This Is How You Develop Guts In Your Writing and Your Writing Life

Hands up: Whose 2016 hasn't started quite the way she expected it to?

Who has maybe not done nearly as much writing as she hoped she would? 

Wow... So many hands!

Haha. But seriously: does the year ever start as hopefully as we imagine? Maybe not.

If your writing has faltered a little, check out Monday's post (on sticking with it!) and then come back here, for the follow up. Because this is kinda like a Part Two.

This is the quote that we're ending our series on. It's one of the best ways to shape a writing life.

It's good.

You ready?

Today's quote comes from the marvelously creative SARK: 

"We are repeatedly tested and challenged with our commitments, to give us a chance to recommit, over and over again."

YESSSSSS.

Think about how your writing has looked for the first three months of this year. And just let that quote sink in a bit. 

We all face a bunch of difficulties, a series of circumstances, a sequence of being thrown off course: and over, and over, and over again, we keep coming back to the work.

This is huge, by the way, this sticking with it. This is how we win the game.

Perseverance is how we get the amazing, agile muscles we need—this is what makes us writers, in the face of everything that would make us something else.

But that's not all. At the very same time, we recommit. We rededicate.

And this recommitment is what gives us the huge, amazing, all-enduring hearts that writers need.

"Sticking with it" gets us back and working.

The rededication means, we do it with our hearts back on track. With our courage up and fighting. With a clearer vision. With steadied feet.

We get up, we brush ourselves off, we learn our lessons, we stick with it, we recommit.

Again, and again, and again.

As this process runs its course, we don't look like a bunch of defeated writers. 

We look like the truly lionhearted wordsmiths that we are. Working with gumption and heart. Coming back to the writing.

Each time, our commitment drives deeper and deeper.

So if you've been knocked off balance by anything lately—whether it was something major crashing into your life, or whether it was the painful minor event of a project slipping somehow out of your grasp—

See this as your opportunity.

Opportunities are precious, incredible little events that open up a whole new path for you. (It's like Choose Your Own Adventure!! #nerdalert)

When you get back to your desk, when the dust has settled somewhat (or even as it's still falling!): take a little time to get back in touch with your purpose.

Remember why you're writing. Remember who you want to be as a writer. 

Take a little time to intentionally recommit—not to the mere achievement of writing (though of course that's awesome).

Recommit to the two big things that you are daily creating:

The project that you're working on (showing up for it, and putting your heart into it), and the incredible path of your own writing life.

Both of these are truly worth your time. They're worth your full commitment.

And both will continue to shape you into the remarkable, lionhearted person that you are.

When Doubt and Negativity Come Looking for You (and Your Writing), Here's What To Do.

This is just a plain old straightforward quote. But it's totally lovely.

And I still need to hear it. And you still need to hear it.

This is just a lionhearted essential.

Doris Lessing, writer extraordinaire (she won this tiny, obscure award called the Nobel Prize), said: 

"What I did have, which others perhaps didn't, was a capacity for sticking at it, which really is the point, not the talent at all. You have to stick at it." 

Happy Monday, in other words. 

This kind of philosophy sometimes requires a very large coffee mug, so by all means get one. And then let's have a little chat about perseverance.

... Got your coffee? Me too.

Okay. Look: There are a million things that are going to show up to knock us off course. 

Legitimate things, and not so legitimate ones. True reasons for slowing down, and lies that slow us down too. 

We're facing redirections, obstacles, setbacks. There are new skills to learn, old habits to discard, better patterns of thinking we can embrace.

It's complicated, busy, and ever-changing. 

It can feel like a lot. Heck, let's get real: it is a lot!

Total true confession: I still have moments when I think, just out of the blue, maybe I should chuck it? 

This was me. Just last night.

Lying in bed, explaining to my pillow, "It would be so much simpler if I just worked for a bookstore and stopped all this writing nonsense. I would do great at a bookstore. I love recommending books to people! I could read a ton, yay, and there would be so much less wear and tear on my brain. Also, um, paychecks."

Of course, I didn't believe myself as I said all this. Not really.

(Neither did my pillow. It is never fooled.)

In the morning I pulled out this quote and thought, right. 

Sticking with it. That's what's right. That's the answer.

This whole writing gig—it isn't won by brilliance. It isn't won with perfect writing routines and spotless writing schedules.

It isn't a game of ideal circumstances. 

Nope.

So if you don't feel brilliant this instant, and if your writing routine has developed a serious wobble, and if your schedule has faltered a smidge—no worries. 

You are still in the right place.

Because it all comes down to sticking with it. Stick with the writing life.

On the glorious, exhilarating days, yes!

And also on the ones where you feel ragged and dry and aren't really sure it makes sense anymore.

We stick with it. 

Which is why I got to my desk today anyway.

Which is why I pulled out my characters (even though I felt grumpy, and I probably did a few big dramatic sighs) and I said, "Hey kids, what should we talk about?"

Which is why I still plunged into my book today. And it maybe wasn't spectacular writing, but it was still right and good and exactly where I should be.

Don't believe the weird funky lies that show up at midnight, or at four on a rainy afternoon, or at a bleak eight-thirty on an overcast morning.

Okay? Don't let those lies seep into your soul.

We're sticking with it, you and me. 

Because it doesn't have to look perfect, and it isn't about talent, and it isn't always neat and tidy. 

It's just about endurance.

About scribbling a few sentences even on our worst days. About carrying on, learning what we need to learn, and digging a little deeper. 

Also, of course, dancing. And also chocolate.

(And if you haven't had a good, shake-everything-loose dance party in your office for a while, you need to. I did today and it fixed so much. And then, of course, so did the chocolate part.)

All of this to say, sometimes it isn't super helpful to pay attention to all of our writerly feelings.

Feelings pretend to be absolute truth tellers, but sometimes, they're full of crap. Or they're only partly true. 

I try to say, Thanks for the input; your complaint has been acknowledged. And then I go to the desk anyway.

On my pillow, I said, "Work in a bookstore? Hm. How interesting. You're right, I could wear a collection of brightly colored tights and dye my hair a shocking color and strike up conversations with the charming barista. What a nice idea. ... And then, at night after closing down the shop, would I be crying about the novels I didn't write?"

"Um," said the traitorous feelings. "Um, yeah. Probably."

"That's what I thought." (And my pillow totally agreed.)

Stick with it. 

Even if you have the worst case of the Mondays, stick with it.

Sometimes that means you shrink your writing practice to the smallest possible unit. To a mouse-sized writing practice, just to get by.

And then you can blow it back up later to a big, splashy, wonderful writing practice.

Sometimes, if you're a bit battered, you give yourself a week of just reading, all novels all the time, or all poems, or all essays...

But you're still sticking with it. That's the thing.

Move toward it, even on your awful days. 

Don't give up.

This Is Why You Can Embrace the Crappiest of Crappy First Drafts (Bad Drafts Aren't Just for Beginners!)

Oh, it's going to be one of those good Mondays, you know?

I can just feel it.

How are you doing today, lionheart? Does it feel like spring?

I'm much cheerier and more sane than I was last week, because I have written thousands and thousands of words on my novel in progress. Whew. I just needed to stop planning and get scribbling, and that's made all the difference to my mood, and my mindset.

... In some ways.

In other ways—which you're familiar with too, if you've ever written anything down—I'm feeling a smidge bleak.

Because this draft is, like all other first drafts, QUITE a mess.

I'm thrilled to be moving forward on my draft. But I'm frustrated that the draft sounds weak, the voice is a little off, and some scenes are frankly a little dull. (Even though they get the story to the right place—yay, structure!)

In other words, it's a first draft, and it's behaving exactly like one.

I know that. You know that.

We all know first drafts are rough, messy, crappy drafts. 

... But it's easy to believe that at some point we'll emerge from the Forest of Crappy First Drafts, and break into a glorious place where our first drafts aren't bad at all. 

Where we write marvelously the first time around.

Which is why today's much-needed writing-life quote comes from Eric Maisel, in his (lovely! must read!) book, A Writer's Paris: 

"Everything changes the instant you accept that you are bound to do lots of inferior work. Then no particular piece of inferior work is much of a blow. You just burn it and get on with your masterpiece."

THERE WE GO.

It's extremely counter-productive to wait around for the day when our first drafts are pristine.

Writing improvement doesn't happen in a neat, straight, predictable line.

Have you seen this in your own work, your own first drafts: Moments of true writerly brilliance coexist right next to moments of true writerly befuddlement.

I can write a gem and, in the very next paragraph, write pure slop.

On the same day! In the same ten minutes! 

I go back and forth. Gems, slop, mediocrity, beauty, back to muddling, back to something solid, a bit more crap, and then oh, good, a lovely little twist at the end of the chapter.

And that's my drafting process.

What I love about Maisel's quote is that it helps us to think of this good draft/bad draft thing more like we're operating in a ratio, not like we're moving chronologically to a new stage of no mistakes.

Ratios! And last Thursday I mentioned percents! What, is this a math blog now?

But go with me on this.

What if there's a kind of proportion that exists: we must do x amount of really crappy work, in order to do x amount of really brilliant work.

It isn't that we graduate from doing the crappy work; it's just that the more crappy work we plow through, the more opportunities we have to write gems.

Does that make sense?

In other words, it doesn't do any good to cut ourselves off, or to stop writing, or even slow down, just because the crappy work shows up.

It has to be there. It's doing its job, holding up its side of the ratio. 

As Maisel says, we're bound to do lots of it!! 

And if we stop now, we don't get to the work in the other part of the ratio—the really brilliant stuff!

We don't magically arrive at a place where everything, from first draft to final, is impeccable. We just don't. 

With time and experience that ratio might change: we might not have to do quite so much inferior work to get the really good stuff. Maybe. 

But in the meantime, if we let our bad work stop us, we're believing the wrong thing about progress as a writer. It would mean we've bought into the idea that we can't write magnificently, even amidst the crap.

Don't believe it for a moment, my lionhearted friend!

When you see the crap show up in your work, keep right on moving! You are that much closer to writing the good stuff.

If you're feeling almost cheesily optimistic (which I am, because, hello, it's spring!!), you can almost take the crappy stuff as a good sign. 

You're on your way to the best stuff in the draft. It's like a promise.

You gotta keep going. 

Inferior work simply doesn't mean we're inferior writers. It is just what happens when we write.

Part of the process. Part of the ratio.

Right? Good.

Let's get on with our masterpieces.

The Cure for the Common Workday: Let's Get a Little Feisty Right Now

I don't have any tattoos. I don't own a single sassy t-shirt. My ears are only pierced in the most conservative, standard way—and I haven't even worn earrings for years!  

I'm usually fairly quiet in person (unless well caffeinated). I'm a born rule-follower. The type of girl who will round up abandoned shopping carts and roll them back to their corrals. 

Not exactly anyone's idea of a rebel.

Except for this one little thing.

This vocation I have. This habit of writing down everything, everything. Of taking notes on my own life, the lives of others. Of asking myself hard questions on paper. Of drilling down, of drilling deeper, and then turning that material into scenes and dialogue. 

I look like a quiet mild-mannered girl, like a very nice citizen ... and then I go to my desk and pull out my novel and blow stuff up. 

Novelists can make people nervous. Have you noticed? People don't always trust novels or the writers who devise them. They don't always know what to do with us.

I'll have people tell me this point blank: Oh, I would never let *my* daughter do what you're doing. You're a quiet person, and quiet people scare me. I won't read fiction. I've never read a single novel. I will never read anything you write, sorry. 

A really good novel puts you inside someone else's head: the writer's. The characters'. It's mind travel. Pretty sketchy, right?

It's a dangerous thing to do, to submerge yourself in a gripping novel: just hope you don't drown in it. Right? It might change your life. It might turn you inside out. You gotta be careful. 

Mmm. A life full of words. It can be quiet. But also very, very risky.

But sometimes, I slip out of this warrior mindset. Know what I mean?

I start treating my work like it's a standard office job. Like I'm a paper pusher, filing things, double checking things, making graphs, keeping everything nice and tidy. I can forget, just a little, why I'm really here.

And that's when I need this quote. I need it to ruffle my feathers, to fire me up, shake the paradigm, and get me asking questions again: 

I love this quote. I love it because I'm no one's idea of a rebellious person, and yet I'm doing this incredibly daring thing of writing novels. 

I need this quote to remind me of what I'm up against. To remind me not to slack off on the tension in the story. To remind me to put my whole heart into this thing. To remind me to show up, day after day. 

It's a dangerous thing that we're doing—this telling of secrets on paper. (Normal people don't DO this. Have you noticed?) 

And no matter what kind of writing you do, if you're telling the truth, you're being edgy. Rebelling against anything that would tell you to be silent.

It's part of the calling. 

And—if you want to take this idea as far as possible, and I totally will—rebellion is all over what we do. 

We don't have normal jobs. We don't have to keep normal hours. We do something for the love of it first, until we figure out the money end of it. We're engaging in a career with no guarantees. (SUPER weird.)

We devote ourselves to a craft that it takes a lifetime to learn. (Which takes some serious pluck.)

We tell secrets—our own, our friends', our families'. We go everywhere, watch everything, and take notes. We write down what we hear at restaurants, at grocery stores. And if you cross us, we'll write you in, just for revenge.

We get to figure out everything that makes us odd, that makes us unique, and then stick it into stories. Fill whole volumes with it. 

We get to pick our fights. To choose the flags we carry.

We don't even have to rebel against all the same things everyone else is mad about on Facebook or on Twitter. We can rebel against rebellions!! We get to listen close to what's going on, and find the injustice we care about. The thing that we need to shine a light on.

We're in a vocation where we can always innovate, always tell, always fight.

Sometimes the fight is in the story; sometimes the fight is the fact of the story itself. (Even lighthearted stories can stand against darkness, after all.) 

We spend our days crafting things that other people are scared of. I mean ... whoa.

It's a big responsibility, lionheart! Are you feeling that too? It's a weighty thing, this life of words. A wonderful one, but a challenging one too.

And I go back to this quote to remind myself: Don't slack. Don't settle. Keep that fire going.

The writer who is a real writer is a rebel who never stops.
— William Saroyan

Find out what it is that you're meant to expose with words, with story, and keep on fighting.

Never stop.

Remember This When All Of Your Writing Plans Blow Up

I am a recovering control freak. (HUGE surprise, right? I know, I know.)

I still have a major fondness for one-hundred-item lists. For plans that map out the next three years with precision. 

I love the idea of my personal universe clicking along, on well-oiled gears, everything spinning just as it should.

I love that. It's so tidy.

And when I'm on a planning tear, it feels so, so possible. Give me a calendar and a notepad and a pen, and you will see me work up some serious control-freak euphoria.

There's only one thing more dependable than my desire to plan: The way those plans almost always explode. Or dissolve. Or vanish. 

They tank, they go south, they self-destruct. Swept overboard by crises, illness, injuries.

(What's that? Oh yes. I'm still fending off a four-week sinus-infection-meets-bronchitis supervirus from hell. It has slowed down my writing progress a tiny bit. ... It is also gross.)

Plans blow up, and then I'm reminded—oh, yet again—that I am actually operating in a world that I don't control. 

Whoops.

So I take a little time to recover, to soften my grip on the calendar and the pen and the hundred-item list. I give myself some chocolate, find a cozy blanket, and then remind myself of this quote. 

This fantastic, writing-life-altering quote: 

Teach yourself to work in uncertainty. — Bernard Malamud

That's the kind of quote that used to reduce this control freak to a quivering wreck. Because that is not what I wanted Mr. Malamud to say. 

I wanted him to say: "Never fear, writer! You actually are a little god! You can make everything go your way if you just PLAN HARD. Don't give up!! Fight! Grip it all too tight! Insist on your own version of reality in the face of everything else! Mwahahahaha!!"

He did not say that.

Teach yourself to work in uncertainty.

Kind of makes it sound like the certain thing in the writing life is actually—its uncertainty. 

I'm finally waking up to the fact that the thing I can absolutely predict is that there will be chaos, there will be some event that checks my plans, there will be evil-minded germs.

And the writing itself can jump the tracks: Outlines suddenly sound like gibberish. Favorite characters start acting like morons. Dialogue devolves into silly clichéd exchanges. 

An appetite for reading goes dry. A disciplined working routine fizzles. Plans fail.

There is always uncertainty. We can count on it. 

It took me a while to see how hopeful and wonderful Malamud's quote is. Because yes, there is always uncertainty.

But there are also two other constants in that quote. Two other things to be counted on:

There is always the work. That work we're called to, like someone tied a string to our hearts, and tied the other end to stories. 

That work. 

And then, there is always the writer. 

She might be beaten up, she might have suffered loss, she might look like she's just clambered out of a shipwreck.

She might have just drunk all the tea in the house and be sitting amidst a pile of used tissues. (Who, me?) 

She might not be able to save her writing with plans and schedules. She might not be able to see clear to the end of the endeavor like she wants to. 

But that's okay. That's the thing. That's the really, really good news:

There is always uncertainty. There is always the work. And there is always you, my dear lionheart.

And when we train ourselves to work, despite the uncertainty, then we actually become invincible. 

We don't have to understand exactly how we're going to get this draft done on time. We don't have to be able to diagnose all the ills of our upcoming months in advance. 

Spoiler alert: 2016 is NOT going to go according to plan.

Seriously. There is some major stuff heading toward our lives.

Some of these plans for our writing—so neat! so clever! so possible!—will absolutely be swallowed by the perfect storm of crazy that is coming. 

I'm guaranteeing it. 

That used to make me tense and white-knuckled. That used to make me run around, screaming. 

Guess how I thought I'd fix everything? By planning harder.

Granted: A bit of good strategizing will help. Of course it will. 

But it is so easy to get trapped in a cycle of overthinking and overplanning: Let's get all the variables accounted for! Let's find three ways to defeat each obstacle! Let's make a list of forty things I have to do every single day to stay on schedule!!

But the best, best, best thing to do in the face of uncertainty is the work. 

The ACTUAL work. 

Not planning the work. Not analyzing notes. Not listing new ways to research.

But the real, true, sweet storytelling work itself. 

Craft the next sentence. Write the very next paragraph. Sketch out the next chapter. 

Actual words for the actual story.

Even though you're not sure! Even though everything's shivering and unstable! Write. Even then.

Over the last three years, life has dealt me a serious amount of bizarre and frustrating and crazy circumstances.

Planning has its allure, but it has never, ever saved the day like writing has. 

It gets easier with practice. It comes more naturally. It's a skill we can grow.

So let's practice that together, okay, lionheart? 

Whatever form of uncertainty is facing you right now—whether big life circumstances, or just the normal plain uncertainty of how the heck are you going to finish that novel?!—whatever that is, consider it for a moment.

And then take a really deep breath.

Right now. Yes, really. 

A super deep breath. And then let it all out. Then do it two more times. (Something about three deep breaths. It's a thing. I love it.)

And then do a little writing. It doesn't have to be much. 

Grab an index card and write the very next sentence of your story. A line of dialogue that's spot-on for your protagonist. A smidge of description for your favorite bit of setting.

Write down something, anything, that reconnects you to the heart of the tale you're telling.

Not to the planning. To the work.

Writing is the best medicine, the best antidote, and the best safeguard in the face of uncertainty.

Use it well. And use it often.

(Don't you feel just a little bit better now?)

We're Playing for Keeps: A Lifelong Love of Writing

This is your last batch of prompts for the Fall In Love with Your Writing Life series...

Can you believe it??

One of the best joys of the writing life is that you can't ever be disqualified from it.

You can do this for the rest of your life. There is no aging out.

It's something you get to do forever: look at the world around you, look at the world inside you, and make stories out of it.

How freaking amazing is that? 

For these last few days, we're just going to camp out there, and get plenty happy about it.

If you feel like bringing some champagne along, do so.

Let's go.

---

February 25: Write a letter.

When we're working hard, we obviously focus on what writing goals are immediately in front of us. I've got some plans when it comes to 2016 and 2017, and I bet you do too. 

Most of my plans, though, are about production. Publication. Projects launched. New projects proposed.

All very exciting. My fingertips get all tingly when I think about it.

But for today, we're gonna think about goals in a different way.

Namely: What kind of a writer's heart do you want to aim for?

What kind of perspective? How might your approach to writing shift? 

What kind of writer do you hope to be? 

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: One more letter to write. You up for it? 

Let's do a bit of thinking first. Get an idea of the kind of writer you want to be—what kind of writer's heart, what kind of writer's spirit?

What issues will you take a stand against, in your work? What causes will you give to?

Who will you dignify? Who will you write for? What kinds of worlds will you give voice to?

I know it's hard to dream in this direction, but I think it's worth our time to explore a bit.

... My best example of this is more of a cautionary tale: When I was wrapping up my English degree and getting all prepared (read: anxious) for a writing life, I met with a full-time writer who was about 8-10 years older than I was. 

I was full of questions. I was a little desperate and nervous and excited.

Here's what I remember about her: She was the most bitter and discouraging writer I've ever met. 

It was a miserable chat.

I walked away from that with no useable advice but this (and it's a biggie): I don't want to end up like her.

I don't want to wind up bitter. I don't want to trade in my peace of mind and happiness and joy. No matter what the publication game looks like, I want to stick with this for the love.

See what I mean?

So what does that look like for you?

When you have a sense of the kinds of virtues and values you want to embody, draft a letter. 

It doesn't have to be long. But try and capture that idea of You, the Writer, ten or twenty or fifty years further down the road.

Oh, and this time, you're writing the letter to yourself. In the future. 

(I know it's weird, but hey: a lot of our readers live in the future. When you think of it like that, no big deal.)

Start by saying something like: Dear Future Writer-Me, This is who I think you are...

And basically, sketch it out. Who is this future writer that's you?

(Personally, I'm dreaming of a future Lucy who is totally perfectionism-free, who has great writing stamina but also knows how to rest and enjoy the rest of her life, who gives courage to kids in story form, who...) 

---

February 26: A movie date!

I don't care if it's cheesy: I get so happy when watching a movie that features writing. 

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Tonight, watch a movie that has something to do with writing, books, readers, or the writing life. 

Why? Because it's fun!

And that's all the reason we need around here, right?

My perennial favorites are Stranger than Fiction, Midnight in Paris, The Help, and Finding Neverland. Oh! And then Dan in Real Life when they meet in a bookstore... 

(If you have a killer recommendation, by all means let us know in the comments. I need to find some new ones!)

Tonight isn't about writing anything down.

Just watch. Have some fun.

---

February 27: Celebrate.

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Today, sit in your writing space, or take a journal somewhere else that's peaceful, and just think about this:

You and the writing life—you're committed. 

You are going to spend the rest of your lives learning about each other. This is the long haul! 

There is so much more to the writing life than any of us can explore in a handful of decades.

More to learn about novels, about structure and form. More ways to break the rules.

There are more subjects to explore than any of us could cover... and an infinite number of subjects to invent!

That is a pretty amazing deal.

We're never going to be bored! Ever!

We get to keep the writing life. That's freaking fantastic.

Oh, and then there's you. You're pretty dang incredible yourself.

I'm just saying: The writing life got someone really special in you.

It will spend the rest of your life finding ways to spin everything you think and see and wonder about into words, into sentences, into strings of dialogue.

Bits of you will show up in characters and subplots. Parts of your thinking and your experiences will wind up in readers' brains, their ways of speaking. 

You'll be all over the place!

... If you feel like it, you can write about this. Or not.

You can also just sit there in the quiet and know that this is a life-long love.  

You have each other. And that's beautiful.

So pour yourself a toast, or throw a little party, or just sit there in the stillness.

However it looks to you, take a moment and really celebrate.

---

February 28: Stay close to your reading life, too.

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: It's Sunday! You know what to do. Find yourself a patch of sunlight and a truly lovely book.

And fall into reading. 

The fact that we're lifelong writers means that we're lifelong readers. We're always learning, always absorbing.

Always wandering through other writer's brains, and taking snapshots of the scenery in there.

A reading life. It's one of the happiest, most connected ways to be.

And it's ours! To keep! Forever!

---

Thanks to Leap Day, we have one more prompt in the series, my friends!

(It thrills me to no end that we have a February 29 this year!! Trying to be dignified about that ... but failing. Leap years are cool.)

Anyway, check back on Monday for one last Love-Your-Writing-Life prompt.

Til then: happy dreaming!

Boldly Loving Our Writing Lives (Because Actions Speak Louder Than... You Know.)

February is all about falling in love... with your writing life! If you're new to this series, check back with the week one posts, here and here. 

Last week we started clearing some ground, getting rid of negativity, and looking at how we think and talk about writing. 

This week, the fun really begins. We'll be playing around, being silly, and having a blast.

Yep. I mean it. Having a blast with our writing lives. Sound good to you? 

If it doesn't, if you're still not in a great place with writing, I'd like to just say this: 

There is some really fantastic advice out there, that says when you act as if something is true, you eventually start feeling like it's true.

Interesting, right? Emotions can follow actions.

And that's the principle that we're going to exploit this week. 

Let's practice acting like we love the writing life, and maybe those warm fuzzies will follow. Worth a try, right? 

Let's dive in.

---

February 8: Steal some moments.

I don't know exactly why this is true, but when I start stealing little moments out of the rest of my day to spend on writing, several things happen:

• I start feeling more excited about my work.

• It gets even easier to continue working, to keep stealing more moments... a nice little snowball effect.

• And I generally feel happier. Like I'm doing something special.

It's a little like the phenomenon of keeping secrets about our work.

By the way, adding extra little sessions of writing isn't a productivity strategy. It can be, of course. But today we're doing it to have more fun, not to do more work. It's an important difference.

We're just turning our attention to our work, and giving it a wink. Taking a few minutes to play with characters, play with sentences, enjoy the words. 

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Take fifteen minutes today to write when you normally wouldn't.

And you can totally break it up: Maybe this means three little bursts of five minutes, or all fifteen at once, or a bunch of two-minute sessions. However you like.

Maybe you decide to write as the first thing in your day, or maybe the very last. Maybe you slip it in between appointments, or sit in your car for fifteen minutes after getting home—writing in that little space of quiet before diving back into the fray.

Maybe it's you and your morning tea, or maybe you're jotting notes in the line at the grocery store. 

However it looks for you, the main objective is: Write when it's not a usual time for you to write.

And the second main objective is: Keep it playful and fun. 

This isn't serious. It isn't work. It isn't burdensome.

It's meant to be lighthearted, and a little quirky. Have fun with it.

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February 9: Write silly little love notes.

Yes. You read that correctly.

Just go with me on this. Remember, we're acting in the way that we want to feel, even if we don't feel this way yet.

Okay? Okay.

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Write a silly little love note to your writing life.

Take that whole relationship of you + words. And send it a love note.

It can be super short. It doesn't have to be overly gushy. You can do this even if you think it's the dumbest thing EVER. 

You can just write, "I cannot believe Lucy is making me do this, but, Writing Life, I think you're pretty great." 

That's all it has to be! I promise! Just write it.

And then stick it somewhere where your writing life will see it. In your journal, in the pen cup on your desk, on your bulletin board.

If this is fun, and if you aren't rolling your eyes at me right now, you can write as many notes as you like.

Celebrate all the tiny little things about the writing life that often get forgotten. And feel free to keep it silly. 

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February 10: Enjoy each other's company.

One thing about healthy relationships: you spend time in each other's company for no other reason except that you like each other.

Just hanging out, just having fun, just because you can.

What does that look like for us? 

Actual writing. 

(Don't get scared.)

Writing exercises are the perfect place to have some fun with words, in a no pressure situation. (No pressure writing. How nice is that?)

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Here's the deal. I'm going to give you six writing prompts, and you'll pick five.

Grab a timer, and spend three minutes on each writing prompt.

Just three minutes!! You can do anything for three minutes.

I'd encourage you to do this even if it feels like a TERRIBLE idea. Even if your brain has been blank for WEEKS.

You don't even have to write in complete sentences. You can write only nouns and verbs, or snippets and phrases, or just scratch your pen over the page in huge lines.

Just enter the writing space. Put down a few words. That's all.

But mostly? I'd love for you to enjoy writing just because you can.

Choose to enjoy it. This doesn't have to be hard. No one's going to read it.

You can write the silliest things, you can spend all three minutes writing down one sentence over and over, or creating a huge run-on sentence.

I don't really care what you come up with, but I'd love for you to write, and to write with the mindset of enjoying it. Words on pages. It really is a lovely thing.

Ready for your writing prompts? (If none of these work for you, I have fifty crazier ones over here.)

• The flock of starlings tumbled around in the sky, and for a moment they formed the exact shape of...

• When we finally opened the door, we saw...

• It was the last thing I expected to hear on a summer morning.

• "This," he said, "is why I never like poetry..."

• The most eccentric babysitter I ever had was... 

• Even when I'm old, even when I'm dying, I'll never forget the smell of... 

Pick your five favorites, three minutes each. Just write the first word or image that comes to your mind, and follow it. It can be from your own life, or just total fiction. Okay?

The main thing is, decide to have fun. Ready, set, go!

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I really hope that you've had some fun with this challenge so far! I'd love to hear how it's going for you, so please do leave a comment so I can cheer you on.

And then come back on Thursday for more fun ideas for loving your writing life!! (And more exclamation marks. They'll be coming fast and furious for the rest of the month...)

Kicking Out the Negativity (So We Can Fall in Love with Writing!)

How are you feeling, lionheart? How were the first three days of the challenge for you? (If you're new to this series on Falling in Love with Your Writing Life, check out the first post right here.) 

My hope is that we're all shaking out some of the negative feelings we've carried around about writing. That we're shining some light on them, and scaring them out of their dark corners.

For the rest of this week, I'm hoping we can either squash them, or at least send 'em skittering on their way.

(Is anyone else thinking about roaches right now, or is that just me? Ahem.)

Sound like a plan? Cool. I'm excited. 

Okay, here are the prompts for the rest of the week... 

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February 4: Write a letter.

There's something downright magical about writing a letter. Something about that format, that invitation to be honest.

Today, we're writing two letters. One of them is from you to your writing life. And in the other, the writing life will be writing back to you.

(Just go with me on this.)

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Take a little bit of time, and write a letter to your writing life. And begin by saying: "Dear Writing Life, I'm afraid that you will..."

And then go from there.

Tell it all the things that you're worried about in your writing life. All the fears you have—the big ones, and the really really little ones. Everything you'd try to dismiss if someone asked about it. The things that maybe embarrass you.

No one's going to read this—except your Writing Life, and it probably already knows all this anyway.

Dig deep. And be as honest as possible. Get it all down.

Because, seriously, you don't need those thoughts just scampering loose on their own in your mind. Grab them, drag them into the light, and pin them onto the paper with words.

Whew. 

Then, write that second letter. The Writing Life is going to write back to you, and answer your fears.

It can't guarantee things that it has no control over (audience response, family response, critics, money, fame). But there are a lot of other things that it can promise. There are a lot of wonderful things that it can give in return. And there is a lot of courage in it, just waiting for you.

The writing life is really wise. It's been around a long, long time.

Give it a chance. Listen hard. And see what it writes back to you.

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February 5: Let's redefine "bad" writing days.

I recently came across this idea from Rachel Aaron, and I absolutely love it.

She explains that difficult writing days—days where our imaginations seem to go on strike, where the words won't come, or where we can't seem to get to our desks—are actually telling us something important.

And—spoiler alert—it isn't telling us that we're lazy, unmotivated, undisciplined, stupid, ignorant, blah blah blah.

That's not what bad writing days mean at all. 

She says: "Instead of treating bad writing days as random, unavoidable disasters to be weathered, like thunderstorms, I started treating them as red flags."

She realized that they meant: Her story had gone in the wrong direction.

Or, that she didn't actually love what she was writing about. 

The most effective way to get back into writing, to be writing with joy, was to fix those problems. Whatever they were.

Which did NOT mean: beating herself up. 

Isn't that an incredible shift? Such a game changer.

She comes from the point of view that maintains: Writing is enjoyable. Telling stories is fun.

This writing life is an inherently good thing, which means that, if it doesn't feel good, something's gone wrong.

And that something isn't you.

You're not the problem!! Isn't that a lovely thought?!

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Maybe you haven't had a bad writing day in months; or maybe you're having one right this second. 

Either way, let's practice shifting our focus. Let's take it for granted that a bad writing day doesn't mean anything bad about you, the person, the writer.

Actually, you're great. Let's just all accept that.

And it doesn't mean that the writing life is a terrible, stingy, horrific machine of punishment for the unsuspecting.

Nope. The writing life is great too.

Instead, let's assume that something else is going on. 

Let's assume that a bad writing day is more like seeing the first few symptoms of flu show up. 

It really doesn't help to be angry at ourselves for catching it. It doesn't help to rail against immune systems having a momentary weakness and letting those germs grow.

All that really matters is that partnership between Human and Immune System, and blasting those germs together. Yes? Yes.

The same thing goes for tough writing days. It isn't your fault, and it isn't the writing life's fault. Something else is amiss.

Today, take fifteen minutes and list everything else that might be contributing to a bad writing day for you. (If you're not having a bad one, think back to the last one you did have.)

What else is going on? Maybe it's external, non-writing stuff. Maybe you don't have enough energy.

Or maybe something's gone off in your work-in-progress. Do you love the subject? Has something shifted? Did you lose an element that made you happy? 

What is your absolute favorite thing to write about? Have you lost track of it, in this story, in this bad writing day?

You get the idea. Probe around. Try to find out what might have gone wrong.

Keep reminding yourself: it isn't you. It isn't the writing life.

Instead, explore what might have happened together, and play around with ideas for how to get it back on track.

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February 6: Discover the best true advice.

I don't know about you, but when I'm in the midst of a problem, I can be totally blind to something I already know.

But if someone I care about goes through the same thing—I become a fount of wisdom. I have legitimately helpful things to say. 

Sometimes we don't have the right words for ourselves. Sometimes, we find them when we help other people.

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: On your best day, on your absolute best day, when you are your wisest, happiest, kindest, and most content self... what would you tell someone else about the writing life?

Imagine that you're describing it to someone who hasn't really tried it on yet, but someone that you think would be an excellent fit. Someone who you know will be a good writer and will thrive... but who needs your nudge to get started. Someone you genuinely want the best for, and you believe that that's the writing life.

How would you sum it up?

What true things would you say about what the writing life has meant to you? What is it really like, this pursuit of words? What can your friend expect? What will she find?

Write it down. Write as much as you like. Try to write for about ten minutes, if you can.

Then look over your words, and choose a sentence or a phrase that really sums up what you've written down, and copy it separately onto a little sticky note.

And above your sentence, write: "This is what I REALLY think about writing." 

And then post it in your writing area. 

Those are your words. Your real definition of writing. And it's true.

Steer by it. On days when you're tempted to be frustrated at writing, let your own words remind you of what you really believe.

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February 7: Enjoy the reward of reading.

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: This is what we're going to do every Sunday this month. We're going to find about half an hour and we're going to read something lovely.

That can mean whatever you want it to. Grab a favorite novel or a new one. Find some really excellent non-fiction, or a book of letters, or poetry. (Mary Oliver and Billy Collins are my favorites!)

Or dive into some kids' books. Because language always sounds better after Dr. Seuss has been playing with it.

All I want you to do is make some space, and fall into a pile of words. 

Without envying the writer's skill. Without even a whisper of comparison. 

Enjoy the words simply because you enjoy them. Let them transport you.

Let yourself love the reading life with absolute abandon.

Because the reading life is always our way back to a truly wonderful writing life.

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I hope this first week of prompts goes really well for you! Feel free to leave comments on how it's going, and please do share with anyone who might love this too!

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Ready for more? Get the next prompts right here!

Fall in Love with Your Writing Life: A Super-Exciting February Series!

Friends!! I am beyond excited to introduce this February series. 

In honor of Valentine's Day and heart-shaped everything, we're going to focus on love this month. 

To be specific: Falling in love with our writing lives. 

As in: Meeting each other again for the first time. Reigniting that spark that made you love each other in the first place. And then, dating your writing life. 

Yes, really. Yes, you. 

For those of you who think that this is an incredibly weird metaphor: I understand. Really.

But when you think about it, it makes sense to think of having a relationship with writing, with the writing life. Because it acts like a true relationship in so many ways.

There are emotions. There's a trajectory of growth. There are even kids/books, if you'd like to go there.

Best of all, there's an ability to love writing more. And there's an ability to feel loved and accepted as the writers we are, in return.

Which is exactly what I'm aiming for by the end of this month, for all of us.

This daily, love-your-writing-life challenge is especially for you if: 

• You feel like you and your writing life have been at odds lately.

• If you have all kinds of EMOTIONS about your writing life. Feeling guilty, stressed, tired, uncreative. 

• If things have just felt dry lately. Like you've lost your spark.

• Or, if everything's going along swimmingly. Why not dive even deeper?

(Did I mention I'm super excited about this??)

Details: I'll post on Mondays and Thursdays like usual, and I'll have prompts listed for each day. Most will just take fifteen minutes or less.

Feel free to tweak them: If you don't have fifteen minutes, do a five-minute version. If the prompt says to go out and you can't, use the Internet. These prompts can be as flexible as you like.

The main point is: Just show up. Try these exercises, these new ways of thinking.

Let's be willing to be a little "out there," in the hopes that we all find a warmer, kinder, healthier, and HAPPIER writing life. 

That's what I want. All us lionhearts just incredibly happy with our writing lives.

Does that sound good? Sound like a plan?

Awesome.

Roll up your sleeves, find a blank notebook or a blank document, take a deep breath, and let's dive in.

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February 1: Releasing expectations.

Any relationship can get cluttered with unrealistic expectations. They shape how we interpret behavior, they influence our demands, and—they make us really grumpy.

What are your hidden expectations for the writing life?

And what do you think the writing life has been expecting of you?

I used to expect that the writing life would: Make me lots of money, help me become more confident, and get me some nice splashy attention. (If it made me somehow look more amazing, that would be fine too.)

WHOOPS. That's not what the writing life does.

What the writing life actually promises is this: You will be surrounded by words, by reading and writing. And you will discover parts of yourself and the world around you through writing about them. That is the deal.

What I was looking for was more like a finishing school, a business degree, a public relations consultant, and a really great salon visit rolled into one. 

Meanwhile, I felt like the writing life expected certain things from me. 

I thought it wanted me to be a lot smarter than I am, more prone to writing poems. I thought it wanted me to have better taste in what I read. And I should belong to at least two writing groups where we give each other really insightful critiques on these novels that we'll take twenty years to write, and which will eventually be honored for all time.

WHOOPS. What the writing life actually got was: Me. Plain old Lucy.

With all my quirks, and all my loves, my absence of chic writing groups, no poems for years now, very messy drafts, very messy filing system, very messy desk. (I'm looking at you, stack of unwashed dishes!!)

Here's what I've learned: We writers don't have to be any different than who we actually are. 

You don't have to be any nerdier or smarter or more intrepid. You don't have to have had a better childhood or a worse one. You didn't need to have perfect grades or terrible ones. Your teachers might have loved your work or hated it. 

The Writing Life doesn't need you to be anything other than who you are. It just wants you to be honest about yourself, your life, your experiences, your perspective.

And willing to show up, using words.

In return, it can't promise money, splashy publishing deals, or fame.

But it does offer an incredible life of chasing ideas and images through words. Of describing the world around you, and creating whole new worlds together.

Which is a really lovely promise. 

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Take ten to fifteen minutes, and write down what you feel like you've expected from the writing life. Maybe you didn't realize you were expecting it, or maybe you did. But write down everything that you thought would happen to you and for you, just because you were writing. 

Also, if you feel like the whole image of "the Writing Life" meant that you had to be a different kind of person: write down all those things, those expectations, too. 

And then: Release them. Release them all.

Write down your statement of release: that you are going to let the writing life be exactly what it is. And that the writing life is THRILLED to see you show up as exactly who you are. 

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February 2: Forgive the past.

This is tied to yesterday's challenge, but with a slightly different flavor.

If you've been doing this writing thing for a little while, there are probably some hurts in the past. 

There are drafts you never fixed, which sit in drawers, in closets, like little shipwrecks, taunting you.

Maybe there were times when you turned your back on the writing life for a month, or three, or whole years. Maybe you've had times where it felt like it was the writing that abandoned you. 

Maybe you've had some fights. (I've had three biggies.) Maybe there were threats. Words you didn't take back.

Maybe you even felt betrayed by an absence of creativity, by an idea that died halfway through the project.

Maybe you leaned hard on those false expectations, and then felt horribly let down. Maybe it even felt very realistic at the time.

Here's my embarrassing story: I once wrote an essay to enter a competition where the award was—I kid you not—a house. 

I thought: Perfect. My writing prowess will solve this little housing issue I have. 

... I didn't win.

It's ridiculous, but I was so mad at writing for a while. Never mind that the house probably went to someone with a much, much bigger need for it than I had.

I blamed writing, and I had a hard time working for a while.

What does this look like for you? What past hurts are there that still need to be dealt with? Do you feel bitter about writing? Angry toward it? 

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Forgiveness is this amazing thing. It's a debt canceler. It means that you take something that you feel like you are owed, and you decide to tear it up.

You're no longer going to demand payment. You aren't going to bring it up anymore. Not even through little snide references, or allusions, or teasing. 

It's the end of the debt. Period.

You're starting a new chapter now.

Write out a statement of forgiveness for writing. Cancel all the debts.

Forgive it for all the times when it was inexplicable, when you felt like it left you, when you didn't understand it and you blamed it for that.

And then write out how it forgives you, for the times when you shrugged it off, when you didn't take it seriously, when you gave up on it, when you weren't as committed as you could have been. 

Sometimes, we need to re-forgive, and that's totally okay. But really sit with this today, and practice letting go all the hurts you have around writing. Let 'em all go.

There are better times ahead.

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February 3: Let's change our language.

One way our expectations and bitterness leak out of us is in our spoken words. In how we talk. 

Today, all I want us to do is to focus on our language. On how we talk about writing. What we say about it behind its back. How we talk about it to other people. 

What we say about our progress (or lack of it) on drafts. How we refer to past projects, past revisions, future prospects.

TODAY'S CHALLENGE: Let's give ourselves a language makeover. Let's watch how we talk about writing, how we talk to writing, how we talk about our works-in-progress.

Practice being super aware of the tone of voice you use. Catch yourself before you roll your eyes.

Instead, let's talk about our writing in a really constructive way. Even if it's just what we say, to ourselves, in our own heads. (Writing can hear all that, you know.) 

Fill your head, your writing desk, your speech, with really constructive words. With accepting language.

Try to talk to and about writing as if you're talking about someone you really, really love. Even if they're being difficult right now. Even if they're really hard to figure out. 

Let's replace "Oh my gosh I HATE this and it's KILLING me" with "This is really difficult, and it's a big challenge, but I'm here, and we are going to figure it out, somehow."

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And there you go!! By all means, let me know how it goes in the comments. Here's to releasing the negativity around our writing lives, so that we can love them more than ever.

... And if this has been valuable or exciting for you, spread the word!! Let's transform as many writing lives as possible this February!

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Ready for the next batch of prompts? Click here!

The Secret Weapon: Why You Really Don't Need to Talk about Your Writing Yet

I'm about to make a lot of high achievers really, really mad at me. Because I'm going to go right against one of the most common tips on reaching your goals. (Something about Mondays. I always get rebellious.) 

On just about every "How to Set a Goal" article flying around the Internet, you'll see this tip: Make your goal public. 

Find a group of likeminded people. Get someone to hold you accountable. Post about your progress. Get others on board.

I don't have a problem with that in general, okay? I promise. So if you love the whole "be accountable" thing, then go for it.

But here's my counterargument. 

Sometimes, we might have just barely enough courage to do the New Difficult Thing, whatever that is. 

And maybe there's not quite enough courage left over to tell other people about it. To hear their comments mid-process. To check in with them. To let them challenge you. 

Oooh, I have SUCH a good solution for this problem. You ready? 

DON'T TELL ANYONE.

I mean it. Don't tell anyone!!

Start your crazy new project and keep absolutely quiet about it. Do your writing on the sly. Scribble away furtively in your closet. 

No one has to know about it right now.

That wonderful secretive silence gives the new idea some safe room to rattle around in your head. It gives you time to freewrite about it, explore the possibilities, refine your thoughts, and even play a bit.

At some point, you can definitely get other eyes and ears on the idea. Eventually, you can run a later draft past a few people.

But not yet. Not while it's soft; not while it's growing.

I'm convinced that there's more than one kind of courage at work in our writing lives. And it trips us up if we think that they're all the same, all the time. 

Don't confuse the bravery of doing the New Difficult Thing with the bravery of Telling People About It. 

You really don't have to be ready to tell people what you're up to at the same time that you are up to it. 

So, if you're feeling overwhelmed and not brave enough to do a goal that you'd really like to go after: I give you permission to zip it. Don't say anything. Keep it a secret.

What you might find is that secret keeping generates its own energy, and—what's really cool—its own bravery.

When I'm working on a story that no one else knows about, I feel like I've gotten back to the absolute heart of my writing: telling myself a story. Just for the heck of it. Just for the thrill of the tale.

That is a wonderfully exciting, pure, and yes, courageous place to work from. 

So don't feel like you need to muddy it by talking about it too soon. 

Keep it a secret for as long as you can manage. You'll be building your bravery as you develop your relationship with the project. You might be able to hear it more clearly, and work on it with more boldness.

And then, when the timing is right, you might find that you're actually ready to tell someone.

You were building the courage to speak up all along.

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Want to keep reading? For more like this, check out How to Talk about Your Writing (Without Throwing Up) and My Super Grown Up Anti-Fear Technique.