2018 Gift Guide for Feisty Writers

It’s that time of year again, and we’ve compiled another fantastic list of gift ideas from our Feisty team for your favorite writer.

Lisa Franek’s Gift Ideas:

1. Literary Insults Chart $25

a chart of literary insults

For those times when your words fail you, you can turn to the masters for a quippy turn of phrase when you need it most.

2. Scrivener $45

Scrivener software logo

I bought this writing program several years ago and haven’t looked back since. It’s perfect for organizing long-form works (like novels, screenplays, plays, and so on), and formats like a dream. Every writer should have it.

 3. “Tequila Mockingbird” by Tim Federle and Lauren Mortimer $10

the book cover for Tequila Mockingbird book

For your writer friends who like a little spirit with their story, this book is full of fun recipes to try (Are You There God? It’s Me, Margarita.). Just remember: Write drunk, but edit sober.

Lisa Whalen’s Gift Ideas:

1. The INFJ Writer by Lauren Sapala
Book Cover for The INFJ Writer book
Though aimed at INFJs (on the Myers Briggs Personality Type Indicator), it’s a helpful guide to the writing process for all writers, especially introverts. It’s encouraging and offers exercises for inspiration and overcoming writer’s block.
2.The Emotion Thesaurus and The Negative Trait Thesaurus by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi.
book covers for Emotion Thesaurus and twoother books by same authors

 

These books will help you develop believable characters and avoid using the same descriptive phrase repeatedly.

3. Power Structure Storytelling Software

Power Structure logo

This easy-to-learn program offers a variety of ways to consider and shape any story. Writers can isolate or link features that include line graphs for plot, flash cards for character traits, arcs for character development, tabs for chapters and sections, and word processing for the actual text.
a picture of two mugs for writers

Their selection of mugs expresses our sentiments exactly.

 

Marijke McCandless’s Gift Ideas:

1. “Educated” by Tara Westover
Book Cover for Educated

2. “Tarot for Writers” by Corrine Kenner

Book Cover for Tarot for Writers

3.“H is for Hawk” by Helen MacDonald

Book Cover for H is for Hawk

A great memoir illustrating how to take a niche passion (Goshawk training) and build a true story for everyone.

Marni Freedman’s Gift Ideas:

The logo for Audible, an Amazon Company
Writers can use it to download audiobooks, magazines, and newspapers to their computer, tablet or phone.
Use the above link to get 50% off the first three months.
Necklace that says I am not afraid, I was born to do this
Book Cover for Excuses Begone
This is a great book when you are wondering how to actually change old thinking that can sabotage your writing like “I’m too old/too young,” “I’m too busy/tired,” “Who am I do write a book?” or “I can’t change my habits, this is the way I’ve always done it.” It’s the kind of book you can keep by your bedside and reread the sections that will gently challenge your old thinking and charge you up as you nurture your passion.

Paula Margulies’s Gift Ideas:

1. Archangel Gabriel Oracle Cards by Doreen Virtue

A picture of Archangel Gabriel Oracle Cards

These gorgeous cards are great for creativity, teaching, and parenting. I bought mine at the temple on Meditation Mountain in Ojai and really love them (they’re spiritual, but not overly religious).
2. Writing gloves from Storiarts
picture of writing gloves
This website features scarves, bags, and other items with words from famous works of fiction on them, but I love the writing gloves (with fingertips cut out) for typing on cold mornings. A portion of the proceeds goes to LitWorld, a non-profit organization dedicated to tackling illiteracy worldwide.
3. T-shirts, socks, and onesies from Out of Print
Little Golden Books t-shirt
Out of Print has clothing for lovers of all things literary. If you know anyone expecting, check out the cute assortment of onesies featuring children’s book titles.

Tracy Jones’ Gift Ideas:

a photo of The Wild Unknown Tarot Deck
One of my clients brought these to my writers’ retreat, and I loved them! Each of the seventy-eight cards is gorgeous with hand-drawn, striking images that explore the mysteries of the natural world and animal kingdom. It also comes with a beautiful guidebook. Try asking your character a question or how to structure a scene and see what the tarot inspires.
A photo of Blessings Gratitude cards
In our chaotic times, it often takes practice and dedication to find joy and peace. This is my gift to myself this holiday season to keep focused and grateful on what matters in life: healthy, family, friends, and writing!
Photo of cross pen
A client recently gave me a Cross pen, and I was brought back in time to receiving an engraved one from my grandparents when I graduated high school. It’s long lost now, but the memory remains. I had forgotten what a real pen feels like and it’s a delight to write with. If you’re like every writer I know who is always searching for a pen, treat yourself. (The engraving makes this a great gift!)
Photo Credit to Feisty bloggers and Amazon.com

The Sacred Truth

A self portrait of the son of Guest Blogger, ELizabeth Eshoo as he looks for truthI cracked open. I was sprawled out on the oblong yoga cushion like Jesus on the cross—arms wide and chest towards the heavens—as my yoga instructor’s guided meditation took me back to the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro. I saw the yolky sunrise break through the ink-black sky, remembering the night I spent so close to the summit. I felt the frigid numbness in my toes, fingers, and eyeballs. I felt the power of that moment, standing on the roof of Africa more than twenty-five years ago like I was back there fully.  

Our instructor, Kimberly Joy, said something like, “Go to your sacred place,” and it took all of a second for me to be there. Whatever she said next, maybe “What’s sacred to you?” broke me wide open.  I was sobbing, convulsing with emotion, my spine still pinned to the yoga cushion, my heart on full display, and raw emotion spilling out into the unfamiliar yoga studio. 

The Truth

My brain had connected the sacred moment atop Kilimanjaro to my most sacred self—being a Mother. The weeks of stress and strain I’d been carrying around with me in the form of impatience with my 17-year-old son, Alex, transformed. Right there, in the little yoga room, I fell into deep belly sobbing that illuminated the reason behind my terrible mood.

Alex is leaving the nest. My nest, our nest, the one I’ve so joyfully built and tended these past seventeen years. My firstborn child is months away from flying the coop, albeit to a wondrous place, no doubt. But my truth spilled out of my heart as I laid it all on the floor of this unfamiliar place.

I tried to stop crying and couldn’t. Kim placed her warm hands on my head, massaging my scalp, pouring her tenderness over me. At the end of the session, when I was finally able to stop bawling and articulate what had happened, I was taken aback. I realized this struggle I’d been having with Alex, with his lack of urgency over college essay writing and looming application deadlines, was really more about the impending, inevitable moment when he leaves for college. Ah-ha. Clarity. Truth. Relief.

The Enlightenment

I surprised myself in this unexpected moment. I thought I’d be having a relaxing hour of stretching and breathing during a restorative yoga session. Instead, I had a life-changing moment of enlightenment that brought much-needed awareness to me. Thankfully, Alex and I are on better soil now, working together on his writing, making progress and, surprisingly, I have been able to empower him to become his own storyteller—to use his authentic voice and to actually enjoy the process. So much so, in fact, that now he is helping his friends find their stories, tossing aside the canned, predictable tales of teenagers for the deeper, more reflective ones that often sprout from solitary moments. Teaching Alex to become a thoughtful storyteller feels like one of the most important lessons I’ve passed along to him.

Storytelling is what makes us human. It seems like it has never been more essential. I feel like all of the sudden, I am submerged in all things story. I’ve been inspired by the courage of others telling their powerful and heart-wrenching stories of the #MeToo Movement, the Parkland stories of terror and survival, and Dr. Ford’s stunning testimony to the Senate about a night she will never forget, and now, we won’t either.

The Empowerment

I find that I am drawn to reading memoir again with a new sense of urgency. I am motivated to finish my own ten years in the making memoir, while my daily dog walks serve as brainstorming sessions for my next book or two. A fellow writer asked me to help her sift through her life stories to pluck the gems out and find the scaffolding to display her valuable life in the most authentic way. Even the support group I’ve attended for years to help me manage my daughter’s epilepsy is now using storytelling as a tool to cope with the unpredictable nature of the disease. I am swimming in words and stories, and I feel Powerful.

As if that wasn’t enough, I had a book signing—a book launch party and a reading from an anthology of stories with 29 other writers. Sharing my story, the “Maasai in the Mirror,” allowed me for one evening to step inside the skin of a published author and feel what it is like to be exposed and adored. Sharing this magical evening with my fellow authors, I had no fear, surprisingly. I felt joyful, delighted, happy, thrilled, energized, surprised, nurtured, welcomed and yes…Empowered. Moments before I stood before the group of incredibly enthusiastic readers, book buyers, friends, family and total strangers who were so happy to be there, the butterflies flitted for a few moments. Then I was up and being introduced by the MC who happened to be my editor. Her kind words boosted my confidence. I took hold of the microphone and began.

Let me back up a moment; I left out a crucial part of the yoga story. Kim, our yoga teacher, told me that when she saw me crying, or rather, before she saw me break down, she felt my guides surrounding me—lots of them—those were her words. It was a powerful presence—nurturing, protecting and swarming around me, providing loving energy to me at that moment. Later, I asked her what they looked like, and she had to think about it. “Definitely beings, but amorphous bundles of energy and light.” Sounds woo-woo, but honestly, I’ve always felt surrounded by something protective, and so I wasn’t surprised, just stunned that someone else saw them, too.

The Wrap-up

Back to the book reading. I stood at the front of the crowded room with the microphone in my hand and the “cluster of beads” the Maasai Warrior had given to me in my pocket for good luck—tangible evidence, even to myself that I had, in fact, come face to face with a warrior on that trip to climb Kilimanjaro. I began to read. The silence became loud as the noisy room settled into a low hum. I was transported back to Joe’s safari camp somewhere in the middle of the East African bush. I could feel the weight of my leather Raichle hiking boots on my feet, the sharp pain in my injured knee. I could smell the smoky scent of the campfire. And I could feel my guides surrounding me as I continued to read, remembering my fellow climbers: Catherine, NN, Dennis, Ribby, Eric, Bill, Mandy, and Laura. They were there with me, always, as is the sacredness of my peak moment on Kilimanjaro.

As is Mark, my loving husband, and my daughter Emily, my heart and soul. As is my incredible son Alex, who, no matter where he goes or however the rest of his story unfolds, will be with me in my heart, deeply embedded forever.

We need our stories. We need our sacred moments. We need our guides surrounding us so that we can feel empowered at this moment in history when the only thing that seems to matter is telling our sacred truths.

Read and Critique

emoji scale from angry to happyReading my work aloud, followed by a peppering of critiques, sounded like a college hazing to me. Minus the alcohol. However, I had agreed with my writing coach, published author and ridiculously talented playwright (her most recent work—A Jewish Joke—is moving east, Off Broadway), that my work was ripe for fresh ears. Her group convenes at a California seaside cottage belonging to a creative artist named Barbara.

A First Impression

On that first day—my blind date with this scholarly firing squad—I cradled the introduction of my non-fiction self-help book under my arm as I opened the gate to Barbara’s property. Her garden telegraphed Henri Rousseau—towering birds of paradise, pebbled paths, a lush green backdrop.

I opened the cottage door to a cozy living room. Women of all ages greeted me with smiles and welcoming noises. Their chorus of “Hi, come on in!” did nothing to calm my nerves. These writers looked harmless, but I feared the worst. After all, my flimsy introduction made no sense. My writing lacked clarity, relevance, and imagery. The perfect expression of my work had eluded me despite my years of on-again, off-again attempts.

Thanks to the heavy lifting of my writing coach and my years of indentured servitude to my own determination, I held the semblance of a rough draft. Despite my misgivings, in the recesses of my soul, I held onto the faint hope that my writing was pretty darned good. That I was “almost finished.” I imagined the group’s hints about grammar or sequence. But the realistic part of me suspected that I had “miles to go before I would sleep.”

As we mingled, I wandered through Barbara’s home. I admired the colorful mugs on her kitchen counter, the tangerines, and almonds offered as snacks, the bold oil paintings on her dining room walls.

Shaking the hands of my fellow creatives, I warmed to the idea that reading might be fun.

Then we convened. Our leader, my beloved writing coach, began with her hilarious and warm introduction. Personal stories were shared, reports on projects bandied about. Then the invitation, would I like to read? I cleared my throat, and read in my best professional voice.

Having conducted workshops for my counselor peers, having taught for decades, having counseled belligerent parents whose violence required a police presence, NONE of these experiences prepared me for the sharing of my written words. Feeling equal parts faint and nauseated, I read my introduction to the listening audience.

Later That Night

Arriving home after that first dive, I told my husband, “Maybe I’m not ready for this read and critique challenge.” He asked me to elaborate.

“They’re all very encouraging. Lots of ‘this process will help people’ and ‘your message is good,’ but I could feel my words dying as they left my mouth. Each sentence felt like torture. I HATED my own work.”

I explained that the group did offer editing nuggets: structural advice, conceptual criticism, grammar tips. But all this help would force  me back to the page in a way that made my head spin. I had SO hoped to be nearing the finish line. Instead, I was just hearing a starting gun.

Of course, other members had arrived with their hot-off-the-press prose. I’d acted as a beta-reader for one of the authors. The sharing of her hilarious romp through China had us hooting with laughter. Pitch perfect comedy. Her work is destined for the big screen.

Then the amazing memoirists—their ability to lift their personal plights to compelling narrative—brilliance. And a travel writer who had us salivating for our next adventure. Every single writer at the top of her game. Oh, and the witty journalist whose intelligence shines through her every muscular sentence. Not fair!

One of our authors is a playwright. Our collective jaws dropped when she re-enacted one woman’s experience of the Nuremberg trials, props and flawless German accent included. Dazzling talent, destined for greatness.

I reminded myself that I was not competing. It was an honor to be among these creative creatures.

I cried on my husband’s shoulder for a few more moments, but then I HAD to make an attempt. Bitten by the bug of creative compulsion, I locked myself in the study. I cut, tore and soldered words onto the page. Every day for a week, I entered
that study with grim determination. Then a return performance.

Nevertheless, I Persisted

Back to the garden of verses, my revised introduction in my sweaty hands. I began. My words flowed easily. The body and fender work had paid off. They laughed; they applauded; I blushed.

Now, months later, I still feel a frisson of excitement each time I open the gate to Barbara’s garden. I live for Thursday mornings.

I can hardly wait for the unfolding of each writer’s next chapter. And, of course, for their responses to whatever I managed to whittle into a block of writing for my next reading.

 

Phyllis Olins headshotPhyllis Olins holds a master’s degree in counseling and has trained extensively

in conflict mediation. She has had over 20 years of experience in applying conflict-mediation

strategies to dilemmas in all walks of life.

 

Phyllis’ book, The Conflict Crunch, will be released in the spring of 2019.

 

Three Reasons to Write About Things We Don’t Talk About

The logo for the San Diego Memoir ShowcaseWhen we were brainstorming ideas for themes for this year’s San Diego Memoir Showcase, one theme kept circling back: Things We Don’t Talk About. People loved the idea, except for one cranky writer who came up to me and asked, “I don’t get it, why in the world would we want to write about things we don’t talk about?”

The question made me think. I didn’t have an answer at that moment, so I let it percolate until I realized that for me, there are three reasons:

 

  1. It feels like setting a big bag of rocks down that you have been unknowingly lugging around for years.

    I have to admit; I am sort of addicted to the feeling now. I love to “let go” of rocks before they pile up and become too heavy. One writer described her experience to me a few weeks ago as a weight off her chest—as if she could more fully take an in breath, and more fully exhale—for no other reason than she put down in words what she thought she would never share.

  1. The fear of people knowing your deep, dark secret—of judging you, and blaming you—it all sort of dissipates.

    The truth is, yeah, others may know, and so what?  We all have stuff we think no one will understand. Either they will or they won’t, but by facing the faceless monster, you are taking away the monster’s power. It’s empowering as you realize you don’t need to run anymore, you can stand in the light of your truth.

  1. You are speaking for those who feel they have no voice. 

    I can’t tell you how many times when a writer has taken a risk and shared his or her truth that someone comes up to them and thanks them. I hear sentiments like, “Thank you for putting my experience into words,” or “I had something just like that happen to me—I thought it was just me,” or “I feel less alone after hearing what you wrote.”

These moments are such full circle moments—we hide because we think we are the only ones with that kind of pain, then we share it—to realize just how many have experienced a similar kind of pain. By sharing what we are most afraid to share, we create community, spark healing in others while we heal ourselves.

For submission guidelines, click here. I if you have any questions, please contact me at Marnifreedman18@gmail.com. Please put Memoir Showcase 2018 in the subject line. I can’t wait to hear your stories about writing what you thought you could not.

Photo Courtesy of San Diego Memoir Showcase

First Draft Postpartum

an empty boat near a tiny island with crystal blue waterFinishing up a first draft? Here’s how to prep yourself for your emotional responses.

You would think that completing a first draft of your book or play or screenplay would make you feel giddy. And it might. And it should. I mean, you have likely been working on this project for months or years. You have poured out your heart and soul, struggled with the characters, scenes, dialogue, setting (etc.), and fretted over this word or that word. And finally, finally, you have a concrete stack of papers that have a beginning, middle, and end. You should want to throw a party.

But don’t be surprised if finishing up that first draft comes with a host of other emotional responses.

Let’s look at a few of the possible responses I have both witnessed and experienced within myself:

  • Unexplainable nervousness or anxiety
  • A desire to quit
  • A sense of emptiness or purposelessness
  • A wave of anger
  • An inexplicable depression

Why? Why? Why?

Many writers ask me if it is normal to have these types of reactions, then they wonder why they are experiencing them in the first place.

Normal—yes.  Why? Here are my thoughts:

Fear of Exposure

You are shifting from a very internal space, where you have existed for quite some time, to a more exposed, public space.  The thought of sharing your work might bring on unexpected fear or panic. You may be nervous about reactions you will receive.  You may wonder, is it good enough?  Did I just waste years of my life?  The imposter syndrome may even start to take over your brain.  Know that this is very normal. Try journaling all your fears to get them out of your body.  And don’t believe everything you think.

Exhaustion

Yes, you are most likely very, very tired. Take a nap.

Confusion About What Happens Next

It can be scary because in the first draft writing stage you had most, if not all, of the control.  Now you may not know what happens next, and that can be terrifying. Don’t worry; there are many Book Sherpas out there that can guide you; you are not alone.

So, what can help?

  • Allow Your Emotions

Be aware that you may tumble through a series of emotions and know that there is another, much shinier, side.  If you need to cry, do it. If you need to yell into a pillow, do it. If you just need to dance, I say dance. Get it out.

  • Pat Yourself on the Back

Force yourself to celebrate.  Don’t just pass through this marker. You did a ton of work. You deserve to sip a little champagne, do a little retail celebrating, or take that long bath you have been wanting to take. Snap a picture of yourself holding your first draft and post it on Facebook—allow your community to celebrate with you! Whatever helps you to mark the occasion, do it. (In our writing group we even came up with a first draft song to sing when members complete their first drafts).  Pat yourself on the back. It is a big deal.

  • Do No Harm

Depressive or anxiety-riddled thinking can lie to you. It may tell you that you are not good enough or worthy enough—or that you should just toss it all and start over.  Don’t believe everything you think during this period of mini-tumult. Don’t quit writing or stuff the manuscript in a drawer. The angst is temporary.

  • Get it Out of Your Hands

Give the manuscript to a beta reader, content editor, writing coach, or writing group member that you trust, then let it go for four to six weeks. Allow the reader(s) to do the read, and take your mind off it.

  • Look at Shiny Stuff or Bathe in Some Trees

Distract yourself. While your manuscript is in someone else’s hands, you may experience a loss of purpose or even more anxiety. It’s a great time to focus on your social media platform, create your website, open a twitter account, or start on a brand-new project—one that is very different from the one you have just completed. Or, better yet, get outta dodge. Go on a trip. Drive into the country. Nap, a lot. A sure-fire way to regain excitement and balance is to get out into nature for at least two days. You will see how much your myopic perspective changes by washing your brain with ocean breezes, swaying trees, and sunsets.

Congratulations! The Feisty Writer wants to celebrate along with you!  Send us your pictures of you holding your first draft to marnifreedman18@gmail.com.

The Ups and Downs of NaNoWriMo by Danielle Baldwin

an archery target with grass in the backgroundNovember is National Novel Writing Month, otherwise known as NaNoWriMo. During November, participants are encouraged to write an entire 50,000-word novel in thirty days. With just shy of 400,000 people participating last year, it’s become more and more popular.

November, as described by most writing coaches, is also every writer’s favorite freak out month. Inevitably, writers that participate in NaNoWriMo feel the pressure to churn out word count. This often leads to a crappy first draft. Not normal crappy first drafts that all of us write. Like super crappy—think crappy but with a cape. On December 1st, writers sit down to look at their 50,000-word novel and experience a NaNoWriMo hangover. The late-night caffeine-infused writing sessions that fueled their 50,000-word bender felt good at the time. But then they open their draft to find it isn’t organized. It’s full of character inconsistencies, odd word choices, and flat writing. The prospect of fixing these 50,000 words is overwhelming, but the thought of tossing it is equally inconceivable. Depression sets in and writing coaches spend weeks trying to shake their writers out of a funk.

Despite all of this, NaNoWriMo is still a great idea. That’s right, despite your lasting mental image of NaNoWriMo as a flying poop emoji, there are a lot of benefits to participation. Here are a few good reasons:

Discipline and Focus

We’ve all heard that it takes 21 days to make a habit.  As it turns out, it actually takes 60+ days. Considering I can be weaker willed when it comes to writing, I still hang on to that 21-day myth.

While scientifically speaking I may not be building a new habit (or breaking one for that matter), I am making a routine, and once I build a routine, I’m far more likely to stick to it.

Everyone has different writing habits that work for them. There is no magical key to success. With that said, the majority of “successful” writers will tell you that you need to write every day. I’ll share an example:

A few years ago, I heard Salman Rushdie speak. As often happens during the Q&A session, someone stood up and warbled the question, “What advice do you have for budding writers?”

Rushdie tented his eyes with his hands so he could see the young man standing with the microphone in the audience of 800 people from his spot on the stage.

“Well,” he said, “being a writer is all about your time in the chair.”
The young man nodded vigorously.

“So the more time you spend in the chair, the more writing you’ll get done.”

More bobblehead nodding action from the man at the microphone. He continued to stare at Rushdie, not yet satisfied.

Rushdie realized the young man was still standing. He sighed and reached over to sip water from his glass on the stool next to him. The room was quiet. He cleared his throat and leaned into the microphone.

“So my best advice to you, young man, is to sit the f@#$ down.”

And there you have it. Why participate in Nanowrimo? Because it gets you in the habit of sitting the f@#$ down every day.

SMART Goals

I know the goal of NaNoWriMo is to write 50,000 words in a month. I’d encourage you to start by throwing that goal right out the window.

A SMART goal is one that is specific, measurable, achievable, realistic and time-based. To craft a smart goal, the key is in the “r” for realistic. Setting a word count goal does NOT need to be based on the 50,000 goal for NaNoWriMo. Figure out what your average word count is per hour and set your goals accordingly.

I prefer weekly goals. This gives me some flexibility. So instead of saying “I’m going to write 1,000 words per day,” you can set your goal at 7,000 words for the week (or whatever works for you). Some days you’re going to come home after a long day of work to a broken refrigerator, dog puke on the carpet, and your longest-winded neighbor trapping you at your mailbox with a diatribe about people speeding in the neighborhood. When you’ve extracted yourself thirty minutes later, sitting down for an hour or two to write feels impossible. So don’t. Sit down for 45 minutes. Maybe half an hour. Fifteen minutes if you’re dying, but you know what? It’s 100 more words than you would have gotten normally. Or 200, or 500. And you can still make it up on another day when you’ve got more time and energy to put towards your writing.

Build Your Writing Tribe

NaNoWriMo is well organized. In addition to a website to track your progress and earn badges, there are pop up groups across town you can join to write in solidarity. I’ve even been a part of virtual groups where we wrote via Google Hangouts.

NaNoWriMo meet-ups, both in person and virtual, are a great way to build your writing tribe. If you haven’t had the opportunity to sit in a room with a bunch of other writers and write, I highly recommend it. These are your people. They understand the pain of sitting down and getting words on the page. Their encouragement feels real because they know the pitfalls. You’re also less likely to jack around on social media. You’re part of a writing collective, and it feels amazing.

So don’t give up on NaNoWriMo just yet. While you may not write a 50,000-word novel, you may finish the one that you’ve been working on, bang out some great short stories, or even try your hand at poetry. Good luck and happy writing.

 

Photo Credit: https://pixabay.com/472932/

From Honeymoon to Falling Pianos: Recover Your Writing Self by Lisa Whalen, Feisty Guest Blogger

Two grey kittens on a pianoAhh, home. I dump my purse, laptop bag, and suitcase on the kitchen tile, then pause to take it in: the soft light, the absence of strangers invading my personal space, the quiet—well, except for Bubba meowing a lecture about never leaving him again.

Bliss.

Then a piano lands on me.

OK, not really. But that’s how it felt returning from a writing conference that coincided with my first visit to New York City.

I’d spent four days discussing a shared passion with writers so talented I should have been intimidated but found myself spellbound instead. Our Midtown Manhattan location sprinkled fairy dust, too. Dancers sprawled on hallway rugs and stretched as they waited to audition for Hamilton. Children with rouged faces grasped headshots in their sweaty palms. A woman with a clipboard ushered TV sitcom hopefuls into an alcove, where they paced, mumbled lines, and eyeballed the 15-foot ceiling in search of cues. Vocal scales and instrumental arpeggios crept from neighboring rooms to accompany our workshops. The very air inspired. Not even a missed connection on the flight home dampened my enthusiasm. I filled a notebook with poetic phrases. I jotted to-do lists for submitting completed essays. I brimmed with ideas. I buzzed with ambition.

Then I crashed. A single glance from inside the back door was all it took. My husband’s breakfast dishes lay in the sink, a remnant of his rush to leave for work. Bubba’s litterbox needed scooping. Ungraded student essays beckoned from a desktop. The bedside clock blinked a reminder that tomorrow’s classes, mere hours away, required preparation. And the suitcase beside me bulged with dirty laundry. Oh, yeah. Real life.

When would I write? How would I clear my head enough to formulate pitches or compose query letters? What of my submission to-do list? My shoulders sagged. Resentment flared. Despair howled in my chest. I wanted to snarl “Bah Humbug,” to close my eyes and let the ghost of New York past lead me back. But I couldn’t. So now what?

Perhaps you’ve been there, too: sling-shot from a honeymoon with your writer self into the brick wall of bigamous reality. How do you crawl from beneath the piano, brush its ivory dust from your sleeves, and dive back into a complicated writer-life relationship?

I managed, though not without struggles. Here’s what I learned:

  • Grieve the honeymoon’s end. Really. Let yourself be disappointed and resentful. Wallow in self-pity. Compare life’s drear to the conference’s crystalline sparkle. But set a timer. And when it dings, kiss the pity goodbye.
  • Confide it. Just hearing from two like-minded people who experienced similar culture shock upon reentry helped immensely. It reminded me, “This, too, shall pass.”
  • Pet your cat. Or dog. Go for a walk. Do something tactile or physical. After sitting at the computer, then in a car, train, or airplane for days, your body is screaming for an outlet. (Plus, no creature on earth is happier to see you than your pet. The ego boost does wonders.) Moving is good for the body, sure, but also for the brain and mood.
  • Drink coffee. Enough said.
  • Start with the easy stuff. Whether it’s washing clothes sweaty and smelling of diesel from New York streets or turning in the required post-travel HR form at work, complete a few quick tasks right away. It’s amazing how much less daunting catch-up appears when you can point to a few items that are already fait accompli.
  • Triage. Conference enthusiasm is invaluable but not infinite. Capitalize on it. Do only the critical life tasks, then set aside everything else and write for as long as you can get away with it—or until that unique brand of rocket fuel peters out. You can catch up on vacuuming and grocery shopping later.
  • Channel the muse. When I couldn’t shake post-conference blahs as quickly I wanted, I wrote about them (as you can see). Turning unproductive whining into a (potentially) productive publishing credit also turned around my mood.
  • Get reconnected. Text your sibling or best friend, even if just to say you’re bummed. Reestablishing your roots reminds you of why you chose to settle where you did (instead of in New York) and why that’s a good thing. Because it is. There’s something good about every place. Ask, what makes home, home? Then write about it.
  • Practice gratitude. I charge myself with finding one new thing to be grateful for every day. As hokey as it sounds, it helps, especially when I’m tempted to feel sorry for myself. Remembering the window washer dangling from 42nd-floor scaffolding in New York made me grateful to have a job that allowed my feet to remain planted firmly on the ground. Fall color turning the I-694 corridor into an impressionist canvas changed my perception of a dreaded commute.
  • Dive in. At some point, the conference high will ebb, and writing will become difficult again. There’s nothing to do but cowgirl up and get to work.
  • Reward yourself. Writing is difficult after all, so congratulate yourself for doing it. Pour a glass of wine for every 1000 words. Watch an hour of Netflix for each complete essay submitted.

Last, but definitely not least, register for another conference. If you can’t find or afford one that meets your needs, create your own. Gather friends, type an agenda, pack some snacks, wear comfortable clothes, and hole up in a space unassociated with Real Life: a public library conference room, a tent in the woods, a lakeside gazebo. The conference helped you develop mental muscle memory; you just have to reactivate it.

And remember, wherever you hold your conference, you’ll always have the most effective writing tool: you.

Photo of author with Kitten on shoulderLisa Whalen has an M.A. in creative and critical writing and a Ph.D. in postsecondary and adult education. She teaches composition, literature, and creative writing at North Hennepin Community College in Minnesota. When not teaching, she spends as much time as possible with animals, especially cats, dogs, and horses. Then she writes about them. For more information—and pictures of Lisa’s favorite animals—find her on Facebook as lisawhalen4hs or visit her website: lisawhalen4hs.wixsite.com/lisawhalen.

Photo Credit: pixabay.com/1845787 and Lisa Whalen

Rant by Nancy Villalobos, Feisty Writer Guest Blogger

side view of a human skullWhat were you feeling?

What was your emotional response to that?

Show more of your emotion.

The other writers in my Read and Critique group pounded away on this theme after I read from my memoir the latest revision of an experience that occurred more than fifty years ago. When I was in Lima, Peru as a 20-year-old international student, I’d gotten locked in the cathedral that holds Pizarro’s tomb. I thought that was a pretty interesting vignette, even mildly humorous.

I had written it exactly as it happened. I described the day, the surroundings, the interior of the church. I described the way I’d taken a long time to find the tomb and what it looked like and then the realization I was locked in. I finished up with my escape at the hands of a disgruntled priest with a bit of translated dialogue. I even closed the piece (really a chapter) with a foreshadowing of the obstacle that had arisen in the rest of my life, the subject of the next chapter. I’d done a defensible job of relating the events of the day. I didn’t know what else to say without making something up. I hadn’t felt like crying or laughing or screaming. I’d just wanted out of the church so I could get to my class on time.

My friends avoided my gaze, unhappy at not being able to applaud my efforts.

“But what were you feeling?”

Enthusiasm drained out of my pores and pooled around my unemotional feet.

Digging deep into my memory after I got home, I kept coming up empty. They expected me to feel something, but what?

The more I thought about it, the only emotional response I felt was anger at the beloved members of my group. Why did they keep harping on this? It happened in 1965, and I really couldn’t remember feeling anything.

What did they want me to feel? Joy? No. An intense spiritual awakening? No. Fear? Nope. Panic? Not really. Despair? Seriously? Anger? Not then.

My list of emotions I hadn’t felt grew. I began an imaginary conversation with that group of very stubborn people who only wanted to make me a better writer but who refused to accept that what I had felt at the time of the event was NOTHING. Why was that so hard to get?

Listen, I would say to them, the only thing I wanted on that day in Lima was to find the tomb of Pizarro. I wanted to see if that skeleton was really there and I wanted to see what it looked like. Period.

And right then my imaginary conversation petered out.

Because…I had really WANTED to find that tomb. It was almost like a quest—Harrison Ford in his battered hat. So, I must have felt ANTICIPATION. And I knew the skeleton was in that church, so I must have felt the EXCITEMENT about seeing it, and I must have had the EXPECTATION of fulfilling my quest. And because I’d never seen a relic, I must have been filled with CURIOSITY. And when I finally found the tomb, and it wasn’t what I’d expected, I must have felt at least mild DISAPPOINTMENT. And when I realized that I’d been locked in, I must have felt FRUSTRATION and CONCERN ABOUT BEING LATE. At the very end, I must have felt CHAGRIN at not having paid attention to my surroundings after the doors were locked. And then I remembered walking out of the church feeling pretty STUPID.

Damn! This was working.

I peeped at my pages again. Yes, I could add an adjective here, another line of dialogue there, a tighter or looser description, move this phrase to the end of the sentence, add a final paragraph with a takeaway—something the reader could relate to. And, in the end, a tiny little phrase rang like a timid bell in the recesses of my writer’s brain: I’d been telling about my experience, but when I’d been able to resuscitate my emotional state, I was able to show.

Sometimes it takes an emotional response to critique to elicit the emotional response to an event.

 

Headshot of authorABOUT NANCY: When not revising her memoir, sending out query letters, and building her blog queue, Nancy loves being on Nana duty with Lucas, her newest grandson, attending Cavalier King Charles Spaniel meet-ups with her Tri-color Coco, or traveling with family and friends. Her writing has been featured in the Memoir Writers Showcase. Her memoir, Peru, My Other Country, chronicles her twenty years there as an American married to a Peruvian in the midst of revolution, earthquakes, and her husband’s untimely death, until an extortion call during the Shining Path terrorist movement forced her to choose where her loyalties lay: in her adopted country or in the land of her birth.

Photo Credit: pixabay.com-476740

 

My New Narrative by Danielle Baldwin

A group holding their hands in solidarity in the center of a circle“Hi, I’m Danielle. I work in new business and strategy,” I would say, balancing my tiny spear of Swedish meatballs in one hand while I extended the other at a networking event. The person I was introducing myself to would nod, acknowledging my role, recognizing the large company I worked for. We’d sip cheap red wine and talk about our industry. I felt confident in my place in the world and in my “story” as a corporate executive.

I never introduced myself as a writer. It was a subplot to the “story of Danielle,” written into casual conversations about hobbies, somewhere between “brussels sprouts connoisseur” and “die-hard dog person.”

Two weeks ago, I attended a small business expo. This was my first time introducing myself as a writer in a professional setting. I felt shaky, worried that as I uttered the words, someone might laugh. They might tilt their head, the way my dog Nala does when she hears a sound she doesn’t recognize. Would people recognize me as a writer when it was hard enough for me to recognize myself?

Fear pushed aside, I pulled my shoulders back and for several hours of networking, introduced myself as a writer. Generally speaking, I heard these three responses over the course of the event:

  1. “Ohhhhh, that’s interesting,” they’d say, eyes sweeping the horizon for an escape route, looking as though they’d just swallowed a live chicken. As we continued our conversation in halting phrases, one of their body parts would begin to bounce or twitch. They’d see “someone they know” at the farthest corner of the room, and were gone so fast I was surprised they didn’t leave smoke trails.
  2. “That’s so cool, I write, too! I’ve got a great idea for a book, it’s about this guy who’s a sloth keeper on a frozen planet…(fast forward several minutes) do you do any ghostwriting?” Their eyes bright and I’d smile, mentally taking inventory of my own partially edited manuscript, all my unwritten blogs posts, the deadline for an article, which I was now counting down in hours instead of days. Our conversation would pitter-patter back and forth, until they realized I was not going to write their book for them, and then they were off to refill their drink.
  3. “Interesting. What kind of writing do you do and what are you currently working on?” A book person, I’d think to myself, thank you, Jesus. I’d list the different types of freelance projects I have in the works and mention I’m in the process of editing my manuscript.

“What type of manuscript? Fiction?” they’d ask.

“No, memoir actually,” I’d say.

Here is where the conversation would hit a pivotal moment and I’d watch them curiously, knowing our casual chatter would abruptly end or shift to a deeper level of dialogue.

If it started with an awkward silence, then I knew the rest of the conversation was going to flop around like a dying fish on a dock. They would avoid asking me questions about my project or joke about how I’m neither old enough nor have the life experience to write a memoir. I’d laugh and ask them a question about their line of work, watching the worry lines between their eyebrows soften, and knew the conversation was not veering anywhere near writing again—not memoir, not freelance, not writing of any kind.

Those who were brave maintained eye contact and asked about the subject matter of my memoir. When I’d tell them it is a story about motherhood and my journey through the fertility process while losing my mom to cancer, I’d carefully watch their face, high-fiving them in my mind for hanging on for the ride. To the man (or woman), they’d smile, and I’d let out the breath I was holding in. Then we’d talk about the challenge they’d had having kids or about how hard it is when your parents are aging, or about writing, or something else entirely. These were the folks who asked me for my business card and gave me theirs in return.

This was a chance for me to learn how to tell my new narrative. Without fear. Without judgment. And while it may take me some time to get used to it, I like this new story, and I’m excited to tell it.

 

Photo by rawpixel.com on Unsplash

Quiz: Should You Call Yourself a Writer?

A green sign that says Quiz TimeIt’s Time to Label It.

You heard me—today’s the day you call yourself a writer.

What’s that—you already do? Are you sure? Good thing I made you a quiz to find out if you really should call yourself a writer!

  1. You write:
    a) daily
    b) weekly
    c) monthly
    d) yearly
  2. You share your writing with:
    a) your family
    b) your friends
    c) your critique group
    d) no one
  3. You consider writing a:
    a) hobby
    b) passion
    c) chore
    d) all of the above
  4. You enjoy writing:
    a) true
    b) false
    c) all of the above
  5. When you’re at parties and people ask you what you do, you say, “I’m a writer”:
    a) first
    b) last
    c) not at all

Okay, save your answers because now I’m going to tell you a story.

When I was a little girl, I loved arts and crafts: play-doh and coloring books, beads and lanyards. I took art classes all through school. Spent my weekends learning to draw. I went to college for film and animation. And I landed my first job as a puppet fabricator for stop-motion animation. But still, I didn’t consider myself an artist.

Sure, I made art all day. I painted and sculpted, molded and casted, sewed and glued. But I wasn’t an artist! It wasn’t my vision. It was a skillset I had built and implemented. So what if I was passionate about it? So what if I worked my butt off to get there? If I were a real artist, my work would be in a gallery. I would have art shows. I would go through blue phases and red phases. I wouldn’t just make things—right?

It was when I voiced that line of thinking to a friend, who looked at me with raised eyebrows and said, “Melissa, you are an artist,” that I finally realized I was selling myself short. I had the experience, the passion, and even the job to back it up, but still, I felt undeserving of the label.

Is this starting to sound familiar? Good, then you’re ready for the real quiz question:

When will you be good enough for the label?

a) right now
b) right now
c) right now
d) all of the above

If you haven’t guessed it already, no matter how you answered the quiz questions, you pass. You are allowed to call yourself a writer. No, not allowed—entitled. You deserve it. Whether you’re on your first draft or your final manuscript. Whether you have an agent or a published book. Whether you write in a notebook that remains locked away in a drawer for three hundred sixty-four days of the year or type away on your computer daily.

You. Are. A. Writer.

And you don’t need a quiz or a friend or a publisher to validate that. You just need to own it!

Melissa Bloom is a writer, writing coach, and certified yoga instructor who is passionate about exploring the connection between productivity and wellness. As the founder and director of the Mindful Writer, Melissa has developed targeted writing tools and techniques that help people develop a sustainable writing practice to accomplish their writing goals without burning out. Melissa has a background in film, animation, and creative writing. She travels often, learns daily, and attends workshops, trainings, and conferences in a continued effort to hone the crafts of writing and living well.

Photo Credit: pixabay.com/2453148/