Of Orchids and Dandelions

“Medicine, business, law, engineering… these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are the things that we live for.”

~ Robin Williams in Dead Poet’s Society

There is one key element of my writer’s journey, which has launched me to each next level of craft mastery and publication. What is the secret? More on that in a minute. First, some context is necessary.

I was a bit of a jerk growing up, or, as one person rightly said, insufferable snob. I weaved my way through life, breezing through high school with my buddies and a few years of college with the guys. I walked away without knowing much.

Unfortunately, while I was living it up with my brothers, the world had become very competitive and jobs scarce. I realized I’d been relying on the good ol’ boy’s network to get me through, and if I was actually going to make my way in the world, I needed to learn a few things. To sharpen my skills, at age 30, I went back to university.

But academia had also become very competitive. I needed help, and fell back on what I knew. However, my ancient history professor wouldn’t give me the time of day. What the heck? Surely, he was a good guy and would let me into his inner circle. He didn’t. I went to the history chair, who also didn’t have time for me. The assistant chair was the same.

Turns out, I was going to have to prove my academic skills through that very thing—skill.

I thumped down on a bench in the history department and a professor popped her head around the corner.

She asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Academic blues, I guess.”

She pressed for more details, and I told her that I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with history.

“What history do you like?” she wondered.

I explained I loved American military history, knowing she would roll her eyes. Women, I knew, didn’t like war.

She tossed me a book.

Her book.

A full treatise on how the environment affected the American Civil War.

Oh.

For two years I studied her work, took her classes, and with her wisdom and encouragement, wrote a manuscript that won $20,000 and a publishing contract.

While I know my experience may not be common, my success began when I shut up and realized that women, not just men, had something to teach me. I broadened the appeal and emotional depth of my writing as I listened to women’s experiences, studies, and perceptiveness.

As I grabbed another degree in literature, I studied women writers throughout history and found I was living my life with only half-knowledge. Not studying and learning from women is like going into battle with only one boot on.

By almost every measure, men in this country are in crisis, and it’s becoming more and more fashionable to blame that crisis on women, to backtrack into unhealthy and ungodly ideas of “masculinity.”

But my experience would say something different.

Men are running headlong into a crucible. We want our voices heard and respected, so we pursue excellence in order to bellow our barbaric yawp. We read and research writing, and yet, for centuries, the vast majority of male authors have declared their belief that women have nothing profound to say.

A recent new metaphor by a fellow male author rings true: “Men are orchids, women are dandelions.” That is, women have learned over the centuries to thrive and grow in any soil. Whereas, up until very recently, men enjoyed a greenhouse-like society of their own making. Now that the shoe is increasingly on the other dandelion root, the greenhouse has been ripped away, and we’re wilting in the sun. But that’s not the women’s fault.

In fact, might we not benefit from the dandelion wisdom of our sister writers? Women authors, similar to the female professor who started this odyssey for me, are famously empathetic. If we male authors come at these new challenges with a little humility and curiosity, they might even shade us with their dandelion know-how, until we get all this figured out.

Views expressed are not necessarily those of all members of ICW.