Is it Time for a Break?

I’m fond of saying writers always have homework, but I also get tired of feeling that there’s always more to do, always something incomplete needing attention. It’s both a blessing and curse of being creative; one always has “multiple projects in various states of development.”

That line is paraphrased from Dov Simmons, a film producer I met when I was 19 and just getting my feet wet in the film industry. To us new, young creators, without much of anything in production yet, Dov’s line could make us sound more legitimate when inevitably asked, “So what are you working on?” “Oh, me? Well, I have multiple projects in various states of development.”

But what happens when you do have various projects in multiple states of development? As many writers do. All the time. How do you schedule your time off?

Carefully, I suggest.

The nature of the writing process does require taking periodic breaks at certain stages, after finishing a draft, for example, or once a revision has been handed to beta readers. But while stepping away from a particular project for a time can help that project in particular, walking away from writing for any significant length of time usually throws a spanner in the works of creativity in general.

In my experience, not writing at all for longer than three days has unintended, often subtle, consequences. Irritability increases, a kind of malaise, or even depression, can set in. Writers not writing aren’t always a friendly bunch.

But we still need breaks…

Remember that saying, “a change is as good as a rest”? With writing, this may be the way to take those breaks. And the first thing to change is your expectations.

Let’s say you’ve been drafting a novel with a daily goal of writing 500 words for five days per week but feel you need a break. What could you change? Fewer days, fewer words?

For writing breaks, I suggest shifting your quantity expectations while holding onto a quality connection.It seems that qualitative distance is most detrimental to creativity. Quantitative expectations can shift, but a quality-based connection should be maintained.

So while taking a break, maybe you carry around a “sense notebook” in which you jot down details noticed during the day related to one or two senses. A few lines of description keeps you connected to writing without undue pressure to produce (and could provide raw material for future projects). Or you could journal in the voice of your characters, or write the poetry they’d write. Then again, maybe a break means giving yourself time to write the poetry you want to write, and explore thoughts you want to think.

Whatever you choose, keeping a light and simple tether to your writing practice maintains your connection and “keeps the writing close” (another phrase I like to use) during breaks.

Breaks, good rests, playing, and relaxing with friends help balance our inner selves, which is the source of our outer work. Letting the imagination have free rein, daydreaming, even being bored at times, allows the subconscious to reboot. Creatives of all kinds, including scientists, recognize the benefits of a good nap!

For writers, full-stop breaks aren’t always beneficial. We write for many reasons, but there’s an ineffable one that connects to our experiences of awareness and existence; writing as an activity is connected to our sense of being. We can’t really take a break from that, but we can modify how we relate to it for a while. How might you modify your practice to give yourself a break when you need it?

This summer, I plan to journal more. I use a kind that fits easily into backpacks and beach bags. Restful states can open intuitive pathways, yielding unexpected insights and ideas. Often, creative problems are solved when we let go of trying and just relax and have fun. So I do like to have pen and paper nearby even while enjoying a much needed break.

Summer is a sweet time of year to fill one’s inner tanks with light, warmth, color, and company. Those multiple projects in various states of development will be waiting for you when you return feeling refreshed.

Do You Have a Routine?

Do you follow some kind of routine when you write? Most creative people I know (including  myself) dislike routines but can’t get much done without them. Though we do try!

Routines can feel rigid, boring, mechanical, or lacking vitality—or so those who resist routines tell ourselves when we’re not implementing them (!). But those with routines swear by them. They experience comfort, reduced stress, and greater productivity. (All good things, but maybe not the shiny, sexy, spontaneous experience we secretly wish creation could be?)

Flaubert advised, “Be steady and orderly in your life so you can be fierce and original in your work.”* His words indicate how important it is to have a predictable environment and slate of habits that allow one to roam more wildly and passionately within the creative work itself. This makes sense to me, yet I still resist closing the door on wild and passionate living.

I agree there has to be order somewhere. But what about inspiration? Many productive writers dismiss those who whine about waiting for inspiration. They choose instead to show up regularly, routinely, at set writing times. Somerset Maugham famously said, “I write only when inspiration strikes. Fortunately it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.”

Most of us know from experience that routine actions yield results. A good diet, regular meal times, exercise, and waking and going to sleep at set times has proven to lead to good physical and mental health. Partying, skipping meals, and being a couch potato yield unhealthily results over the long term.

And maybe that’s one of the secrets for reckoning with routines: setting the terms. Because routines don’t have to last forever. They could be implemented for a week, a month, a season, a year. Within a time frame, a routine has a chance to yield results.

A routine is a set of choices with an underlying implication that a change will occur over time. Like a controlled experiment, we create a hypothesis, limit conditions, measure incremental changes over time, and analyze the results. It’s worthwhile to experiment with different routines until we find one that works.

I’ve experienced for myself, and witnessed with others I coach, how a set amount of time, in which a reasonable routine is established, can yield an entire draft of a book (in this case the 3 month Drafting Circle—that’s a season). Right now I’m guiding a group of writers through a 6-month revision routine, and, while resistance still comes up, progress is made over time.

Routine’s roots go back to French and Latin meanings for carving out a route, course, way, or path. And that could be why some writers struggle with routines. Each writer has to carve out an individual path. None of us can follow exactly what works for someone else. We can only observe the successes of others, trying out borrowed bits to see what works, until we cobble together our own way of doing things. But we do have to find a way.

If you’re having a great life and meeting your chosen creative goals without any kind of routine, I’d say: Don’t change a thing! But if that’s not the case (as it is with me), it might be time to reckon with the resistance to routines.

One way to break through that resistance could be to write up a “dream routine.” What would an ideal creative day look like for you? (Tip: focus on what it is rather than what it’s not.) If it’s not too fantastical, try living it for one, two, or three days in a row.

Part of my resistance is that I can’t include everything in a routine; I have to choose a few things, at most, to focus on at any given time. Eliminating options makes me feel anxious. But if I’m really honest with myself, I feel more anxious over the long term if I’m not reaching the creative goals I set for myself.

Writers need to prioritize one project at a time (maybe two, though “priority” really refers to “one”). Then we have to follow through. We have to work on it until it’s done. We can’t give up when the going gets tough, but we can experiment with different routine time frames. We can set the terms (a season, not forever).

Here are four steps to try:

1) identify and prioritize the project to complete

2) design an ideal routine to support completion

3) set the terms of the routine (a season, not forever)

4) stick to the routine until enough data yields analyzable results

When we start getting the results we want (which includes feeling more at ease during the creative process), we’ll be converts, because we will have figured out our own way of creating regularly.

How it Feels to Finish a Project

There comes a time when you tick off everything on your revision to-do list and call the project “done.” It’s a moment of stunned exhilaration–a rush of excitement at crossing a self-determined finish line paired with a kind of disbelief that you made it.

Though none of us ever ends up creating exactly what we set out to create, with enough persistence our initial aims eventually reach some kind of target. And that happened for me last week. I finished my revisions for my non-fiction book.

It feels… strange. In part because other lists have been breeding in the background, all the what-to-do-next tasks, and there are plenty! But this moment arrives one day, a moment of completion. It’s as whole, clear, and delightful as a breath-blown soap bubble, rainbow-tinted, light, and… temporary. It must be savored.

I did reach the end of my revision list, but (as those who’ve been there know) I could easily keep adding more to it, keep striving for improvement. So how do I know I’m done?

Something subtle inside has shifted, and with it an awareness that a significant phase of work is complete. Paul Valéry is credited for saying, “A work is never completed, but merely abandoned.” (Fuller translated quote below.) And I can’t deny I have that feeling of wanting to give up and turn away from the project now. But it has a different quality than procrastination or resistance.

How do we trust this inner sense that something’s done? It’s a little like trusting a new friend or lover. We can’t be totally sure we’re right, but we go with it anyway, aware of our vulnerabilities but willing to see where this next stage takes us.

Done never means perfect. In fact, for a writer to complete a project, s/he has to have made peace with imperfection. Completion can never lead to perfection, but it can lead to value. And that’s what we should be aiming for. I can say, without a doubt, that the book I’ve finished isn’t perfect, but I believe it has value.

For creators of any kind, a desire to make things is underpinned by a desire to contribute value to the world in some way. We work on projects that matter to us, and we hope, one day, they’ll matter to someone else too.

I’ll keep you posted on my next steps as I proceed. For the moment, I am breathing a sigh of relief to be done (for now ).

My work involves coaching other writers on their paths to completion. Sometimes I play a large role and sometimes a very small one. I reached out a few writers I know who have recently finished first drafts or revisions and I asked them how they feel when they finish something. Here’s what they said:

Once I write the final sentence it feels as if I have returned home from a long trip. Happy to be back again but I know there lies ahead of me a good deal of unpacking, and laundry, before I can settle in again.

~ Bromme C., working title: When Soft Voices Die

Even after working on the book for over two years, the realization that it was finished seemed to come out of nowhere. I think of whipping cream by hand, you keep whipping and whipping you’re about to lose hope, suddenly there is the cream with perfect peaks. So many endeavors require a leap of faith. I was elated when I realize the book was done. That feeling stayed with me and helped push aside doubts as I started a new novel. It’s a short novella but I do think of myself differently now that I have finished it, and I see the book differently as well, as something that exists separate from me.

~ Melanie D., working title: People Who Love You

The lady at Staples handed six copies to me, 350 pages each bound with a blue cardboard front and back cover. They were heavy, but my spirit was light as I waltzed to my car carrying the manuscripts, the first draft of my first novel after five years. Now it’s out there, being read by my beta readers. I feel a liberated sense of achievement. I know I still have more work to do on it, but I’m motivated to return reinvigorated with ideas to, in the words of Paul McCartney, “Make it better!”

~ Ariela S., working title, Survival

When I finished my novel and sent the requested draft to an agent, I felt an incredible sense of both momentum and lightness. Finishing energy feels wholly different from starting a project and requires laser concentration, patience and kindness to self. Letting go of your story into the world requires humility and courage.

~ Elena K., working title: Spotlights and Shadows

Thanks for sharing such wise, personal insights. And congratulations to you all!! Can’t wait to see these stories in print!

When Inspiration Stalls

A client wrote to me not long ago to stay that her inspiration had stalled. It was both a statement and a lament. Writers tend to be preoccupied with the notion of inspiration–its presence or absence, its ease or struggle.

Inspiration is a lot like the weather—a blessing when it’s good and an inconvenience or disappointment when it’s not. It’s unpredictable, sometimes seasonal, or can catch us unawares, either positively or negatively.

Our minds trick us into thinking inspiration is, at least potentially, an achievable permanent state. Deep down we know it’s not. It can be as fleeting as a rainbow, or as glorious and transient as a sunset. We want such beauty and grace to be permanent and we struggle to accept that it can’t be. Yet still our work must get done. We must write in all kinds of internal and external weather.

When clouds roll in and sunshine is absent it’s good to remember that somewhere, high above the clouds, if you just rose high enough, you’d encounter blues skies and sunshine again. Even when it’s night where you are somewhere on the planet it is day. It can be comforting to know that what we want is always there, even if we can’t be in its presence at a particular moment.

When inspiration finds us at our desks, what joy! An unexpected and very welcome guest. But when it’s off shining on others elsewhere, we must trust ourselves to remain devoted to our craft, to be willing to show up rain or shine.

To inspire is to breathe, to take in breath. So to be inspired is to be breathed into, presumably by some other force. This is a gift when it comes. But we do come with apparatus to breathe on our own, without thinking, and while sleeping, so we can show up to do our work anyway. One breath at a time.

When inspiration stalls, remind yourself it will rev up again. Part of it’s magic lies in not knowing when or where it will find us.

Don’t wait on inspiration. If you work regularly and with devotion, inspiration will find you. Like happiness, inspiration is a by product of meaningful action. Keep working. Keep showing up. And when inspiration strikes, let it wash over you like a summer’s day or the awe that accompanies the sight of a rainbow or sunset. Inspiration’s power and joy arises from its fleeting and intermittent nature. In the meantime, breathe thoroughly and deeply on your own. The more you do, the more likely you’ll be breathed into now and again.

Staying the Course

Earlier this month I had the good fortune to be a guest on a friend’s sailboat for ten days. Up until then I’d only ever spent a day or half day on a sailboat and hadn’t needed to do much but sit back and enjoy the ride. For this trip, I was one of three hands on deck, and I really had to pull my weight. I learned so much about sailing, and yet it was just the tip of the iceberg (hmmm, maybe I shouldn’t mention icebergs and boats in the same sentence…).

I’m still pretty green when it comes to sailing, but I did take the helm on many occasions, and when we were fully under sail, traveling between seven and eight knots, I learned what it really means to “stay the course.”

Usually when sailing, the captain plots a course according to the nautical charts. This results in a waypoint, the destination you’re aiming for (in our case, nearly deserted bays of small islands or along the Peloponnese coast. Unless you’re motoring only, the wind has to be taken into account, and you might have to tack and jibe–basically moving in a zigzag to catch the wind–in order to get where you want to go. It occurred to me that writing often feels like this too; we generally make our your way toward  writing goals following very indirect lines.

On good sailing (writing) days, when the sails (your mind and hands) fill with wind (inspiration) and you’ve harnessed great power to propel you forward, there can be a wildness to the ride. The boat heels to one side and you need to maintain your balance on a slanted deck. You need a light and strong hand at the helm to maintain a good angle to the wind. But a strong wind pulls the nose of the boat into it and the helm can stiffen and draw you off to one side, so minor course corrections are always being made if you are to make progress toward your waypoint.

Before, when I used to think of staying the course in terms of writing, I imagined maintaining a steady rhythm and routine, keeping my eyes on the goal, and basically plodding along. But after having experienced it literally, I see it as a dynamic, energized process of monitoring and responding to a variety of ever-changing conditions, many of which can steer you astray or tip you into the drink.

The wind, like life, is rarely consistent. We consistently need to make minor (or major) adjustments in our writing process in order to keep moving toward the waypoints we’ve chosen. Struggling with this is normal. Sometimes the wind wins. It’s rarely smooth sailing for very long. Your skills, your passion, and your stamina will see you through the rough seas of process so that you can occasionally experience tranquil bays of progress and accomplishment. But reading the wind, adjusting the sails, and riding unexpected waves will always be required.

Every sailor respects the wind, stands humbly before it, and each writer comes to respect the unpredictable nature of inspiration, word flow, and maintaining life conditions that support the creative journey. But no matter how choppy the waters, how wild or absent the wind, when we take the helm in our writing, all we can do is try our best to maintain an even keel and stay the course as we sail in the direction of our dreams.

By the way, we use so many nautical metaphors and phrases in our everyday language. I found this site that explains some of the origins of terms such as: by and large, batten down the hatches, broad in the beam, hard and fast, get underway, give a wide berth, high and dry, hand over fist, know the ropes, loose cannon, shipshape, shake a leg, taken aback, the bitter end, slush fund, three sheets to the wind, and many more.

Abundance, Gratitude, and Writing

Have you ever noticed how abundance can build up momentum in your life so that good things seem to create more good things? Then all of a sudden abundance takes a step back, seems to drain away or run into hiding? In both cases gratitude is the key. When you have a lot to be grateful for, be grateful! And when it appears that you don’t have a lot to be grateful for, still choose to be grateful, whatever the size of the microscope you have to look through to find something. Because gratitude will keep abundance flowing and it will invite it back when it goes AWOL.

Contrary to many beliefs, you don’t have to have a good and easy life to find time for writing, and you don’t need to have lived a so called “bad” life to have something interesting to write about. It’s true that less stress can aid creativity, but it isn’t always the case. Likewise, a personal story full of trauma and drama can be compelling, but that’s not always the case either. We get what we get when it comes to life situations and histories. It’s what we do with it that counts. And that’s where creativity comes in.

Writing occurs within the context of the life we are living—you make time for it or you don’t. And our stories grow out of our personal histories—whether we are conscious of it or not. The gift of life plus an inventory of experiences leads some people to become writers. But that’s not the case for everyone. If it happens to be the case for you, at some point, you will have to reconcile with your life situation and your past.

You will likely struggle against some aspects of your life situation in order to make time to write. And you will likely wrestle with elements from your past on the way to finding something compelling to write about. Rarely will you approach either with gratitude.

But what if you did?

What made you who you are—all that you’ve experienced so far—also contributed to you becoming a writer and living the life you are now living. That’s worth an ounce of gratitude. It doesn’t matter if you’d like to make a few changes (most of us would), but it’s worth noticing that being in a position to want such change is worth being grateful for too. If you’re reading this newsletter you have tools and technology at your disposal that are gratitude worthy. If you have a glass of clean water within arm’s reach, or a hot cup of tea, you have something else to be grateful for.

How often are you grateful for your writing practice? How often do you love it just for the sake of loving it? Can you let yourself do that now?

Gratitude practice is subject to a particular, softly scientific phenomenon: the snowball effect. Writing practice is similarly affected. The more grateful we are the more we have to be grateful for. And the more we write the more there is to write.

I’d like to return to the first paragraph and substitute the words “abundance” and “gratitude” with the word “writing”…

Have you ever noticed how writing can build up momentum in your life so that writing seems to create more writing? Then all of a sudden writing takes a step back, seems to drain away or run into hiding? In both cases writing is the answer. When you have a lot to write about, write! And when it appears that you don’t have a lot to write about, still choose to write, whatever the size of the microscope you have to look through to find something to write about. Because writing will keep writing flowing and it will invite it back when it goes AWOL.

Chaos and Order

By the end of January most of us are either hitting a stride when it comes to moving toward goals or else we’ve abandoned them completely. The latter can leave some of us disillusioned and disoriented, and simply trying to keep our heads above water as the river of life carries us relentlessly forward. Often, we give in to the external momentum of demands and distractions (especially after a month of trials and failures) and our once hope-filled creative goals get washed away.

Perhaps you’re cruising right along with your goals and don’t need a pep talk yet, but for those who do, I want to explore the powers of chaos and order.

Life for most of us seems to swing pendulum-like between chaos and order. And creative people tend to hang on the chaos side of the pendulum.

We usually think of chaos in terms of mess, unruliness, lack of control, disorder and confusion. But chaos is also potential, mystery, inspiration, the unknown, the unformed—it’s the source of creativity.

So it makes sense that creatives lean toward chaos, but creative people especially need to find balance between these poles. We know this intuitively, and when we set goals in the New Year, we’re making a valiant attempt to order the perceived chaos in our lives.

It’s the creative person’s intention to harness the energy of chaos, to dance with it until something can be made of it, and that making requires establishing some kind of order in the process.

Order by itself is usually dry and dull, but it’s necessary for getting anything done (and more is required if you’re also after efficiency). Order is the yang to chaos’s yin. And yet, too much order and we feel tyrannized; too much chaos and we’re adrift in meaningless mayhem. We actually need both.

As writers, the order we aim for most of the time is in service to making space in which the chaos of the creative process can enter. For example, choosing the same time of day to write and the same location to write in sets up the kind of structure that the muse, that harbinger of inspiration, can depend on. Faulkner said, “I write when the spirit moves me, and the spirit moves me everyday.” Because he showed up everyday.

A willingness to set up an orderly schedule for your writing allows you to be wild and loose in the writing itself. If you’re wild and loose in the scheduling process, when you finally sit down, you can end up feeling tremendous pressure to “get something done.” That’s in part because you don’t know when the next writing session will be. But if you know you have an hour today and another hour tomorrow and another the day after that, you can begin to relax enough to enjoy the process of meeting chaos on the page rather than in your daily life. Order serves and contains chaos for the creative person.

Order is also required to finish projects, revise them, and send them out into the world. We stumble terribly when we let chaos into these processes. That’s when the river sweeps us up again. So let’s take Thoreau’s advice here: “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.”

Putting foundations under creativity can be challenging for writers. So when the New Year comes around we, along with many others, seize the chance invite more order into our seemingly chaotic lives.

Of course, goal setting has always been easy; it’s the follow through that’s hard, because change is hard. Change requires that we first assess the chaos in our own lives (particularly the chaos that is masquerading as order—how many people say they write everyday but actually have multiple tabs open in their browser at the same time?).

When you’re ready to make a change by setting a goal, first try to assess the level of chaos underlying the areas that need attention. Ask yourself why that area of your life is chaotic, and then ask yourself to come up with one way you could bring some order to that area.

For example, if you overeat, make a schedule with set meals and snack times and don’t deviate from the schedule for one week. At the end of the week, ask yourself how you feel. If you want to write but never sit down to it with any regularity, decide on a time of day and a length of time and block it out in your calendar as you would a trip to the dentist or lunch with a friend, and then stick to your appointment for one week. Pay attention to how you feel after a week’s worth of this kind of productivity.

For most creative people, establishing order doesn’t feel good, but the results from living and creating within a structure (of time allotment or word count) end up feeling energizing. That kind of energy can inspire a creative person to value order in a new way, one which allows them to experience the real rewards of turning chaotic energy into creative work.

Chaos will always be whispering from the murky depths, and we want it to, since those whispers provide the good ideas, and we want to stay open to them. But if you want to experience the rewarding results of your creativity in 2018, then build yourself a raft of orderly routines so you can flow with the river without going under.

Invitation: Devote one week to meticulously recording the time you spend writing. Note down which locations you choose and how you feel before, during, and after writing. At the end of the week, assess your levels of chaos and order. Create a plan for the following week that includes a greater effort at order. Stick to the plan! Record how you feel after.

Write For Your Future Self

When I was coaching a client last month, I brought up the notion of “the future self” as a way to provide a different sort of motivation for writing. Our future self is the one waiting for us next month or next year or 10 years from now. It’s who we will eventually be, in time.

We know that too much thinking about the past and future can wreak havoc with our experience of the present moment, since we often regret things from the past that we can’t change or we long for something in the future that we wish would hurry up and get here. But you can have a healthy relationship with the past and future, too. The path is through gratitude.

The notion of the future self involves first thinking of some point in the future, whether six months from now, one year, or five or ten years. Then think of something you’d like to finish–a writing project you’re in the midst of, or a state of mind you’d like to experience, or maybe even a different physical place you’d like to find yourself in. Imagine the moment in the future exactly as you’d like it to be, really picture it. But rather than forming an image the ideal moment you’d like to attain, as you might do in a visioning or manifesting exercise, instead embody the moment with gratitude for yourself; thank yourself for something you did in the past to get yourself to this point. Let your future self say, “Thank you past self for doing X to allow me to be here.”

If you’re familiar with reverse goal setting, in which you picture your chosen goal and work backwards from the finished goal through all the steps required to reach that goal, this is a little like that, except it’s a bit more right-brained than left-brained. And it serves to enhance the relationship you have with your creative self.

When reverse planning for goals, you picture the goal you want to achieve and work backwards through the steps that will get you from here to there. For example, if your goal is to complete your novel manuscript, picture that moment. It’s all done, printed out, and you’re holding the manuscript in your hands. What happens right before that moment? It probably goes through a proofread. Before that, a copy edit and a developmental edit. Before that, the rough draft needs to be complete. To finish the rough draft you need to follow a writing schedule to get those words written. You might create an outline or do some research before this. You might brainstorm novel ideas to decide what to write about. Working in reverse, you have a different perspective of all that’s required to reach your goal, and with this perspective you can break down a large project into manageable chunks and create a realistic schedule to get it done (the trouble always comes with sticking to the schedule, but that’s another story…).

When thinking about your future self, you approach this reverse planning process a little differently.

Let’s say you’ve given yourself six months to write the rough draft of your novel. Picture your future self six months from now holding a completed first draft in your hands. Step into that future self and thank your past self for writing 1,000 words a day for five days a week to get you there. Really imagine yourself swelling with gratitude for your past self. You know it wasn’t easy for her every day. You know she lost her faith in the project many times along the way, but she persevered, and because of that you’re holding a completed manuscript in your hands, and that feels amazing. You can now take your next step toward your dream.

You could even do something helpful for your very near future self. My client says she sets out her dental floss by the sink in the morning so that it’s there when she brushes her teeth in the evening. She’s made this small task slightly easier for her future self, and it’s a small gesture of self-kindness.

Such small gestures of self-kindness can lead us toward our chosen goals just as well, and probably better, than the self-flagellating ones. You can practice building this relationship with your future self by being that self right now.

Think of something you appreciate about your life today. Did you get an article published in a local magazine? Thank your past self writing that article and sending out a query. If you’re part of a great writing group, thank yourself for having the courage to go to the first meeting. Now extend this beyond your writing life. If you’re happily married and starting a family, thank yourself for saying “I do” once upon a time. If you love your job in a faraway city, thank yourself for taking the risk of moving away to give the opportunity a try.

The key is to really take some time nurturing this feeling of gratitude and self-appreciation. Our minds tend to hone in on all that’s “not right” with our situations and so we tend to diminish the impressive things we’ve done. We might think, “It’s not the perfect marriage, or job, or article, so why dwell on it?” But each of those choices was a creative act that led to new manifestations—something from nothing—and that deserves to be appreciated.

So take a moment to stay to yourself, “Past me, thank you for trying X, because it got me to Y.” And when you sit down to write today, dedicate the effort to your future self. One day she’ll thank you for it.

Dickens, Dreams, and Drafts

I was recently in London and spent a few nights in Bloomsbury not far from a house Charles Dickens lived in from 1837 to 1839. It was here where he completed The Pickwick Papers and wrote the complete manuscripts for Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickelby. His subsequent success allowed him to move on to grander homes in London, but this is the only one still standing and it’s now a museum. The photo here is of Dickens’ desk.

I marvel at Dickens’ creative productivity, his popularity and financial success achieved during his lifetime, and his variety of story subject matter (he was writing about the plight of common and poor people at a time when very few were).

The success or productivity of other writers, past or present, can be a source of inspiration or depression for many aspiring writers. The daunt we might feel when facing our own work or contemplating the achievement of others shouldn’t stop us though. Someone has to write stories. Why not us? We probably can’t expect to be a Dickens, but we can sit down at our desks and apply ourselves to our craft. You won’t know until you try.

Speaking of trying… The trip to England was the first step of a new adventure I’ve embarked on: living abroad for the better part of this year. It has been a long held dream of mine to live in different parts of Europe for short stretches of time and write. This year I have an opportunity to take a leap of faith and turn this dream into reality. I sold my apartment and put everything into storage. And now… Well, to say I feel daunted would be an understatement!

I’m planning to give myself over to the drafts I have in progress and experiment with some new things I want to write. And I’m going to live this story. I’m just at the beginning; I have a few things sketched out for the middle; but I have only the vaguest notion of an ending (no idea really–I’m making up the story as I go along). I’m going to try living this out in the way we often write stories: not knowing if anything will work out but having the faith (and courage) to face the fears (and failures) anyway.

My first stop will be a tiny town in Brittany next to the middle of nowhere. I’m not the first person, nor will I be the last, to fall in love with France. I fell hard almost thirty years ago, so I’m following my heart and starting there.

When we set out to follow our dreams–whether to write, travel or try something new–we can’t predict where these dream-turned-reality paths will take us. We can only find out by following the path one step at a time.

Getting to the Work

It’s the biggest challenge we face: opening the notebook or computer document and getting started. There are a hundred different demands and responsibilities vying for our attention and so often our writing ‘has to wait’. But the longer it’s neglected, the more our essential creative nature withers. How can you help yourself get to the work? Try these three simple suggestions:

Be Accountable ~ To yourself or someone else. Schedule a writing session in your calendar and show up for yourself. The commitment suggested by penning it in your calendar tells your brain that you’re taking your efforts seriously by devoting real time—by way of recorded or documented time—to your writing. If you break such appointments with yourself too easily, schedule a session with another writer. You can meet in person at a café or you can agree to meet online. Check in by email, say ‘ready, set, go’ and write for the same amount of time. Check in again after. This form of healthy peer pressure can really stimulate productivity.

Serve up a Diet Portion ~ Tell yourself you only have to sit down and write for fifteen minutes. Take the minutes seriously by turning off wifi and silencing your phone. No distractions! It’s only fifteen minutes after all. Once you get started, you’ll find it hard to stop at fifteen and will likely write for thirty minutes or longer. But you don’t have to. Even fifteen minutes almost every day will lead to real, accomplished work. Over time, this diet portion of writing will add weight to your writing.

Remember the Love ~ The work is so often hard, frustrating, thankless, and results can be a long time coming, but somewhere deep inside… you love this. It means a lot to you. You care about making things. Honor this part of you when you sit down to write. Say to yourself, “No matter what else I have to deal with around my writing, the deep core of my process is made of love.” Ray Bradbury said: “…if you are writing without zest, without gusto, without love, you are only half a writer.” Invite your loving self to sit down with you when your work.

Becoming a Resilient Writer

The writing life is more like a continuous marathon than a slap dash sprint. More than talent, luck, or discipline, a resilient writer needs to develop persistence and endurance. The following 5 traits can help build your resilience.

1. Learn New Things
A published writer from one of my workshops says she loves being a writer because there’s always more to learn. This attitude creates an open mind and invites fresh opportunities for you to keep developing your craft. No matter how much you think you know or don’t know, take a class, listen to a podcast, or go attend an author’s reading. Knowledge and inspiration are always available to you when you are curious and willing to learn.

2. Accept Failure
Anyone successful at anything will admit they experienced failures along the way to success. They just didn’t let it stop them. Small and large failures can be end points or stepping stones. Rejections, criticism, botched projects, and periods of inertia are inevitable in a writer’s life. Build failure into your plan for success and you will be able to pick yourself up more quickly after you trip over those stepping stones.

3. Create Community
Writing can be a lonely vocation so it’s wise to create a community of like-minded loners. Writers’ blogs, forums, and Facebook groups, online and live workshops and writing retreats are a few places to find people. While meeting in person is great, it isn’t necessary with the technology at our fingertips. One of my longest running writing groups has been meeting via Skype for 10 years. What’s most important is to find a handful of people that 1) you can trust 2) will give honest and constructive feedback and 3) will support you through the lows and celebrate you through the highs.

4. Maintain Balance
Though you are a writer all the time, you can’t act like a writer 24/7. Your writing life exists within the context of your human life. Keep it balanced. Exercise, eat well, get enough sleep, spend time with loved ones, play, learn, read, and consider taking up a hobby that has nothing to do with writing. Knitting, painting, sculpture, woodworking, golf, and sailing are some of the writer-hobbies I’ve heard mentioned. These other areas of your life, which at times may feel less important to you than writing, are actually the source of your writing. No matter what imaginary worlds you may be conjuring, the real world provides the foundation for the depth and authenticity of your imagination.

5. Practice Often
I was going to say practice daily but that simply isn’t realistic for many people. Daily practice is the best way to stay limber mentally, emotionally, and physically but if it’s not possible to do this, don’t beat yourself up about it (which is what I spent years doing). Try to find a regular rhythm that works for you, a routine you can maintain for several weeks or months. You may need to experiment a bit. Try getting up early and doing morning pages. Set aside a half hour after the kids go to bed. Take an extra 15 minutes at your lunch break if that’s all you can manage. Reserve a weekday evening or weekend morning that is solely dedicated to writing. Try different approaches until you find something you can live with and commit to it for a minimum of 30 days to establish the habit.

A resilient writer creates habits to support the act of writing. Such dedication to your writing, to your creative self, will build confidence and strength. Ideas will flow. And soon you’ll be running the marathon of a lifetime – the one with no finish line.