Does Your Writing Life Need a Mega Makeover? (Here's how I transformed mine.)

In spite of all my inherent nerdiness, I was never much of a devotee of writing exercises.

I mean, come on. We all know it takes about a thousand years to write a really good novel. Why waste writing time dithering around with some set of practice pages that would never see the light of day?

If I was going to practice writing, I would practice on my novel, thanks very much. 

... But the writers around me kept praising writing exercises. So I picked up some books of writing prompts and tried a few.

But the prompts were a bit lame. And my resulting pieces were kind of dull. They felt false, canned, pre-packaged. Not the kind of work I enjoyed. Not pieces of writing that I respected. 

Exercises. Pffft.

What changed all that? Three things. 

This book. The concept of a passive idea file. And an eight-week experiment.

What happened? My writing life changed completely. For the much much better.

I was between drafts of my novel-in-progress. I felt tired and grumpy about writing in general.

I wanted to take a break from the long-haul drafting process, but I didn't want my writing habit to atrophy entirely. What to do?

My mom (also a writer) mentioned that she liked the book A Writer's Book of Days, by Judy Reeves. She said it was a book of writing exercises that actually felt doable.

So I picked up her copy and flipped through it, looking at the writing prompts.

They weren't lame. They didn't feel silly. They were actually ... intriguing.

And there was one for each day of the year. (Ooh. I love a good calendar system.)

Bonus: All these prompts were surrounded by wonderful short articles (and quotes, lists, challenges, cheerleading) about the writing life, the writing habit, tips from other writers, and other advice that was cheering, practical, and exciting.

And did I mention that the prompts weren't lame??

Like, here, listen to these: February 12: Write about an eclipse. February 13: What was seen through binoculars. February 15: Write about animal dreams. 

Or September 13: She left a note. September 14: A collection of lies. September 15: "Houses have their secrets" (after Yannis Ritsos).

See? Not the standard. Just enough direction to get the brain involved, but not so much direction that the exercise feels false.

So I swiped Mom's copy. I carved out eight weeks between drafts.

And because I love to do a thing with gusto, I spent those eight weeks writing my way through all of Reeves' 366 exercises. 

Nine or ten exercises per workday. Ten minutes per exercise. 

I filled a lot of spiral notebooks. My handwriting fell to pieces. 

And I became a whole different kind of writer.

Honestly? It's one of the best things I've ever done.

Here's what I found out. 

It helps--a lot--to bring an idea file to the game. 

Like I mention in this post, I keep files full of teeny little ideas. Names that I find intriguing. Phrases that get my imagination swirling. Concepts for settings, situations, relationships. Titles that are begging for a book.

When faced with a writing prompt alone (even one that isn't lame), my brain could still go blank.

But when I also swiped a few ideas randomly from an idea file, and combined those things with the prompt: Magic happened. 

The blank page doesn't have to be terrifying. Neither does "bad" writing.

After facing 366 blank pages? After getting into the rhythm of "ready, set, GO," day after day, time after time? No matter how you're feeling, no matter how creative or not creative, no matter how tired, no matter how many words you've been writing?

Yeah. The blank page loses its fangs and its big scary voice.

Instead, it becomes a means to something much better: a full page.

I also learned not to over-emphasize the importance of my own bad writing. 

With that many pages filled, you better believe that a lot of them were pretty crappy. And yet a lot of them were also rather brilliant. Some of those pages still give me chills, and I'm planning stories around them. 

And the crappy work existed right alongside the brilliant gems.

It didn't matter how I felt about writing each day: whether I felt up for it, or whether I didn't. I still could write total slop and the next minute write something incredible.

So all those feelings we keep feeling about writing? Yeah. They stopped meaning so much.

And I just got to work.

The imagination is a much, much, MUCH bigger (and weirder) place than I thought.

Filling that many pages taught me this for certain: that my imagination was up to the challenge. 

Those 366 pieces of writing covered all kinds of crazy territory. I wrote spy stories, historical sketches, action sequences, serene tea-drinking scenes, wild off the wall stories for kids, bizarre internal monologues... 

It made me realize that my three little novels-in-progress (at the time) weren't the only things I could write.

I got a clear look at my own creative agility. I saw that I could write in almost any direction, that I could improvise on almost any theme.

I stopped feeling so dang TIMID.

When you see what your imagination is capable of, the tasks of writing, rewriting, and revising become a lot less frightening. 

And oh yeah, the writing itself was a lot of fun. 

(See what I did there? I just used "fun" and "writing" in the same sentence. And it wasn't a typo.)

Judy Reeves recommended not planning what you were going to write for an exercise. She said to write down the first sentence that came to you, and go from there.

Rule-follower that I am, I tried that technique. And loved it.

It felt like holding a camera above your head, snapping a Polaroid picture, and then shaking it around, wondering what exactly you had captured. Excitedly watching it develop.

I never, ever knew where my pen would lead. I was half-writer, half-reader, racing over new territory. 

My only goals were: to keep writing, and to not be bored. So I threw in as many twists as I liked, riffing on whatever tangents occurred to me.

You GUYS. It was so much fun.

I almost couldn't believe it: I was writing my brains out, working hard, and yet having a blast.

Writing felt like playing again, like the kind of marvelous inventive play I used to do as a kid.

Every day of writing held dozens of discoveries. I never knew what it would be like.

I got hooked on it.

I began writing for the buzz of it, the glee of making something new.

Again, and again, and again.

---

So: I'm a writing exercise convert. Utterly and completely.

I don't do writing exercises daily, but when my writing life needs a jolt, or when my imagination is sagging, I pull out A Writer's Book of Days and dive in for a while. 

If you're in need of a boost (and who isn't!?), try it.

It will caffeinate your writing, change how you see yourself as a writer, and massively expand the territory of your imagination. 

Yeah. ALL that. It will totally make over your writing life.

... And here you were thinking it would be just another Thursday.

After the Honeymoon: Accepting the Ordinary Writing Life

So we've established that I was/am a super-nerd and that I looked forward to school in a fierce way. Here's the other side of that equation: School failed to deliver.

(Are you SHOCKED?? Hahaha.)

I would watch Anne of Green Gables over the summer and dream of a classroom like that. Those wooden benches they sat on. The one-room school. I had visions of writing on slate tablets with chalk, and school picnics and a warm-hearted Miss Stacy who encouraged us all to be our best...

And then I'd go back to school and my teacher was overworked and underpaid and acted like it. (Poor teachers.) And the girl who had a locker above mine would routinely open it right into my face. And P.E. was adult-sanctioned torture.

And basically, aside from my love of homework and the library, school wasn't much good.

There's the romanticized version, and then there's the day to day of a locker door meeting your face. AKA, Reality.

When I finished college and sailed off to start writing full time, I felt like I had dozens and dozens of people cheering for me. Fellow writers, fellow readers. Classmates and professors. 

I had visions of sitting at my desk in a cozy, artistic way. I figured that after a bout of romantically hard work, my first novel would unfold neatly. I would type it out, and find a publisher, and off we would go, arms linked, into publishing history.

So many adorable little visions about the writing life.

And Reality was gearing up with an epic locker-slam to the face and it was this:

The writing life was so ordinary. It was really difficult, but in a totally non-cinematic way. The novel never "unfolded" and never did anything "neatly."

There has also been no arm-linking of any kind. 

Can I say this: Sometimes you need courage to face a writing life that has no fanfare.

No blast of trumpets. No sense whatsoever that you are Hemingway working away in a romantically barren garret in Paris. No charming Max Perkins writing you letters telling you how good you are.

Sometimes I felt like I could handle any adversity, like I was ready to bravely do something, anything, for this new career of mine--dissect any number of novels to learn from them, or write thousands of words in a month to create the first draft--but when it came down to it, the work itself was very, very quiet.

Very ordinary. 

Possibly even dull.

When people asked what I did in order to write, it felt like a let-down to tell them. I thought it should sound a lot more glorious, one way or another. Romantically wonderful or romantically difficult. 

Instead of like plain old work. 

... Obviously, if you've read a few of these posts, you know that I have since added a lot of jumping up and down, and a lot of dance parties, a fair amount of chocolate, and a lot of other exuberances to my writing life. 

But it never erases or changes the fact that novels are written one word at a time.

And that they are developed by one "what if" and one "so maybe then..." at a time. 

There are a lot of days that are just scratching on paper, and going in circles. 

There are a lot of days that feel like they later get erased, when you throw out those eight chapters you spent a month on. 

There are a lot of days when you could summarize "what I did today" in one sentence: "I wrote things down." 

I meet so many new writers who get discouraged by this.

At first they talk about writing, and their faces light up, and they're full of ideas and dreams of publication. And we talk about writing practice, and they're excited to go and do it. 

And when we connect again, they've already given it up. "It's just a busy season for me," they say, or "it just didn't feel right. It's not what I thought it would be." 

And I get it: I totally get it.

In a way, we've trained ourselves to expect a certain kind of feeling with writing, a certain kind of lifestyle. Whether it's rosy-hued success, or rosy-hued difficulties. A noble struggle or heroic success.

But we picture it looking a certain way, and--certainly for me, certainly for so many people I've talked to--it just doesn't look like that. 

99 days out of 100, my writing life looks a lot more like paperwork than like some delightful, Pinterest-worthy, artist-in-her-studio situation.

I look more like a clerk shuffling papers. With a fondness for staring out the window, and a definite coffee addiction. And that is my day.

But hear me on this: It's a good thing.

Letting a falsely romantic view of this life die: That is a very, very good thing.

Yes, it's discouraging at first. Yes, disillusionment is not fun at all.

But after that, after the writing-life honeymoon is over, we have a chance to encounter the real writing life. 

When we see it as it really is--the ordinary days, the ordinary work, the unlovely chaos--we have a chance to love it as it really is.

See, I think that the over-romanticized view of the writing life is Not Helpful. At all. I think that it contributes to resistance, it makes us want to give up, it probably aids and abets Writer's Block. 

It makes us love the idea of writing more than the actual writing. The image of a completed book more than the path (the sweat! the tears! and more sweat! and a lot more tears!!) to an actual completed book.

Ultimately, an over-romanticized view of writing tells us lies about what we've signed on for.

And if we try to cling to it, it will make us very, very unhappy. With our work and probably with everything else. 

The romanticism will make us quit. 

The sooner we embrace the ordinariness of our writing lives, and its normal, everyday activities, the sooner we get to the really good stuff.

Moments of pure inspiration. Sentences that are so lovely they shock you. Characters that stand up and speak for themselves.

That's not false romanticism, that's the real writing life. The good writing life.

There really are moments that make you want to stick around for years and years. In spite of the ordinary days, and in spite of the hard not-so-picturesque work. 

Go ahead and let that romanticism wear off.

Choose the writing life as it really is: paper cuts and all. 

Because that's where you'll find your real stories. That's where the finished books hang out. That's where you discover your voice. That's where your themes and subjects come into their own.

In the real days of real work. 

Lean in to the reality. It really is worth it. 

Re-Establishing a Writing Groove (Or, Back to School for Writers!)

This won't surprise you, but I'm a bit of a nerd when it comes to school. 

I was the kind of kid who spent the last weeks of summer daydreaming about long division. Who was itching to buy packs of college-ruled paper for all those assignments. Who loved bringing home a pile of new textbooks. 

You know. Definitely a nerd.

So September still means "back to school" for me, even though my last real "back to school" was--cough, cough--ten years ago. 

But that doesn't matter, right? It's still a great time to stock up on office supplies (hello and thank you, back to school sales!) and to get back to the good work habits that were blasted to smithereens during the summer.

(Or is that just me.)

It's time to refocus. To get back to basics. To get big mugs of apple cider (!!!) and then dive deep into work. 

Yes? Yes! 

But the first step of a re-committed writing practice is, oh yeah, remember this?:

You have to sit still, alone, in a room. 

For hours.

I've had so much going on lately, that I feel a little jittery, here at my desk today. ...

Okay, a lot jittery. 

A little too quick to jump up and do something else. My brain is pinging every which way, and the voices of my characters are pretty dang faint. 

Actually, I can't hear them at all.

... Remember your elementary school science classes? And learning about how some muscles work in opposition?

If not, here's a little reminder: When one contracts, the other relaxes (and meanwhile, your leg kicks out). And then the first one relaxes and the other contracts, your leg goes back down.

Right? Well, I've found that the same dynamic is at work in my writing life. 

I have the public, out-and-about, errand-running, meeting-for-coffee, smiling, chatting, pleasant version of Lucy: When the social muscle contracts.

And then there's the other version, the writing version of Lucy. Private, contemplative, inward-focused, and absent-minded: When the writing muscle contracts.

When I'm living as the social version of Lucy, writing feels like a distant daydream. That side of me is pretty well shut off. 

And when I'm going full-tilt at work as the writing version of Lucy, anything social feels like an unbearable strain. A shocking interruption. I can't remember how to behave, I forget to answer questions, I'm not really socially acceptable. 

(Any of this ringing a bell for you too? Or is this just me?)

It is absolutely possible to get into a rhythm of moving back and forth between these two versions, with a certain degree of elegance. It really can be done.

I can write well and then transition to being social and then transition back into deep writing. Definitely.

But when I've been focusing on one side for a long time, the other side feels foreign. Like it's shriveled up, atrophied. And using it at all is just really hard.

... Which is how it feels to come back to full-time writing, after a super busy month! 

It can be really difficult, after all that activity, to remember how to sit quietly in a room. To go from all that social work (with the writing life totally silenced), to the complete opposite: 

A strong writing life, and a quieted social life. 

Right now, my writing life muscle is weak and wobbly. ... Actually, it's gone nearly to sleep, and today I'm feeling all those prickles, the pins-and-needles feeling of it waking back up.

Ouch.

But you can remember how to stretch out a cramped muscle. And we all know that wiggling-stomping dance we use to get our legs to wake up (please say it's not just me hopping around!).

The same thing is true here: There are tricks to getting the blood flowing back through the writing life. So let's get that muscle warmed up, active, and strong!

1. Go "immersion camp" style.

It sounds brutal, but the best way to get back into a groove is to give myself no other options. To clear the schedule for at least a week, if not two, if not longer.

Beg off commitments, reschedule meetings, and just generally get a wide patch of time. Because basically, you need to be able to get back to your desk, every day, for a set amount of time. And the more time, the better.

2. Ignore all that screaming.

Pins and needles, right? If you're like me, as soon as you even look at your desk, everything in your brain is going to say that this is a bad idea, and there are a zillion things that are more worth your time than doing some writing--which is bound to be bad quality anyway. 

Any other form of productivity will seem more appealing. Doing the dishes or the laundry. Getting back to your exercise routine. Cleaning out your inbox. Reading a book about productivity. Anything else that isn't writing. 

I've realized that I have to steadily ignore all that. I don't even argue with it: I just tune it out. Let the dishes stack up, and the laundry accumulate.

This is writing time. And I've already decided that it's worth it.

3. Slow the brain down with some reading.

It can be a really, really good idea to re-establish a writing practice by re-establishing a reading practice. 

While it obviously doesn't take the place of writing, it still gets our busy, chattery brains to slow down, to start absorbing words, to tune back in to all things literary. (Sometimes I love novels for this, and sometimes poetry feels better. Look here and here for recommendations.)

I like to give myself about half an hour to warm up my brain with reading. 

4. Put your work-in-progress through its paces.

This is my favorite, favorite technique for this kind of situation. Here's what you do:

Get a piece of paper (yes, real paper), and a pen (yes, a real pen). At the top of the paper, write the name of your main character. And then grab a timer. Set the timer for five minutes. And then hit Start.

For five minutes, write--yes, longhand!--about your main character. 

Write anything. Describe her physical appearance, or write about what she does all day. Describe her room. Or detail all the things she likes. Or all the things she hates. 

Write down what she wants most in the story and how she wants to get it. Or just write about how she likes to climb trees. 

Your writing can be clunky. The sentences can be ugly and out of tune. That is totally fine. In fact, that means you're doing it right! You just have to keep going.

The point is: Write, by hand, about your main character, for five minutes. No matter what.

When the timer goes off, don't reread your work. But do be very, very nice to yourself, and celebrate the fact that hey, you kept your butt in your chair for five minutes straight, and you wrote actual words down! 

After a moment's celebration, repeat the exercise with a different character. Or instead of a character, write about one of the most important settings in your story. (Or heck, one of the least important settings!) Or about one of the main events. Or a minor event. 

Write about the beginning. Or the ending. Or the middle. Or whatever.

This is a way to gently re-claim your territory. To get back into the habit of writing, but to do it through very small, very doable demands. 

No matter how crazy your summer was, you definitely can scrape together enough focus for five minutes of writing.

And once you've done that--even if it was miserable, even if it was hard, even if all your sentences sounded lame--you've crossed the line. That line that separates a habit of not writing from a habit of yes, I'll write, no matter what!

Maybe you do three rounds of five-minute exercises. Or maybe you fill your day with them. Either way, you can get back into the habit, step by step.

5. Decide to do the same thing tomorrow.

This is where Step One comes back. It's immersion camp style. The main virtue of this getting-back-into-the-groove method is in its repeatability. 

If you do this, kindly, gently, day by day by day, then I guarantee: by the end of one week, you'll be feeling a bit more writerly.

By the end of the second, I'd bet that your story is up and running again. And you probably won't need that timer, and you'll be back to your good old writerly self.

Congratulations!! You're back in your groove. And now your goal--and mine--is staying in it! Right?

So we'll be spending the rest of September talking about this back-to-school mindset. Getting back to what we know how to do... and then growing from there!

I'm already feeling excited.

Long division anyone??

(Just kidding. Probably.)

Introducing Claire: An Impromptu, Teeny-Tiny Book Excerpt

I've mentioned it once or twice on the blog, but: I took piano lessons pretty steadily for about seventeen years of my life. (Whoa. Suddenly reflecting on that. That's a lot of scales and arpeggios.) 

When I took lessons in college, part of the requirement was a studio class, every other week. Which meant: sitting with a bunch of other piano players, some of them beginners, and some of them way-the-heck better than the rest of us. And you'd each play something.

Like a mini-recital for your peers.

If you think that my fingers were usually shaking a bit, you're right. They were.

But shaking or not, I got used to doing it. Used to taking the bench and playing the piece, fearful or not, trembling or not. It was just a Thing You Did, because you played piano.

The same was true in my writing classes: we took turns sharing selections. Until it just became a Thing You Did: You wrote pieces; you shared pieces. Repeat.

... But guess what. I've been doing this writing thing pretty much on my own for a while, and my habit of sharing my work has gotten a little rusty. That's been on my mind, and I was wondering how to break back in...

When my Twitter buddy Karah Rachelle tagged me in the 7/7/7/7 writing challenge. 

Here's how it goes: Writerly person opens their work-in-progress to page seven. And then counts down to line seven. And then shares the next seven sentences in a blog post.

As in: this post. 

(And then you nominate seven more writers, to carry on the challenge!)

... Wasn't I just saying on Monday that I wanted to introduce you to my characters? Welp, here we go. 

Page seven, line seven, and the next seven sentences.

A little background: On about page two, Phoebe (main character, eleven years old) discovers that a world exists behind a panel in the back of her closet. (Because, well, why not.) She hasn't told anyone yet, but her day is about to get weirder.

During dinner...

Baby Claire popped her fist out of her mouth with an audible smack. And she made a little noise, which sounded like "Ha!" and which made Phoebe grin.

"What I'm trying to understand," said Claire in a crystal-clear voice, "is what happened in Phoebe's closet." 

Phoebe's grin froze. Then she gaped at her baby sister.

"Awwww," crooned Great-Aunt Mildred. "I love her little babbling sounds."

"Because when you came out, your eyes were all funny," Claire said, looking at Phoebe. 

... The baby speaks, ladies and gentlemen. The baby reasons. And the baby gets into a whole bunch of trouble during the course of this trilogy. 

Ta da!

Okay. Who wants to share their work? (I feel like my writing professor, stalking around the room and looking for victims/volunteers.) Who would like to share with the class? 

I'm nominating: 

1) @HLGibson_Author ... See her excerpt here!
2) @victorialfry ... See her excerpts here! 
3) @KFGoodacre ... See her excerpt here! 
4) @ShesNovel
5) @JazzFeathers ... See her excerpt here!
6) @AJLundetrae ... See her excerpt here! 
7) @ink_and_quills 

... Only do it if it's fun, or if it feels right to you and your work, okay? And then tag your post to these comments so we can come read your work and applaud you! :)

ALSO, if you're reading this and you feel that little internal nudge, like you really should do this, like it's been too long since you've sat at the piano and played for others...

Go ahead and self-nominate! (I don't know if that's an official rule, but whatever, I'm saying, go for it!) Post your seven sentences on your blog, and then post a comment below to say that you did, okay? I'll come clap for you! :)

I'd love for this blog to turn into a place where more and more work is shared: both mine and yours! So... this could be the start of something very, very good.

Oh, and P.S.: Thanks for reading.

P.P.S.: Whoops, my excerpt was eight sentences, not seven. I can't count. Ah well. That's why I'm not an engineer. That, and, they write very few children's adventure stories. :) 

Can We Have a BIG GROUP HUG, Please?

Okay, it's my birthday. Which means I get to do a bunch of toasting, right? Birthday girls get to make speeches. And I'm allowed to get a little sentimental, right? Okay. Good. All right.

I started this blog a little over a year ago. Crazy how quickly that time has gone! I just wanted to explore what I'd learned so far about the writing life.

And--for everyone who had been asking me what I did and how I did it--I wanted to pass along anything useful, anything helpful.

And then six months ago, I kicked it up a few notches with a big re-design. (Big!) I figured out that I wanted more courage, that I wanted to develop this idea of a lionhearted writing life. That I wanted to find other brave souls who were putting words on paper.

And then YOU showed up! 

Hundreds and then thousands of you! 

You've been reading and commenting. You have tweeted and pinned and posted. You shared your stories of how you think about the writing life--what's been hard, what's been good. We've commiserated and we've celebrated. 

I'm so proud of us all! 

All these words we're writing! These blank pages being filled! 

There are stories churning among us; there are tales being told!

We're not alone, all of us lionhearted creators. We're not alone. 

If I could give out a party favor in this little sentimental speech-of-a-post, it would be superhero capes.

Because 1) WHY NOT, seriously! And because 2) we are each of us bold and brave.

And because 3) I firmly, sincerely, down-to-my-toes believe that stories are one of the best weapons against darkness. 

We're telling stories. We're fighting back the dark. And that is no small thing, my courageous-even-when-we're-also-shaking-in-our-boots friends.

That's no small thing.

So here's to another year of it! 

Another year of sharing our stories about our stories. Another year of getting better at writing. Of reading fantastic books and talking about them.

Another year of becoming more brave in what we write and how we write it. 

This is our job, friends! The best job in the world! 

I don't know exactly what this next year holds. And if I've learned one thing about the course my writing takes, it's this: All my predictions are wrong! Hahahaha!

Ahem. But that said, I'm hoping that Book One of my middle-grade adventure trilogy will be ready to sell at this time next year. (Or at least, verrrrrrrry nearly.)

Because, oh, I can't wait to introduce you all to my brave little main character, her irrepressible sister, and their reluctant aunt. This story that's existed in my head for so long might finally be ready to make its way in the world. Maybe when I turn 32, eh? 

However it turns out: I'm hoping and trusting for good things in the year ahead.

I'll keep aiming at a good writing life. A healthy, perfectionism-free one.

A writing practice with a lot of heart, a lot of grace, and a lot of courage. Just like the stories I most love and most need.

But for now, I'm so grateful for this community of fellow writers, fellow readers, fellow dreamers.

My fellow lionhearts! Thanks for honoring me with your time, with reading these posts, with your happy dances on Pinterest and Twitter and Facebook.

Here's to growing our courage next year! Here's to better stories and deeper characters!

Here's to tales that change lives: our own lives first, and then many many others!

I love ya. Can I say that? Sure, it's my birthday. I love you, my dear readers, my fellow lionhearts. Thanks for being brave right alongside me. 

Lean in. Let's have a big group hug. And a big group picture.

Say cheese, hold that funny face, wave at the camera, brandish your new superhero capes-- Click.

There. Thanks. I'll treasure that.

Okay. Now let's all find some CAKE.

Even a Pro Throws a Party at the End of a War (Celebrate Your Finish Lines)

There's a popular bit of writing advice out there that goes like this:

As soon as you've finished writing one story, start the next one.

Emphasis on: As soon as.

I think it was Trollope who modeled this, at least in what gets quoted to me. He had a quota of words to write each day, and if two of them were The End, then the next ones went right into a beginning.

I think that's admirable, in some ways. Impressive.

But much as I admire that kind of productivity, I've stopped wanting to emulate it. 

Momentum is important. Discipline is important. I'm a big fan of both.

But I just don't believe that we have to start a new project immediately.

In other words: Take a break, for goodness' sake! 

We can be professional-minded and still take a break, right? Of course we can! Because we want a sustainable writing practice, right?

Sustainability. It's my best friend when it comes to writing.

So this is what I've learned I need, after a storm of drafting:

1. Acknowledgment. 

I need to look myself in the eye--yes, literally, I do involve a mirror--and congratulate myself.

Creating a story out of your brain? Writing the whole thing down? Thousands and thousands of words? That's amazing. That's still amazing.

So whether I'm finishing a third draft or a first one, I think it's still important to take a huge breath and say: We did it! The characters and me! We wrote that thing!

2. Rest.

Literally. I try to catch up on sleep, if I've been staying up late to get it done.

But also, there are muscles involved with all that writing! It's easy to forget, when you're trying to keep Mr. Evil from destroying the planet, and at the same time, you're feeding clever lines to your Protagonist, and oh yes, also keeping all your details accurate for the secret lab underground.

But all that sitting and typing, or writing by hand--it takes its toll. You've got back muscles and neck muscles, bones and ligaments and things!

The body needs to recover too, and probably could take a bit of extra love. Maybe even a chiropractor.

And maybe some exercise. Some long walks in the park. (I do, after all, rely on some chocolate to get the writing done. A bit of movement is a good idea to balance all that!)

3. Human beings.

In the last stretches of a draft, I am at my least least least social. I become, necessarily, less available to the people around me, as the people in my head demand more time and space. 

Between projects, then, is when I love to catch up with friends, spend time with family, and be super-intentional about relationships. 

So I take some time to shed the writer-recluse habit. I schedule coffee dates, I Skype with my nieces and nephew more, I reconnect with the people I love. 

4. Replenishing.

Right after finishing a draft, I'm my least creative self. I have trouble completing the most simple sentences, or making any decisions at all. 

Why? Because I worked every single brain cell. Every last shred of mental energy has gone right into the draft.

Which means: The imagination needs some mega input.

I try to take a few days to intentionally browse new books, to visit museums, to wander around in new places.

I need to get back into the real world for a little bit. To be surrounded by real colors, real sounds, real textures.

It's dangerous for us to live in a world of text for too long. We need to remember that there are actually three dimensions.

We need to observe real life, and oh yeah, to live real life too.

5. And then yes, a bit of a party.

Completing a piece of writing warrants a celebration. No matter how short it is, how long it took you, how wretched this draft might be: if you've gotten to the end, you celebrate. Period.

Whether that means telling your dog you're brilliant (which it already knew) and treating yourself to a cupcake, or whether you get some champagne and caviar, or whether you have writing buddies over for coffee and cake--it's up to you.

But you deserve a celebration. Finishing a piece of work--sending a poem out, shipping a novel to beta readers, completing an essay--it's a BIG DEAL.

It should be.

I used to argue with myself about this. (Sad, but true.) I used to insist that finishing a piece was just part of the job. And if I wanted to be a professional, then it was all in a day's work. (See: Anthony Trollope.) 

I used to tell myself that to get all excited about it meant that I was an amateur, and just playing at it. That celebrations weren't the mark of a pro.

But I've totally changed my mind.

This is what I've learned: You fight a lot of battles, getting a story onto a page.

Internal battles, external battles, time management battles, word-craft battles, no-one-understands-what-I-do battles, this-is-taking-FOREVER battles.

It's work. A lot of work.

And getting to the end means that you've won this particular war, this war of finishing a piece of art.

And that means: You do a bit of dancing, a bit of crowing, a bit of cupcake-eating.

Sure, you'll start your next project soon. Of course, you're a professional. And nope, you won't let your writer abilities get dusty. You won't forget how to do this. 

But first you'll have this little party, this celebration.

Replenish what's been depleted, stretch what's been strained, stock up on what you need, take a deep breath.

And then--buoyed by the success, and cheered by declaring it good--then you can dive in to the next one.

Let's Go Ahead and Get a Little Word Drunk, Shall We? (Books that Celebrate Language)

If you're a writer, then you're also a reader.

Yes? I don't think we really need to debate that, right? I'm guessing that a love of words and stories and books is what got you into this party.

One of the yummiest treats for the writer-reader: books that celebrate the stuff of our trade. Stories about love of language and love of books and love of stories. 

Books that celebrate other books. Pfft. I totally love 'em. 

Here are three of my favorite celebratory books: If you haven't read these yet, move them to the top of your list!

1. Ella Minnow Pea, by Mark Dunn

Okay, if you don't catch what the title is about, say it out loud. ... Sound like a chunk of the alphabet? LMNOP? Yup. That's what's going on.

... And given that quirky title, you probably don't need me to go on about what a treat is in store for you, but--well, I'm going to anyway.

Without spoiling the premise entirely, this is a thoroughly charming novel, told through exchanges of letters and notes, about a quaint little island (sorry, there's no other way to put it) ... which is slowly outlawing the use of the letters of the alphabet. 

One by one.

So the citizens have to give up the alphabet bit by bit, and the words that use those letters as well... 

I dare you to read this and not have a renewed appreciation for every single letter of our crazy, beautiful alphabet! 

2. The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster.

If you missed it when you were a kid, never fear: this book is every bit as good when read by a grown up. Seriously. I discovered it in seventh grade, and I'm still not over it!

It is a ridiculously fun, extremely clever tale of a boy named Milo, a watchdog named Tock, and a Humbug (oh, the Humbug!), who set off on a quest to rescue Rhyme and Reason ... a journey that goes from Dictionopolis to Digitopolis, through the Mountains of Ignorance and up to the Castle in the Air. 

If you haven't read this one yet, you owe it to yourself to dive into it as soon as possible! And buckle up for some serious wordplay, puns of all sorts, idioms turned into realities, and all kinds of other sense and nonsense. 

3. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.

This book! Every time I read it, I want to crawl into it and live there.

Like Ella Minnow Pea, this is a novel told in letters. But Guernsey goes deeper, celebrating books and the ways that they sustain us. ... The many narrators/letter-writers are completely lovely--I want to meet half of them in real life, immediately. 

This is a story about writers and writing, about books and stories, about surviving through war, about finding hope, about the island of Guernsey (serious travel fever may occur while reading)... and about some flat-out delightful characters.

So much love for this book. Mmm. 

---

So there's my top three! What book-loving books have you been reading? Got any recommendations? Send 'em my way in the comments! 

And if you need more book recommendations, here are Twelve Mysteries for Your Next Rainy Day. For even more word love, check out A First Line Festival! 

Stop Dodging Your Best Work (Celebrate Where You've Been)

One of the million, zillion temptations for us as writers is this:

We're tempted to be someone else when we write. 

Tempted to be an edgier, cooler, more "interesting," or more "accepted" human being when we come up with story ideas. 

I can't tell you how many times this has happened to me. Without knowing that I was doing it. Without knowing it was a bad move.

I wrote plenty of poems, essays, and fiction that came from a person I was imitating, not the person that I actually was.

Not the girl who cared about what I cared about.

Ever have that happen to you? That when you sit down to write, you somehow develop a façade?

It's totally understandable: I mean, it is crazy hard to spill your guts onto a blank page.

And one of the ways to make that easier is to be a little less yourself. Or maybe, a different person entirely. And so you try to spill someone else's guts onto a page.

Wait a sec--how can I say that? It's all fiction, right? 

So what does it matter, façade or no façade? If we're not writing memoir, then who cares? It's all made up anyway!

Oh, but it does matter. 

Fiction that comes from a real soul will always feel different from fiction that rests on other people's ideas. One will feel truthful, even though it's fiction. The other will feel faked. (And you know you can't fake your writing, right?)

 I spent four years writing my first novel. Four years, five massive drafts, a TON of work, millions of words. The last draft was over five hundred pages.

And most of that novel never really came out of the real me. 

Parts of it technically worked. I'm a good enough learner and hard enough worker. So yes, there are scenes that work pretty dang well, dialogue exchanges that are whole and clever. 

But the guts of the book--they feel faked. Like I borrowed them from every other book like this I had read. I sewed together dozens of books like this one, and regurgitated them all into "my" story. 

Maybe that's why I never could figure out how to fix it. Maybe that's why it never felt like a real book to me.

Maybe that's part of why that process was so miserable, and why that book is mummified in my closet.

I was writing scared, trying to prove myself. And so I didn't take the time to really be my whole self at my writing desk with that story. I hadn't made sure that that story was really mine to tell.

I never really listened to myself while I was writing it. I panicked. I scrambled.

And I never wrote out of my own material, my own self. Me.

Heather Sellers calls this material--this stuff you write from--your compost.

Here's how she explains it in Page after Page:

So many of my students want to write about anything but where they are from or who they are--anything but their own terrible, lovely, banal, fascinating lives. ... Compost is where everything fascinating and good is. And it's under you. It's in the backyard of you. Stop going across town. Stop importing stories that aren't really yours.

If you aren't dreaming down deep into your own history, your own passions, your actual true, real, daily concerns and obsessions and the shapes of your lived life, you aren't going to be able to improve as a writer. 

Whoa, right? Doesn't she totally nail it? Any of that ring true for you?

To put it another way, Willa Cather said, Let your fiction grow out of the land beneath your feet.

Where are you standing, lionheart? What went into making you? The extraordinary ordinary you? 

What is it that you know in your core? Not your head, not your ideas from other books and movies, but your center? Your exact middle? 

That's the stuff that will translate into your best work.

Seek it out. Accept it. Listen to it.

Here's what I know: My stories became MUCH better when I accepted my material. When I accepted that, yes, this is me: I am this kind of a person, with these values, this worldview, this childhood, these fears, these passions.

When I didn't fight that, when I sat down with dead-on honesty at the keyboard, I wrote stronger, truer, richer stories.

Does that mean I started writing memoir and autobiography? Heck no!

All the work I've done since then has been full of the bizarre, quirky characters that I adore. Plenty of the fantastical. 

But all that fantastical has its roots in my compost. Everything strange in my stories is balanced by everything I honestly believe, everything I know as truth.

Embrace your material and write from it. That means that no matter what kind of story you are writing, there is a YOU present in the story.

A sense of your very real heart, your real experiences, your real take on the world--beating there like a pulse under your fantastic, extraordinary story.

Accept your material for what it is. Treat it with respect and honor, because that's the soul of what you'll write. That's the center of your best work.

Celebrate your compost.

---

In the mood to keep reading? You might also like: Are You Ridiculously in Love with your Writing? and Refuse to Feel Sheepish about How Completely Odd You Are.

You're Invited to Your Dream Writing Life, Starting Right Now

I can't spend a month chatting about celebrations without actually having a real, honest-to-goodness party. Agreed?

And since it's mid-August, I figured it's high time that you and I throw a party together.

What's the occasion? I'm sooooooo glad you asked. This is a party to celebrate your writing life. Celebrating the fact that you are a writer: a person who writes. That's worth a celebration.

If you're with me, great.

If you're feeling kind of meh about your writing life, and unconvinced that a party is a good idea: I dare you to read to the end of this post. Seriously. Because I strongly suspect that you need this party.

Okay: Let's do a little party planning!

For starters, you'll need to invite yourself. 

Yup. Formalize this a little bit. Set a time, a date. Make plans. This is a real party and it will need a real time on your calendar.

It's all too easy for life to swallow up our good ideas; and it's also easy for the rest of the demands in the writing life to take over good intentions (and the very real need) to celebrate.

So: make yourself an invitation. Write in with your swankiest handwriting, or print it in a large lovely font. Something like: I AM INVITED! To a Writing Party, on (date), at (time), at (place). 

Got it? Cool. Leave it on your writing desk, or in your work space so that you don't forget. 

And now it's time for a little shopping trip! We're gonna go get some supplies.

All good parties involve food. (And, yeah. You know me. I'm all about some good food.)

What says "party food" for you? Trail mix and popcorn? Something sparkly to drink? Or Trader Joe's Macarons? Go get it.

And don't shrug and say that this silly little occasion isn't worth it.

... Tell me, what would a superpowered and totally wonderful writing life do for you? How much would you be up for enjoying your work, day in, day out? For feeling exhilarated, for your imagination to be stimulated and useful?

What would it mean, if you loved your writing life like crazy, and had a totally wonderful relationship with your writing life?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

If we want a dreamed-of writing life, then we need to put the work in to make it lovely. In other words, it's worth buying the fancy cookies.

Next up: party favors!

Let yourself loose in an art store, office supply store, or at least the Back-to-School Section of your nearest Target or Walmart or some such place. 

Take yourself shopping and go crazy. Stock up on your favorite writing supplies, pens and markers, beautiful journals and papers.

Anything that makes your writer's heart squeeze a little: pick it up. 

And then--and yes, you must!--pick up some other decorations. 

Get some flowers, balloons, even those fancy themed paper cups and plates if you like! As much party stuff as you want! Banners, garlands... You really are allowed to go crazy.

... But if you're more tempted to not go crazy, then I'm guessing you're the type of person who really really REALLY needs to do this.

Can I talk to you for a sec? Here's the truth: It doesn't work to just celebrate your writing in your mind. 

Let me put it to you like this: If you've made the commitment to be a writer, to participate in this writing life full time, and to stick with it, then guess what. Your writing life is a little bit like a spouse.

You've committed to it, for the dark times and the bright. And too, the writing life will shape you every bit as much as you'll shape it. It's a big deal.

So I'm going to go ahead and call it a marriage. You're married to the writing life.

What happens in healthy marriages? Now and then, they celebrate. They pull out the stops for big anniversaries, and they also celebrate the quirky anniversaries of events that only matter to the two of them.

There is a time when it is the best and healthiest and most right thing to have a bit of a party.

And if you're more of the part-time-to-hobbyist writer, you're not off the hook either! That's like having the writing life as a really good friend. And good friends: they have their celebrations too.

Real ones. With cake. And streamers. 

So at LEAST get yourself some flowers and a cheap balloon from the supermarket. Okay? Okay.

Got all your stuff? Great.

On the actual day of the party, take a little time to set everything up.

Light some candles. Make sure that the balloons and flowers are out and looking festive. Put your cookies on a tray. Do it all up, like someone is coming who you really think is special. 

Like you're celebrating something valuable.

Because you are.

All set? Okay.

So there you are, with your notebooks and your pens (or markers, or pencils, or whatever). And it's time for your party to begin!

Have some of the food, and the sparkly drinks, and a few cookies. Get into the party spirit a bit. And try not to feel--let's be honest--really really awkward about this.

You're having a party for yourself. For writing. Maybe that feels weird.

But hey, you're not the only guest: this is for your writing life, right? So let's make sure it shows up. This is how:

After you brush the macaron crumbs off your lap, grab your new lovely notebook, and write the answers to these questions. Try to write honestly and without belaboring it too much. Use complete sentences, or don't! Draw pictures too if you like.

But one way or another, write down the first things that come to mind:

- When did you feel like this writing life was a thing you were going to pursue? When did you start acting like a writer, one way or another?

- What has been the highlight of your writing life so far? Its best moment?

- On the best of all writing days, what does it feel like for you to be a writer? The writing sessions when you finish and say--maybe a little surprised--"that was really great!" What does that kind of day feel like, in your body, in your mind, in your heart?

- What kinds of things--places, people, books, images--consistently inspire you? What tugs at your imagination? 

Got all that? Feel a bit of that writing glow? Oooh. Me too.

Shake out your fingers, have some more cookies, and then we're going to do a little more thinking. Ready?

Okay. Give yourself a little more time to answer these. 

1) Think about your future writing career. Ten, twenty years down the road. Imagine that it's exactly what you dreamed of. Write down what you see--how many books you've written, and what kinds of stories they are. What your huge fanbase says about your books. Snippets of reviews. Blurbs and endorsements from famous authors. Sketch it all out.

2) Now, with all that future dream in mind, write down specifically what your future writing space is like. When your writing dreams are coming true, what does your writing desk look like? What kinds of tools do you use? What sorts of trinkets and things are around you? What have you put in your space that helps you be the astoundingly productive and well-loved writer that you've become?

3) In your dreamed-up writing future, how do you protect the time you need to work? What kinds of arrangements and understandings do you have with your friends, your family? What kind of working hours do you keep? What kind of time-space do you have for all the things you do for your writing? What is that idealized writing-routine like?

4) And finally, in your dream writing future, how do you feel about your work? How do you feel about the books you've written, and the books that you have yet to write? What kinds of emotions show up when you're at that future writing desk? How do you treat yourself and your work in your mind? 

Whew! That was a lot of good thinking. Take a break. Have more cookies. Walk around the room. Mingle with yourself for a sec. Shake out your fingers. Clear your brain.

We have one more round to go, and this is a super, super important one. So grab another glass of bubbly, and let's get to it. All set? 

Okay. Think about the writing life that you've just imagined so richly. The way you'll feel about your writing work, the kind of shape your writing life takes up, the things you'll do to be the writer you want to be.

I want you to make one more list: Write down all the ways that you can have that dreamed-up writing life, all the stuff you wrote down in #2 and #3 and #4, right now.

Don't get swamped by "I can't" and "but you don't understand" and obstacles. Try to boil it down, and get at all the ways you can make those things realities or near-realities.

For example: If you dreamed up a writing studio deep in the Rocky Mountains, but you can't exactly afford one now: what if you put a mountain-scene painting in your writing studio? A pine-scented candle? Can you create a mountain-esque space?

If you dreamed up a writing schedule that's impossible for you right now, how could you slowly work toward that? Can you build toward it, a half-an-hour at a time? Skipping TV, and forcing other commitments to respect your writing time?

If you thought up wonderful wild things like vacations where you simply get away to write... How could you find a way to do that now? Maybe not the beach for a week, but maybe a nearby lake for an afternoon?

And whatever mindset you wrote down in #4: you can practice thinking and feeling that way right now too, regardless of what your writing life looks like. You can practice being kinder with yourself, you can practice being more disciplined, you can practice treating yourself well.

See what I mean? 

There are aspects of your dream writing life that are truly within reach.

Write down as many of these as you can think of. Push yourself.

Can you come up with at least a dozen ways to come nearer to your dream writing life? (I bet you can.)

And then: can you put them into effect over the next week or two? Or even, today?? (You can! You totally can.)

Imagine what that would do for you both, your writing life and you! Just think how that would feel. 

Whew! That was a lot of festive work. Reward yourself with cake. Maybe have a little dancing party to celebrate new possibilities.

Before you go, pour yourself one last drink, and read yourself this quote from George Eliot. It's a toast, to you and your future writing life:

It's never too late to be who you might have been.

If you've been discouraged about your writing life lately, it's not too late. You can still be the writer that you want to be. So let's drink to that.

And now you're free to take your party favors and put them in your writing area. Tie the balloons to your writing chair, and set the flowers on your desk.

And maybe savor the celebration a bit longer, by diving into some lovely reading. Or even--you know--write something. 

Ooh. The ideal after-party.

---

Two quick side-notes: 

- Heather Sellers is the first person I can remember who described the writing life as a relationship rather than just a "job" that you can pick up or put down. And that totally changed how I see my working life. I hope it's a metaphor that you like too!

- Sarah Jenks teaches how to make a future lifestyle possible right now (though she writes from the angle of positive body image and moving into a fuller life). I borrowed some of her principles for thinking about what we want in the future for our writing, and applying it to the present. So, thanks to her brilliant work for that!

Celebrate the Relationships that Make Your Writing Possible

When you're throwing yourself into your writing work, and putting every little bit of your brain and heart into it, you can get a little... how shall we say... self focused.

To an extent, that's a really good thing.

I will always champion self-care and self-awareness and grace and rest and all those things. You're the one most able to monitor how you're doing, how you're handling stress, and if your imagination needs some oomph. You have to pay attention to how you're doing.

But it's easy to let this self-focus thing get out of hand. Right?

It's ghastly to say it out loud, but after too many days of manipulating fictitious events, I can start thinking that I'm the creative genius at the center of the universe.

That's not a habit I want to develop.

And if you've ever met anyone with a runaway ego, you know how ugly this can get.

We can all see how disgusting it is when someone forgets how many people have helped them, supported them, sacrificed for them.

Yikes. But it's a cautionary tale for us writers.

Because it is so easy to get caught up in our work.

It's ultra absorbing, making worlds out of our brains! It's easy to take for granted the people we rely on--whether they're helping our households run more smoothly, or dishing out emotional encouragement, or helping us financially. 

It's so easy to forget what other people are doing for us. 

If you are fortunate enough to have a person, or a few people, or--let's dream big--a whole tribe who thinks that what you're doing is Okay, and who support you in any way--

Then how about celebrating them this weekend?

Whether with gifts and flowers, or a long coffee date that is not about all your writing dilemmas, or maybe some good old-fashioned public acknowledgement of everything that they've done to help you. Of what you owe them.

Thank them out loud.

Sound good? 

Here, I'll go first.

I know it's cliché to say that my mom is my number one fan, but, well...

My mom is my number one fan.

I'm super fortunate in that the rest of my family is awesome and extremely supportive as well. But my mom is the person who actually modeled writing for me. 

For as long as I can remember, she had a writing desk with story ideas posted above it, as well as a growing collection of books about how to write. She talked about her stories, her characters, and her work, which taught me that this writing thing was Normal and Okay to do.

She always encouraged my sisters and me to read, helping us haul our library loot home and back again. She read out loud to us at night. She made up stories on the spot when we were bored.

She gave me spiral notebooks and story prompts when I was in second grade, she read my first attempts at poetry (eek!!) when I was in fifth, she was one of my first readers of my honors thesis in college, and she's the first one I'll let read my ramshackle rough drafts now.

We share books, tips, conferences, and anything we're thinking through. We talk about process and structure; we share writerly woes and writerly joys.

We're in this together. 

I literally can't imagine what my writing journey would look like without her. Especially without her saying, from day one: 

• You can do this. You are a writer.

• Being a writer is a GOOD thing to be.

• And also, you always double the amount of chocolate chips in a recipe.

We add books and words (and maybe chocolate) to the difficult places in our lives.

So clearly, I owe her a lot. And I'm realizing that I don't say that enough, out loud. 

It's her birthday this weekend, which is partly why I've been thinking about how much she's inspired me and how much I still depend on her encouragement.

And how I'd probably not be sane trying to write without her.

Who is that person for you? Who is it who gave you encouragement during a hard time, or who modeled reading or writing for you, or who believed in you early on?

Let's be bold in our appreciation. Let's celebrate the people who have supported us.

I'll be making my number one fan a cake this weekend. How about you?