What’s it all about?

My boyfriend was a groomsman in a wedding last weekend and though I knew some of the guests, I was meeting most of the people there for the first time. In the adult world this usually means answering one question over and over again “What do you do?” and in my case—as part of the answer to this question is “I’m a novelist.”—the inevitable follow-up question: “What is your book about?”

Even though I’ve gotten increasingly good at answering this question, it still makes me feel a little put on the spot. There will always be a part of me that screams I don’t know, never mind, STOP ASKING ME! as though the question is a threat, as though the person’s response to my answer might be “Well that sounds like a dumb book, why did you write that?” I ask the same question of fellow writers I meet, by the way, it’s the utterly obvious and polite question to ask really, what else do you say in response to “I’m a writer”?

If you want to be a professional writer of books, you need to be able to answer this question, first to yourself, then to the agents you’d like to represent you, to the publishing house you hope buys the book, to the readers you hope to draw in, and to every person you ever encounter socially for the rest of your life until you are so famous you can just say “Oh hi, I’m J.K. Rowling.” And there’s no further explanation needed.

In many ways the entire process of packaging and marketing a book is an attempt to answer this question. The cover copy should obviously tell the reader what the book is about, but so should the images on the cover itself, the book’s title, and even the font of the book’s title.

Titles have been on my mind quite a lot lately as we’ve been trying to come up with a new one for my book. On the one hand, brainstorming about titles can be a fun exercise, and it’s awesome to have such bright bookish minds weighing in; on the other hand, the whole discussion makes me want to take a long nap. This book has been in my life for thirteen years. I’ve had dozens of drafts and working titles over those years: short dramatic ones, long overwrought ones, pseudo-intellectual obscure ones pulled form lines of poetry. At this point, I feel like a bride who has tried on too many wedding dresses.

And a book’s title is important with a capital “I”—you dream of people calling it by its name. “Have you read The Book yet? You must. It’s so good.” But what name should that be? Out of the 80,000 words that comprise the final book, how do I choose two or three to introduce it to the world? One simple phrase to answer the eternal question: “What is your book about?”

Endurance

As I hoofed it around the lake this past Saturday on my morning run, sweating buckets as the temperature climbed towards ninety, I called on a well-used part of my psyche to spur myself on for the final mile. It’s the part that says “Yes, you can. You don’t want to, it’s unpleasant, but yes, actually you can,” when whatever else it is that is screaming out in protest threatens to overwhelm me.

One of the best compliments I ever received was from a childhood tennis coach and friend of my family’s named Perry. Growing up, he was like a big brother to me and his influence in me went far beyond developing a surefire second serve. It was he who taught me that being tough and being positive were usually the same thing on the tennis court. Your most fearsome opponent was yourself, and the moment you started talking her down, you might as well give up.

A couple of years ago when I was getting back into tennis many years after my college career ended, he said to me after I just finished cranking through a set of forehands: “There it is, AD, the eye of the tiger.” I laughed at the hokey reference and asked exactly what he meant by that. “It’s the look you get: so determined and focused. In all the years I’ve coached, I’ve only seen a few other people who had it.” As Perry pointed out, I’d beaten many people over the years that I had no business beating because of “the eye”. Players who were ranked much higher than me, who had better strokes, were stronger and faster, had more raw talent, and had been paying since they were three. The one thing in my tennis game that I could count on was that I wanted it more than my opponent. When I got on the court with someone who wanted it as much? Those were the matches I lived for.

Tennis is a game where skill matters a great deal, of course, but it’s also a physically and mentally taxing sport. The willingness to do whatever it takes to win can make the difference between losing a match and being done with it and winning, albeit excruciatingly slowly. 

Writing is exactly like this.

It takes a long time to learn how to write a book, and even longer to time to actually write one, and much longer still to write a decent book. And that’s before you even step into the publishing arena to endure—most likely—years of rejection letters, close calls, and other varied disappointments and indignities.

Going through these things is no fun, but somehow talking about it once you’re on the other side of it (you have a book deal, or even better, a bestseller) is downright glee-inducing. Writers love to talk about the struggle easily as much as readers love to revel in the stories of an unemployed JK Rowling scrawling the idea for Harry Potter on a napkin while her train was stalled or Cheryl Strayed having her garbage service discontinued just a year before Wild hit.

Of course writers would want people to know what they went through to get where they are, how hard-earned their success really is. Any writer can tell you that there are few things more frustrating than when a friend or acquaintance with no writing background casually suggests that perhaps they too should write their novel or memoir and get their share of publishing pie.

I also think that looking back on the hard-fought ascent to writing success—however you define it—has a tendency to make writers nostalgic. Because as good as it feels to finally be getting somewhere with your writing, it was on that rocky path that—bit by bit, bird by bird—you found yourself, that you discovered that part of you that says: yes, actually, you can. 

Compare Despair

Are we living in the age of envy?

It used to be that we could only compare ourselves to those we knew in real life, and even then only when we saw or spoke to them. Now unfathomable amounts of information about our co-workers, friends, exes, and acquaintances are a click away. Once upon a time celebrities were remote, glamorous beings with no pretentions of being “just like us”. Now I could probably hop on Instagram and tell you what Cara Delevingne had for breakfast. Photos of Reese Witherspoon come up on my feed right in between pictures of my friends’ dogs, the spectacular bloody mary from their brunch, and stunning vistas from their hikes. Regular users of social media develop a kind of sixth sense for curating snapshots of their lives: a funny conversation overheard at the office of their cool job, a hot new novel placed next to a between a cappuccino with elaborately designed foam, held by their perfect manicure.

Pouring over these updates can be fun…or it can induce stomach-churning envy.

Last week Jilly Gagnon, writing for Elle.com, talked about exploring her feelings of jealousy after a friend of hers landed a flashy book deal. She had her own book deal, but her friend (who was a year younger than her, to add insult to injury) was already garnering praise and attention from the press. To wit, she learned of the good news via a media newsletter.

It may sound petty to feel envious under such circumstances—after all there are surely many who gladly switch places with Gagnon—but I doubt there’s an author out there who couldn’t sympathize.

Since I signed my own book deal back in October, I’ve been spending a lot of time deliberately comparing my work to that of my contemporaries. This is a necessary part of figuring out how to market my book. Determining which authors appeal to the audience you hope to reach is a solid first step to connecting with that audience. But spending so much time thinking about how your work stacks up to those you admire—sometimes even reaching out to them to ask for their support in terms of a blurb—is humbling. You look at what they have—the prime spot on the bestseller list, the movie deal with Reese Witherspoon’s production company, the prestigious awards—and wonder how you could ever live up to it. You wonder: am I really in this league?

But, as I must keep reminding myself, envy is a spectacular waste of energy better used elsewhere. And in truth, no matter how good someone appears to have it, you never know what someone else’s life is really like. Jo Piazza—a writer many are doubtlessly envying furiously right about now—wrote last week about how perfect her life probably looks on social media, and how far from reality that image really is.

It is also true that, without exception, every writer I know who has had any measure of success (and many who haven't yet) has worked hard, has persevered through rejection, and done the noble work of continuing create in the face of the world’s indifference.    

When I catch myself feeling covetous of someone else’s success, I try to focus on how far I’ve come. My current success might not stack up so well to that of Cheryl Strayed or Donna Tartt, But compared to the career of Andrea Dunlop a year ago? I’m kicking ass.  

Letting it Go

I first began working on the novel that is now The Sojourn thirteen years ago when I was a senior in college. (That sentence makes me want to go take a nap). Many, many other things happened in my writing life and actual life between now and then, of course, but the novel was always with me: as I wrote other novels, as I moved across the country and back again, loved, lost, tried several times to get published. These characters had staying power. Many of the details—probably a majority of them—have changed over the years, but Brooke, Sophie, and Alex have remained the book’s beating heart.

Now I’m in the process of reviewing first pass pages. The book is laid out as it will look on the page—seeing the words like this feels something like what I imagine seeing one’s daughter in a wedding dress would. My baby, all grown up.

First pass pages are my last real opportunity to make changes before my novel goes out into the world in March, and in galley form before that. Many very talented people have helped the book get to this point—my mentor Pat Geary (perhaps the only other person who has read every previous incarnation of the novel) my GFP editor, Amara, my agent, Carly, my Atria editor, Sarah, the copyeditor, etc. (Can you tell I’m working on my acknowledgements?). Now is the time for final touches, and then it’s done. Then I enter into that bargain with readers—critics included—that the book now belongs to them, belongs to the world. Brooke and Sophie and Alex will have to speak for themselves.

We all have to grow up someday.  

Handling Criticism

Last week I came upon yet another story about an author losing his mind over a bad review. (You can read through the debacle here if you have some time to kill.) The indie author in question went absolutely hysterical on a reviewer who left him a one star review, eventually resorting to calling her (and everyone else who jumped into the fray) the scum of the earth, accusing them of heartlessly sabotaging his career.

Lest you think this kind of behavior is limited to the Wild West world of Indie publishing, be assured that it isn’t. Not long ago bestselling author Ayelet Waldman threw a very public fit, not over a bad review but over the perceived snub of her latest novel not being included on the New York Times “Most Notable Books” list. Author Kathleen Hale actually stalked a reviewer and then wrote about it in a piece on The Guardian that is both compelling and cringe-worthy.  

Hale mention in the piece that Goodreads is aware of the the potential downfalls of letting authors and readers connect so directly. They issue the issue the following warning to authors who attempt to comment on reviews of their own work: 

“We really, really (really!) don’t think you should comment on this review, even to thank the reviewer. If you think this review is against our Review Guidelines, please flag it to bring it to our attention. Keep in mind that if this is a review of the book, even one including factual errors, we generally will not remove it.

“If you still feel you must leave a comment, click ‘Accept and Continue’ below to proceed (but again, we don’t recommend it).”

Most writers are sensitive people and having one’s work in the world can feel excruciatingly vulnerable. Feeling frustrated, pissed-off, and distraught over a bad review is absolutely understandable. Especially in this new world where “critics” include not only educated readers at papers of record with actual codes of conduct, but basically anyone with an internet connection and an axe to grind. And yet, reviews are never meant to be a dialog—no matter how bait-y they appear—and any author who does engage, loses almost by default. There is virtually no way to respond (at least publicly) to a review and come out looking good, the very act of doing it is petty. Putting art into the world for public consumption, you are opening yourself to criticism and it is a bargain that you must accept. This does not include, by the way, personal attacks. Your looks, your character, your worth as a person, shouldn’t be up for scrutiny. But reactions to your work? The good, the bad, and the ugly are all fair game.

So what’s an author to do?

Not reading reviews is an option. Gretchen Rubin, a bestselling author many times over, doesn’t read hers. I admire the discipline of a writer who can do that; I can imagine where that would be healthier than the alternative. I have a feeling that my curiosity would get the best of me though, and besides, if you never read the reviews, you also never get to hear the good.

It’s also worth remembering that getting reviewed in the first place is a privileged position. Many authors’ work—even that which comes from venerable publishing houses—is roundly ignored by the media. If there’s anything worse—or at least just as bad—as a bad review, it’s silence. 

The lucky writer has been through years—maybe decades—of rejection by the time they are receiving—or not receiving—their first reviews. They’ve forged an iron belief in themselves, they’ve built a resilience that can’t be shouted down. They’re determined to carry on no matter what. I like to think I’ve done some of that work over this last decade.

All the same, I might go ahead and stay off of Goodreads.

The Meaning of Makeup

The internet was awash with thought-provoking pieces last week about Caitlyn Jenner’s stunning Vanity Fair reveal: from pleas not to forget the more vulnerable members of the community to Janet Mock’s examination of (among other things) what the female aesthetic represents for those in trans community. KJ Dell Antonia’s Motherlode column on how the photos of Caitlyn present a teachable moment for our daughters resonated with me because upon seeing the cover, I was struck by how similar it was to most other magazine covers. As Dell Antonia pointed out, the level of manipulation that goes into a photo shoot like Jenner’s is mind-boggling. The hair extensions, the makeup, the push-up bras and Spanx, the lighting and styling to hide this and highlight that. None of this would be any different if Jenner were a cis-gendered woman, this is just the cover girl treatment. And that’s before we even get to the airbrushing and photo-shopping.

I can imagine that after a lifetime of hiding her true self, it must have felt freeing to revel in all the trappings of female glamour. I imagine that this artifice helped her make her way to her most authentic self.

Her famous stepdaughter isn’t often seen styled to any less degree of precision. Kim Kardashian is known, among other things, for her application of aggressively contoured, piled on makeup. Kim is a beautiful woman even without it, of course, as we know from the photos of her in no makeup (or at least minimal makeup) that regularly circulate. If I were a celebrity, I’m certain I’d never leave the house barefaced. The press is vicious to women about their looks.

I don’t wear makeup on the day-to-day. It’s not a political statement, though I certainly don’t feel that women should be pressured to wear makeup to look “pulled together”. I used to wear makeup daily, but at some point I just stopped. I don’t even remember making the decision to do so. I still wear it when I’m out on the town, if I have an important meeting, if I’m having my picture taken for some reason.

My comfort without makeup has its limits. Years ago, before I met my boyfriend, my therapist suggested that I try going on dates in a t-shirt and jeans, hair back, no makeup. Basically, what I usually looked like when I was in her office. It was meant to be an exercise in being vulnerable. The idea of not going through the pre-date ritual of suiting up in my most flattering clothes, blowing out my hair, and putting on a full face of makeup was surprisingly terrifying. So much so that I never tried it.   

Amanda Filipacchi’s brilliant novel The Unfortunate Importance of Beauty looks at beauty as artifice from both sides of the coin. Costume designer Barb, distraught that her beauty may have been the cause of her dear friend’s suicide (because he told her so, not because she’s an egomaniac) dons a carefully constructed ugly suit (bad teeth, a frizzy grey wig, an extra sixty pounds) to hide her looks; convinced that any man worth her love will see beyond it. Meanwhile one of her best friends, brilliant but homely composer Lily, fears that her looks will forever separate her from the man she loves. They present equal and opposite examples of how every woman’s life is affected by the construct of beauty.

Of course, being female is about much more than styled hair, mascara, and push-up bras. Hearing the experiences of Jenner, Mock, Laverne Cox, and the many other trans-women who’ve bravely come forward to tell their stories, challenges us all to think harder about what it really means to be a woman. And it has nothing to do with makeup.  

The Artist Isn’t Present

I love chatting with my fellow writers on Twitter. The ability to do so is what turned me from a Twitter dabbler to an enthusiast. Being able to reach out and let an author—and the world at large—know how I loved a book or piece of writing in one click is a singular joy. Sometimes it has other benefits—the person follows me or reads my work, sometimes we even become friends—but just being able to send them this low-key, non-intrusive love note feels good in and of itself. The connection I feel with a book I love can been stunningly deep, this gesture of reaching out to the author is small, light, but still meaningful.

These days, when I go to write something to an author on Twitter—say Maria Semple—and they’re nowhere to be found, I feel in some tiny sense unmoored and disappointed, like I’ve discovered they’re no longer living.

I’m thirty-three, a peculiar age in that I’m technically in—but in many ways not of—the millennial generation. It means that most of my life happened entirely without the presence of social media and smart phones. I didn’t own a cell phone of any kind until I was out of college. I talked to other teenagers (or “teenagers” *shudder*) in AOL chatrooms (scree-errr-chhhh), I bought wagon axles in the general store on Oregon Trail.

For most of my life I read books without updating anyone other than the next friend who asked me for a reading recommendation. It was a given that the act of reading was a solitary, one-way experience. You’re only option was to write an author you loved a fan letter—which it never occurred to me to do. Once I worked in New York publishing, I met lots of authors in person. Some of them were deeply charming, some were downright off-putting, but there was always something surreal about being faced with a person you’ve become so intimately acquainted with on the page.

Once, when Ian McEwan was visiting the Doubleday offices from England, I drilled my friend Chastity—his publicist’s assistant—for his whereabouts in the building. I contrived to be carrying something to the copy machine the moment I knew he’d be arriving on our floor. When I saw him—kind eyes behind signature spectacles—I stood stunned for a brief moment, before booking it off down the hallway towards the copier. His work was too dear to me to risk having a moment of awkwardness. What if he was dismissive? What if he was, like several distinguished male authors I’d met, an unabashed ogler? (I have no reason to believe that Mr. McEwan is either of these things, by the way, he has a sterling reputation). I could easily have asked his publicist Nicole to introduce me, but Ian McEwan the artist was too important to me to risk it on a moment in the presence of Ian McEwan the man.

The desire to connect can cut both ways. One of the most buzzed about authors of the last few years is Italian novelist Elena Ferrante, who is not only not on Twitter, but completely anonymous: with people speculating that she is everything from a male to a group of authors writing together. The mystery seems to be working for her—though it’s earned her some scorn from the press—and she represents a particular fantasy: that of being able to produce one’s work entirely in peace. The hustle of trying to promote yourself a writer, of putting yourself out there, can be wearing.

The way we read—the way we interact with art and artists as a whole—has fundamentally changed. Social media provides a cozier connection to those we admire than was ever available to us previously. No artist should be feel beholden to this—you don’t owe anyone access to your personal life—but insofar as reading and writing is about making a human connection, I can’t help but think that the ability to share the love with the click of a button has improved the experience. What do you think?

Worst Case Scenario

Fear can be useful. It can get you out of bed in the morning, sit you at your desk, and help you do what you were meant to do.

Or, it can paralyze you, it can ask “why even try?”. It can tell you that nothing you do will ever be good enough, that you will never be good enough. This is the fear that sits on your shoulder, the terror of the blank page that undermines your efforts in subtle but pernicious ways.

The more you try to shove this fear down, the more insidious it can become. So don’t. Tell it to take a seat, ask it what it’s really on about. What, really, is the worst that can happen?

I am going to borrow a concept here from a very wise client of mine who is both a skilled psychotherapist and a karate sensei (if that’s not the kind of person you should listen to than who?): purposeful catastrophizing. It is a handy, if somewhat counterintuitive, tool that allows you to calm your fears by playing out the worst case scenario and in doing so, realizing that a) you would probably survive it and b) that it’s highly unlikely.

As a writer, you have to do many things that make you feel vulnerable: from the artistic process itself, to querying agents, submitting to editors, asking for blurbs, and marketing your own work. The whole process can make you feel like you’re standing naked on a street corner screaming for attention.

But in reality, what’s at stake is far more abstract. Writing may feel like life or death, but it isn’t. So in those moments of terror, have a little exploratory conversation with yourself, you may find those monsters under the bed aren’t so menacing once you pull them into the light.  

Let’s practice. Ready?

What’s the worst that will happen if you query that agent? Ask for an introduction? Pitch that story? Email that stranger?

I’ll feel embarrassed and vulnerable.

And?

They’ll think I’m an idiot! They’ll be irritated by me.

Keep going. What’s the worst it could get?

They’ll hold it against me forever, they’ll remember my name and blackball me for future opportunities.

Okay…that’s technically possible if the person receiving the email were deranged. Not terribly plausible. What’s the likely outcome?

They’ll either say yes, say no, or not answer.

And go on with their own lives. Right?

Sure.

Okay, what’s the worst that can happen if you don’t do any of those things? If you never write your book, never try to get it published, never try to make a success of it.

I’d probably be fine.

Worst case!

I’d be haunted by regrets of a wasted life on my death bed.

That’s pretty bad.

It really is.

Maybe you’d better just do it.

The Real Thing

I suppose many people suffer from feeling like frauds, but writers seem to have a particular yen for it. I have yet to meet an accountant or lawyer who questions whether they are a real accountant or lawyer; they may wonder whether they’re a good accountant or lawyer but not whether they are a real one.

For all that opinions abound on the subject of what differentiates a “real” writer from their somehow less authentic counterparts, there is no agreement, no test one can pass or certification one can get that will settle the subject.

Is a real writer someone who is published? If so, then how big must their publisher be for it to count? Or does being published by a small indie press make them more authentic? What about self-published authors?

Is a real writer someone who has their MFA? Someone who has won prizes? Someone who is read by lots of people, or does it only need to be the right people? Do, in fact, only certain kinds of readers even count?

Perhaps the reason so many writers question their “realness” in the trade is exactly because there is no piece of outside validation to tell them when they’re real. Many a writer with accolades that would seemingly assure them of their realness—publication, awards, teaching gigs—have confessed to me that they fear they are not, in fact, the real thing.    

Many of us have some perfect ideal of what a real writer is: maybe it’s Dorothy Parker at the Algonquin round table, maybe it’s a tortured soul like David Foster Wallace. Recently a conference participant lamented to me that she wished that she could have lived in the time of Hemingway, he didn’t have to market himself like authors do now. I reminded her that Hemingway was a miserable alcoholic who killed himself, so maybe having to learn to use Twitter wasn’t actually the worst fate that could befall a person.

I hate it when people get overly precious about writing—when they claim they must do it or they would perish, and that if you cannot claim the same, you’re not “real”. I, for one, can think of several situations in which I wouldn’t need to write: if I found myself having to flee a war-torn country, perhaps, or if I were preoccupied with finding food for my family. The writing life is a privileged one, let’s not pretend otherwise. That said, there’s something to that intense devotion. If anything, that may be where the realness lies.

The moment I felt like the real thing was my lowest as a writer. I’d just gone out with my first novel and it had been rejected all around town. My agent told me we’d reached the end of the road. That call I’d been anxiously waiting for—the one that was going to make me real—wasn’t coming. I was still young enough then for this to feel like the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I was bereft. But I didn’t want to give up then, and so I knew that I wouldn’t ever. And, much as you know you really love someone only after that love has been tested, it was then that I began to feel real.

Here I’ll defer to the eternal wisdom of The Velveteen Rabbit’s skin horse on being real: "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept." 

It might not be a pretty process, becoming real, but it lasts for always. 

Are We Having Fun?

 “I’m getting nervous. This is so weird,” April said as we came up the hill toward the club.

“I’m nervous too,” I said. I was coping by belting out the wrong words to the salsa tracks we had playing in the car to get us in the spirit.

April and I used to spend every Friday night dancing, it’s how we first became friends. But now it’d been the better part of year since I’d busted out my Capezios. Now we both had serious boyfriends, our jobs had gotten harder, our bedtimes earlier.

“What if we forget everything we ever knew?” she asked.

Of course we didn’t forget. The body remembers more than we give it credit for, even if it wasn’t quite the same as the old days.

April was a more advanced dancer than I was back then, she even taught classes. But I took it plenty seriously. It brought out my naturally competitive side and I’d find myself focusing on doing it right.

But that was all a long time ago. Now, who cared anymore? Both April and I reflected that it was easier to let go now that we weren’t spending so much time competing with the mirror or getting ready for a performance.

I wasn’t trying to nail my one-legged double turns, I was impressed I could still do a double turn. When I broke off for shines, instead of trying to work in some perfectly executed combination, I just freestyled, even throwing in a little Roger Rabbit, because why the hell not? Why did it always have to be so serious?

We exalt being driven, but damn it gets exhausting sometimes. And I don’t always know when or how to turn it off. If I’m not careful I can turn every should-be-fun activity into a competition with myself. Whether it’s tennis or cooking or dancing or writing, I find a bar and reach for it. And then just as fast, another one appears.

The other night, I’m sure my turns were sloppy. I’m sure I got off the beat, and elbows went out when they should have been in. But I had a good time. I was excited when I nailed a series of shenae turns, even though I nearly passed out when they were over because I’d accidentally been holding my breath. I laughed at myself.

I reminded myself to look up, breathe...just have fun. 

Making Fear Your Ally

I moved to New York after college with great writerly ambitions. My plan was to work at a magazine and write novels on the side. In that era, every other aspirational female character in a movie of television show was a magazine editor. After a series of interviews for magazine jobs that paid $23K a year, I lucked into a temp job at Random House—I quickly realized this was a better track from me stayed with the company until I left the city. I admittedly didn’t write much during my first couple of years in New York, and when I at last started noodling with a novel, it was in fits and starts. It was a conversation with the Irish writer Polly Devlin that set me straight.

One of the considerable perks of my job (I eventually landed in the publicity department at Doubleday) was that it afforded me seemingly endless opportunities to meet fascinating people. It was at a book party for a glamorous model-turned-novelist that I met Polly, who was teaching a class at Barnard at the time. She was luminous: beautiful, stylish, with a fierce wit and overwhelming charm: the kind of woman who makes you excited about getting older. She was in the midst of beguiling a New York Times food critic when I met her. Why she had any interest in me, I don’t know, though I suppose being young and bursting with eagerness has its own appeal.

We met up for coffee a few times after the party and it was on one such occasion that we had a conversation that changed my life.

I had at last confessed to my own writerly ambitions. In those days, working at that venerable house, I feared admitting this to people. I thought someone might laugh or think I wasn’t taking my job seriously, that I was only there in the hopes of slipping my manuscript under Nan Talese’s office door. I told Polly that I was having trouble making headway on my novel. She was unsurprised. She told me I had three big factors working against me: “One, you’ve no time to write,” she said. I lived in one of the vibrant, distracting cities in the world. There would always be other things to steal my attention. “Two, this job of yours.” Working in publishing was helpful, she said, but also in its way inhibiting. I knew how the sausage was made. “Three, you’re absolutely terrified, I can see it in your face. And let me tell you, my dear, that fear isn’t going anywhere. It will be with you all your life, so make peace with it. And you need the job. So the only thing you can do anything about is the time. Tell me, what time do you get out of bed in the morning?”

Back then I got up as late as I could get away with while still getting to work on time, around eight o’clock. And what time did I go to bed? She asked. Midnight at best. I was twenty-five and living in New York, life primarily took place after dark. So could I start going to bed an hour earlier, and getting up an hour earlier to write?

“I guess I could,” I said. I had never considered myself a morning person. In college I burned the midnight oil working writing projects.

“Let me tell you what will happen if you don’t. You will be sitting here ten years from now, wondering why you never finished your novel.”

It occurs to me now that Polly likely gave some version of this sage advice to many young writers over the years. But for me it was like the hand of god, delivering a swift slap across my face. She had hit upon my greatest fear: that I would turn out to be yet another wannabe writer who gave up, who carried with them their unrealized potential like a so many heavy chains.

This, I decided, could not come to pass. I was up at the then unthinkable hour of 6:30 the next morning to claim that quiet hour for myself. It’s a habit I’ve stuck with—or, more accurately, abandoned and returned to—for the better part of a decade. For me, mornings were the key, because you decide when you begin them. It’s possible, I realized then, to get out in front of the day’s distractions.

Fear, as I learned then, can be a powerful ally. Not the free-floating, anxious kind that paralyzes you and asks “why bother?” but the galvanizing, deeply-felt variety that asks “how can you not?” Times flies by us all, and it cares not at all about your dreams. There won’t come some future when you magically have time to devote to writing: time will always fill with other things if you allow it to. Find your fear and keep it close, let it show you the way.      

The Gift of Waiting

Pursuing a professional career as a writer involves a lot of waiting. My agent Carly wrote a great post a few weeks ago about what to do when you’re waiting for something to happen in publishing: waiting for your novel to come out, waiting to hear back from agents, waiting for reviews to come in. Her advice is on-point; twiddling your thumbs and obsessing over parts of the publishing process you can’t control (read: most of it) is crazy-making. I’m pretty good at keeping myself occupied, but lately, I’m trying to cultivate an appreciation for the “waiting” part.  

It’s too easy to become overly focused on the next goal in your life and let the days rush by in a hurricane of to-do lists and busyness. We barrel through the days and weeks towards the next milestone: whether it’s a promotion at work, an artistic pursuit, or a step forward with our romantic partner. We’re a culture that prizes doing. Waiting? Being? Those we struggle with. Okay, I struggle with those things. I like to do, I’m proactive, persistent, disciplined. All good things. To a point.  

“Busy” has become the ultimate place to hide in our culture. Absorb yourself in work, in tasks, in accomplishments, and people won’t question you. You’re doing stuff, lots of stuff, you’re on it, in fact, you are all over it.

It’s easier to pinpoint the wrongness of this in the rearview than it is in the moment. I think back on the summer I was working on my first novel (or rather, the first one I tried to get published). I was still living in New York then, and it would be sweltering already when I woke up at 6:30 to write before work. I’d go down to Dunkin Doughnuts every morning and get a big iced coffee to keep me company; the guy at the counter soon begin to recognize me and start making my coffee the moment he saw me walk in the door. I was still many years away from a book deal—and it wouldn’t be for the novel I was working on then—but it was the happiest summer I spent in New York. Those mornings at my desk, ice coffee sweating bullets through its plastic cup, I was full of purpose. I was, for the first time in my newly-minted adult life, being a writer.

I just turned thirty-three a few weeks ago. The thirties are a decade full of huge potential milestones both personal and professional: you’re supposed to hit your stride in your career, but also get married, buy a house, have some kids. Maybe none of these things are on your list, but I suspect you’ve got something equally ambitious in the other direction on deck in that case: travel the world, write all the books, build your own canoe, run a marathon.

My novel doesn’t come out for almost a year. Sometimes that feels like forever, and yet that on-sale date will arrive before I know it. On the personal side, I’ve been with my boyfriend for over a year, and we have lots of proper, grown-up, settled down plans for the next few years. Lots of milestones to hit, lots of things to do.

But right now, in this moment, it’s a seventy degree spring day in Seattle and those I love are safe and sound. I have a book on the horizon and a man I love by my side. It’s a pretty good place to be.  

Finding a Balance Between Creating and Promoting

In last week’s post, I talked about getting organized so you can make time in your life for regular writing, a daunting challenge in itself. But the reality is that your job as a writer goes far beyond putting pen to page. Regardless of how your book is being published, much of the task of marketing will likely fall on you. If you want to give your books the best chance of finding readers, you need to incorporate some marketing efforts with your writing ones. And yes, this is likely in addition to you day job, your family, and whatever other obligations you have.  

So how can you maintain a balance and avoid burnout? How can you make the marketing end of this process something that’s nourishing rather than depleting? 

*Because your promotional lifecycle will amp up significantly when your book is about to go on-sale I’ve divided this list into “life” and “launch”.

For life:

Community:

Being an author means more than producing material for books. It means that you’re part of a community. Building these networks long before you have something of your own to promote is vital. If you expect others to care about your work, you need to show you care about theirs. You probably understand that intuitively but what does it mean practically?

·        Be a patron. Do you have a fabulous indie bookstore that you would love to see your book on the shelves of someday? Then don’t be a stranger! Buy your books there whenever possible; engage the staff by asking them for reading recommendations and telling them how much you like the store; attend store even; talk them up to friends and on social media. Even one great Indie evangelist can make a huge difference to the life of your work.

·        Be a pal. If you’re an author, you’re certainly a voracious reader as well. When you finish a book you loved, take five minute to post about the book on Amazon, Goodreads, Twitter, wherever readers are likely to see it. For you extroverts out there, maybe even drop the author a line and buy them a drink!  

·        Be social on social media: social media is powerful because it’s interactive. So rather than using Twitter to post what you ate for breakfast, engage other writers and readers using the hashtags #amreading and #amwriting (perennially popular) to talk books and promote stuff you like. Comment on blogs that you enjoy and pipe up in forums. Make yourself a known quantity.

Consistency

This isn’t a ten-day diet, it’s a lifestyle. Pick a strategy that will actually work for you. If you only have fifteen minutes a day to spend, great! Comment on one blog per day, add to a hashtag on Twitter. Have an hour a day? Blog, post on forums. Have only a couple of hours a month? Post reviews of every book you read online. Attend one conference per quarter or one reading per month. Do what you can, and do it consistently.

Fun:

If you treat this process like a chore, it will show. Take the time to find out what works best for you. If you’re an introvert, you can engage purely online. If you love meeting people but can’t spend another moment staring at your computer screen, readings and conferences are where it’s at. Maybe you loathe Twitter but you love Pinterest. Don’t spend time trying to force yourself to do things you don’t want to do. Find ways to engage on a genuine and enjoyable level. Remember that all of the things on this list— from attending events to using Twitter—are things people do for fun.

For launch:

*Think of your launch as the three to six month period before your book comes out and the several months after.

·        Get help: consider budgeting some money from your advance if you have a book deal, or allocating part of your overall budget for self-publishing your work to hire someone to help with publicity and marketing. If you have an in-house publicist, find out what their plan is and work to supplement it. In-house folks usually focus on traditional media outreach (print, radio, and television), so you’ll need a strategy for online and social media regardless. Whether it’s paying for a onetime consultation or for someone to do a full-scale campaign for you: expertise can go a long way. If you have more time than money, avail yourself of the many great online resources and books on the subject of marketing. Not sure if you should hire help? Read this.  

·        Have a plan: You’re much more likely to stick to your goals if you outline them and give yourself targets and a to-do list. Treat it like a business plan or a diet, give yourself structure for success. How many blogs posts will you write a week? Which fellow authors will you reach out to and when? Which local indies could you approach about hosting an event? Set goals for three months prior to launch, one month before, one month after etc.

·        Ask for support. Now is the time to reach out to all of those you’ve been steadily building relationships with. Even though now is your big moment, remember that making it fun and mutually beneficial is the way to go. Offer to bring everyone you know into your favorite local bookstore for a launch party. Entice people to come to said party with wine and snacks, see if another author wants to read with you. Offer to guest blog for someone, or ask them to guest blog for you. Offer giveaways online. If friends tell you they loved your book, ask them if they’d mind posting a review online. You don’t have to be a pest, but now is not the time to be bashful. Writing a book is a big accomplishment so be proud! You can go back to be self-deprecating later.

Essential Blogs for Writers Part Three: Getting Your Act Together

What most of us lack when we’re going through a writing slump isn’t inspiration, but rather motivation. There is a lovely fantasy of being a writer that involves you sitting a desk in a serene setting while inspiration flows through you.

Ha!

Maybe that was you that one weekend at the retreat, but I’m guessing that’s not what your daily writing life looks like. Most writers have all the normal things everyone else has: full-time jobs, spouses, children, dogs, noisy neighbors. The questions is not how do I spend my day writing, but how do I squeeze writing time into my daily routine?

This is before you even throw in all of the non-writing stuff you need to do if you want a career as an author: social media, community building, blogging, making a website; the list goes on, but I don’t want to give you a heart attack before I even get to the helpful part of the post.

To lead a successful writing life, you need some serious discipline and organizational skills. Here are five blogs to help you:

If you need to prioritize…

Gretchen Rubin

Prodigious author and blogger Gretchen Rubin has built a robust career writing about how to live a happier, more organized life. Her latest book is all about habits, and good habits are essential to a writer’s life. If you’re feeling frazzled, an hour on her blog will sort you out.

If your life feels out of whack…

Martha Beck

If the rest of your life is descending into chaos, it can be hard to find time to write, even though it might be the best thing you could do for yourself. Oprah-ordained life coach extraordinaire Martha Beck offers great advice for getting through rough patches, reaching ambitious goals, and making the right decisions.

If you need some Zen…

Leo Babauta

Writer Leo Babauta offers several posts per week with simple, powerful advice on everything from fitness to inspiration to family life. Leo will help you chill out and get things done, all while helping you maintain your perspective and live in the moment. His heartfelt wisdom and community spirit make it easy to see why his is one of the most popular blogs in existence.

If you need a kick in the ass…

Penelope Trunk

We all get lazy sometimes, it’s not necessarily a character flaw. Sometimes you need your hand held, but sometimes you need some tough love. Enter Penelope Trunk. Penelope offers insightful, sometimes ruthless advice on decision-making, productivity, careers, the intersection of work and life, and more. Her blunt, uncompromising wisdom is a refreshing reminder that none of us are special snowflakes, plan accordingly.  

If your life is just bananas…

Lifehacker

Squeezing even an hour of writing into your day can feel like a Herculean task. If that hour is not magically appearing and you can’t afford to cut anything out completely, what you need is an efficiency upgrade. With advice from a stable of talented contributors on everything from managing your money to your time to your emotional life, Lifehacker will help you streamline your life by making the best use of the latest in technology, psychology, science, and more.

Essential Blogs for Writers Part Two: Book Blogs

There are many roads to becoming a writer. But whether you’re an autodidact or an MFA candidate, one thing you surely are if you aim to become a writer is a passionate reader. Regardless of what structures we employ to sharpen our craft, consuming as many books as possible is a necessity.

There are all kinds of ways to find your next good book: your local bookstore, your favorite magazine (The books section in O Magazine is half the reason I subscribe), your bookish friends, social media, and of course, blogs. The latter has been an underutilized source for me, a problem I’d like to remedy. The world of books is vast, and the more diverse your sources of discovery, the better informed you will be.

The world of book blogs can feel overwhelming, but engaging with the passionate souls who tend them is worth the effort. Book blogs often don’t use the stringent review structure of more traditional review sections like The New York Times so it’s important to find those with an approach and voice that suite your tastes.  

If you’ve dipped a toe in the world of book blogs, you’ve likely heard of places like The Rumpus, Book Riot, and Bookslut. Here are five slightly lesser known site I love:

Beth Fish Reads: A well-written and extremely savvy book blog from a freelance book editor, reviewer, and journalist. In addition to reviews, interviews, and guest posts from authors, she has a weekend cookbook feature and Imprint Fridays, where she focuses on the offerings from a specific publishing imprint. This blog is as well-curated as it is delightful.

Liz & Lisa: The blog of co-authors and lifelong best friends Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke is a great stop if you love contemporary women’s fiction. These are the gals you wish would start a book club in your neighborhood. You won’t find critical reviews here, they save their space for the stuff they love and want to recommend. They cover most traditionally published work, but occasionally will cover some of the self-published gems, which can be especially hard to get wind of. Chick lit with plenty of brains and heart is what these gals are all about.    

She Reads: Founded by authors Marybeth Whalen and Ariel Lawhorn in 2009, what started as an online book club has become a thriving community hotspot featuring book recommendations, author interviews, book discussion, and book-related recipes. If you’re looking to win your next book club meeting (and why wouldn’t you be?) this is the place for you.

Book Patrol: Managed by Seattle-based longtime bookseller Michael Lieberman, this site features not only the standard reviews and interviews, but a host of other bookish delights from Hemingway-inspired t-shirts to vintage cover art, and much more. It’s the internet equivalent of spending an hour roaming around your favorite quirky local bookstore.

The Book Wheel Blog: This blog features mostly book content with a dash of pop culture, all written in the author’s fun, approachable style. Blogger and book lover Allison (who works as a shark conservationist) is like that unpretentious friend you can both discuss literary fiction with but also won’t judge you for watching Bravo. And she knows about sharks so…not going to lie, I just kind of want to have brunch with her.

Next up: Blogs to Help You Manage Your Life (so you can make time for writing)

Bouncing Back From Rejection

In honor of March Madness—which is currently taking over my household—I want to talk about a key skill that even couch potato writers can learn from sports: resilience. As an athlete, you work long and hard for your chance at glory on the court—just as you toil away for years as a writer—and it’s devastating to have a big moment slip through your fingers. In both cases, the time you show your mettle is after the tough loss. Do you give up? Or do you get right back in it? Okay, maybe you cry into a beer in your tennis uniform first and then you get back in it.

As a seasoned rejection-getter, here’s a look at my playbook:

Practice

The more you send your work out, the easier it will become to take that step and make yourself vulnerable to rejection. When I queried agents for my first novel years ago, I cried every single time I got a rejection letter. I was so nervous awaiting their responses that when I got a negative one, it sent me into a mini tailspin.

When I was looking for a new agent this past summer, it struck me how much easier it had become. When I got a rejection letter, I felt a small stab of disappointment and thought “Okay, they’re not the one. Moving on.” Partly this was because I felt better about my work than I ever had before—just as in sports, nothing beats preparation—but partly it was just because, after reading dozens and dozens of rejections letters, I was inured to it. It’s never easy to put yourself out there, but it gets easier the more you do it.

Don’t Take it Personally

This is, perhaps, the biggest challenge. Your writing is likely deeply personal. But your writing is not you, so don’t tie your self-worth up in it. Book deal or no book deal, bestseller or flop: you will still be you. Writing is art; trying to sell it is business. Don’t confuse the two. Wait until you feel your art is ready to stand on its own, then do your best to let it go. When an agent, a publisher, or a reviewer doesn’t like your work, it’s not because they’re against you or because you’re a failure. If you’re able to let feedback guide you rather than destroy your confidence, you’re much more likely to benefit from it. Don’t let rejection define you. Just as with athletes, if you keep showing up, if you’re back next season, you’ve got an edge over most.  

Remember it Only Takes One

That moment of hearing yes? Of talking to a publishing professional who has fallen in love with your work and wants to support it? Trust me, it will overshadow everything that came before it. Writing is not about creating something everyone will love. You don’t want to just find an audience, you want to find your audience, and it all starts with a yes from the right person.  

Modulate the Highs and Lows

When my agent was submitting my first novel to publishers, I was on an anxious high the whole time. Every day I would wake up and think “this could be the day my life changes!” And every time we got some positive feedback, my expectations would ramp up another notch. So it’s no wonder that I crashed hard when I ultimately didn’t get a deal. It’s important to celebrate your successes, of course, but the flip side of not letting failure define you is that you can’t let success define you either. I saw this all the time when I was working at Doubleday, authors would set themselves up for disappointment by setting their expectations so high, there was nowhere to go but down. For the truly resilient, it’s never over until you decide it is. So just decide you’re not quitting and chill out.

Treasure the Process  

Being a successful writer takes many things: some measure of innate talent, lots of hard work and discipline, certainly, and a bit of luck. But resilience is the hallmark of what it means to have a lifelong writing career. This is why we love origin stories of famous writers papering their offices with rejection letters. Getting rejected many times over and living to fight another day? That ardent self-belief and that passion that fuels you to keep going? That’s what makes you the real thing.  

Essential Blogs for Writers (Part One)

It can feel overwhelming to be a writer in the internet age. But rejoice! Never has there been so much great information right at your fingertips. Writing and publishing blogs are both a wealth of vital information and the perfect place to interact with your online writing community. And marketing your work is all about building community right? Right.

I have amazingly talented colleagues at Girl Friday, and I regularly harangue them to share their knowledge with the world (wide web). The more complex publishing becomes, the more important it is to stay informed. Whether you’re a newbie or a veteran looking to stay current, blogs are your best bet at getting and staying sharp when it come to new technologies, industry trends, and evergreen writing advice.

Over the next few weeks, I’m going to share some of my favorite blogs about the craft of writing, the business of book publishing, and the art of marketing your work, along with some bonus blogs intended to help you manage all of the above without losing your wits.

Writing and Publishing

·       Nathan Bransford: This long-time agent and now novelist is a treasure-trove of knowledge about writing and publishing. He blogs several times a week in his friendly, humble style on everything from setting and characterization, to how to write the perfect query letter. If you’re new to the game, his “Publishing Essentials” sidebar is a must-read.

·       Carly Watters: Full disclosure, I’m lucky enough to be represented by Carly, but even if I wasn’t, I’d still read her blog on the regular because it’s chock-full of insights on how to query an agent, how to maximize social media, and how to navigate the often byzantine publishing industry. Her straightforward, friendly advice makes her an invaluable friend to authors both on her roster and off.

·       Jane Friedman: From long, thoughtful meditations on writing, to invaluable, exhaustive how-to’s about publishing in the digital age, this industry veteran is a much needed voice of reason in the madness that is modern publishing. I often wonder how first time authors who haven’t ever worked in publishing even know where to start, the lucky ones find Jane.

·       Betsy Lerner: The day Betsy stopped blogging daily was a sad one for me. Her irreverent, thoughtful take on writing and publishing earned her a loyal following and comment section of which I was a devoted member. She blogs less frequently now, but check out her greatest hits page for helpful and hilarious advice on everything from how to write a query letter to how to know if your work is any good. While you’re at it, do yourself a favor and buy a copy of her seminal book The Forest for the Trees: An Editor’s Advice to Writers.  

·       Pub Rants: This blog from agent Kristin Nelson (who has represented such bestsellers as Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet and Wool) started way back in 2006 and is still going strong. In addition to writing tips and query recommendations, Kristin gives authors a full backstage pass to the world of being a literary agent, taking readers on her adventures through the slush pile and being candid about what she goes for and what she passes on (and why). A refreshing reminder that agents want to find that great book in the slush pile.

Next up: Books blogs worth reading!

The Intrusion Hierarchy: How to Contact People About Your Book

After my first date with my now boyfriend, he called and left me a voice mail asking me out on second date. I told him later that I was a bit impressed by this. “You told me to call you, so I called,” he said. No text, no Facebook message. A phone call: straightforward and old-school.

Maybe it’s a sad commentary on modern dating that this impressed me, but it’s also reflective of just how mind-boggling the options for methods of communicating have become. How is a poor dater supposed to know whether a particular means of getting in touch might be too forward or too cowardly?

I’ve learned a lot about how to communicate with people in my ten years as a publicist / social media director. I often explain to clients how and when to contact people using something I call the “Hierarchy of Intrusion.” After all, you don’t want to tweet a gal when she’s expecting a phone call, but the reverse is just as true.

Method: Face to face.

Potential intrusion level: High.

When to use it: Use this method of communication only with your very closest contacts (mom, wife) or those who have opted into face-to-face contact. For example, if an agent is attending a writing conference, it’s perfectly okay to introduce yourself. By being there, they’ve tacitly agreed to talk to other conference attendees. Showing up at their office without an invitation? Obviously not okay. The same goes for booksellers. If they’re working at a store, they’ve agreed to some degree of communication with the folks who come by. This doesn’t mean that it’s okay to barrage them with questions about carrying your book when they’re slammed with customers. Check in with them about a good time to talk or have materials ready to leave for them to read at their leisure. And while you’re there, buy some books.

Bottom line: Meeting people face to face can foster amazing connections, but proceed with caution—people can easily feel cornered or put on the spot, especially if they know you want something from them.

Method: Telephone.

Potential intrusion level: Medium-high.

When to use it: When I used to work in publicity, I was on the phone all day pitching, and it was often my least favorite part of the job. The people I was talking to were all super busy and most likely didn’t want their morning interrupted by a publicist calling to pitch the beautiful, intricate literary novel she wanted them to review. And I don’t blame them. Talk to any person in the media about how much they hear from publicists and the answer will be Too much! Calling was effective in that I could sometimes pique someone’s interest if I got them on the line, and if I left them a voice mail, they’d often answer one of the five emails I’d already sent them (to get me to stop calling). But this was years ago. People’s feelings about talking on the phone have gone in one direction since then.

Much like meeting in person, talking on the phone can foster a high level of connection. Being able to hear a person’s voice and tone can go a long way toward fostering goodwill. But this is definitely another mode of communication where an opt-in is crucial. Try scheduling a phone call via e-mail first, and if you must cold-call, give them an out by offering to e-mail them about it if they don’t have time to talk just then.

Bottom line: The telephone has fallen out of favor as the primary mode of communication. Most people schedule phone calls now, so ask before you dial.

Method: E-mail.

Potential intrusion level: Medium.

“I wish I had more e-mails in my inbox,” said no one ever. E-mail is now the go-to method for most of our work communication. It’s not a bad way to contact someone—they probably won’t be annoyed that you e-mailed them (as long as you’re polite)—but they may very well ignore you, even if they’re potentially interested in what you have to say. Most of us just get so much e-mail. If the relationship is reciprocal, fine, but if you’re asking something of a stranger in an e-mail, it may well get ignored. Lots of folks think it’s a good idea to throw every e-mail address they have into a mailing list and blast out a message about their book. You know what’s the easiest thing in the world to ignore? A mass e-mail.

Bottom line: E-mail is great, but always consider the person on the other end of it. Personalize whenever possible. And for god’s sake, keep it short and snappy.

Method: Social media.

Potential intrusion level: Low.

No one wants more e-mail, but most of us want more Twitter followers, likes on Facebook, and stars on Goodreads. Social media has given us a wonderful way to stay connected with those we meet in real life and to foster connections with strangers whose work we like. This is what makes it such a perfect and powerful tool for building up a community around your work. Twitter in particular is perfect for communicating in a nonintrusive way. Even famous writers are stoked to see a well-crafted complimentary tweet.

Bottom line: Social media is your most powerful tool for communicating with strangers and keeping in touch with people you meet briefly at a conference or event. Use it well and use it often if you’re trying to build a following.

Bonus method: Snail mail.

Potential intrusion method: Low.

You know what I get in the mail? Bills, Victoria’s Secret catalogs, and coupons I will never use. You know what I love getting in the mail? Anything else! I get so excited when I see a card, an invitation, a note. It feels precious and romantic to get something handwritten. Now, there’s always the chance that you might seem a little overly precious, but if you’re thanking someone for something, or asking for something big (like a blurb for your book), consider this as a way to stand out.

Bottom line: Your grandma was right: nothing beats a lovely handwritten note.

Girl on Wire

Earlier this month, my mother and I took a long-planned trip to Miraval, a wellness retreat in Arizona. The place was a health conscious heaven, with a vast array of exercise and meditation classes, spa services up the chakra, and some of the most delicious (and healthy!) food I’ve ever eaten. It’s like a posh summer camp for grownups.

My mom and I had a blast despite the fact that it poured rain (in Tucson!) nearly the entire time. One of the really special elements of Miraval is their adventure course, which features a variety of options for climbing, jumping off high places, and working through various obstacles.

The very last morning of our trip, the sun finally emerged. We had an adventure activity planned but, alas, when the third scheduled person didn’t show up, my mom and I had to choose a different one. We went for the one that our guide, a twenty-something with a red bead called Brad, described as the most physically challenging. My mom is in her sixties but she’s in great shape so I knew it wouldn’t be anything she couldn’t handle.

The Desert Tightrope is a wire about thirty feet in the air, which you arrive at by shimming up a telephone pole outfitted with climbing staples. Once there, you attempt to make it across the wire by holding onto a series of ropes that hang from overhead. The ropes are spaced further apart as you go, so the further your get, the more difficult it is to make it to the next one.

Brad encouraged us to be thoughtful as we went across the wire, to notice what happened inside us as we faced the fear of falling from the wire and the challenge and exhaustion of trying to make it from one rope to the other.

“The great thing about this challenge is that it forces you to be in the moment,” he said, “I guarantee you’re not going to be thinking about the office when you’re up on the wire.”

When faced with a challenge, I tend to say “Great! Bring it!” and charge forward full of bravado, especially if it’s something that scares me. And looking up at the high wire, I was nervous.

Once I was up there, I was stuck by how vulnerable I felt. Even with the assistance of the ropes overhead, it was incredibly tough to keep my balance as I inched from one rope to the other. I thought about my mom watching me on the ground, I knew she had to go next and that seeing me fail might make it harder. In many ways, my mom is the bravest one in my family, but the daredevil side of me that say “Me! I’ll go! Let me at ‘em,” I get from my dad.

When I was up on the wire, all I could think about was getting to the next rope. I yelled down to my mom and Brad something that my therapist Roz tells me about dealing with intense fear “You are safe even though you don’t feel safe.” Reminding myself of that let me get from one rope to the next.

I couldn’t think about getting to the end, it was too overwhelming. I had to laser focus on the rope that was dangling in front of me, to inch ever further from the rope I was relying on for support and stretch to reach out for the next one. As I reached for the second to last rope, I wobbled violently and contracted all my core muscles to stabilize myself. I shouted “Come on you can do it!” at myself. There was no room for inhibition on the wire. And at last, I made it to the rope.

And then I fell.

But I’d almost made it. If there’d been time, I would have gone up again. It mirrored my experiences trying to get a book deal, there were so many times I almost made it. And then I finally did.

My mom went next and she made it through several ropes even though heights make her nervous. I was so proud of her.

How blessed am I, I thought, to get to have this experience on this beautiful day with my beloved mom? We’re both in good health and the sun is shining and we’re climbing up telephone poles with Brad and everything is wonderful.

It’s easy to get instantly overwhelmed when thinking about what you want to accomplish in a given year, or even in a given day, the high wire was a great reminder to deal with fear by taking it step by step, rope by rope. And while you’re at it, take a second to enjoy the view.

Shaun T as Writing (and Life) Coach

In the crowded world of workout “gurus” hawking programs,DVDs, and merchandise, Shaun T—creator of the aptly named Insanity workout series—inspires unusual devotion. He began his career as a backup dancer for Mariah Carey and has gone on to inspire millions with his tough but fun workouts and his positive attitude (he’s seems universally known for being a really good guy). 

I’m pretty particular about coaches and trainers: most I find either too shout-y, too exuberant, or both. But something about Shaun T’s unique brand of drill sergeant meets cheerleader meets best friend strikes exactly the right balance for me. And about a billion other folks, judging from the popularity of his programs. From within the confines of the television screen, he manages to convince you that he really does care about you and that he’s proud of you for working hard.

Shaun T’s uber tough at-home workouts have a turn-key solution for me. My schedule is crowded between my increasingly busy day job and writing life, and regular exercise is non-negotiable. My basic rule about getting things done is to wake up earlier. It’s not because I like mornings, but once the work days get going (and going and going) the chances of writing and getting to the gym get slimmer and slimmer. So the challenge: how do I get both an hour of writing anda workout in before heading to the office? Even the shortest commute to the gym isn’t an option. But lucky me, my boy Shaun T just came without a new 30-minute workout that kicks your butt even harder than the 45-60 minute workouts on his original DVDs.

I love doing these two activities (writing and working out) back-to-back because they reinforce each other so well. Writing is solitary, so it’s nice to have Shaun T’s handsome, pore-less face all up in mine encouraging me right after I finish my hour. Here’s some inspiration straight from the source:

You can (freaking) do it!

Shaun T believes in you. He wants you to believe in you too. When the going gets tough, he’s there to talk you up and remind you what you’re capable of.

If you don’t believe that you can meet your goals as a writer, then you probably can’t. I’m not talking about the absence of any doubt, even wildly successful writers suffer from doubt, but underneath it, there has to be a stalwart belief that your voice matters, that your work can move people, that your words belong in print. It’s a belief that will carry through the challenges of the writing life.

I’m here for you. We’re all here for you.

One of the striking things about Shaun T is the real sense of community that he brings to his DVDs. Though everyone in his videos is uber fit: they’re diverse in terms of age, race, and background.  He regularly does sold out events around the country and has a vibrant online community with coaches and message boards that anyone can use.

People think of writing as a lonely art, and it can be if you let it. But your writing community matters: writers groups, conferences, book store events, lit crawls, online communities. Connect with your people wherever you can—it will help.  

Dig deeper!

One of Shaun T’s famous catch phrases is “Dig Deeper”. When you feel like you can’t go on, he encourages you to check in with yourself, can you do just one more rep? Last one more minute? Everything you need is within you, sometimes you just need to reach a little further to find it.

As much as I believe in community amongst writers, this art ultimately comes from within. To continue writing for many years without recognition (as most of us are bound to do), to continue through the rejections, disappointments, and existential angst takes a massive amount of internal fortitude.

It’s not easy, this takes commitment

Shaun T has fun with his workouts, but he also takes them seriously. He often takes a moment at the end of the video to congratulate his team and you at home on the hard work, he’s knows you’re not half-assing it if you’ve chosen this workout, this is tough so be proud of yourself.

Being a writer is hard. It takes discipline, commitment, and resilience much the same way that a challenging exercise routine does. Writing is always going to have its low moments so it’s crucial to take time to give yourself props for sticking with it and to celebrate milestone like completing a draft, getting an agent, getting a book deal, or even just having an especially good week at the keyboard. Being a writer isn’t for the faint of heart, be proud of yourself.

Know your Limits

Unlike some fitness programs, Shaun T constantly reminds you to listen to your body and know your limits. In Shaun T’s world, there’s no shame in taking a break. Watching the uber fit people in his videos take five to towel off and drink some water, only to hop back in with renewed energy and enthusiasm, is reassuring and inspiring.

Comparing yourself to other writers is a sure path to despair. Everyone’s writing life is different because everyone’s life is different. Don’t compare yourself to a writer who is able to devote their whole day to writing and feel bad that you can only fit in an hour. First of all, they might have a secret trust fund; but regardless they’re a different person with different demands on their time, different priorities, different relationships, etc. etc. Figure out what works for you in your writing life and stick to it. Use other writers’ strategies as inspiration, not bars for competition.