Grow Your Brain with a Reading Safari

When it comes to reading, we all tend to have a sweet spot. Right? The kind of book that it's easy to reach for. The sort of thing we're always in the mood to read.

For me, that's British mysteries, middle grade adventure novels, and essays about food. I am never not in the mood for these.

The rest of the literary world radiates out from there, from books I'm comfortable with, to the ones that challenge me the most--because of style, vocabulary, subject matter, point of view, or genre.

We all have that spectrum: from the books that are our best friends, all the way out to the books that make our toes curl.

So here's a little growth experiment for all of us. A mini-challenge for the weekend.

Grow by reading the thing that stretches you.

I'm not saying aim yourself at out-and-out torture, but lean in to the kind of reading you avoid--on purpose or accidentally. The kind of books you don't normally consider.

What does that look like for you?

Here's a clue: hit the library or a bookstore. Think about where you normally go. Then think about all the other places. This weekend, let's prowl in all those other places.

Let's read writers from other continents, writers from four hundred years ago. (Unless that's what you normally read. In which case I'd say: read a writer from your own backyard, from the last decade or two.)

If you avoid books of letters, pick up a book of letters. If poetry is something you dodge, wander among the poets.

Find a book about the mystics, a book of plays, nature books, field guides, philosophy. 

Let's dive into whatever is least familiar.

Treat it like an excursion to an unfamiliar city. Have yourself a little word safari.

What's a safari? An expedition that involves observing and hunting. 

And that's what we're gonna do with these books we don't normally read.

You don't have to read it, not in the usual way, from page one to the end. It's an expedition. Observe. Hunt.

Look at the metaphors, at the flow of it. What kind of nouns keep showing up? And what about the verbs? What's the style like? Adjective-heavy or spare? Formal or conversational?

Look at the people involved--whether that means characters, or creatures, or whatever. The actors in the book, whatever the book is. Look at the different settings, the places where things happen.

Take a few notes if you want. Make lists. Capture examples of the writer's unique vocabulary. Copy out the quirkiest or most stirring phrases that you come across. 

Browse the world that the book is describing (because every book, every single one, is describing a world). And just let it cross-pollinate with your brain. Taste it. 

I have a feeling that the more we do this, the more we dip into books we wouldn't normally read, the more reading safaris we have, the more rich and strong our own writing will become. 

And that seems well worth the expedition.

Improve Your Writing Without Thinking About It (Much)

Is there a place in your writing, a gap in your abilities, that you'd really love to improve, except you can't find the time?

I'm guessing that's basically everyone. Who doesn't want to improve? Who has time for massive improvement?

Right. That's what I thought. 

Want a solution? Here's where it starts. With the favorite quote of sloggers everywhere, including me:

"A small daily task, if it be really daily, will beat the labours of a spasmodic Hercules." -- Anthony Trollope

We're gonna grab hold of this idea of a small daily task. How small? REALLY small.

It's my favorite way to grow.

First of all, though, you have to believe in incremental growth.

You have to sign on for that small daily task. Because--read the quote--it has to be really daily. It's too tempting to drop that daily out of the equation. And then you're left with a small task that doesn't end up doing much.

And we want to leverage this, right?

So now that we're all on board with a small constant change, with growing in near-painless ways, let me tell you about a trick I learned from one of my writing professors.

Every day when we got to class, we were expected to write two sentences, within the first five minutes. So I'd go in, dump my books, look up at the board for the day's prompt, and scratch out my two sentences.

No big deal. Didn't take much thought. (In fact, it actively discouraged overthinking. Five minute time limit, and we all had to put something down.) 

After just a couple of weeks, it became a habit.

It was a class on writing non-fiction, so our writing prompts were two rhetorical structures each day. We'd write a single sentence for each of the two prompts. A few people would share their sentences with the class when the time was up. And then off we'd go on the lesson of the day.

Didn't take a lot of time or effort, but by the end of the semester, guess how awesome we were at thinking in terms of those rhetorical structures?

Yeah. Pretty darned decent.

So here's my big question to you:

What's a skill you'd like to improve, with a small daily task? What's been bugging you about your writing lately?

What if you tackled it in miniature, in two painless sentences at the start of every writing day?

Just two sentences. Just the first five minutes of your writing session.

No big deal. No overthinking.

Just a small daily task, quietly making you awesome, without you even noticing.

A few ideas for your sentences:

- Develop a flair for wordplay. Scramble the parts of speech in two sentences. Turn your nouns into adjectives, your adjectives into verbs, your verbs into nouns. 

- Flex that dialogue muscle with a two-sentence dialogue exchange. 

- Amp up your description powers. Take two sentences to describe the sky outside your window in a totally unique way, or to personify the buildings you see, or put words in the mouth of whatever bird is squawking.

The trick is: keeping it tiny. The trick is: refusing to overthink it.

The trick is: doing it every single day.

You just might beat out that spasmodic Hercules. 

What will you be writing your two sentences on?

The Best Book I've Read on Managing My Creative Work

The process of writing a novel used to go something like this for me: 1. Have idea. 2. Have PANIC.

Because suddenly there is a massive lot of ideas showing up (if I'm lucky), and they're each bringing a dozen more ideas (if I'm lucky), which translates into a million things for me to do. If I'm lucky.

Which is great. Which is grand. Which is why I love this big crazy career in the first place.

But it also kind of feels like trying to catch the whole Earth with your teeth.

I get overwhelmed. That's what I mean.

How do you deal with a massive idea overload, with the zillion steps it takes to complete a writing project? How do you organize it, how do you survive the slog, how do you--?

Enter: This book.

You guys. You GUYS. Making Ideas Happen is SO GOOD. (The title alone just kinda calms me down.)

And I deeply appreciate that Scott Belsky is writing for creatives. He's writing to the artists and designers and jewelry makers and entrepreneurs and to all of us lovely writers. 

He's helping us get organized. 

He dispels the whole myth that organization could zap creativity, or that creativity only occurs in chaos. He gives reasonable and reliable tips for how to become more organized, and how to deal with long-term projects.

Which, hello, is what we all need. Because if a novel isn't a long-term project, I don't know what is.

So he talks about how to break down your huge projects into smaller steps, how to be more prone to action than to procrastination, how to deal with every stray idea that floats through your head. 

He gives you a bazillion ideas for how to execute your ideas: how to act on them, how to lean into the process, how to keep going through the huge massive middle of your project (which he calls the Project Plateau--how much do I love that name?!). 

How do you keep working hard? How do you use the people around you--their willingness to support you, their creativity, their unique skills? 

And then how do you lead yourself well? (Because you know I LOVE that topic!) Are you motivated by the right things? How do you stick it out through failure, through uncertainty, through discouragement?

And he has a pleasant, encouraging tone all the way through, that left me with a huge pile of notes and a deep sense of empowerment. 

I mean, listen to this:

"It is not naïve or a cliché to say that the creative mind holds the answers to all of the world's problems. It is merely a fact. And so, you should balance your desire to use your creativity with a sense of responsibility.

Please take yourself and your creative pursuits seriously. Your ideas must be treated with respect because their importance truly does extend beyond your own interests. Every living person benefits from a world that is enriched with ideas made whole." -- Scott Belsky

Right? Right?? 

He is extremely passionate about helping us creative sorts figure this out, because, basically, that's how to save the world. 

Suddenly learning how to manage the different stages of a project takes on--if not a sense of the glamorous--a real weightiness. It keeps me taking this seriously. It isn't just "oh, shrug, who cares, it's just a novel." 

And coming from that place, that dedication, I feel like I want to implement the ideas in this book. ALL of them.

I think you will too.

So, go ahead. Grab a copy.

And then let's make some ideas happen.

It's Easier to Grow When You Make It Fun

It's not a national holiday (yet), but today is my younger sister's birthday. And because of that, we're going to kick off our month-long discussion about growth by starting here: 

With fun.

Why? Because my younger sister was born with the motto: Let's make it fun. (Whereas I tend to focus in on projects with an unconscious motto of Let's make it GRIM.)

When she decided that she wanted to learn how to cook, she transformed herself (over the period of a few years, sure) from someone who did very little in the kitchen, to a darned fine home cook. 

1. She found people that she was excited to learn from. She subscribed to a fun food magazine and immersed herself in the Food Network, printing up the recipes that caught her attention each day. 

2. She was obsessed with getting the best tools she could... and she got them in bright red: her favorite color. Because high quality can be fun, too.

3. She practiced. A lot. She kept going even when a recipe was a bust. And she stretched into the areas she was most excited to learn.

All right, it's pretty straightforward, right? And some of you might have this learning style already. But for those of you who come at new skills with a LET'S MAKE IT GRIM mentality, well--we're in the same boat.

Let's see if we can't learn from my sister's tricks.

1. Who would you be excited to learn from? Who is writing well, or teaching how to write well, but doing it with an attitude that you admire? 

I've developed a really low tolerance for learning from people who seem to be yelling at me. Know what I mean? I don't need to be reminded that writing is hard, or that I'll never learn everything I can about this craft. I don't need a grumpy teacher.

This is why I talk up Heather Sellers' book so much: because her attitude is so grace-based. And Eric Maisel is massively encouraging, so he's a good one too. Barbara Abercrombie and Judy Reeves are favorites for the same reason.

And what about blogs and websites? I've recently discovered Writerology, She's Novel, Eva Deverell, K.M. Weiland, and Joanna Penn, all talented writers whose attitudes are encouraging and you-can-do-it, while still being wonderfully helpful.

2. How can you get the best tools in the best colors? 

Some of this means your environment: How would your writing space react to the idea of growing and learning? Do you have a brittle work area, a place that's only geared toward one thing? 

Or can you drag reference books across your desk? Do you have places where you can tack up inspiring quotes or mood boards for characters? Do you need to buy yourself some quirky blank notebooks, some astonishingly lovely pens? 

Austin Kleon recommends having an "analog" area in your work space, a place where you get to deal with real paper and real pens and markers and scissors... the physical, tactile side of creation. Even if you prefer to write on your computer, consider creating a place where you can actually touch the tools of creation, trace letters with your fingertips, and use the smelly markers.

But the other side of the tool question is this: What are you working on?

I've caught myself using subjects I don't like to practice skills I'm not good at. Friends, it is a BAD COMBO.

Like: researching something I really don't care about. Doing a writing exercise with a subject that doesn't make my heart skip a beat. Working on dialogue with a character that I didn't like. 

Yikes! We owe it to ourselves to write about what we love, to bring our passions right in to our writing exercises, and to making our characters profoundly NOT boring. 

3. Practice taking a lighthearted view of failure. Counter it by continuing to stretch.

Perspective goes a long, long way when you're learning something new, when you're growing a skill. 

Do you make everything a life-or-death issue? Because--as you know by now--I tend to do that.

I've always admired how my younger sister can shrug off difficulties more easily than I do. Sure, when a recipe didn't work out, she didn't like eating a mediocre meal. But it wasn't the end of her world, either.

And besides, she'd also tried some cupcakes to follow. And those just might have turned out to be a win.

Can we borrow that attitude with our failed attempts? The crappy paragraphs that aimed so high and didn't make it? The writing exercises that came out all cramped and muddied?

Can we tell ourselves that it's not the end of the world. There's revision. There's another try. There are new techniques. There are other paragraphs. And tomorrow is a new day.

Challenge yourself. Refuse to think: I HAVE ZERO TALENT, I WILL NEVER RECOVER FROM THIS.

Let's be more like my sister. And let's say, "There are always cupcakes."

How to Grow When You'd Rather Not

Growth is one of those ideas that it's pretty easy to get excited about. I mean, it's spring up here in the northern hemisphere. The leaves are all young and fresh, and flowers are being flowers, and the lawn mowers are droning all day.

Spring. Growth. It's a good season, right? 

Which is why it sounds like a great topic to blog about in May. Let's talk all things growth, I thought, feeling adventurous and wholesome.

Then I thought: Oh, crap. Would that mean I'd actually have to grow???

(Hands up if you're with me on this.)

I like the idea of growing. Of getting better. I really, really do.

I mean--that's everything I'm about.

But at the same time: I'm so tired. And the word "growth" starts to sound like "one more thing to do."

And while I'm shooting this theme in the foot, why not keep going? Here are the reasons why I'm not interested in growing:

• Face it, I'm pretty comfortable with how things are. 

• This works well enough for now. I can make do.

• I'm too distracted, too many things going on.

• What else would I have to change? What would I have to give up or do differently?

• It's a hassle. I'm anti-hassle.

• Growth is messy and untidy and awkward. And I already did adolescence once, so let's not.

• Daredevil is on Netflix. 

I know that those are all bad answers. Even the ones that feel/are true.

Because if I'm not growing--not absorbing nutrients, then pushing out in active growth, steadying myself through rest, and then pushing out again--if I'm not up in that whole cycle...

Then I'm probably doing something else. Something Not Good. 

Honestly, I doubt that "Become Stagnant" is on anyone's to-do list as a writer. And (unless you're a cavity) "Decay" probably isn't on there either.

So theoretically, at least, we can all agree that growth is a good idea.

So how do we reconcile that with the above list? The hassles, the distraction, the awkwardness?

By aiming ourselves at quiet growth. At the slow continuous stretch. At incremental change.

Not at big, flashy, time-lapse-photography kind of growth. It doesn't have to be a huge disruption; it doesn't have to be all or nothing.

Can we avoid going stagnant, can we avoid getting dull as writers, without burning ourselves out, either?

I'm voting for YES. 

Let's look for ways that we can slip subtle, quiet, steady growth into our routines. Ways to make growth a habit, to keep it manageable, to stay nurtured, but to keep stretching nevertheless. 

Heck, maybe we'll even grow at growing. Is that a thing? Can I say that?

Because my overarching career goal is: Write a better story than the last one.

And as far as I can tell, that translates to: Always be growing.

So let's stretch a little this May. 

How to Build a Moat Around Your Writing Life

Novels-in-progress are incredibly fragile things. Can we agree on that? 

When you're walking around with a novel in your brain, you're carrying this precious ethereal bundle of impressions and insights and ideas--scraps of dialogue, exquisite gestures, emotional through-lines, motivations, pacing--

And the rest of your life clamors around with air horns and parade bands.

Amiright??

Here's what we have to do, if we really want to write these novels. If we really want to give birth to the ideas in our brains.

We have to build a moat around our writing lives.

Twyla Tharp calls this The Bubble. Heather Sellers calls it Surround Sound. And I'm thinking in terms of moats full of alligators and very dangerous-looking algae.

But whatever metaphor you want, it looks like this:

When you're inside it, you can hear your novel's voice. You can hear it breathe. You're insulated from all the other things that you have to pay attention to or care about in a day. And for now, it's just you, and the living book.

It's a magical place. You feel like you can stop fighting. It's a place of nearly-pure focus.

Listen to how Twyla Tharp talks about it:

"You are coming close to an ideal creative state, one where creativity becomes a self-perpetuating habit. You are linking your art. Everything in your life feeds into your work, and the work feeds into more work." -- The Creative Habit

How seriously beautiful is that? 

Here's how Heather Sellers describes it:

"Think of writing a book as like buying one of those speaker systems that envelop you in sound. No matter where you are, you are surrounded. Similarly, you must allow the book you're writing to wrap itself around you and permeate every single part of your life. Your book should always be running in the background of your mind, even when you aren't literally putting words on paper in your studio." -- Chapter After Chapter

But how do we create that kind of environment? How do we get there?

I found my way into a well-moated writing life because I was having trouble breathing. 

I don't mean that metaphorically. I mean I had pneumonia. So for a couple of months, I was stretched out on a recliner, with zero physical energy and crud in my lungs.

I canceled my commitments, scrapped my plans. Realized that I would be pretty much useless for anything or to anyone.

And I was all set for some major self-pity wallowing... when it hit me that I had just found the ideal writing life.

Right? I couldn't go anywhere or do anything except hold down that recliner, nap, and scribble. 

So that's what I did. 

For the actual writing, I got my sick little fingers on a bunch of index cards. (I LOVE writing on index cards. They're so portable, so approachable. Not nearly as daunting as a spiral notebook.)

I balanced them on the arm rests of the recliner, and I wrote a daily quota of eleven index cards, front and back. I could fill a card; take a nap. Write another one; take another nap.

In the evenings, when the day's cards were full, I read books about writing. I took notes, talking back to the books. I thought of it as my own, private writer's retreat.

All the small parts of my day seemed to surround the book, and shelter the process of working. 

I wrote an incredibly solid first draft of that novel. And in spite of all the gasping, it's one of my favorite-ever drafting experiences.

Hopefully you don't have to wait for a case of walking pneumonia to create a writing bubble, a writing moat.

All you need to do is find a way to stay more in the work than out of it. 

How can we do this in miniature?

Well, it doesn't have to be big and dramatic: no lung x-rays required.

Instead it might be a string of little habits, little triggers, little writing rituals, that create a benevolent moat--protecting your one and only writing life.

- Surround yourself with things that make you think of your book. Words, sure, but also pictures photographs of characters or related imagery. Little trinkets and touchstones. Quotes from your characters. 

- Start writing when you get up, just a few sentences. Write before you fall asleep, a paragraph or two. James Scott Bell recommends writing down a question, whatever it is you're stumped on, before you fall asleep, and see if your brain has come up with an answer for you when you get up.

- Turn your lunch break into a writing bubble by reading bit of writing advice, writing a poem or a mini-essay, and then reading a bit of fiction.

- Stay connected to the writing world by listening to essays and podcasts about writing as you clean, as you cook, as you go for a jog.

- Have a collector's mind, everywhere you go. Look at the weather, at the scene outside your window, at the faces you pass by. Consider the sound of voices, the feel of words spoken around you, the incidental noise. Measure and taste everything that comes your way. Think in terms of what will I use, what goes into the book? 

- Or, you could go big and dramatic. You could block off a four-day weekend, be unaccessible to everyone, and just bury yourself in your work. Warm up with writing exercises, take long walks with your notebook, spend your afternoons diving deeper into your work.

... You could even diagnose yourself with a case of writer's pneumonia. It's a very serious sickness, and the only way to heal--and breathe freely again!--is this: To write your book. 

(I'm just imagining all of us turning down commitments like this: "No, I'm so sorry, it's a very worthy cause and all, but I have this book in my brain, and it's spreading to my lungs, and so I can't breathe. Maybe in a few months??" ... Actually, I'm pretty sure this is a legitimate disease. It sounds familiar, doesn't it??)

Whether you make a big dramatic moat around your days, or whether you find small bubbles of time that protect your book, it comes down to this:

Aiming ourselves at stories. Pointing our energy and our time toward words, toward writing, toward creativity, rather than away. 

Ooooh. Just think what would happen if we did that. Just think what we could write!

Use Your Obscurity to Become Staggeringly Good

If you're already on your way to being a household name, you can skip this post. But for the rest of us, I have a question:

How do you feel about being unknown? 

When I dove into writing full time, I had one goal: Proving myself.

For me, that meant being published by a well-known publisher. I needed to write a novel in a year flat, and then get picked up by an agent, and then a publisher. And I needed it yesterday.

I wanted three novels published before I turned thirty.

(Spoiler alert: I'm thirty now. No novels published. Don't tell my former self, because she would flip.)

I had an allergic reaction to the thought of waiting. Massive anxiety struck whenever I heard that it could take three years, or seven, or ten. I don't have ten years! I thought. I need to be making a career now!

I spent way too many days hating the fact that: it takes time to get good. It takes time to write something worthwhile. And it takes time to get published.

I thought that all that time was my career's biggest enemy. And now?

Well, now it feels more like a secret weapon.

Because I finally realized that I can take full advantage of this season of obscurity.

I'm using it to get better.

Like... a lot. A lot better.

I'm using these quiet, off-stage years to work on building a better story and building a better character.

BUILDING A BETTER STORY. Ever notice how the first solutions you use in writing--the first words, the first images--tend to be clichés? Well, this was true of my entire first novel. 

The whole thing was one whopping cliché.

I didn't even notice as I was writing it (so quickly, so desperately). I regurgitated years of reading in one big unreadable book. 

I actually fell asleep when I reread it.

The thing about rushing, the thing about being in a panic to be done, to be published, to be chosen, is that you stop asking good questions. You stop considering new paths. You stop taking risks. You stop exploring.

Frantic writing doesn't make for fascinating stories.

What if we honor our obscurity by:

• experimenting with different genres

• playing around with new subject matter

• exploring our own history, and writing it out as stories

• taking risks in our style, voice, format

• daring to write what's on our hearts

• getting crazy-good at all the most essential elements of the craft

• reading like fiends

• annihilating clichés in our work

• diving deeper with our chosen subject matter

• researching like pros

BUILDING A BETTER CHARACTER. Yeah, not my cast of characters, but my character. Me. The who behind the writer that I am.

Can we be real for a sec? Waiting for something--waiting for something that you want very, very badly--has a way of exposing your personality.

When all I focused on was Getting The Thing That I Wanted--well, it wasn't cute.

I became the most selfish, fragile, and demanding version of myself. And oh, you couldn't even tell me that someone else just got published. Don't even try.

Here's a free tip: Selfish, fragile, demanding people do not write awesome books.

If all we do is practice various ways of saying I SHOULD BE PUBLISHED, then that's what our message is going to boil down to.

Me. MEEEEEE. Look at me. Praise me. Pat my head. Give me money. Clap for me. Because I deserve it.

That is not a great message for a book.

Also not great for a platform, a networking session, or a career.

Heck, I don't even like seeing it typed out there on this blog post.

The words that we say the most: those are the words that will end up being our message. That's what we'll be known for. 

The stuff we say in our heads, the words we mutter to our friends, the tweets we post, the Facebook exchanges... we're practicing our message all along. And we're creating our character every step of the way.

My goal: I don't want to be a self-obsessed jerk.

I finally realized that I can stomp around and be frustrated; I can feed envy and discontent and let them bleed me to death.

Or, I could see this as my chance. My chance to lean in, to grow, and to get better. To figure out generosity, gratitude, and courage. To value the people around me instead of seeing them as interruptions. To get better at celebrating, better at loving.

It's actually an opportunity, this whole obscurity thing.

There will be pressure enough later. Can we learn as much as we can about ourselves, our voices, our craft, our genre, our material, before the pressure is really on? 

And can we practice being the kind of person who has more to say than "look at me"?

Because the day will come when we find ourselves on a stage.

And if we use our obscurity right, we'll have a better story, a better message, and a better character to handle whatever fame and whatever fortune we get.

Twelve Mysteries for Your Next Rainy Day

Mysteries and rainy days just go together. Like Sherlock and Watson, like London and fog, like coffee and ... a lot more coffee. 

I've learned not to fight it. 

Actually, when I hear thunder breaking overhead, I get my feet tangled in my scramble to grab the nearest Agatha Christie.

I've heard someone say that, at its heart, every novel is actually a mystery.

And I love that definition. I certainly think it's true: at least from a writer's point of view. You're faced with so many mysteries: unraveling the characters, their motivations, the history of the story world, and then of course, how the plot works its way out. 

Even though the book I'm writing would never be classified as a mystery: that's what I feel like I'm writing, most days. When it's going well, I feel like I'm solving the mystery of the story itself.

Writers as sleuths. I like that.

Maybe this is why I read and watch more mysteries than any other genre. 

If you're looking for a good one, here's a list of twelve of my favorites:

1. The Nero Wolfe mysteries, by Rex Stout. (Because I want to marry Archie Goodwin. I do. Fiction or not, I feel sure that we can work this out. ... Book-wise, I'm especially fond of The League of Frightened Gentlemen.)

2. Green for Danger, by Christianna Brand (World War Two, bombs falling over a hospital, patients dying mysteriously during surgery... So. Good.)

3. Mary Stewart wrote mysterious romantic suspense, which reads superbly on damp dark days. Pick up Nine Coaches Waiting, especially if you're a fan of Jane Eyre.

4. Alan Bradley's Flavia de Luce series is ridiculously fun: she's an eleven-year-old chemist, she's hilarious, and she keeps solving mysteries. (The series is for us grown-ups though, not kids.) Of the first four, number one is still my favorite: The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie. 

I wish I could say my heart was stricken, but it wasn't. I wish I could say my instinct was to run away, but that would not be true. Instead, I watched in awe, savoring every detail. ... Then the utter stillness. I wish I could say I was afraid, but I wasn't. -- Alan Bradley / The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie

5. Some Danger Involved by Will Thomas. Excellent if you like Sherlock Holmes era mysteries, but are ready for some new characters.

6. Speaking of which... The Complete Sherlock Holmes. Of course. Obviously. Of course.

Peering through the gloom, I saw the vague outline of a man, a shade blacker than the blackness of the open door. He stood for an instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing, into the room. He was within three yards of us, this sinister figure, and I had braced myself to meet his spring. -- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle / "The Adventure of the Empty House"

7, 8, & 9. And as far as obvious choices go: It is impossible to pick a favorite Agatha Christie. Right? I "narrowed it down" to: And Then There Were None (for most goosebumps while reading), Murder on the Orient Express (for sublimeness, for perfect murder, for happening on a train, and for this screen version), and Death on the Nile (because everything... check out the movie too). 

10 &11. If you want sweeping scope, layered narratives, gloomy landscapes, dark secrets, brooding family estates--basically if you want the best sort of thing for a thunderstormy day--then check out Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White (!!!!) and The Moonstone. 

12. Last but not least: Brat Farrar by Josephine Tey. I couldn't stop talking about this one when I finished it. (I just love the set-up: the story of an impostor who begins to unravel a family mystery...)

There have been doubles before. Hitler had several. Lots of famous people have doubles. The papers are forever printing photographs of the humble doubles of great men. They all look like the great men with the character sponged out. -- Josephine Tey / Brat Farrar

There you have it. An easy dozen for the next time you see thunderstorms in the forecast. 

Obviously I've left out only about two hundred excellent recommendations... (I didn't even mention Ellery Queen! How did that happen?! And has anyone else watched The Bletchley Circle?)

Care to fill in the gaps? What are your favorite mysteries to read or watch? I'd love some new titles to check out!

Escaping the Rut You Didn't Know You Were In

When I reread my current work-in-progress draft, I realized how often I set scenes in the rain. 

Um: so many times. 

And the rain isn't much of an obstacle, either. More of a mood-setter. An atmospheric thing.

When I stepped back and looked at the draft as a whole, I could see what was happening: when the action was slowing, or when it was about to build, I thought: let's make this scene stand out. Let's make it a little different.

And I hauled out the rain machines.

What I didn't realize as I was drafting: my "little different" was actually the SAME THING. 

EVERY TIME. 

(Okay, once I used sleet, but still. That's a lot of rain.)

It didn't turn into a big obstacle: no one got hypothermia, no one came close to drowning, and there were no floods. Not even a really significant puddle experience.

It was just my way of shaking things up. Without--it turns out--shaking them up at all.

Creative rut alert.

So I took two minutes and brainstormed other ways to mess with weather and atmospherics. There's gotta be more than just rain, right?

Here's what I came up with: 

• storm rolling in, so the sky is all green and the air feels troubled and uncomfortable... gloomy-dark clouds, a tree creaking

• what about a bird storm? too many birds. oooh, starling murmurations!

• hail! the characters are outside a lot: hail would hurt. 

• what about wind? strong destructive winds, slight winds, a breeze bringing cobwebs with it, wispy seeds blowing by on a bright day

• unusual cloud formations: anvil head clouds, mackerel skies, red clouds at night

• what about floods, mudslides, uprooted trees, sinkholes? 

• forest fire...

• solar eclipse, lunar eclipse 

• a meteor shower, meteorite falling to earth, a convenient little UFO

Obviously I still had rain on the brain, but I also uncovered some more interesting ideas. Starling murmurations! That would totally suit my story.

I love a good excuse to go on a list-making tear. So I started looking around my stories for other places where I was stuck in a mini-rut.

Guess what. I found a few others.

• I give fun characters red hair. All the fun characters. All the red hair. Whoops.

• Mysterious characters get gray eyes. I like mystery. There are way too many gray-eyed people in these stories!

• And, I'm embarrassed to say, I was so intrigued by the idea of a one-armed man, that I have one-armed characters in four of my six novels. Yikes. 

When we're in the thick of drafting, it's so easy to keep reaching for the same solutions over and over. Without even noticing that our favorite solutions are looking a bit... worn out.

So here's your Wednesday writing challenge: where do you fall back on the same way of shaking things up? What have you been overusing?

Take a few minutes and brainstorm new options for yourself.

It doesn't take long. (Plus it's pretty fun.)

And the next time you're drafting and need some pizazz, you already have your material. How nice is that?

You will feel like total genius. 

Future You is already saying thanks.

Why You'll Have a Dance Party After Reading This post

Mix up your writing day, shed that crappy mood, and fire up your creativity--by moving around.

To music.

Right now.

Some people call this dancing.

We're all pretty aware of exercise's physical benefits. (Unless you've been living under a rock. In which case, you also haven't been working out much.)

Seriously, though: it's too easy to forget that we live in our most important writing machine. It's our bodies that do all that writing and reading. Our ten typing fingers, our bloodshot eyes, our aching necks.

We've got to honor these word-loving bodies of ours. 

And then, all our dizzyingly creative brains: they need some love and support too, right?

Those words and ideas and bits of genius dialogue don't come out of thin air. We're brewing them in our brains. They're hanging out with our moods. Scuffling around in our memories. 

Can we all agree to love on our mental processes with some exercise? (Because seriously, the mental benefits of exercise are super-huge.)

So, if you're already in an exercise routine, good for you. Yay for gyms and running shoes and DVDs and whatever else it is that gets you moving.

But I'd also say: use your writing breaks to move. Your writing will love you for it. 

And why not dance, which is pretty much the funnest way to move ever. (I just said funnest. It's okay.)

Crank the tunes and shake it for ten minutes.

It's simple. You can do it right there. You don't need to change clothes or make a huge plan or overcomplicate it. You can do something super brilliant for your writing, your words, your body, your self, right now. 

Dance when you're stuck. When you've been sitting for an hour. When you've been overthinking it.

Dance when you feel a MOOD coming on. When you're in a creative rut. When all you're doing is snarling. 

When you take a break, when you need a change, when you want to eat all the chocolate: dance.

Oh, and don't even tell me that you're a bad dancer. Please. I am The Worst of Dancers, and I have my own little dance parties all the time. (I danced all through the process of writing this post, for instance.)

Because there's this, too, my lionhearted friend:

If you can't dance awkwardly and foolishly at your writing space when no one is looking at you, then how can you write your awkward and foolish drafts that no one else will read?

We gotta practice bravery some time, right? 

So be a bit foolish. Be a bit crazy. Get your heart pumping. Embrace your awkward. 

And welcome the words when you're done.

Okay?

Here. Get some fantastic inspiration from Love Actually and Hitch. (Because I couldn't resist. I really couldn't. And because our Mondays needed that.)

Good? Yeah. I thought so. Me too.

Time for us both to step away from the screen, and dance it out.

You and me. Really. Right now.

(Take that, Monday.)