Six Ways to Keep Working When You're Sick

I've read a number of interviews with successful authors, who say that they keep RIGHT ON WORKING when they're sick. Apparently the thinking is: What, I have the flu? Pfft. There's this NOVEL I need to write. Let's DRAFT. And off they go.

Man. I applaud that. But that is not my experience when I'm sick.

As timing would have it, I'm sick at the moment. Some kind of stomach bug thingie that I'm not especially enjoying. (And I can't tell you how funny I think it is that this hit right after my #30DaysNoWhining challenge started on Monday!)

So. I'm not whining. (I promise!) I'm just making sure my lunch stays in place and my cookies don't get tossed. So far, so good.

But it got me thinking about writing when sick. (Which, can we all say, is SO MUCH EASIER than traveling when sick. How many terrible stories are there about getting sick on the road. Yiiiiikes.)

I'm not all tough when it comes to working while being sick. Really. I wish I was rah-rah-rah about it, but I'm pretty much a softie.

That said, I still have a few questions for myself when those germs show up. I'll push through for a bit, but then I start asking myself: How can I step back from this hardworking pace, and yet still feed my work? How can I take a break--and, you know, get HEALTHY--but then re-enter my writing work in a good way?

My immune system is not completely super, so I've had a lot of chances to explore these questions. And at this point, when I don't feel so good, I have a good list of habits to help my work along while I rest. 

#1: Put your daydreams to work. 

Being sick has two qualities that are pretty great for writers: 1) most people will leave you alone when you get the word out, and 2) your brain is floating around in a dreamy state.

This is like a perfect recipe for daydreaming.

I think of intentional daydreaming like making a smoothie: put a few good ingredients together in a blender, and flip it on.

So when you're sick and you're crawling back to bed, mentally grab about three things from your work-in-progress. Maybe: a setting you want to explore, or a relationship between characters, a scene or a plot point that you're stuck on, a beginning or ending that you want to rework.

Stick some paper by your bed, and then crawl under the covers and doze. Let your mind wander about. Take naps and wake up and sleep again. And every time you're awake, take your brain for a little walk around those story questions you have.

Honestly, you might surprise yourself with what you dream up. Keep feeding your subconscious during the day, and jot down notes as ideas float by. You can deepen so many parts of your work this way... and it's practically effortless!

#2: Mindmap your way to better ideas.

More focused than daydreaming, but still along those same lines: Being sick can be a great time to explore your ideas in a more concentrated way. 

I've heard again and again that if you want to do better brainstorming work, you need to put yourself physically in a different space. And if you're leaving your desk for your bed, swapping a screen for paper and pen--well, you're halfway there! 

If you're feeling up to it, prop some pillows behind yourself, grab a big pad of paper, and create a mind map of a project or two.

Thanks to the dreaminess of being sick, you have a chance to have a looser process, to let more air into your work, and to just think differently as you brainstorm.

Take that chance to pursue some new ideas and let your mind ramble around in new territory. (I'm only just getting interested in mind mapping... here's a quick explanation if you're new to the concept.)

#3: Create a mini writing retreat.

What's something you want to learn about in your writing, but you don't ever seem to have a chance? Grab that writing book you've been meaning to get to, or explore the writing website you found but haven't yet read.

Fill your feverish little noggin with writing articles and podcasts.

And hey--if you're sick RIGHT NOW, and this writing retreat thing appeals to you, there's an online writing conference happening, the Self-Publishing Success Summit, which is free for a limited time. I've caught a few interviews and am definitely enjoying it! Perfect timing for sick little me! (I don't know when it stops being free, so run check it out!)

#4: Fall into an excellent novel.

This is a great time to dive deep into a book. Declare a reading holiday! 

Pick up a novel that's like the one you're trying to write, and as you soak in the words, push yourself to think like a writer.

Pay attention to where the plot tightens up, to how the character relationships unfold, to whether you want to keep reading (in spite of being sick!), or where the tension slacks off and you'd rather nap.

Jot down page numbers for where the description is spot on, or that perfect way they opened Chapter 14. Make a few notes, so that when you're back at your desk, you can analyze that good writing.

(If you can't keep your eyes open: let a quality audio book send you to sleep. Fill your dreams with superb sentences.)

#5: Have yourself a movie festival.

Find a few movies about authors, or writing, or really--anything to do with books. (When I seriously can't work for one reason or another, it's still nice to give the writing life a big old hug. It helps remind me why I love this work... and that never hurts!) 

You could also dive into a handful of that kind of movie that reviewers call "visual feasts." (Or any other kind of feast, really!) Rewatch some quirky films that delight or inspire you. 

Have yourself an inspiration picnic, right there amid the tissues and cough drops. Get your imagination all revved up. Nourish the places that might have gone a little dry, while you were being so productive before. 

#6 Exercise your grace muscle by letting yourself off the hook.

Look. If you're really really sick, just put the work to one side. Let yourself sleep like crazy. Heal.

Because ultimately--and you know this if you've been around here a while--I'm all about taking good care of yourself as a person first, and as a writer second.

And honestly, illness is a good time for me to re-orient on this principle. 

Because when things are going super well, I can start believing this lie that says, if I check every box on schedule, I can have a perfect writing life.

And then when I get sick, I am tempted to believe that everything is ruined.

Well, frankly, it doesn't work like that. And I'm slowly learning that really good things can STILL happen, even when our plans wreck and our perfect little schedules hit a snag.

So give yourself a ton of grace. And maybe some balloons and flowers. Snuggle into bed. Your work will still be there when you get up. You'll find your way back into it. 

And no fellow lionheart will get all furious with you if you just take the time to get well. Okay? 

Okay then. 

On that note, I'm off to bed. And until I'm on my feet again, I'll be doing a bit of #3, #2, and #5.

What sounds good to you? What will you be up to?

Your Next Vacation Just Might Transform Your Writing Life

If you're itching to travel, but don't yet have a destination in mind, might I make a recommendation? (Of course I might. You know me. I totally WILL.) 

How about taking a literary trip? Go on a pilgrimage: Visit an author's home, a place where So-and-so penned their famous novels.

If you want a bunch of suggestions to get you ridiculously inspired, pick up this book: Novel Destinations. You'll have a zillion ideas at your fingertips, and you can do a bit of armchair traveling in the meantime.

Going on a literary trip just might change how you think of yourself as a writer.

Really.

How? 

Well, for starters, the things that we celebrate have a way of shaping us.

So, if you're having trouble in your writing, or if you're having a hard time accepting the writing life, it might be really good for you to seek out another writer's haunts.

To celebrate the books they wrote, all the words they put to paper over the years, the gift their work was to so many people.

You know? Whip your book-loving heart into a frenzy. Take a tour of a few writerly sites. 

And celebrate!! Let your word nerd out. 

And as you value all the work that this Famous Author did, let your respect for them nourish your relationship with your own writing. When you're standing there, let it hit you: How hard they worked. How long their haul was. The obstacles they overcame.

Kinda like how hard you are working. How long your haul is. The obstacles that you have overcome; the obstacles that you will overcome. The gift that your words are to others.

Celebrate their words. And as you're doing that, celebrate the writing life in general.

And your writing life especially.

Okay? 

So, go to the places where they wrote. 

That's step one.

Here's step two--and stick with me, because it's a little paradoxical:

Notice how ordinary these sites are.  

Can I say that? 

Obviously there are some exceptions. Sure. But for the most part: we're talking about some pretty normal-looking places. 

Have you ever had this experience:

You're exploring a historical site, or yes, an author's writing place. And you smile around at all the details that your guide is pointing out, or you're dutifully reading brochures and placards. 

And then this voice in you rises up to say, UM, it's just an old house? Or, it's just another room? Or, I've seen plenty of old places by now, is this any different?

You look at the view that inspired so many stories, and you think, Sure, it's nice, but it's just trees and some distant hills...?

And of course, we try to shut that voice up. It sounds ungrateful and rude and unappreciative. Uncultured.

... And I actually can't believe I just blogged about it. I really hope I'm not the only one who reacts this way. Please don't throw things at me.

Because I think that voice has a really good point.

It's easy to start thinking that other writers, famous writers, have stuff that we don't.

We immortalize them in our minds, enshrine them. Maybe without even realizing it. 

So it's easy to start thinking that the place where they wrote will be amazing, in some way. That it will carry some kind of power, some forceful inspiration. We might start thinking, If only I had a place like that--then I could write.

When I was traveling in England, I stood outside the door of one of Jane Austen's residences in Bath. (For some reason, we couldn't go inside--I think it was already closed for the day or something.)

But I stared up at it and thought, Well, it's beautiful and all, but spoiler alert, ALL of Bath is beautiful. At that point in the trip, it looked just like all the other doors. 

Same thing happened when I saw the room where C.S. Lewis worked in Cambridge. It didn't have golden light pouring out of it, no fauns sticking their heads out and waving, no lions roaring. It was another window, like all the rest, looking down at this peaceful little courtyard (which was definitely lacking an eternal winter). Like all the rest.

There's no magic in the places where they lived--however inspiring they may have or have not been. There's no special spark we can soak up.

And that is exactly my point. 

We are the magic! We're the special spark! You, my lionhearted writing friend! You, and your crazy imagination and all the things you care about, all the stuff in you that turns into stories somehow. You're the magic. And so am I.

These places inspired these writers because they were working. Because they kept at it. 

In spite of dreary weather and long struggles and not enough money and lots of interruptions. 

Even if you'd like to argue that these writers had genius: well, genius doesn't write books.

It has to be disciplined, it still has to put in the time, and it has to fight against all those other character flaws that come with genius. 

So let's be done with the kind of thinking that says: they could, but not me.

Let's just LET THAT GO.

Okay? Can we agree to that?

So here's the plan: Go find a famous writer's famous writing site. Go visit.

And when you stand where that Famous Writer stood, go ahead and feel the rush. Connect to your writing life in a good way. Celebrate!

Celebrate the writers that came before you, who inspired you. And celebrate the writer that you already are.

Then let yourself see how ordinary it is. Even if their ordinary is different from your ordinary: notice that it isn't actually magic, however lovely or peaceful or chaotic or colorful or whatever. 

And step three, the kicker:

Find a little bench, a curb, some place to sit. 

And write something. 

It's the perfect culmination of your visit! It celebrates and honors the Famous Writer. It celebrates and honors the Writing You. And at the same time it says, this isn't a shrine. It is a place where writing happened, and where writing will keep on happening.

So write.

It can just be notes of the place where you're sitting. It can be a record of whatever the guide just said. It can be describing how totally inspiring/uninspiring the place itself is. 

Or maybe it will be the start of a new project. An unexpected scrap of poetry that makes your fingers tingle. An essay that captures a little shard of your heart. 

Or hey. I'm a big dreamer: Maybe it's the seed of the novel idea that will, one day, bring hundreds and thousands of people to visit your stomping grounds.

Yes?? 

Yeah. That's what I thought. 

Why It's Okay to Look Like an Idiot (Or, the Writer Is a Traveler)

Here in the midwest, it is definitely SUMMER. The days are sun-dazzled (or fiercely thunderstorming), and sticky with humidity. At night, the bats and fireflies take over the backyard, and fat junebugs whap against the windows. It all puts me in the mood for ice cream cones, barbecue, the smell of fireworks, and...

You know. A big VACATION.

Right?

Besides heat, summer is always synonymous with vacation. Traveling. Getaways.

I love to travel. Soaking in the atmosphere of some Other Place. Listening for the accents, changes in idioms, new conversation topics, or heck, a whole new language.

I like to see how the light feels different, to feel the switch in climate. I revel in all the sights, unfamiliar streets, new architecture. 

Best of all, I love how it changes the air in my brain. You know? Suddenly you're thinking new thoughts. When you're in a new place, a new context--

You get a chance to be a whole different person. 

It's kinda like being a writer.

Yes? Every time I sit down to work on a novel, I feel like I kind of unbutton part of my personality. I do a conscious context shift. I shiver into another kind of skin, another kind of mental place. 

And when I wrap up a writing session, there's that disorienting sense of coming back home. That muzzy, jet-laggy brain. And all the familiar objects seem a little strange, a little off.  

Okay. But then, there's this other side to traveling. 

To be honest, there's a lot about traveling that I honestly DON'T love.

I know. Super un-cool of me. But there it is.

I am not a big fan of hassle. I get a bit stressed when maps are pulled out. 

And when it comes to being daring in new places: I am about one-quarter brave and three-quarters big fat chicken. (I'm working on changing that ratio.)

I know it's very unsexy of me, but I actually enjoy routine, reliability, and certainty. I usually don't love surprises.

Like, say, the massive detour you weren't expecting because you're already exhausted and haven't had dinner and your bladder is about to explode. (Right? Anyone?)

Travel means being out of my element. And sometimes it means, being lost, staring around for some signage, pulling out the dreadful travel guide or phrase book...

Sometimes, travel means looking like an idiot.

Advertising the fact that you literally don't know where you're going or what you're doing.

It means being at the mercy of a whole bunch of other forces. (Rain, poor signage, crappy websites, hand-drawn maps, other travelers, extremely unpleasant restrooms, the locals, the germs of the person behind you on the plane...)

Huh. 

Kinda like being a writer.

I don't know about you, but when I started writing full-time, one of the things I most wanted was an ultra-clear, ultra-calm map. An infallible guide to this whole process.

Some very chill person with total authority, who would step in and say: Don't worry. This whole situation is totally under control. No muss. No fuss. 

But honestly, a lot of writing--for me at least--involves feeling like an idiot. 

Like I don't have the brains to write a clear sentence, let alone a chapter. (And never mind a novel, just don't, because that's like sprinting up Everest alone and without training.)

The writing life is full of uncertainties and massive detours. It yanks me out of my element time and again, forcing me to go somewhere that I'd rather not go. 

Sometimes, I get lost. I scramble for my best writing guides, and have agonized conversations with my best writing friends, and still end up feeling like I don't know which way is north. 

Sometimes with writing, I don't know what I'm doing.

The wonderful thing is that: I know why I endure the discomforts of travel. It's not about the creepy gas station toilet experience. Or the night I was pretty sure I was being sold to human traffickers. Or getting lost late at night in a place where I didn't know more than seven words of the language. 

(Though it all makes for great stories.)

I love travel because the process of it shapes me. Letting go of familiarity changes who I am, and how I see myself. 

And whether it's comfortable or very much not: the experience stretches me, broadens me, makes me new.

And that is worth it. 

(As are the amazing views and wonderful food and instant friends and the crazy stories and other incredible experiences...)

And as for writing: well. I endure the discomfort for the same reasons. 

Because after laboring up the steep hill of not knowing what the heck I'm writing, I sometimes reach a place where suddenly I see. And suddenly I know.

And that just fills me up. It makes me crazy-happy, delirious, and like this is the only thing I want to do.

Right? Have you found that you can go from total uncertainty to total clarity about the themes in your work, or the way the plot will unkink at the end, or who the characters really are... and isn't that an incredible moment? 

The process of writing--it changes me. All the thinking and working and fighting to see things clearly: it all scrapes the edges off of me. 

Writing--like travel--returns me to myself feeling a bit new.

And that is worth it.

(As are the amazing love of words and the wonderful books we get to read and the instant friends and the crazy stories and other incredible experiences.)

This July, we'll be teasing out the relationships between writing and traveling.

The overt ones (like what to read on a trip; how to write when you're on the road; how travel sharpens our observation skills), and the more metaphorical (like traveling the worlds of our own stories--woo!; or dealing with the culture shock of becoming a writer).

We'll be traveling, exploring, and getting all wanderlusty with our words. 

I'm stoked.

Because I'm convinced that travel can echo, illuminate, and shape our writing--our writing habits, our mindsets, our writerly hearts, and oh yes, our bravery.

Bravery! (You knew I was going to come back to that, didn't you, lionheart?)

So pack a pen and a notebook, gather a bit of courage, and let's do this.

Are You Ridiculously in Love with Your Writing? Or, Um, Not?

How do you feel about what you write?

I'm not asking about the quality of it: we all wade through the crappy first (secondthirdfourthfifth) drafts. That's normal and understood.

I'm talking about the actual topic. The genre. The style. The guts of your writing. The center of your universe of words.

How do you feel about it? 

I'm hoping that your answer is along these lines: 

I love, love, LOVE it, Lucy. Maybe I don't have all the plot stuff figured out, and I'm still working on a lot of it. But the world I've created with these words, and the main things that I'm talking about, and the kinds of characters I've created, and the genre that this all operates in, and the style of my sentences... I can't get enough. I'm loving this.

Is that you, saying all that? I really hope so. But if not: I get it. I totally understand.

For a long time, I couldn't have said any of that.

When I started writing full time, I felt pulled in two directions.

First: I wanted to be a clever writer. I had just studied all kinds of beautiful literature in college. I honestly loved reading Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath. Sylvia Plath's poetry gave me chills. We read so many brilliant short stories that did astonishing things with their sentences.

I felt like, to be a SERIOUS writer, to feel PROUD of what I'm writing, to be able to hold my head up when I'm saying what I do: Then I should write that kind of thing. Clever, prize-winning sentences.

Then, there was the other direction. When I got stressed out, I would always read kid lit. And complicated, beautiful YA fantasy. And smart, funny, middle grade adventure novels.

That's what I read when no one was looking, what I read for fun, what just plain made me happy.

So, I thought, I should write that. Probably I should write that.

So I started writing this young adult fantasy.

But not whole-heartedly. Because I was SO EMBARRASSED. 

Whenever someone asked about my writing and my work, I had a zillion apologetic ways of slanting what I wrote. Trying to sound smart and clever about it, while also trying to cover up the truth about my novel. 

I ended up sounding very sheepish. And like someone was forcing me to write this silly crap. And like I pretty much hated my writing.

Guess what. I ended up pretty much hating my writing. 

And hating my writing life.

It was a grim season.

It took me a long time to realize what I was doing to myself (and to my poor work-in-progress!). 

I was letting other people determine the value of what I wrote. 

And--even worse than that--I was guessing at what they would think about what I wrote. I decided beforehand that they would think it was ridiculous, and then I gave my long cringing apology.

Ack! Ick! No, no, no. 

This is not the kind of writing life we want. Right, lionhearts? 

Here's an incredible, powerful quote from Ray Bradbury. Read this slowly, and think about your writing life, your current project, the things that you love to read. All that. Here you go:

Love. Fall in love and stay in love.
Write only what you love, and love what you write.
The key word is love. 

Are you getting that? 

We can't write to suit someone else's idea of what is acceptable. What is "worth" reading or writing. We can't try to please other people with our choice of genre or style. 

When I read a novel that I just flat-out LOVE, I am not trying to impress anyone with my choice of loving. I'm not trying to seem all clever. I'm just loving what I love. Because I love it. 

A sense of what I SHOULD or SHOULD NOT appreciate... well, that really doesn't come into it.

The same is true of what I'm writing. 

I am now happily writing a middle grade adventure trilogy. And I'm putting characters in that I just adore, who are quirky and funny and strange and full of secrets. I'm adding crazy details (I've mentioned the telepathic lizards?).

I'm building a storyworld based on love, on my love for this book, and not based on anything else.

And now, when someone asks what I write, I tell them honestly. I tell them that I love it. That showing up for work feels like an adventure. That it's exactly the kind of trilogy I would have eaten up when I was in sixth grade. 

I don't apologize. I don't try to sound super clever, like I'm a really impressive little genius.

I'm frank and clear and direct. 

And guess what happens. No one says, "Sorry, but you're not smart enough to keep talking to me."

Actually, people sound a little . . . jealous. A little envious.

Because my full-time work sounds thrilling and funny and interesting and exciting. (WHICH IT TOTALLY IS.)

No apologies necessary. Imagine that.

So what are you apologizing for? Are you trying to justify your choice of story, your genre, your style, your anything? Do you feel sheepish about any part of your writing life? 

Today I'm inviting you to just let that GO. Get rid of it. 

If you're writing something out of some weird internal obligation or some sense of what you ought to be writing--maybe shelve that project. Or radically change it, into something you madly love. 

If you're writing something you like, but feel ashamed of that: kick that sense of shame OUT. It's not serving you or your work. And it might not even be based on anything real. Okay?

Let's decide to just love what we love. To love what we write.

To operate from that excitement, that energy, that truth about who we are as writers and artists. 

I double-dare you to be passionate and unapologetic when you talk about your work this weekend.

---

If you want an even bigger pep-talk about how to deal with other people, check out this post on how to talk about your writing (without throwing up).

And, if you're struggling to figure out what kinds of stuff you love to write (because we can get so muddled, right??), read this post on getting permission to play. 

I'm Declaring Today a Reading Holiday

Stephen King wrote, "If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There's no way around these two things that I'm aware of, no shortcut."

Let's all just stand and applaud that clarity, okay? 

I love that. I totally agree with that.

But can I tell you something? I'm so bad at making time to read. 

In spite of LOVING to read, my reading life has been pretty much crap for the last three months. I mean, I read here and there, a smidge at a time... but nothing like what I want. I'm pecking at it, not gulping.

And now and then, I really need to gulp. I need to drown a bit in words. 

I met a woman once who, now and then, would clear her schedule for a day. Run the errands early, get the dog taken care of, have everything settled, just as if she were going to be out of town for the day. And then she'd just read. 

Hero status granted.

I admire that. I love that. And I'll insist on anyone's right to read, to read all day.

AND YET. I have this weird resistance, a difficulty giving myself permission. 

ACK! Why is that?! Is it because reading was an escape for so much of my life--a way to relax and unwind. So, does it feel like I'm dodging work? Pffft.

Whatever the reason, that kind of resistance to reading doesn't belong in this writer heart! It's not at all what Lucy Flint stands for, as I hope you know by now.

So. Today, I'm declaring a reading holiday. June 12.

Me & a novel. I'll clear the schedule. I'll devote myself to reading.

You're welcome to join me. In fact, please do! Invite friends! Let's all do this serious wonderful work of reading together. Let's all give each other permission. 

(And tell me what you're reading in the comments!)

The Best Job in the World

When I'm good and happy with my writing project, when I've had a solid two weeks of decent output, regular insights, normalish emotions, then I'm ready to put a cherry on top of everything and declare writing the best job in the world.

I mean, it is, right? (Especially if we've been practicing delight.)

We're so lucky. Our job means that we can fill to the brim with the beauty of words and the transcendence of narrative. We learn from all the great writers: we get to read and taste and mimic.

And at the end of the day, all our days, we are making more books. More shared ideas. More fascinating characters. We're supplying textbooks for living. For ourselves and our fellow humans.

In his wonderful book On Writing, Stephen King says that writing is "telepathy, of course." 

Because when something is described by the writer on the page, and then received by the reader:  Welp, telepathy is exactly that that is. King writes:

"This is what we're looking at, and we all see it. I didn't tell you. You didn't ask me. I never opened my mouth and you never opened yours. We're not even in the same year together, let alone the same room . . . except we are together. We're close. We're having a meeting of the minds."

Um... I LOVE THAT. A meeting of the minds.

Writing is telepathy. And more than that: Stephen King wrote those words in Maine, in 1997. I'm typing them here, at a suburb of St. Louis in 2015, at my huge black desk (strewn with five separate beverages; four open books with more on the floor; a positive cascade of notes on scraps of paper; dozens of writing instruments; a lamp; a partially buried paperweight).

And then you're reading it, wherever you are...

So it's telepathy. And kinda teleportation. And time travel too.

Words can go anywhere: they have no borders, not really, not anymore. We writers have long arms, hands that can reach anywhere, that can reach forward in time--who knows how far? 

And what's in those hands?

Books. Words. Stories. Ideas. Dialogue. Characters. Images. 

People will read what we've written, and they'll look up in surprise and say, That's me. This person is writing about me. I'm seeing myself in this story.

They'll read our pages and say: Someone understands. Someone else has been there. Someone gets it.

We're giving courage to other people. Courage to face their own days, courage to go forward. Through our words, we get to hold hands with people who are suffering. People in need. 

We're giving them what we have--the best we have. 

We have the best job in the world. And it isn't writing, not really, not exactly. 

The best thing is to love other people. 

To reach out, to hold hands, to stay connected, to be humans, to talk about living.

To give courage, insight, guidance. To say, Yes! Do that! Go! Or to say, No, don't go that way, please, you'll regret it.

As writers, we are both the Listeners and the Speakers. And through all our words, we're communicating love, essentially.

Is that weird to say?

Here, if the word love creeps you out, read this quote, from William Faulkner's Nobel Prize acceptance speech:

"It is [the writer's] privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail."

Right? Right??? THAT.

The best job in the world. Giving other people what they need. Spending our time and energy to meet those needs.

Our medium happens to be words--stories, characters, images, conflict. We happen to be dealing with tales and novels and fiction.

"Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Tell Gregory a story. Make some light." -- Kate DiCamillo, The Tale of Despereaux

The real job, the best job, is reaching other people. Lifting their hearts. Bringing light.

The Goal When Things Are Going Well

When life gets extra hard, have you ever looked back at the calm before the storm--the bright times--and thought: Wow. I had it so good, and I didn't even know. I had no idea!

Yes? Me too. 

And usually I'm looking back at a time that was simply ordinary. Plain old normal. But normalcy takes on an extraordinary sweetness when life goes crazy, right? 

Wouldn't it be great if we could lean in closer to that normalcy, if we could appreciate the ordinary, while we still have it? If we could hold on to the days when everything is fine, when life and work are humming along?

And then--take it a step further. Because when things in our writing, in our lives, are going well, it's an opportunity.

It's a chance for us to run faster. 

To work without fear. To dive into the deepest places. To stretch further. To open our hearts wider. To risk more.

During the month of June, we're going to focus on where things are going right. And we'll take full advantage of them.

After all, it's the month of summer solstice (for the northern hemisphere at least! sorry, southerners!). The month of light and warmth.

Is there anything more ordinary and yet more wonderful than full summer sunshine?

So we'll celebrate the goodness, the richness.

And then we'll focus on strength. Building on what's going well. Taking advantage of all that solar power, turning light and heat into good power.

Because when you're strong, when your writing muscles are all warmed up, you are primed to cover some serious ground. When life is calm, you have a chance to become more flexible, to try more things, to attempt flight.

It's a month of brilliance and optimism. 

Let's talk about the bright times. Let's make much of the sunshine. And then let's get crazy strong.

When Writer's Revenge Backfires

When I was in college, there was a girl that I, um, didn't get along with.

We were thrown together a lot, and she made me crazy. Almost literally.

She had a constantly demoralizing effect on me, reducing me from a happy-enough, confident-enough student into this ... mess. 

(One day I saw her coming down the hall of the science building. Before she could see me, I ducked into a nearby bathroom, and as I waited for the coast to clear, I watched in the mirror as my face broke into hives. I don't think anyone else has had that kind of effect on me.)

So, fast forward two years, when I wrote my first novel. And needed to put a minor antagonist in. Her personality suggested itself instantly.

AHA, I thought. Finally. All that suffering can have a purpose! 

I can put every character trait of hers right into my novel. She'd be the perfect disruption of the plot, the perfect wrench in my protagonist's plans.

And THEN, I can give my protagonist all the things I should have said. I can let her do all the things I should have done while this girl made my life a living hell.

Writer's revenge. We all know about this, right?

If life hands you a jerk, you get to use them in a book. That's the deal.

And that's what I set out to do.

I got her physical appearance down to a tee. All her worst character flaws (which was all of them, frankly, because I couldn't see a single redeemable thing about her in real life): there on paper. Marching through scenes. Mucking up my protagonist's life.

And then--I got into trouble. A lot of trouble.

And it's probably not what you think.

See, I believe in good books. Good stories. And that means stories with three-dimensional characters.

I don't buy characters that are pure evil, pure good, all terrible, all wonderful. I try not to write them, and I don't care to read about them either.

Which meant that I had to explore this antagonist's personality. This girl that I skewered so wonderfully with my words: I had to balance out her character.

This is not something I wanted to do, but the book demanded it. The story needed her to live and breathe as a real, rounded character.

As I considered ways to make her character more dynamic, I had to graft in slightly less-horrendous character traits. I gave her a really decent line or two. I made her take a stand against a worse character. I gave her just the slightest bit of redemption at the end.

It was hard work. It forced me to scrape the depths of my writerly generosity. 

And that's when it all happened, when it totally backfired, when it blew up in my face:

It made me reconsider the girl herself. The girl I hated so much.

I still shiver when I think of her, honestly. I still think she was pretty messed up, and if you put me in the same room with her, you'd see me claw my way through an air duct to get out.

But. Thanks to the work I did with her in my novel, I can now imagine that there's more to her real story. There were probably some terrible forces in her life that made her the way she was. I'm guessing some pretty ugly crap must have happened to her. 

I'm even willing to believe--just barely willing, but willing nonetheless--that there is something redeemable in her. That somewhere in her scabby soul, she has done something good. That she isn't pure awful.

I might even be mustering up a wisp of forgiveness or two. I might be letting it go, all of it, all the infuriating moments, all the insanity.

Writer's revenge. Approach it carefully.

It just might change your heart a bit.

A Survival Guide to Life Outside the Comfort Zone: Part Two

Two weeks ago, we started this discussion about stretching beyond where we're comfortable. If you missed that post, check it out for four more tips.

How are you doing, traveler? How's it going, stretching into new skills, facing your own awkwardness? 

I don't know about you, but my comfort zone is fairly small--it's a dwelling place, after all, not a county, not a continent.

When I leave it behind, the world is wide. 

And the survival guide should probably be a bit longer. 

So, if you too are exploring the world beyond familiarity, here are a few more tips for us all to keep in mind:

FIVE: Start small.

If you take off running, just barreling out of your comfort zone into the land beyond, you might get pretty far. You really might. And maybe you're the kind of person that would do just fine out there.

For me, I need to take it at a steady calm walk. Or possibly a crawl. Sometimes I just inch forward.

I've learned that I need new ideas to marinate in my brain a little. If you just pull the rug out from under how I do things, I usually end up screeching. And not really growing.

But if I have a little time, I can warm up a bit. I have a better shot at making it stick. I take it bit by bit.

So when I'm facing the great unknown, I take a deep breath, look down at my toes, and just take a teeny step. 

It's still progress. It's still forward. And I'm warming up the skills I'll need later--when I start to jog, when I begin to run.

SIX: Nurture your curiosity.

Curiosity is there to make bridges. Curious is what gets us to the other side of a question. And it's one of our best weapons when it comes to facing the unfamiliar or the uncomfortable.

But what if you don't feel curious about, say, learning a new strategy for outlining your novel? What if you don't feel curious about writing a memoir, or about posting flash fiction on your blog?

You might have to wheedle a bit. Just like you might encourage a child who very stubbornly and very certainly does not want to do something (sit on the potty chair, go to the classroom, get into the car, get out of the car).

Have you done this? Listen to the things you say: Hey, what's that over in the corner? It looks interesting, it looks fun, let's go check it out. I bet your doll would like to go over there and play. Let's go see. Let's see what it's like.

Take that same tone--patient, focusing on possibilities--with yourself. 

Start prodding different parts of the project. Start saying, Hey, what's that? A new technique? It looks interesting. It looks fun. 

And as the rest of you protests--lower lip out, I don't wanna!!!--insist on becoming curious.

Curious about how the new outlining strategy might look on your story--about the possibilities it might uncover. Curious about how a memoir might reframe your perspective on your present. Curious about flash fiction as a form, even if posting it terrifies you.

Tell yourself, Let's go see.

(You can fake curiosity too, in a pinch. Fake it long enough, and it might become real.)

SEVEN: Focus on gratitude.

A few months ago, I started learning some yoga moves. The resistance in my head about this was massive. And inwardly--as I started warming up--I'd make my list for all the reasons why this was a bad idea:

I'm not flexible, I'm not strong enough, it hurts to hold these poses, it probably looks really dumb, I'm bored already, this is so hokey, I could be doing something else right now, are my hands supposed to slip?, I'm going to injure something, I don't think this is how it goes...

And on and on and on. 

Until one day when I remembered a woman I know. She's suffering from a progressive disease, and she can't move easily at all. She needs a cane to walk (if she's feeling well enough to walk that day).

She has more bad days than good days. 

I thought of her one day as I was warming up, and it transformed my whole workout. 

What wouldn't she give, to be able to do what I was doing? Even as badly as I was doing it?

I realized I was so fortunate. And I felt grateful for a body that could move at all. Glad to have the ability to do any of the moves, even though I was just a beginner.

Even the simplest stretch filled my heart with thankfulness for my working arms, my working legs.

See what I mean? Whatever it is that you are doing, whatever you are pressing into: Think of the people who would trade their teeth to be able to do that same thing. Who would welcome the challenge of it, because they would be so glad to be able to do it.

Bring some of that gratitude into this journey outside your comfort zone. Reframe the struggle. See the grace.

EIGHT: Celebrate every milestone. (And have a broad definition of milestone.)

It's a heroic thing that you're doing. Now and then, come up for air. Pause. Look around at the new view you've discovered, at the new behaviors, the new skills.

Declare it a milestone. 

Pop some champagne and have a picnic. Take celebratory photos. Sing some songs.

You have come this far. And you will go farther. And that's worth a toast or two.

Borrow the Best Advice from Another Discipline

One of the loveliest ways to grow as a writer: Listen to a talented non-writer talk about what they do.

It's amazing how your sense of creativity expands. How you get new ideas for ways to solve problems. How your appreciation for other art forms helps you write more dimensionally.

This is why TED talks are so great. I've only listened to J.J. Abrams talk about mystery boxes seven hundred times. And then there's the amazing designer Kelli Anderson and her pursuit of disruptive wonder. (Listen as she talks about "the hidden talents of everyday things," and see if that doesn't get you rethinking what's possible in a novel!)

What about documentaries? (I'm not the only writer who was insanely inspired by Jiro Dreams of Sushi!) I just found Chef's Table and The Mind of a Chef on Netflix, and I'm thrilled. I can just feel the creativity bubbling: they're looking at ingredients from every angle, and I find myself translating, thinking about new ways to consider characters, settings, conflict...

What about learning from master pruner Marco Nucera? This man shapes trees for a living, and he's darned good at it. This except from the totally gorgeous book Educating Alice:

"He has a natural talent for seeing the shapes in trees and bushes," she said. "There is a poetic quality to his work as well as a theoretical one. Both are equally important." ... "I wanted to keep the natural shape of the tree, but bring out its line," he explained. "Trees each have their own strong character. Landscape pruning is like being a sculptor of trees." 

Yeah, they're talking about trees. But somehow, reading that, all I can think of is revision. Listening to the work, instead of just hacking away. Being a sculptor of words. Balancing the poetry with the theory. 

Or what about this--think about your writing life as you read these words:

"Don't overestimate the skill and wisdom of professionals. Take advantage of what you already know. Look for opportunities that haven't yet been discovered. ... Ignore short-term fluctuations." 

It's advice on evaluating the stock market, written by Peter Lynch. But I hear it as a way of trusting your gut with writing, as a way to investigate your own work, and to look for places to keep pushing it. And ignoring the short-term fluctuations of my I love this/I hate this reaction to the work. 

Isn't it about writing too? 

Especially this line:

"Stick around to see what happens--as long as the original story continues to make sense, or gets better--and you'll be amazed at the results in several years."

It's how he judges stock picks, but it's how I think of some of my revision projects as well.

It's so energizing, borrowing perspective from other fields of work. I'm pretty convinced that when we only listen to other writers, all our advice gets stale and reused and dull. 

Borrow from some non-writing creative thinkers this weekend. People who are talking about skills other than writing, other than story-making. 

How are other craftsmen solving their creative problems? How do other disciplines grow in their craft? 

Who can you learn from this weekend?