What did you learn from last year: New Year’s 2020 resolutions for writers
Irish author Aine Greaney offers some New Year’s 2020 Resolutions for writers. Instead of looking forward, look backward to review your past year of writing for what worked or failed—and what you can learn and do in 2020.
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Can writing help me on my blah or down days? Can writing help with winter blues?
By mid November, my mood starts to match the New England weather outside my window.
In winter, my brain and my words turn monochrome, moody and sludgy.
And yet ... we must get up every day and be grateful for this day and for being able to get up and out of bed. However busy we are, we must take time out to enjoy some small, incidental pleasures.
So today, despite the weather woman's warnings of wind chills, I will leave my desk and get out there to take a walk in the winter sunlight.
Or I love this guided meditation on washing away negativity.
Last year, I published a blog article, "10 Ways To Brighten Your Winter Work Day" at "World of Psychology," a series of wellness and mental health blogs hosted by PsychCentral.
The article includes suggestions ranging from writing your morning pages, to eating protein-rich meals to brief workplace meditations.
Click here to read the complete article and my 10 tips for winter wellness.
What are your tricks for winter writing and wellness? Share in the comments below.
Should I write a new draft? Or throw my writing away?
Yesterday I decided to dust off an old, Thanksgiving holiday-themed essay. It had already been drafted and re-drafted, so (I convinced myself) it would only take an hour to edit, fix and pitch.
The essay was written in 2011, when I had pitched it to a popular Sunday magazine in which I had been previously published. Back then, the editor returned it with a nice note saying that it just didn’t work for that publication.
Today, thanks to eight years of editorial distance, I understood why my original draft got rejected. Plus, I love to edit, so I convinced myself that a nip here and a tuck there would make that 2011 piece perfect and ready for a re-pitch.
Now, after more than 20 years of writing and publishing, wouldn’t you think I’d know that re-writes are never, ever easy or quick? So this afternoon, after a few botched attempts, I abandoned that old draft to open an empty page to hand-write a brand new version.
Here are four reasons to stop twiddling with that old draft to start over with a fresh piece:
Our narrative voices mature: Since 2011, I’ve published (lucky me) several other essays and a full-length book collection collection of my essays. Our narrative voices change and mature, and experiences change or deepen our perspectives. We need to write as the writer we have become, not the writer we once were.
Updated facts, statistics and research: When it comes to fact checking or supporting statistics, many things may have changed since our last draft. So check and insert the latest data.
Publishing trends change: Publications downsize staffing or change their editorial focus and submission requirements. While we try not to write for a specific market or readership, it’s foolish to pitch or submit something that doesn’t meet the target publication’s submission requirements.
A new draft gives a new chance to go deeper: For today’s piece, I ditched the old typed version and wrote the new piece by hand. Handwriting helps our critical thinking and lets us find a way into what we really want to say. So turn off your computer and pick up that notebook and pen.
If time equals money, then, given how long we spend writing and drafting, we writers are always working at a financial deficit. But time also equals quality. So if you want to write what matters to you now, today, consider starting from scratch with a new page.
P.S. I just got an acceptance letter for this Thanksgiving-themed essay, from a good editor at a paying market.
Photo by Daria Litvinova on Unsplash
Few of us live in a single-occupancy, write-all-day bubble. Most of us balance writing with a day job, a household, a host of deadlines. Many of us balance writing with a job and family responsibilities and volunteer work.
Add to this that, at least here in New England, there are winter days when it's hard to get out of our own way--let alone get creative.
Whether we admit it or not, there are times when we are just sad, upset, worried or angry or sick. Writing? Sorry. On those blah days, it's an achievement to get out of bed and find two matching socks.
Hands up those of us who haven't had a spate of creative dry spells? I have. Unemployment, family illness, bereavement or my own melancholia--these big life issues can eclipse every creative thought in our heads or our hearts.
In real time, any of these seems like an all-encompassing and never-ending state of being. It can feel like we will never be well or employed or caught up with work or happy or creative again.
To all you Eyores (as in Winnie The Pooh) out there (including yours truly): This last concept isn't true.
The sun does shine. The words do return.
Sometimes, all it takes are a few moments of mindfulness, mixed with a dash of self-trust and self-care, leavened by some self-deprecating humor.
Meanwhile, even while we're in the throes of whatever it is that ails us, we can write. Maybe not a full essay or chapter or story. Maybe not every day. But there are ways to keep at it.
Here are some strategies that worked for me:
Buy Yourself a Miniature Notebook
After my mother died, I believed that I could or would never write again.
I was wrong.
But during those dark days, I did keep a tiny, 3" x 2" spiral notebook by my computer monitor. You know the ones. They sell them in drug and dollar stores by the pack. I filled one of those tiny pages every day. A week or two in, I began to actually look forward to that mini-write.
Most days, the writing was terse and strange, and I wouldn't even attempt to classify it by genre. But it helped.
Write a Numbered List
A poet friend recently gave me this tip: Open up a clean page and set yourself the task of writing eight random things on that page.
It doesn't matter what you write.
You just have to get to Number Eight. For me, this numbered-list writing forces me to complete something. It has also yielded some very promising ideas for new essays--two of which I've already had published.
Switch the Medium: Cocktail Napkins, Anyone?
If you usually hand-write your first drafts, remember that there are many online journals out there. I recommend Penzu. As well as being highly secure, Penzu has pages that mimic a lined notebook and it allows you to clip digital photos to your piece. Other medium-switching ideas: Write short, small pieces on your phone. Or get yourself a pen and some white cocktail napkins.
Edit an Old Piece
Remember those bright, productive days when you were up and at it and meeting your word count? Look through your document folders. Now might be the time to edit those drafts. Writing? Who said anything about writing? You're just sprucing things up, dotting a few i's and crossing a few t's.
Don't write. Meditate. Walk. Look to the sky
There are few things that a walk outside cannot make better. Wordsworth did it. So did Thoreau. And Mary Oliver. I love this interview with Oliver where she speaks about being out in nature and "listening to the world"--about walking with a notebook and just waiting for what will come.
Dust Off Your Personal Journal
That's the thing about journaling, isn't it? Your daily entry doesn't have to be a neat narrative or a bestseller in the making. It can just be some lists. Or doodles. Or curse words. Journaling isn't just a way to keep writing. It's also a research-proven route to physical and mental wellness.
Stuck with your writing? Want to write for daily health and wellness? Check out my writing workshops.
Once, during a job interview, one of the interviewers confessed that she had google-ed me.
Then, she asked me if, as a creative writer, I actually had time for any other work—including that potential job.
This wasn’t friendly small talk between two just-met strangers.
Instead, everything about this woman told me that she believed I was capable of short changing the part of my life that mattered (day job) to feed the other (creative writing and teaching).
She couldn’t have been rude-er. She couldn’t have been wrong-er.
Hasn’t it happened to you? You’re so gob-smacked by a stranger’s question that, at best, you respond with something evasive or inadequate.
Then, hours or days afterward, when the cocktail party or the job interview is all over, you think of all those clever things you could or should have said.
After that interview, here’s what I would have said: For the past 25 or more years, it’s because I work a busy day job that I can be a creative writer. And vice versa.
I would have also mentioned that being creative writers makes us empathetic colleagues and how good empathy makes for good workplaces. Also, for centuries, big and medium-name creative writers have worked in all sorts of roles and industries and jobs.
So today, on Labor Day, if you’re a writer with a day job, let me assure you that your writing and your job don’t have to compete or detract from each other.
Money: A recent Authors Guild study of $5,000+ creative writers (memoir, fiction, essays, poetry, drama et al) showed that, based on book sales alone, writers make approximately $3,000 per year. If you’ve figured out a way to live on that, good for you! But collection agencies make very, very poor writing mentors. Without a roof over your head and food in your fridge, you will not write.
Creative freedom: When the bills are paid, we are not as susceptible to the fads and fashions of the publishing industry. We can say ‘no’ to those freelance gigs that won’t augment our portfolios, build our Curriculum Vitae and that will probably yield more headaches than fiscal stability. When the bills are paid, we can write what really matters to us.
Time and project management: A day job gives us dual experience in (a) meeting set deadlines and (b) planning and managing a roster of projects. Both of these skills will support and advance the creative life.
Tenacity: There really are no free lunches. So the tenacity and problem-solving skills we learn and practice at work carry over into our writing lives. A writing project has stalled? An editor or agent is ghosting? We need to be good at defusing disagreements, setting next steps and developing a workable contingency plan.
So wherever you work, this Labor Day, I hope you’re writing. Also, I hope you’ll take a moment to be grateful for what your day job gives you and, just as important, what it gives to your writing.
How can you carve time out of your busy life to write?
Sometimes when I'm lying awake at night, I play little 'what-if' games in which I present myself with a set of tough choices.
In one fictitious scenario, I ask myself if I would give up creative writing if my paycheck-earning job flat out demanded it?
If my marriage demanded it?
If my husband ever turned from the dinner table to announce, "I've had it. It's the dang writing or me. Take your pick, Girl.”
Just what would my answer be?
Equally, what if some pet thief with a thing for black-and-white cats with a lot of attitude, were to hold me at knife point to say, "Give me your cat or your computer hard drive—oh, and throw in those writing journals, too.”
If this were to happen, which would I actually choose? My writing drafts or my cat?
(Yes, I keep backups of my documents on the Cloud, but play along with me here.)
Equally, if my siblings in Ireland every organized an intervention and sat me down to say: "Look, Sis. The fun’s over. Either you move home from that America of yours and quit that bloody writing, or we’ll permanently cut you off from our family?"
If they ever actually said that (they wouldn’t), what would I choose?
You get the point. In any life, there are parts of that life that we value more than others--things that we'd fight like the dickens to protect and keep.
For me, the problem with these imaginary Faustian choices is this: My mind can’t conceive of a life without some sort of writing.
Now, I could have a life without publications or bylines or book royalties or author fanfare, but I couldn’t have a life without writing. In many ways, things don’t really happen to me until I’ve recorded or worked them through on paper.
So after all these years, the writing is as much a part of my being as, say, my eye color and my hair.
The only thing more unimaginable would be having to quit reading. Oh, now, on this bright, sunny afternoon in Massachusetts, let’s not even try to go there.
What about you? What would you (or did you) sacrifice in order to keep or start a writing practice?
Photo by Daria Nepriakhina on Unsplash
This spring, I was invited to give an evening presentation that was partly craft (writing nonfiction) and partly thematic (writing about immigration). Specifically, we were going to chat about short-form nonfiction, and how and why I wrote and collected the personal essays in my just-released book, Green Card & Other Essays.
Half-way through the evening, and long before our Q & A discussion, a woman in the audience interrupted to ask about my current immigration status.
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How to prepare for your book launch or author reading.
I love to tell stories, so here’s a tale about the worst — and I mean the absolute, down-and-out worst — public author reading I’ve ever attended.
I recognized this author’s name on the conference lineup, but I hadn’t read any of his literary works. Then, shortly after our Saturday lunch, he took the stage, where, instead of facing his audience, he read with his back to us. Really. He faced the back of the stage.
He was difficult to hear. At the end, following that extended view of the author’s rear end, folks around me clapped and whispered, “Oh, he’s a genius. An eccentric genius.”
“Genius” was not among the comments zinging through my own mind. In fact, I longed to go up there and remind our young author that manners really do maketh the man.
So that’s my worst-case scenario or horror story.
There have been a few runners up, like that time I was on a literary panel with someone who dropped f-bombs galore, then, halfway through the Q & A session, he set his head on the desk for a little nap. The other panelist and I had to carry the rest of the show as our boy snoozed (or pretended to) beside me.
Or there was that tardy chappie who left us all — the audience, the moderator and us, his fellow panelists — on stage waiting. When he finally arrived, he read a politically-provocative piece that (no surprise) stoked and polarized our audience. As Chappie faced off with a particularly argumentative audience member, the rest of us sat twiddling our thumbs and praying for a microphone failure.
So these are my top three enfants terribles tales from the book-presentation world. In addition to these, there were those authors who arrived unprepared, uncombed, or who ignored the pre-event directions to read way, way past their allotted time (a big no-no).
By the way, I just realized that all of my enfants terribles authors were male.
Now, let’s talk about those other authors who arrive promptly and prepared to give the book event their all.
They are groomed and gracious and respectful.
For example, a few weeks ago, I attended a two-author book launch in which the two mystery writers interviewed each other. I rarely read mystery fiction, but the event was lively and informative, as was the audience Q & A session that followed.
Why? Because these two authors made it happen that way.
Hand on heart: I’ve never, ever read with my back to my audience.
However, when I look back at my own author presentations — especially in the early days — there are some that, at best, were ‘meh.’
So what or how could I have done it better? What or who had I neglected or shortchanged?
The audience.
The audience.
Did I mention the audience?
Launching a new book? Choose the excerpt to read and practice reading it aloud ahead of the event. Read only up to or less than your allotted time. Time yourself. Choose an excerpt that’s self-contained. Or a scene that showcases the book or the story’s central dilemma or plot. The opening is always a good selection.
So you’ve just had a book released. It may be destined to become a bestseller or optioned for a Hollywood blockbuster. But you haven’t solved world hunger or global warming or discovered a permanent cure for rare pediatric or adult cancers. Have you?
So be humble. Not self-effacing. Not humble-bragging. Just humble and human and grateful.
Nobody expects a stand-up comedy show or a free writing seminar. So just give us you. As we sit there before you, we’ve abandoned our living rooms or our after-dinner coffees just to come out and hear you.
So inspire us.
Impress us.
Include us.
Engage us.
Enjoyed this article? You may also enjoy: 5 Tips for Doing Great Author Events, Readings and Presentations.
Check out my upcoming author events at the News page.
Photo by Filip Mroz on Unsplash - Writing and Jogging. This is not a photo of me (unlike me, she’s rockin’ the Spandex).
Two months ago, just before Thanksgiving, I handed in my notice to leave my job in healthcare communications.
Some folks told me I was brave. Others inferred that I was either spoiled or crazy or both.
I had a number of reasons for leaving, and most are too complex to go into here.
Overall, I knew in my bones that it was time for a break, and the only way I could get myself that break was to make … well, a clean break. Also, I have a new book, Green Card & Other Essays, being published in spring 2019, and I had a number of final edits that needed my attention. Plus I have a half-complete novel draft that desperately needs some overdue love.
So I crossed my fingers, ignored my bank balance and granted myself a work sabbatical.
Now I’m two-plus months in, and I’m supposed to be basking in all this freedom, all these things that, this time last year, I longed to have, including more time to write.
Well, at least I’ve got the “basking” part down (smile).
I have always been an avid walker and hiker, so one of the best parts about being away from work is the extra outdoors time. Then, just before Christmas, I decided to turn my usual morning walk into a morning run.
Of course, I had a thousand reasons not to run: My mid-life knees aren’t what they used to be. Winter is cold here in New England. I hate Spandex (or is it Lycra?). And, if I got up to run a few mornings per week, wasn’t that cutting way into prime writing hours?
My first few days out, I did a kind of power-walk-and-run combo. Then, one morning, I just kept running—all the way down our local hiking trail and all the way home again.
Now, for all you seasoned runners out there, this is where you’re allowed to snicker behind your hands. Pretty and peaceful as our local hiking trail is, it’s nothing that would prepare me for the Olympics or even a mini-marathon. But running there feels great—especially as I enter that last little lap toward home.
I also know that this new running gig is teaching me about life and work and writing.
Nike has it right. For writing or jogging, there are morning when you have to shush the excuses and arguments inside your own head and “just do it.”
Running enhances the writing: As I thump along the blacktop trail, my mind wanders into and out of my novel’s plotting cul-de-sacs. I worry over (and sometimes solve) problems. I make editorial corrections. I get new ideas. There’s nothing like the cold wind against your cheeks to pump up the creative.
Push past your comfort zone: I’m learning that it’s all about setting your sights on a milestone up ahead and then, pushing to or beyond that set target. Like I say, I’m a long way from being a marathon-er (and probably never will be), but I’m learning that my body is capable of more than I thought. Also, that moment when I want to quit is also the moment when I should push on for an extra few hundred feet. Or, as writers, when we need to push on for a few hundred words more.
Healthy body. Healthy mind: It’s all about taking care of our own daily wellness. This is especially true when the winter blues and blahs can and do eclipse our self-confidence and our creative selves.
Prove yourself wrong: On the trail or on the page, I’m discovering the joy in proving my morning-grumpy self wrong.
Journal writing for writers
Recently I started and abandoned a novel by a popular British (male) author. It was a well-plotted and witty story. But it was un-finishable and, afterward, un-memorable.
The story and the plot eclipsed the author. In fact, the entire thing lacked an author’s there-ness.
Don’t get me wrong. I don't want the author bleeding into the words or allover the page. I don't like tell-all memoirs, and I hate those manipulative, tear-jerker fictions that are really just literary gum-ball machines: Insert money. Get emotions.
Equally, I don’t shy away from stories about tough things. In fact, some of the world’s best writing has emerged from repressive regimes (A Thousand Splendid Suns) or bloody world wars (Pat Barker’s fabulous World War I novels) or genocidal atrocities (Elie Weisel).
As a leisure reader, I want more than a story. I want more than a who-dunnit or a boy-meets-girl. I want to sense that, behind these pages, there is a deep, thoughtful writer, a writer I can respect in the morning.
How to convey this depth, this author's personality without the author him or herself actually barging into his or her own narratives?
As writers, this is one of the high-wire feats, the blundering, bashful dance between writer, narrator, story and reader.
“There are writers whose entire careers I’ve followed. In retrospect, I’ve committed to that long-term relationship because I respect these writers’ minds. More, their work lets me glimpse their fine minds. ”
There are writers whose entire careers I’ve followed. In retrospect, I’ve committed to that long-term relationship because I respect these writers’ minds. More, their work lets me glimpse their fine minds.
Writers are supposed to be introspective, but we live in as wired and as frenetic a world as anyone else. So it’s easy to become invisible to ourselves. It’s easy to keep staring in the public and publishing mirror until we behold only the dividends while we forget our own deep hearts.
Confession time: I’ve done it. I’ve written for money or admiration or just to seem clever. I’ve let myself get so busy that I just keep marching forward without looking inward. I shush that little voice inside that whispers, “But is this really you? Is this what you really want?”
When this happens, it’s time to pick up my writer’s journal. No, not a blog or an e-mail or an online posting--though these are wonderful ways to create a dialogue with a thousand splendid readers.
Journaling is a key wellness tool. It's also how we have a pen-and-paper dialog with ourselves.
I’ve kept a personal journal for most of my life. Whether I’m in complete writer’s block or stuck in a plotting cul-de-sac, or just plain confused about life in general, my personal journal is where I’ll re-find me and, eventually, the words.
Readers, writers: What makes you abandon certain books?
This month I celebrate the 30th anniversary of that day when I landed, terrified and wide-eyed, in America.
Anniversaries are a time for looking backward, so these days my eyes are firmly fixed in the rear-view mirror.
Here's what I see in that mirror: On the public and political front, this has been the very worst of those 30 years.
For many of us in America, this has been the year to chide ourselves for our heretofore simplistic and deluded understanding about who and what this country actually is ( the "United" States? I think not).
Still, as artists in America, it's our job to offset some of the damage done and being done today, as I write this. Even in bad old 2016, there's still time. Today and tomorrow and on Christmas Day and for all eight days of Hanukkah and on New Year's Eve, write or paint or photograph or compose or sculpt like your life depends on it.
Because in many ways, it actually does.
Write and create for those who are too scared or too voiceless or too persecuted or too busy working three low-wage jobs to have the luxury of writing.
Also, use your art and your voice to advocate and resist. For local protest events near you, check out PEN America's Writers Resist.
Despite the political schisms and our very, very scary headlines, here's what I also see in that rear-view mirror: All those 2016 days when I pinched myself at my good fortune. I'm not just healthy and alive and with a roof over my head; I'm able to do (and teach) what I love to do and teach.
In my three decades here, writing has brought me my closest friends. Writing and books have put me in the very best company I know. Writing has given me my tribe and the existential home that I left home to find.
For these and for you, my friends, I am deeply grateful.
This weekend, I found myself writing in my journal that, among all my mid-life regrets (and there are many), most or all of my slip ups can be traced back to a failure of personal courage.
Sure, at the time, it felt more comfortable to take the easy road, the less scary or daring choice. But now, in hindsight, I see this was a mistake.
So this past week I challenged myself to a daily act of courage. Every day, I had to do something that scared me. It could be big or small. But it had to be something that proved I could and would push through my own trepidation, my own "no-don't-do-that!" inner voice.
It was a grey and rainy weekend here in Massachusetts, so this little self-test gave me the oomph I needed.
It also reminded me that writing, by its nature, is an act of courage.
It takes a lot of chutzpah to fill a blank page or screen with our own words. It takes even more daring to strike out past the fear line, to write into that spot that scares us most.
So if you've written today, bravo to you.
Now tomorrow, write or do something that scares you even more. Query or pitch that agent or editor that seems like a reach. Dive back into your manuscript to edit it again. Write the hard stuff. Kill your darlings. Cut out all the fat.
In the rest of your writing life, say 'no' to the naysayers, the time users, the cynics. Say 'yes' to letting your own in-born talent shine through. Say 'yes' to that thing that's scaring the be-jeepers out of you.
It's a new month, the last week of our 2016 summer. So set your own daily courage test.
Feel free to report your feats and successes in the comments below.
Yesterday in my local newspaper, I read this piece, "External Success Can be a Mirage," from Dr. Jim Manganiello, a clinical psychologist and psychotherapist.
Though he appears to live less than 10 miles from me, I've never met Dr. Manganiello, and his wellness column wasn't specifically about creative writing.
However, as I sat there munching on my breakfast cereal, his distinction between external success and what he calls, "inside-out success" really rang true for me.
Dr. Manganiello posits that "success" (as we brand it in America and most of the western world) is "rooted in a self-image that we downloaded in our family. It's a surface affair, a persona, but, unless we know better, we mistake it for who we are."
Here are my favorite lines from the piece:
“Big-time outside success always markets and promotes itself as an antidote for our anxiety and insecurity—but it never turns out to be just that. It’s not a good remedy for existential uncertainty at all.”
In other words, we can build castles or buy cars or snag that corner-office job and title, but we still have to work on our internal lives; we still have to face up to and deal with that "existential uncertainty."
This piece has forced me to take a really hard look at why I write. It challenges why I started and continue with a writing life--often at the cost of other pursuits and people in my life. Are those sacrifices still worth it? Were they ever?
Are the end products (books, articles, essays, podcasts, movies) of our creative output motivated by that "surface success" or by some more evolved, inner version--by what Dr. Manganiello calls, "heart-based dreams and deep mind visions?"
So why do we write? It's definitely not for the money. And yes, if we're all honest here, there is an element of ego in seeing our own name on a book cover or among a publication's bylines.
The big question: As we sit here at our writing desks, how much does the projected or imagined payout (byline, fame, speakerships) influence the real-time process?
Added to these questions--for which I have no immediate or definitive answer--is the fact that most of us get to have a byline or book based almost exclusively on the "success" or track record of our past bylines and books.
From our BookScan numbers to our "author platform," to the number of online clicks our essays generate, writing--at least the public version of it--is a numbers game. These numbers indicate "success."
When and where do we writers come to internalize this quantitative version of ourselves? When do we begin to measure our own self-worth via how it gets measured for us? Driven by fear or ego, when do we consciously or subconsciously begin to write to the market, to make ourselves and our work match a version of "success" that's almost 100% market based?
Now, this was a lot of soul searching for a Friday-morning read of the local paper. Today, over 24 hours later, I've managed to reach only two conclusions:
1. Before we start a new writing project or re-direct or recast a piece from its original conception or intention, we should stop and scrutinize our own motivations for doing so;
2. I thank the stars that as a teenager, I discovered personal or reflective writing and that now, almost four decades later, I still use my hand-written journal as a route to self-knowledge and as an antidote to "existential anxiety."
If we're churning out work to meet an editor's deadline and to pay our own and our literary agent's rents--that's fine, but it should align with our own life plan. Or, in Dr. Manganiello's words, it should fit with "who we truly are and what our lives are uniquely about."
I think my greatest fear as a writer is not that I will never be published again.
I fear that, one day, I'll look in the mirror and not like what I see.
A writer's success is one of those big and amorphous topics, so I'd love to hear your thoughts (see comment section) here.
Photo: CC license.
This year, rather than creating a 2016 must-do list, I have whittled my New Year's writing resolutions down to one, guiding principle:
“Be the CEO of your own writing career.”
CEO and creative writing. These may seem like oddly paired concepts, and, if you saw my grungy getup as I write this, you'd say that, at least in the fashion department, I'm an unsuitable choice to CEO anything.
However, when I look back on 2015, I see that, in terms of managing and driving my own career, I was way too passive. There were entire weeks when I took my eye off the horizon.
I was good at the creative end of things. Many mornings, I set my alarm clock to cram in an hour's writing before commuting to work. Most Sundays and Mondays, I sat in my little back garden writing studio writing in my journal or penning drafts or editing or polishing.
I'm proud to say that I published a number of essays and stories. As we speak, my current and fifth book proposal is well underway.
Could I have written more or better in 2015? Absolutely. Which of us couldn't?
Get and stay in the corner office: Good CEOs know that the buck stops with them. Sure, the day-to-day processes must proceed, but it's the director's job to create and drive the strategic plan. Like it or not, ready or not, the CEO is the one piloting that airplane. Ditto for you and your writing career.
You're the most invested: Particularly in this hyper-connected, digital environment, it's easy to lull ourselves into a false sense of sisters-in-arms stuff. If you're a little naive (as I was last year), it's easy to believe that the entire sub-industry (I'm talking literary agents, book doctors, publicists, writing coaches et al) that supports or makes its living via the writing process are your co-pilots. Some may be, but nobody on this planet is more invested in the work and the outcome than you.
Listen to your 'gut voice': Ok., bear with me as I stick with the aeronautical metaphor here. The control tower suddenly turns silent? Or you suspect that the tower folks weren't really watching or caring about your flight in the first place? Or the tower was watching, but now, you suspect that the big jumbos have distracted it from your little antique Cessna. When your gut voice tells you one of these is happening, it's time to do some damage control. Guess who's responsible for steering that beast back onto a safer and more productive course? You.
Lose the grunge and don that planning suit: To be CEO, we have to schedule a weekly time when we step back from the creative process to direct. Take a walk. Meditate. Wool gather. Develop a reliable and easy system for tracking your own progress, submissions, updates and next steps. A spreadsheet, a white board or an online submission system--all of these are options.
Outsource with caution: You can and should connect and collaborate with those writer friends or colleagues who provide mutual support or with whom you trade editing services. But if you're engaging or contracting with one of those professional services, do your research--lots of research. Ask for a current author list. For book doctors or editors, ask for references from past clients. Bottom line: Be picky and careful about who gets to fly this journey with you.
What are your 2016 writer's resolutions? Share them in the comments.
I love when I find a class or presentation on a topic that's dear to my heart and that links my working and creative lives.
So, a few weeks ago, imagine my joy when I landed on a six-week course, "Medicine and The Arts," presented by the University of Cape Town.
I'm far from a technical Luddite, but I must admit that I'm not quite over the shock of being able to sit on my American couch while listening to interdisciplinary faculty in a university half-way around the world.
Still, brave-new-world technology aside, I can honestly say that I rush through my dinner each night so I can log in to learn and discuss with my fellow online learners.
Last week's module was on creativity and play.
Hmmm ... play. As a writer with a busy day job, I think there are times when I forget how to pronounce that word. I forget to be--or how to be--playful.
And, if you read some contemporary author interviews, it seems like I'm not alone here.
One interview: "I started writing seriously when I ..." Another: "I got really serious about my writing after my first short story got published." Or, "I knew it was time to stop kidding around and get serious (about my writing)."
Reading these (and some of my own past commentary), a non-writer could be forgiven for thinking that we writers regard the creative process as an acetic vocation--and a rather punishing one at that!
Now, what if, instead of regarding each writing project as a mountain to be scaled, a race to be run, a set of creative boxes to be ticked, we took time out to let our minds and pens just wander? In playing (posits one of last week's video lectures) we unleash our subconscious to go hunt and gather new ideas. Also, in terms of reflective or wellness writing, play provides a temporary reprieve from the current or past circumstances (such as an illness or trauma) and this, in turn, gives us ownership over our own stories.
I know when I'm stuck in an essay or chapter, it helps to shut down the laptop and take out my writing journal to free-write or doodle or just make silly lists. I've also had great fun writing and recording audio essays.
This morning, I listened to a radio interview with poet Mary Oliver in which she described her daily habit of going outdoors and waiting, pen poised, for whatever comes. By switching the genre and format, we give ourselves a recess with no rules or expectations or limits.
Of course, a long walk helps with this process, too.
Can you incorporate play into your writing life? How?
I still remember that day when my then-publisher rejected my second book, which was to have been Book 2 in a two-book contract.
In retrospect, I'm sure that editor was justified. The book was a 180-degree switch from the first book, it wasn't very plot driven, and it was, she said, "very dark in places."
Etcetera, etcetera.
Now, over a decade later, it's not the editorial rationales that I remember most, but my own sorrow.
I'm not proud to admit this, but I did actually take to my bed. I did actually weep into my pillow. I did actually believe that I would never publish anything again.
I was wrong about that last part. A few editing rounds later, the novel got published and even garnered some awards and recognitions.
I was also wrong to waste my tears, to let an editor's rejection reduce me to a level of grief that we should save for life's real traumas--like death or illness.
And yet ...
Even the toughest writer feels the sting of rejection, especially for that piece of writing that we hold dear. It double hurts for those pieces or books that we suspect or know are being rejected for marketability over thematic depth or literary quality.
I've been writing for most of my life and writing for publication for over two decades. Looking back, many rejections were and are warranted and helpful, while others hit and hurt deeply.
So this week, I was delighted to find this article, "3 Eye-Opening Lessons for Rethinking Rejection" at "World of Psychology."
This section rang especially true for me:
“Rejection doesn’t just sting. It makes us question or dismiss whatever we’ve created. It makes us question ourselves as individuals. It confirms our worst nightmares, our inner critic’s blistering beliefs. It shakes up our self-worth, and hurts us at our core”
"3 Eye-Opening Lessons For Rethinking Rejection" not only offers comfort, but also nudges us toward some self-analysis. Where does our fear of rejection come from? How much does that fear hold us back from new or true projects? Worse, is our fear of rejection making us hedge our bets by writing for the current (and always fickle) publishing market?
For a writer, these--not the editor's checklist of personal tastes or marketplace possibilities--are the big, big questions to ask.
You probably have your own strategies or tips for bouncing back from rejection. I try to use the 48-hour rule. Within 48 hours of receiving a rejected query or piece, I re-read, re-fix and re-submit to another editor.
When it comes to rejection, we writers share the pain and should stand together.
So give us your tips (below in the comments) for rejection resilience and recovery.
This week I was interviewed by the editors at The Fem, an online feminist literary magazine.
It's always a thrill to be interviewed--not just because it's flattering, but because it forces us to step back and behold our work, our lives, and why we even bother to write in the first place.
The best author interviews sound chatty and authentic, while also delivering insights into the author's life and work--and the writing process in general.
Whether you're being interviewed online, on air or on stage, never, ever speak off the cuff. I borrow from my day job here. As a communications director for a non-profit, I have learned to never get on the telephone or participate in any high-impact meeting or conversation without setting goals, preparing message points and drafting what I plan to say.
Of course, you never want to sound like the scripted politician speaking strictly on message, but preparing ahead will help you to deliver information that's of real value to your readers and to your sister writers.
Here are 6 tips for doing author interviews:
1. Request the questions ahead: Once you get the questions, it's not enough to make a mental plan of what your responses will be. Write out each response, then refine and rehearse them until you're satisfied. Discard that script so that, on the day, you will sound natural. When it comes to major media outlets, most journalists will not provide the questions ahead. In this case, ask for the main topic area(s) that you will be expected to discuss.
2. Dress for success: If the author interview is on T.V. or on stage (say, at a writer's symposium or conference), dress professionally. Wear a plain but flattering color, with simple designs and clean lines (no frills or flounces) and without any polka dots or busy patterns.
3. Create your own talking points: Ask two writers the exact same question and they will each answer it differently. Before you dive in and begin to review or script your answers to the interviewer's questions, create a list of your own talking points. What do you want to get across here? What would you like to happen as a result of this interview? Once you have your talking points, read over the interviewer’s questions and weave your talking points into your responses--but only if they're a natural fit. Remember, this is an interview, not a self-marketing pitch.
4. Slow it down: This doesn't apply to online or print interviews, but if you're on screen or on stage, remember that your audience is not as immersed in your topic as you are. Therefore, there's an inevitable lag-time between what you say and how quickly or easily the audience assimilates what you've said. Slow it down, summarize key points, and don't be afraid of or rush to fill silent pauses.
5. Give them the goods: Even if s/he says s/he already has it, follow up to make sure the interviewer or producer has your bio, including your name and, if your name has an unusual spelling, include how to pronounce your name. For online interviews, provide the bio, a professional head shot photo and a link to your author website. If this is a return appearance, review your bio to check if it needs to be updated.
6. Follow up with a thank-you: Be a good literary citizen. After the interview, send a hand-written or well-written email thanking the interviewer for the time and his or her thoughtful questions. It's also important to do your part in posting the interview via your social media networks and, in each posting, remember to credit the publication or interviewer.
Got your own tips to add? Write them in the comments.
Photo: Creative Commons license.
I often teach and lead writing workshops—primarily in New England and greater Boston—and there's nothing more thrilling than rummaging through my Evernote files and bookshelves to find just that right article or essay or video clip that will, I hope, inspire a group of writers.
Leading a writing workshop is a delicate balance of pedagogy, grace, humanity, inclusion and authority. It also helps to have a sense of humor.
I've been designing and leading writing workshops for over 20 years now. I've taught at libraries, universities, arts centers, assisted living facilities, schools and writers conferences.
Each opportunity and each group of participant writers holds the promise of learning new ways to engage and inspire.
New to teaching or presenting? Here are my 8 Steps To Prepare For A Creative Writing Workshop
1. Narrow your topic: "We want to offer a writing class." Sometimes, the host or events person calls with just this request. It's a great request, but it's up to you to ask and get specifics about the projected audience, its demographics, and, if possible, nudge him or her toward letting you come up with a more specific workshop topic or title.
For example, a workshop on writing short fiction will appeal to an entirely different audience to a session on, say, travel writing. Equally, an active retirement group may want a different type of session from a group of teens--or not. But you must ask.
2. Check out the venue: Nothing kills student participation more than physical discomforts, including rooms that are cold, musty, lack windows, enough space or nearby bathrooms. Ask questions. Go on the organization's website. If needed, ask to visit the venue so you can check it out and actually visualize your workshop taking place in that room.
3. Establish who's boss: Once, a woman hired me to facilitate a three-day summer conference retreat in a gorgeous mountain setting. Fantastic, right? Um ... Two hours into the event, I discovered that this woman couldn't quite decide who was actually leading--her or me. The students were confused and distracted and it was hard to get the writing karma back. Yes, writing workshops are very democratic and participatory, but someone needs to lead.
If your potential host plans on attending the actual sessions, establish if it's going to be as a participant, a co-teacher, a pop-in observer or as a supervisor of your work. Then, depending on the response, accept or decline this teaching opportunity.
4. Prepare. Prepare. Prepare: Participants deserve to get their money's worth and get the most out of these few hours or days. So it's important to really prepare the content, plan the pacing, the writing prompts, the break times, the handouts and other details. Always have an alternate set of prompts in case the group energy lags or dynamics change.
5. Ask about the technology: If you're going to use video clips, pod casts or presentation software (like PowerPoint or Prezi), establish your future venue's internet capabilities. As well as the resident laptop setup, bring your own and backup everything on a thumb drive. If at all possible, request to do a test run--in the same room you will be using for the actual workshop--and make sure the tech person will be onsite or on call on the day of the event.
6. Talk money: Don't believe someone who tells you that facilitating this retreat or workshop will look great on your C.V., will land you a literary agent or give you a free lunch or dinner. The potential event or conference may, indeed, yield one or all of these, but none of them is a valid reason to donate your talent and time.
Ask for a suitable fee. Here are some tips from my previous article at LinkedIn. Ask for mileage or transportation support. As a writer, you should be a good literary citizen and donate your time. But only to organizations you actually choose.
7. Learn how to teach: Many writers' events and conferences hire big-name authors as a way to fill the seats and balance the budget. Often, these rock star authors turn out to also be a rock star teachers. But then, there are those who do not, or who cannot teach.
Before I was a writer, I was trained and educated as a teacher. But if you've never stood in front of a group before, get online and learn the basics of training and group facilitation. Your students will thank you, and you may get invited back for a repeat gig.
8. Ask about marketing--plus the minimum and maximum enrollment: Depending on the topic and venue, there's a magic number for writing workshops. For a fully participatory workshop with lots of peer sharing and review, 9-12 works well. Fifteen is do-able. Anything beyond that switches the dynamics and begins to morph into a lecture style. Too few students, and it's hard to generate dialog and creative energy. Too many? Your participants can feel crunched for time and air space.
Ask about the maximum numbers of attendees and how the venue plans to post and advertise the workshop event to the public. Also make sure you view and approve your instructor’s bio.
As a workshop participant, what would you like to see from facilitators? Or as an instructor, share your tips with us. Write in the comments below.
Vampires? Witches? Ghouls? Yes, they're Halloween scary (maybe), but they've got nothing on our spookiest writer moments.
What scares you as a writer?
Here are the three aspects of the writing life that can send us screeching and cowering under our bed covers. I'm also including some suggested fixes.
1. Eeeek! The Blank Screen, aka, Writers Block
You wake up with this idea that's so clever that you skip breakfast and grab a quick coffee on your way to your writing desk. Then you type furiously while visions of that Pulitzer dance in your head. You stop. You re-read. You want to puke. You delete it all and now you're plain stumped for what--if anything--to write.
Or you’re under a big, hairy deadline, but then, 12 hours before submission time, your brain circuits all fizzle and blow. Now you can't speak, let alone write. Oh. Hell.
Fixes: Get outside and take a walk or a run. Don't worry. The writer's pity party will still be in full swing when you return. When you get back, pick up your hand-writing journal to tease out what’s stalling you in this project. Or, if you’re not under deadline, take a break from this freakish project to work on a different one—preferably in a different genre.
2. Bwaaa! Haa! Haaa! The Rejection Letter
You drafted, re-drafted, edited, polished (and polished). Then, you submitted that short story or essay to that well researched and apparently perfect market. You followed their submission guidelines. Your piece is within the required word count. And now, here in your email in-box is one of those, “This-didn’t-work-for-us” notes. Or worse, there's a confusing or snarky missive that reveals that your work never got read in the first place.
Fixes: First, exorcise (as in, “cast out thy demons”) all self-blame or -flagellation. If you truly worked hard on your submitted piece, then remember that all writing and reading is subjective. I mean, how many New York Times bestsellers have you read that you honestly, truly loved (in my case, not many)? This rejection may have little or nothing to do with the quality of this piece. It certainly is not an indictment of you as a writer. If the editor was kind enough to offer suggestions, use them. The best cure for writer’s rejection? Review your piece, fix any boo-boos and, within 24 hours, submit it to a new market.
3. Help! "I’m About To Turn (insert milestone birthday), And Now It's Too Late!" Today’s workplaces demand more and more of us, and our 24/7, hyper-connected lifestyle doesn't help. In or beyond the workplace, it seems like there’s always someone who needs you. You’re facing down a milestone birthday and here's that inner voice telling you that life has whizzed by, and so has your dream of being a writer.
Fixes: Switch your own way of thinking. Taking time out to write does not mean that you are reneging on your work or family responsibilities. Writing means taking care of your own wellness to make you a better employee, a better parent, a better caregiver. Look at your entire week. Find some spots in there for quick, incidental writing opportunities. Insert those days and times into your appointment calendar. Early mornings? Lunch hours? Café on the way home from work? Turn off the T.V. at night. If it really matters to you, make a plan and start tomorrow.
What are the scariest parts of writing for you? Write them in the comments below.
Before I submitted it to my literary agent, I re-drafted and edited the pages of my book-length memoir at least 20 times.
Last March, I toted my printed manuscript--plus a bunch of sticky notes--to a Florida beach where I lounged under the tropical rays while giving the book its final copy edit and spit polish.
Then, two weeks ago, I was invited to participate in a literary panel at "The Irish in Massachusetts" conference co-hosted by the University of Massachusetts at Lowell and Queen University, Belfast.
UMassLowell is one of the campuses within our state university system, and Lowell is a former mill city that's often credited as the cradle of the American industrial revolution.
What a treat to read and discuss Irish American literature in a city that's a hotbed of multicultural immigrant stories--old and new, told and untold, sad and happy.
Thematic fit aside, I decided to read an excerpt from the memoir because I believed that there would be few or no surprises, that I could predict the audience reaction.
Click on the photo to hear an excerpt from the reading.
Well ... Duh. That writer control-freak thing only goes so far. Collectively or individually, a listening audience will decide for themselves the parts of our writing that they deem funny, sad or controversial.
As I stood there at the lectern at Lowell, my own story sounded different to me.
Dang it. Despite all my love and attention, that cheeky little manuscript had gone and taken on a life and a voice of its own.
Reminder to self: Long before they got shelved in mega bookstores or downloaded to Kindles, our stories were and are an oral art.
From one teller to the next, from page to stage, a story always mutates.
That's how stories breathe. And live.
