Change It!

“Write what you know,” they say. 

But what if you don’t know anything?

Let me rephrase. I mean, what if I don’t know anything dramatic or adventurous or truly extraordinary? I’m not a spy or a soldier or celebrity. My experiences, and hence the wealth of my knowledge, are quite mundane. That’s a good thing—no tragedies in my life, no dark family secrets upending my worldview. I live a privileged life in a safe country. For that I am truly grateful.

Then how can I write about betrayal or murder or war or longing? How can I write about angels and devils and the Seven Heavens that I created in my YA fantasy novel? I don’t know those things. 

But I feel those things. I can feel for characters who were betrayed—or doing the betraying. I can feel the pain of death, the ache of longing, the joy of living. I can feel my protagonist Evangeline’s desire to stay close to her beloved father Lucifer and I can feel her heartbreak when she learns about the evil he’s done. 

As writers, we need to be in our protagonist’s heads. We need to communicate to the reader how that character feels, not just what they know. 

And we’re all experts at feeling.

So I say we revise the advice: Forget “write what you know.” Instead, “write what you feel.”

Be You

From The Great Gatsby: “The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.”

I love the imagery. I love Fitzgerald’s writing style. 

I tried to imitate it—no, not imitate, but take inspiration from its lyrical beauty. 

Turns out I can’t write like Fitzgerald. 

Oh, maybe I could if I studied, but that’s not my natural writing style. My forte is dialogue and characterization. I often forget about setting or descriptions—at least in my first drafts. 

And you know what I discovered when I wasn’t trying to be Fitzgerald? How much more fun and freeing it was to write like, well, me. 

So I took inventory of my strengths and weaknesses; I know I have areas of improvement (ahem, plot) and I keep learning, and now when I write, I focus on how to hone my writing style. 

Since there’s only ever been one F. Scott Fitzgerald, there might as well only be one of me. 

Just like there is only one of you. 

So figure out what you’re good at, what could use some work, and lean into your style.

Because that’s what we want to read. 

We All Have Them!

When my kids were little, they loved the animated TV show The Backyardigans, about a group of anthropomorphic characters who dart off to play in, well, their backyards, using their imaginations to the fullest. It was captivating enough for adults to watch with their children. 

And I was jealous. 

What a brilliant idea! So simple yet so well executed and how come I hadn’t thought of something like that?? Not that I’m a TV writer, but ideas are ideas and here was an amazing one!

There’s a difference between admiring a story and just downright being jealous of it. Admiration is positive but jealousy, the nasty little green beast, seems to remind us that our own ideas aren’t good enough. We want to be happy for the creators, but damnit, how did they become geniuses?

That’s when I realized it’s not about the idea. I’ve been teaching writing for decades and never once have I come across an idea from a student or coaching client where I think, “meh”. Never. I’m always impressed with their ideas. Every single one. 

So why aren’t we all bestselling or award-winning authors? 

Because the execution and distribution are a whole different ball game. It takes time, effort and skill to translate your ideas onto the page. It takes networking, marketing and a different skill set to send your work out into the world. 

But just knowing that my ideas are good, maybe even brilliant? 

That’s what keeps me going. 

Reader Time vs. Writer Time

Years ago, my husband and I went on a whirlwind tour of Australia. One night, we arrived in Brisbane and noticed the clock in the hotel was wrong. We shrugged. The next morning we were surprised at the quiet streets and closed restaurants. Even the animal park we planned to visit had their hours all wrong. Frustrated, we drove to the airport where the clerk pointed out we’d arrived three hours early. Three hours? Not two? 

It turns out we’d been living a whole day apart from everyone else in time. We hadn’t realized we’d crossed into a new time zone. 

Like that day, time can play pranks on us as writers, too. We feel like our story is dragging, or our character has been underwater for hours, or the duel between the hero and villain is glacially slow. Then we get frustrated and that snowballs into despair. 

But we forget that it only seems like your character is underwater forever or the shootout is in slo-mo because it takes us a long time to write it. You may have started the climactic battle weeks earlier and when you go back to it, you’re still there? But a reader’s time is different. They blow through your battle in no time because they’re on the much faster reader time. 

So don’t despair! Wait until it’s all on the page before you judge it. You’ll be surprised at how time flies when you’re having fun reading your own brilliant story. 🙂

Take Control of Your Inner Critic

“You’re a terrible writer!”

“Who do you think you are??”

“What kind of crap sentence is that??”

“You call that character development??”

Recognize this voice? Of course you do. You’re a writer. Each of us has a persistent, annoying (sometimes debilitating) inner critic. The voice that says you’re not good enough. That you’ll never be good enough. 

I honestly believe the inner critic has a purpose beyond cruelty. I see it as a gremlin, tasked with protecting us from harm—in this case, crushing rejection. If you just tighten that sentence, if you just flesh out that character, then your story will be perfect and will never get rejected and you’ll never get hurt. Unrealistic? Absolutely. Painful? Yep. Effective? Definitely.  

So I challenge you to a mind game. 

What if we rename him? Instead of “Inner Critic”, what if we call him “Outer Critic”? What if we rewire our brain to think of him as an outsider? And would we really stand to hear that kind of negativity from someone else? Self-preservation would dictate we’d run far and fast. 

So let’s think of “Outer Critic” as someone outside of us. Someone we can choose to stay away from. Then maybe he’ll be much easier to ignore. 🙂

(Really!)

Okay, okay, maybe you hear me about giving yourself a break for your so-far-from perfect first draft (or second draft or third draft or twentieth draft) but you can’t seem to do it. You’re still too hard on yourself. You still think what you’ve written isn’t good enough. You’re trying, but you’re not yet successful in tamping down those perfectionist tendencies. 

Fine. I get it (I really, really do). 

You can’t get rid of that drive to do it right-perfectly-every-time-the-first-time. 

So re-channel it. 

Write something bad. I mean it. Make it your goal. Make it your mission to write the perfect worst prose ever. Think you can do that? Think you can go up against the best of the best, Perfectionist? Head over to https://www.bulwer-lytton.com to see how you measure up. 

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest celebrates the worst of the worst opening lines. It’s named in honor of Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton, the writer who penned the infamous first line from his 1830 novel Paul Clifford,  “It was a dark and stormy night.”

And when you realize that writing bad prose can actually be trickier than you think, maybe you’ll finally recognize that you’re actually not half-bad of a writer. In fact, maybe you’re pretty good. Not perfect, perhaps. But that’s okay. Because at least you’re not Edward Bulwer-Lytton.

…When Do You Walk Away?

Despairing after the millionth literary agent rejection, I asked my book coach, “Should I just quit?”

I expected encouragement and affirmation. What I got: “Maybe you should quit.”

I was stung. Was I that bad of a writer?

But I hadn’t let her finish. “Really think about it,” she challenged. “What would your life look like if you did quit? Would you actually be happier?”

I thought about it. Really thought about it. I’d be happier not to get rejection after rejection (‘cause they suck no matter how much it’s expected in this business). And I’d have more free time. And I wouldn’t worry about my next scene. But no, I finally conceded that while I may be happier in the short term, in the long run, I wouldn’t be fulfilled. The desire to write still burned. 

So I didn’t walk away. But I did step back and let myself breathe (and see my family) and then, when I was ready, I dove back in. 

You may be ready for a break. And that’s okay! Or you may be ready to start writing or keep going. 

But you know what’s also okay? If you want to walk away. It doesn’t make you a failure. It makes you smart, because after thoughtful consideration, you’re doing what’s right for you. 

And the good thing about this writing life? It will always be there for you if you ever choose to come back. 

I’ll be here for you whenever that is. 

…Which Means the Writing World Needs You

Everyone can write. (Notice I didn’t say everyone can write well…) But everyone has ideas and a lot of people want to get them down on paper, which is one reason why it’s so hard to get published. 

And that can get discouraging, right? Writers are a dime a dozen. And if so many people can do it, what does that say about you?

It actually says you’re indispensable. You’re irreplaceable. 

There may be a lot of writers, but no one else has the same idea as you. And even if they did, no one else could execute that idea the same as you. 

If you were to build a car and gave up half way through, someone else could come along and finish it. If you were to write a novel and gave up half way through, no one else could come along and finish it. No one else has the same vision in your head, the same turns of phrases, the same plot ideas. 

Which means, if you don’t do it, if you don’t write the idea in your head, it will be lost to the world forever. 

I personally find that pretty motivating. If I don’t do it, no one else will. And since I think my ideas are kinda good, and I think the world deserves them, then I guess I better stick with it.  

Everyone may be able to write, but not everyone is you. You’re one of a kind. 🙂

What Writing Really Looks Like

The first time it happened, my husband laughed. 

He’d come into our bedroom one Saturday afternoon and found me lying on top of the covers, my hands folded, my eyes closed. 

“Feeling okay, Jen?” he’d asked, worried. 

I didn’t open my eyes, wasn’t asleep. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied. “I’m just writing.”

He laughed. 

“You’re writing.”

“Yep.”

I couldn’t see him, but I imagined the indulgent smile, the raised eyebrows. I sighed, finally sitting up. 

“I’m thinking through a scene. Trying to imagine how the action will play out.”

“Oh,” he said, finally understanding. 

Writing isn’t just putting words on the page. It’s extracting ideas from your head, organizing them, rearranging them, reworking them. It’s brainstorming and planning and thinking. You can do it on paper, on the computer—why not also in your head? 

Brainstorming like this was one of my favourite writing activities to do with my high school students. On a carpeted space in the middle of the school, I’d get the students to lie down, close their eyes and write. They snickered, they giggled. They did it. And they were surprised it worked.

Yes, at some point you have to physically write, but since you have to know what to write first, why not stretch out on the couch, close your eyes and go to work? 

Be sure to remind your family you’re writing. 🙂

It’s Your Building Block of Writing (Really!)

A friend once told me he didn’t believe in writer’s block. Of course I scoffed. Because of course it exists. I’ve lived it. That overwhelming, anxiety-ridden, sinking despair when the curser blinks, unmoving, on the blank page—that’s real. 

So I called him on it. His reply? “But there’s no such thing as ‘ditch-digger’s block.’ They just carry on with the hard work.”

Huh. 

They just carry on with the hard work. If you’re a ditch digger, your hard work is physical. You’re battling the elements—the hottest or rainiest of days—or maybe you have your own limitations—you burned your fingers cooking dinner and now you need to hold your shovel with blistered hands. 

My point: every type of job, every type of person has their own challenges. Writing is hard. Creativity feels elusive, like we have to catch lightning in a bottle before we can write—and that’s when we feel blocked.

But too often we use it as an excuse to stop.

Instead, I’ve learned to use it as an excuse to stop and think. I now see “writer’s block” as a warning from my creative subconscious that something in my story isn’t working, so I reexamine my plot or characters. I’ve learned how to use that overwhelming, anxiety-inducing, sinking despair to work for me. It’s not easy. It’s freakin’ hard. 

But it beats digging ditches.