more, visit www.sheilagrinell.com.
About Appetite
When Jenn Adler returns from a year in India, she has a surprise for her parents: a young guru from Bangalore whom she intends to marry. Her father, Paul, is wary of this “beggar” Jenn has brought home—who, he suspects, is conning his much-loved daughter—while her mother, Maggie, is frightened that this alien stranger will steal away her only child, her focus in life.
In the months leading up to the backyard wedding, Maggie is forced to reevaluate her virtues as she casts about for support, and Paul faces an unexpected threat at work—one that Maggie could help him meet, if he would only ask. But even with these distractions, the two parents are focused on one primary question: Can they convince their daughter she is making a terrible mistake before the wedding takes place?
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