There's still something inside of me that is excited when people ask what I do for a living and I get to tell them I'm a writer.
After that declaration, the conversation goes one of two ways:
1. “What do you write?”
2. “I want to write a book.”
Everyone has a book inside of them–you and me included.
However, the more I talk to wanna-be-authors the more I realize few of them are actually writing books.
They've got plenty of excuses to avoid writing the book they want to write someday:
- lack of time
- bad grammar and spelling
- one-finger typing skills
- awful handwriting
- too many ideas
- incomplete ideas
- unsure how to find a publisher
- no publishing contract
The problem goes deeper than these self-proclaimed inadequacies. The root of the problem is often fear.
There is always a possibility of failure. Rejection in a guarantee in the writing world. The “what if” realm of possibilities can be more stifling than liberating.
Instead of letting creative juices flow freely, we approach writing with excuses, alternatives for our limited time, and conversations about writing. We should be utilizing this time to actually write.
Writers Write
If you've hung around the cyber-sphere enough you've noticed a difference between “people who have blogs” and “bloggers.”
The bloggers update diligently, comment on others' posts, share information, and interact online.
The people who have blogs don't. They show up every once in awhile and take it personally when no one comments on their journal entry.
Likewise, there are writers who are actively working on a piece they may or may not ever published.
And there are wanna-be writers who are filling their time with other activities, letting fear run their lives, and never allowing their ideas out of their heads.
If singers sing and dancers dance, then creatives should create and writers should write not just talk about it.
What keeps you from writing?
PRACTICE
The practice is designed to be a springboard but it can also be a distraction. Today instead of warming up with a practice, jump right in to that idea you've been putting off. Then share it in the comments. We promise not to judge you. After all, writers write.
“The bloggers update diligently, comment on others’ posts, share information, and interact online.
The people who have blogs don’t. They show up every once in awhile and take it personally when no one comments on their journal entry.”
So true, Katie. As writers, words are so valuable to us, but we must put action to our words – put in the work – if we are willing to call ourselves “writer.”
We must also be willing to create and engage in community (insert plug for Story Cartel) if we truly want to be a writer who gets to share their art.
Love the Story Cartel plug. 😉
I wholeheartedly agree. I used this practice to work on my book that I’ve found myself more so procrastinating with the “need to research” rather than just writing. Not that research isn’t important, but it can also be a tool of distraction. Here goes my practice:
I nodded, though I don’t really know I heard everything he said exactly. My mind was moving way too fast but my body still refused to really pry itself from the chair I was in. I got in law enforcement to help people like Danni; now, it was time to actually help Danni.
“Conner, I think we need to go see your parents again,” Darcy said with more caution than I’d ever heard her speak.
I wanted to get outside anyway, clear my head, think. I simply shook my head,
finally found something in me that enabled me to move and reached for Jones’
hand. He responded with a hug; it was the most awkward thing, but damn if I
didn’t need that right then.
“Thank you,” I said, adding in a slight head tilt in his direction for emphasis.
“I’ll give y’all a little time to let this settle in. You got all my numbers if you
need me, and in the meantime, I’ll be in touch if we find out anything more.”
That reminded me somehow.
“Jones, did your cameras show the person who broke in my apartment?”
“Oh yeah. It looks like whoever did this knew exactly what to do. The stairs in
your apartment don’t have cameras, so we think they entered the building that
way. How they entered I’m not quite sure because you have to have a key to get in from that way. Anyway, our suspect is a male, about 6’2. Slender. But he was wearing a mask from the stair entrance to your apartment, so it’s all we got. Not a single print either. A real pro, Moon. But, no, it wasn’t Danni there again.”
I didn’t imagine that the same girl I saw would be able to accomplish that. I
nodded, thanked him once again and left tightly clung to my wife’s hand. She
grabbed the keys from me and took her spot in the drivers’ seat of our 2005
Nissan. And we both sat there for a long while, just looking ahead.
Darcy finally broke the silence.
“Oh my, God, Conner. Your sister. Wow. Oh my, God.”
Perhaps not her most eloquent moment, but I was right there with her. I turned my whole body toward her and just shrugged. What was there to say, really?
She started to cry, not weeping really but definitely with some intensity.
“I think this is all just hitting me, Conner. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to make
this about me. It’s just…your sister. I know I never knew her, but because of
how we talked about her, I just always felt like I was missing out on knowing a
person. And now this. She might be alive but also she might be in danger. And
seeing you cry. And how your poor family has gone all this time thinking she
wasn’t here, I mean, where has she been?” All this came spewing out at once.
That was my wife. When she started to process something, she did it all at once. It was a lot, though. Even for me, Mr. Calm, Cool, Collected. I mean I just cried like a child, and honestly, I had no idea what my next move should be. I
grabbed my wife and pulled her toward me and held her head to my chest, and she finally let go. We just listened to the silence.
When I wrote my thesis for undergrad, our prof told us to stop researching. She said we were using it as a procrastination tool.
I like your practice, Holli Anne. I want to know more about what happened.
I liked it, too. This character you’re writing from definitely has a distinct voice that I enjoyed.
Great advice. I totally agree. A lot of people over glamorize being an writer too. When people say they want to be a writer they are just thinking of the lime light and not all the hard, long hours of writing words that may or may never be published.
Truth. Unfortunately writing is more than just the lime light.
“Bethie, watcha doin?”
“Trying to write a poem.”
“Why?”
“I wanna be a writer.”
“Why you wanna be a writer?”
“Charles it’s sunny. GO OUTSIDE.”
Little brothers,
asking questions
pain in ass.
Should be playing
romping, stomping
hiding in the willow tree.
Sticky fingers, smell of dirt
digging holes,
hiding treasures.
Bugged out sister,
missing fun.
Think she’ll go bug Charles instead.
“Charles, watcha doin’?”
Too bad there is not a “like” button here. I’d so hit it for this. You made me smile. THANKS
Thank you. I agree about the like button. I want to let people quickly know I have read what they wrote and appreciate it. I also love this site, in that it has helped me move forward a little every day with my children’s story. I guess I need to see if Joe has a face book page too. I have such a poor memory. It is why I need to write. LOL.
Thank you for your encouragement. You can find us on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/thewritepractice
Thanks, I just found it and liked. I also shared this blog with my guild on facebook. Sending love and hugs to you for the great work you do for beginning writers.
We’re glad you’re part of the community 🙂
Am I mistaken or is there a like button. It is located at the end of the post on the left hand side. One icon for like, UP and one for DOWN. I use it frequently.
Love it! Such a fun little piece. Thanks for sharing. P.S. I do believe their is a Write Practice Facebook page (in reference to your comment below).
Nice post 🙂
I’m a “writer” who “has a blog”, so I only suck 1/2 way. I’m still unpublished, but I blame society, my parents, my teachers, corporations, the new pope, etc. etc., so my ego’s safe for now.
Let me know how blaming all of those other people for your lack of published work works out for you. 😉
I started my book last month. It hasn’t been easy. I’m reconsidering the idea that I should have started on chapter one, page one. But writing the bits and pieces that I’ve been writing over the past nine months didn’t seem like book-writing at all–more like an exercise in personal entertainment–the journal I always wished I could have written. Somehow all those disjointed pieces need to be fitted together to make a coherent whole, which is why I’m starting at chapter one. I’ve never written a book, however, so I guess the way I’m doing it is the way it needs to be done.
That sounds really exciting! Sometimes it helps to form a rough outline for what the story is to give you guidance in putting it together. Journals are great tools for capturing special moments which can be used later in a longer piece. Good luck!
I have written 40 pages of a story about my sister who passed away a few years ago. She was happy through eight years of fighting cancer and an overwhelming inspiration to me and many others. I keep asking myself if others would find it interesting to read one more story about someone who died? I’d like to ask your readers if they would be moved to read such a story? Or is science fiction, young adult and romance their preferred choice? Thanks for any input.
I think stories about people who fight through obstacles are always interesting. Struggling is just a major part of humanity, so I think people would like it. If nothing else, keep writing because obviously the story is something you need to get out. Later you can evaluate whether it’s something that people would want to read! Just my thoughts!
Thanks for the encouragement!
Saying that your sister was a happy person through her struggle to defeat cancer says a lot about what you want to say about her. I think it would be inspirational for those battling the same problem. Whether of not your book is published, please write it as a memorial to her and to pass on to the people who knew and loved her as well as the younger people who might not have known her. Too little family history is recorded and gets lost. She deserves to be remembered and you can make that happen.
Thanks so much for your perspective. I plan to make it happen!
EVA ROSE,
YES! YOU MUST WRITE THE STORY! THERE IS NO REASON NOT TO!
I just had to chime in here and I hope I don’t get in trouble for giving you a link to an example of why you should definitely write your sister’s story!
I saw this video 2 days ago and immediately tweeted it after viewing it as I found it moving and inspirational. Women fighting breast cancer need to see it.
No wait- any woman fighting cancer needed to see it!
So for sure, I believe there is a reason for you to write your book.
Battle stories-stories of people fighting against any kind of illness, whether people end up winning or not, are important for others to read.
After all, it is how these people who braved an illness, lived their lives as a whole, that matter most.
( I say this as someone who had many family members battle cancer, but yes, there are many ugly and potentially deadly diseases out there.)
Please realize there are never too many stories out there to inspire people, especially those fighting something as monstrous as cancer.
I hope this site allows the link to stay on here, considering the topic you wish to cover and the way it was handled in this video.
I do believe the video will motivate you to write your book, just as much as the people on this forum urge you on to do the same.
I am one of those people here, urging you to follow your heart ,and honor your sister’s legacy at the same time. 🙂
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/02/01/jill-brzezinski-conley-sue-bryce-breast-cancer-photos_n_2599843.html
J.Sclafani
Thanks so much! Your thoughts are appreciated.
The story needs to be told, both for you and other’s who will be inspired by it. I’m not at the place where I can write about my son, but the day will come when I can.
Been working on a writing project for a writing group I’m apart of. Not the story I want to tell, but more like a story I feel comfortable telling. The story I want to tell is half started, and one I’m kinda afraid to tell. It’s the big one you know? But I actually started, which is an improvement from never starting it.
I seem to use the past to forge the future. So far my future has been on hold because of past experiences, which aren’t supportive at all. That’s my excuse for not getting on the dime on writing. I do just enough writing to get by and that’s it. I feel protected because no one has complained. And when I do, I wait until the smoke passes then dip my toes into the writing scene once again.
Well now I know what is stopping me and I really have to go with blinders on to the future. There is absolutely no reason for me NOT to start writing my book and publish it on Kindle. NONE.
thanks for encouragement and this platform to dispel my fears.
Jim
Glad to help, Jim
What keeps me from writing is procrastination. 65% of the time, anyway. The rest of the time, I don’t think what I write is any good.
Don’t let thinking what you write isn’t any good keep you from writing the other 35% of the time. Just write it and make it better later.
Every site needs a odd-ball and I’m here to satisfy that need. I don’t think that I have ever aspired to write a book. I do love to write, don’t do it exceptionally well and write about subjects that I enjoy. I do know that not many people will ever see my writings. Yes, I have a blog and it is for happy and/or humorous stories. No maudlin, soap opera drama allowed.
My husband and I traveled full time for 10 years and I wrote 12 to 15 typed pages of our experiences in letters.. The people who received them seem to love living our lives through my words. During that time I wrote an article about one of my dogs, Sophie, and how she didn’t really care for living in a motorhome and how she missed the safety of her closet. It was published in a magazine and Sophie was paid $50.00 for her article. Other than having letters to the editor published with some regularity, that’s the total sum of my writing success.
I’m here because I appreciate reading what aspiring authors have to say and for the daily challenge to write about unfamiliar things. I hope that my lack of ambition will not be held against me.
It sounds like you write spontaneously about good, happy times. Nothing wrong with that! You were even paid for a story! We all want to be better at writing and to learn from others. Your calling may not be to write a book.You share your craft in other ways. Nothing held against you!
Thanks, Eva. I’ll stick around and join in the fun. 🙂
You do write well. I enjoyed reading your comment. Just keep writing happy things and, like Sophie’s story, some others will sell. You have no lack of ambition. You enjoy what you’re doing.
Eyrline, Thank you for your comment. I wasn’t looking for praise when I wrote mine but I would be a fool to not appreciate it. I wish you much success with your writings.
To turn some advice I once read that said, only old people should be allowed to write because they have a lifetime of stories to tell, I suggest that old people should be obliged to write. About their lives, the interconnectedness of events, the golden thread of meaning they’ve discerned running through it.
How nice to read a comment from someone who is not an ageist. So many people want the older folks to shut up. I see that everyday in a forum I frequent. Thanks so much. This “old” person plans to write until the last minute. Your comment, Jakes, is much appreciated.
The only thing that makes me a writer is the fact that I happen to write. I don’t ‘have a book in me’ – that I know of anyway; I don’t have an editor, I’m not wild about publishing, I don’t care if anyone reads my blog. I don’t update my blog very often. But I do write. Not every day, but most days; in spite of homework, housework, work-work, family, having a social life, keeping fit, in spite of everything else I do, I write.
So, this is my first time ever commenting on here. Whew, talk about nervous! Anyway, here’s a really rough draft of one scene I’ve been putting off for quite a while because I’ve always had “something else to do.” Needs some work–critique is much welcomed! 🙂
–
(North Carolina, 1934)
When his eyes shot open, Logan’s gaze met darkness, and silence rang loud in his ears.
Someone was downstairs.
He got off of the full-sized mattress, feet hitting the cold wooden floor. His
fingers felt the roughness of his jeans on the bedpost, and he snatched them,
tugging them on. Grabbing the S&W Ladysmith from his nightstand, he stepped into the hall. As he headed for the stairs, he tried to ignore the blood pumping through his ears.
With the women asleep, it was just him and Parker. The rest of the guys were
outside, and he knew none of them would be in the house this time of night.
Stepping down another step, he leveled his gun. His jaw grounded and his eyes squinted, tracing the living room furniture. At the sound of Parker’s snoring on the couch, he bit back an aggravated sigh. The man should be buffaloed for not
waking up.
Clink.
His head snapped toward the hallway. The bathroom light held a soft glow. The door wasn’t shut all the way.
God, give me steady hands.
Logan drew in a deep breath and stepped down the rest of the stairs, pressing his
back against the wall as he slid to the bathroom. The door was open a few
inches, and finally, he kicked it open.
“Police!”
Bloodshot eyes wide, a gasp escaped Jaielle’s lips and she shoved her hand behind her
back.
–
Jaielle swallowed hard as Logan stuffed the barrel of his gun into the pocket of his jeans, and she nearly cringed in disgust at the powdery taste in her mouth.
Absolutely gross.
Logan simply glared at her. She forced a stiff smile, gripping the tiny glass bottle
behind her back even tighter. Come on. Just leave, Logan.
Instead, he crossed his muscled arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “So.” His demeanor turned casual. “What the heck are you doing down here?”
Frustration coursed through her, and though she bit down on her lip, it didn’t keep the sarcastic reply at bay. “I apologize. I didn’t know it was such a crime to use the bathroom. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed.” She tried to shove
past him, but his hand gripped her shoulder, pinning her in place.
“You’re not going anywhere.” When he pulled the door shut, she wanted to bolt. What was he doing?!
“Why didn’t you use the bathroom upstairs?” he asked. When she ignored him, he went on. “Exactly.”
Fingers shaking, she took a step back, completely uncomfortable with the close
quarters. When he grabbed her glass off the sink, his shirt pulled taut against
his muscled back, and she sucked in a breath.
She shoved her eyes shut for a faint second before watching him take a sip. He
swallowed it without trouble, as if the repulsive flavor was nothing.
That irked her.
“Hm,” he mumbled, swirling the drink. He sniffed it, and finally he pierced her with
dark eyes. “One part sedative, two parts ginger?”
Swallowing the lump rising in her throat, she dipped her chin in a single nod.
He licked his lips. “Where’d you get it?”
“My doctor gave it to me,” she said as she squared her shoulders, chin raised. It
wasn’t a lie, but when he prescribed it, he failed to warn her about the awful
taste.
Once again, Logan muttered his “Hm.” Then, he blew out a breath and held out his hand. “Fork it over, Granger.”
What was she supposed to do? The drink mixture was gag-worthy to say the least, but it helped.
It helped a lot.
But at his expectant gaze, she knew she’d already lost. Stiffly, she handed him the glass bottle, clamping her teeth together. When he grabbed it and shoved it
into his back pocket, something shifted in his gaze. Almost as if the hardness
was melting . . .
Heat crept up her neck as she pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway, trying to ignore his gorgeous eyes on her. He was nearly double her age, but dang it, he knew how to make her dizzy. Vulnerable.
Which was crazy.
Without a word, he followed her up the stairs. He went one way, and she went the other. Her fingers grazed the coolness of her doorknob, and when she looked down the hall to his room, she couldn’t help the disappointment swirling within that he didn’t spare her a single glance before shutting his door.
Swallowing, she slipped into her room and softly closed the door. She hung her robe on the hook and smoothed a hand over her silky nightgown, wanting to throw something. Wanting to cry. Wanting to be whole again.
Trying desperately not to wake the tiny four-year-old by her side, Jaielle lifted the covers and curled up under the cool sheets, bring her knees to her chest.
Tentatively, she brought her fingers to the blonde hair that looked so much like her own, tracing it behind the girl’s ear. Her throat convulsed with threatening tears, and she sniffed. Even in the darkness, she could watch Lydia sleep forever.
Rolling onto her other side, she faced the wall and closed her eyes, thoughts moving to the mountain-sized U.S. Marshal down the hall. She was so silly to think . . . to think that a man like him would ever want a girl like her.
the mountain-sized U.S. Marshal down the hall. She was so silly to think . . .
to think that a man like him would ever want a girl like her.
I enjoyed this. I particularly noticed how you switched character perspectives and you did it very effectively. Good work!
Welcome to The Write Practice, Ema! I like your style and hope you keep commenting. 🙂
you seems to have pin pointed my exact problem.
unless i start writing how will i know that i can write/
thanks.
That’s a good point. Just write whatever is in your head each day.
Axel looked at his watch. It was 9:10 p.m. “Where are those guys?” he asked. “I hope I’m not too late.” His phone rang. “Hello.”
“What’s up, Axel?”
“Jayson,” replied Axel. “Are y’all here?” He looked at the window. The crowds were massive, huddling around the tables.
“No,” said Jayson. “Keith is stuck at work, and I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Man, this sucks. I was looking forward to watching the game tonight with y’all on my birthday. Pittsburgh’s playing tonight. ”
“Go ahead. Have a good time,” said Jayson. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? Don’t get in too much trouble, hear?”
“All right. Get better.” Axel hung up. He stared at the black velvet door with a painted raven on the round window. He walked up the stairs and opened the door. It was loud. The crowd was a sea of purple and black. Some were conversing at the tables, some were watching the big screen television hanging above the rows of liquor bottles. Axel sat at the bar, watching the crowds chatter and yell. He sighed and shook his head.
“What will you have, hon?”
Axel looked up at the black-clad waitress. She held a clipboard waiting for his order.
“Don’t know,” said Axel. “What’s good around here?”
Good practice, George. You use dialogue very well in your writing.
Encouraging, thank you. All that work that won’t be published is still work after all.
Hi, Katie. I really liked your post. And why is it also that so many blogs tell us to do all of these other essentialissimo tasks besides write?
I’m getting started in this whole business and this week in my own blog I wrote my conclusions about this very thing:
http://fromlextolexicon.wordpress.com/2013/04/24/elevators-to-success-are-out-of-order/
Sadly I might fall into the wannabe category. I go through periods
where I sit down and practice writing for 20 minutes every day but once I
miss one practice, it becomes far too easy to miss the next. And so
on. I read this and decided it was time to sit down practice, so I did.
And it was fun! Thank you, Katie, you’re always motivating me,
believe it or not!
My practice:
Moonlight at last peeked through black overcast and foggy rays of gray showed to me in great detail the history of the ground which I tread. Prints in the sand where others had trod; seaweed strewn sporadically where the tide had once flushed ashore; the bones of an animal once mortal and now merely an abstract sign of lives past. The moonlight faded and the great white sphere disappeared beyond the layer of fog and haze that had so hindered this stretch of beach. I could not see.
Darkness surrounded me. I could only use the sound of splashing waves to my right to ensure I walked due north. I knew I should not hear the water in front of me or behind me and if I did, to change course so the sound stayed in my left ear. To where I should wander until the darkness subsided I did not know. I could not know. I had no destination and that, to me, spoke volumes about my whole existence. Perhaps, I wondered, I should turn and walk toward the rushing water until mud pressed betwixt my naked toes, until the watery surface washed first my knees then my waist until no longer did I walk on ground, but floated unwittingly at the ocean’s mercy. Perhaps I should do that, I thought.
I stopped, turned. My face was blasted of a sudden with a tempest of almost supernatural quickness; saltwater drops spackled my cheeks and a wave washed my feet. My garments flailed behind me and the wind so forcefully pushed that I was carried backward, as if through an amusing coincidence, by air instead of wave. To the sand I toppled. Ice-cold ocean rushed between my back and the ground beneath and for a moment I floated away from the waves, and the tide receded leaving me lay in my own imprint.
I stood, turned.
Perhaps, I thought, the time had come to continue North.
Glad to motivate, Karl. 🙂
I go between being a writer and a wan=a=be. I have a blog and a journal, both of which are out of date. I’ve been writing off and on since grade school, when I wrote a series of mysteries. The teacher gave me an “A” and kept them. I started writing while I was working with people with developmental disabilities, and still have the manuscripts, in fact, I have several boxes of manuscripts. In 2008 my oldest son passed away. The grief was unbearing. I started writing classes and wrote daily for three years.and taking more classes. Since then, I’ve been ill with one thing after another. I keep up writing by writing stories to friends on email. I”m a church organist, and make it to church every Sunday to play for services, then write about the experience. I have a family history just waiting to be written. I’ve done research, have several files of information and a family tree from the 1060’s of our ancestors. Right now the problem is energy. I thank all the writers of the newsletters I receive, Joe Bunting, WVU, and many others who encourage me to write. I”m retired and have the time, but much time has to be spent in bed. I type well, I have no fear in people reading my writing, I”m not looking for a publisher, I just need to get well. ovedededepdepression that h
I am on chapter 11 of my novel….. the novel I have been working on now for over a year. The same novel that I have rewritten countless times, each chapter revised at least three times and some even up to eight or nine re-writes. I guess I am just tired of working on my story! However, when I feel worn out from my novel (I am yet again stuck!), I write short stories to keep my skills sharp. If I can’t seem to get the creative fire stoked, I spend my time that I would normally spend writing searching literary journals and reading up on them so I know the most suitable places in which submit my type of work to. I am not immune to coming up with excuses though when it comes to writing, and I do put off writing sometimes for silly endeavors like killing too much time on Facebook or watching too much TV. Sometimes I feel like writing is so much darn work and I just want to give it up and have a “normal” life! I know I have to keep writing though if I want to be successful at it. So many rejection letters flying my way lately, but I just keep submitting anyway, using any feedback the editors give me to improve my work. And I need to keep writing my novel, going forward until its done. No more re-writes until I have it completed! I think that is my problem. I am way too critical with my first drafts when I need to just let loose and write….
Last year I participated in NaNoWriMo – producing a novel in a month. Even before halfway I found myself constantly going back and editing what I’d written. The result was a Stalemate, until I read somewhere that the secret in this exercise lay in reaching the target number of words every day, come hell or high water. Get that story down! That’s why there is an editing stage, to turn that dross you’ve written into gold.
Sometimes that’s what it takes to get words on the paper. You can always edit later.
Participate in this new writing contest and win $250 for a nice told story, you can submit your writings by visiting http://www.passionup.com/newwr… and if your story is selected you can win $250. Good luck!!
Thanks for the encouragement. Have far too many excuses myself… fear is one of them.
I bounced between writer and wanna-be for several years. The entire time I talked about and dreamed of being published. I did nothing to move me towards my goal. Reading this post has added even more fuel to my “gotta write” fire that I recently reignited. Thank you!
I know it isn’t much, but I would appreciate it if people would check out the link below. It’s to a thing I am currently working on buffing up.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Ha6mkWV2NFaF9jhJqxX-QzCBUVrNGQWXwNiJ-lDh1qk/edit?usp=sharing
PS: Lily Stark is just a pseudonym.