Happy September, Wonderful Writers! 

Before I get started, a HUGE thanks to Amber Gregg for hosting my  ​It's a Writer Thing series on her lovely site.

It’s been a whirlwind this summer, what with my first time as a Pitch Wars mentor and all the work I’ve been doing on my own books. I finished my second manuscript for the year in August, which was my 11th book in total. Holy moly! But, finishing my latest MS got me thinking about productivity.

I acknowledge that I’m a fast writer, but I owe my productivity to something more important: I practice finishing books.

​flirting with us from across the coffee house. Keeping us up at night. So how can we be blamed for jumping ship on the current work in progress? I get it. I love all my new ideas, and boy do I have a to-be-written-list burning a hole in my brain. But let’s not forget what comes after the tough middles: the alluring endings! They deserve to be written. We owe it to them not to lose steam halfway through.

But if we let new ideas seduce us, we’ll never learn our process for finishing. I will repeat that and turn it into a statement: All writers need to learn their own process for finishing books. Here’s why.

​And it must be practiced. The preparation is part physical but it’s also hugely mental. As a result of this mental Cross Fit, something very important happens: They learn what to expect. 

​When they get back out there next time, and when it gets tough, they have figured out what to look out for in their bodies, how to harness their bodies’ power, and how to focus their brains. 

They have a Not-Quitting Process. A Finishing Process. They can say to themselves: This is just like last time, and last time I got it done. I can do that again. 

Writers need that too. 

We need to practice starting, middling (Is middling a verb? Well it is now!), and finishing. And we need to do it with more than one book. Inevitably, the current WIP will start to feel boring. The shine will be off. Maybe we’ll write ourselves into a corner or a whole maze of corners. And, lo and behold, there’s Shiny New Idea winking at us all sultry and pretty. But, like a marathon runner who can predict his rhythms during a race, we need to predict ours when it comes to the marathon of writing a book. 

you they were running a marathon today and they’d never trained a day in their life, you’d be like whaaa…? And if they couldn’t do it, you’d be like: “Uh, buddy, you’ve never done this before. Go easy on yourself.” So, why beat yourself up for not finishing a manuscript when that’s a skill that takes learning, too? Don’t beat yourself up; practice.

The learning process, the stamina-building is normal, natural, and necessary. 

Therefore, my biggest motto is: Finish what you start. Everything you start. Then, one day when you’re all successful professional authors and you have deadlines or an editor waiting for an option book, your game will be in place. You’ll be able to say, Yes, I can get that to you INSERT  YOUR DEADLINE DATE HERE. I’ve got a process. I’ve done this before. Deep breath. Here goes.

Hello, wonderful writers!

I wrote about the Big R—rejection—several months back, but as we get closer to Pitch Wars, I find myself reflecting on the OTHER Big-R: revision. That’s what Pitch Wars is all about, after all. Revision Warriors!

Many authors dislike revisions, but I love the process. And I’ll emphasize that last word: process. So, in order to help inspire everyones’ Revision Warrior Mojo, I thought I’d address some myths about revision.

MYTH 1: The most important part of writing is the drafting process.
A couple years ago, I responded to a poll that asked what authors preferred: drafting or revising. I replied that I liked drafting better, and I meant it, but that was before I wrapped my brain around revisions and the magic that happens during the process. The best parts of my books arise during revisions. I’m a plotter, so I have a strong concept before I start, but revision is where I really see my work for the first time. For that reason, I visualize character and theme in a whole new light. Things emerge that I was too close to see during drafting. Each pass allows me to think about a different aspect of my MS.

​Everyone who reads my blog knows I love creative reality TV. So, this time, I’ll draw from cake decorating shows (which I can’t watch too often because, OMG, cake cravings are evil!). You know how they get the cake to a certain point, and it looks really good? The shape is there, the fondant is in place, some detail work has been done. It looks like it’s ready to hand over to the customer. Then the chefs take that foundation and go to town, turning the creation into something truly breathtaking. That’s how I think of revision.

A first draft a cake with the layer of fondant but no detail work. The shape is there and the base color, maybe some embellishment, but that’s nothing compared to what it will be when we’re done.

MYTH 4: Revision=singular.
I usually use the plural because, for me, it’s a multi-step process. I do a pass for big stuff—plot holes, inconsistencies, and scenes I forgot to show. Then there are character passes. Passes for theme, etc. Not to mention the fact that as we really immerse ourselves in revision, we sometimes get the best ideas ever—maybe inspired by something our CP said or from our very own heads. 

Now, this is the part you may not want to hear, but these shiny new ideas often require us to go back and do a major overhaul to our books. But don’t panic, because it’s totally worth it.

My debut novel, TEN PAST CLOSING, is a great example of this latter point. When I was accepted into Pitch2Publication in 2016, my mentor pointed out that some of my chapters weren’t working. Initially, I had many POVs (and I love multi-POV books, don’t get me wrong), but she felt they diluted the story of my two MCs too much. Interestingly, I knew there was a problem with the book; the romance between my MCs wasn’t working. Her input helped me see that I could make better use of that word-count real estate and write in scenes that supported the chemistry between my MCs. This was an exciting revelation for me, because the romance was literally one of my magic cookies. Though it meant swallowing some hard feedback and a commitment to a ton of work, I know that she gave me the input I needed to bring out the best in my book.

MYTH 5: Revision is about finding what isn’t working.
Revision is partly about finding what isn’t working, but it’s also about finding the magic, keeping an open mind and letting the insights wash over you. Remember that beautiful cake that needs all the final detail?

Some people really stress over getting their first draft just right, but I don’t. Though there are stories about authors who plotted so thoroughly they drafted their book in a finished form, this is something that maybe .1% of authors can do. But we don’t need to. (That sounds like an awful way to write a book. I mean, let’s talk about pressure. Right? To aim for perfection right off the bat…) I love knowing I’ll have plenty of shots making my book everything I want it to be. It prevents me from getting too hung up on something that’s not working right at this very minute. I’ll have another chance to nail it, and I trust that the right idea will come to me as I continue to work the process. 

Trust the process. 

It may be messy, but it always gets me there. Even if I’m not having any particular challenges with an MS, I know I’ll be doing a lot of rewrites because I always come up with exciting new ideas once I dig into revisions. Even if I think I’ve just written the best book of all time, and I can’t imagine changing a thing, it happens. Every time. Heck, in my most recently-revised book, I did 3.5 major revisions. So, I start each draft with a mindset of acceptance toward all the extra work I’m going to do, and I don’t sweat it when that work arrives.

MYTH 6: I need to figure out the whole thing myself.
I had the utmost pleasure of hearing my editor, Alison Weiss of Sky Pony Press, speak at an SCBWI Metro NY workshop this past winter about the beauty of the collaborative relationship. She said that when she’s choosing projects, she specifically looks for ones where she can make a contribution. I love that idea. The incorporation of outside input is an inherent part of the process. It’s supposed to happen. Our editors aren’t cursing the authors whose books need their expert feedback; they want to share in this with us. Once I heard that, I went from being excited to work with her to wanting to jump up and down in the middle of the workshop audience. (I didn’t, though. Dignity remains intact.) And the same thing goes for input from critique partners or workshop leaders or whoever helps you. We need that fresh set of eyes, and it’s fine that they raised questions we never thought of. That’s the whole point; they’re going to see things we didn’t. 

Getting feedback and jumping into revisions is challenging, but it is also the most exciting part of the process. It’s where everything can literally change. It’s where the magic happens. So, whether you’re undertaking the process as part of a competition like Pitch Wars or in response to input from an agent you met at a conference, or a CP, remember: The fact that they came up with stuff you hadn’t thought of doesn’t mean you didn’t do it right the first time. This is a process. It will take several passes to get you there, but that’s just fine. That’s the way it goes. We don’t need to nail it the first time, and we don’t need to do it alone. We shouldn’t go it alone. 

By this time next month, I’ll be elbow deep in MG submissions in Pitch Wars, and I can’t wait.

Until then, remember: You can do it! You can write!

Hello, Wonderful Writers! Not too long ago, someone in the Electric 18’s group shared a video by Brene´ Brown, Ph.D. I majorly LOVE this woman’s work. In case you’re not familiar with her, she’s a researcher who focuses on studying shame and vulnerability. If you haven’t read her books, I really recommend them all. She talks about how being vulnerable is one of the most courageous things we can do, that vulnerability comes with great rewards, “because vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, trust, empathy, creativity, and innovation.”
 
That’s right.
 
What she’s discovered through her research is that without vulnerability, we cannot create. If we’re going to make art, or put ourselves in the “arena,” as Teddy Roosevelt called it, then there is “one guarantee. You will get your ass kicked. If courage is a value you hold, this is a consequence. You can’t avoid it.” And who does this ass-kicking she speaks of? The critics. There are many kinds of critics (and I highly recommend you hear her talk or read her books for the full discussion), but today I want to focus on one—the worst critic.

The worst critic, she tells us, is ourselves.
 
I’ve always loved doing art. Drawing, painting, crafts. You name it. Back in my teen years, I did a lot of sketching. There’s nothing like a perfectly-sharpened pencil and a blank sheet of paper. There’s nothing, alright—nothing scarier. I’d sit there, thinking about what I wanted to draw, the tip of my pencil hovering over the page, and I’d be stuck. What if my drawing was a ginormous failure? What if the image I had in my head didn’t match up with what I achieved on the page? What if my subject was sucky or corny or boring? And of course, even though there was no risk of this happening—like ever, because I was never taking my sketch pad out of the safety of my house—but what if someone saw this sucky, corny, boring hot mess of a drawing? In my head, even if I locked up my pad in a steel safe, I could catastrophize until I ended up at school with the sheet of paper somehow magically glued to my butt, unbeknownst to me, out in the world for all to see.

Yeah. It gets scary in there sometimes.

So, what did I do in response to these “gremlins?” I armored-up. I still put pencil to page, but I didn’t draw my own creations. I copied photos or book covers. Someone else already decided those pictures were worth making, so I played it safe and copied them. Sure, I was practicing my skill, and I got better at drawing, but I wasn’t creating. I wasn’t making art. Thinking back now, it would have been better if I had made a terrible version of the awesomeness in my head, even if the outcome was cringe-worthy. Better because it would have been mine. I would have made art.
 
Now, I’m creating a new kind of art with my stories, and I can’t help but wonder if this is the same process that causes us to get stuck. That causes us to stall partway through a work in progress. Are we so afraid of making a sucky, corny, boring hot mess of a book that we can’t create? Is our fear of vulnerability causing us to armor-up so securely that all we do is cut off the natural flow of our wondrous imagination? And all this even before a single soul has laid eyes upon what we’ve written—all except for ourselves. The worst gremlin of them all. 

Hello, wonderful writers! Welcome back to my blog series, It’s a Writer Thing. Today I want to spend some time talking about the dreaded r-word, rejection.
 
some of you may know that back in May I signed with my agent (which you can read about here), and just about a month ago, we received our first offer for the publication of my debut novel (which you can read about here).
 
In the midst of all this, I wrote my 9th short (a silly, horror story), for an anthology. Long story short (no pun intended), it wasn’t selected. (Boo!) But, my dear friend, G Marie Merante’s story was, and you can check out the book, UNLEASHED: MONSTERS VERSUS ZOMBIES, right here. Of course, like any dedicated writer, I sent my piece out to a different market, another anthology. Well, two days ago, that second press rejected my poor little story. So, I sent it right out the next morning to a horror lit mag. A few hours later, I had my third rejection for this piece. That was 2 rejections in about 15 hours. (BTW, I recently counted up my total number of rejections, and I won’t share that tally here, but trust me, it’s a healthy sum.)

In response to this news, my hubby asked, “What’s rejection like now that you sold your first book.” I pondered that for a moment. My answer was: “It sucks just as much today as it did the first time.” And that’s the truth, 100%. But, I also want to suggest a cognitive reframe, because I also believe 100% that rejections really don’t matter. Not at all.
 
How can that be?
 
In THE ART OF WORK, Jeff Goines defines “The 7 characteristics of a calling,” which include Apprenticeship and Practice. How do these concepts translate into rejection not mattering? First, one quote from Viktor Frankl: “What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for some goal worthy of him…the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him.”
 
No, I’m not trying to say that it’s the suffering and struggle that we should embrace, but in some regard, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Back to Goines: in THE ART OF WORK, Goines talks about how we need to remember that Apprenticeship and Practice are essential steps in any road to any goal. Thinking about Gladwell’s “10,000 Hours to Mastery” principle, it really takes us a long time to get good at anything.

When I first started writing, I had a lot to learn, and not just about the craft. Practice is also necessary for all the other skills we need to master. Skills like perseverance. I’ve sung in various choirs on and off since grade school. I had one conductor who’d give us hell when we’d finish a run-through of a piece then immediately break into chatter. He insisted we practice freezing and smiling. “We have to practice that part too,” he’d say. Totally true. On concert day, we’d need that habit to be well ingrained so as not to look unprofessional to our audience.
 
I think of perseverance in writing the very same way. We need to get used to the dreaded r-word because rejection never ends. Even if we become huge successes (and I hope we all do!), we’re still going to face rejection in the form of poor reviews and readers who dislike our work. So we need to practice that part too—sticking with it even when rejection happens.
 
Rejection is just one of the normal, natural, expected, and even necessary steps to reaching our goal. We can’t avoid it, and we shouldn’t fear it.

did comparisons, I learned that 1 full/partial request for every 10 queries sent is actually a really good ratio. In other words, just to get an agent, we can expect approximately 90 passes for every 10 send-me-more’s.
 
And I know what you’re thinking: What about those authors who hit big with their first book? Yes, those folks exist, but they are total outliers. Good for them! But for every story like that out on the internet, there are probably 100 stories about the long, slow slog toward success. The good news is, during that slow slog, we’re doing our Apprenticeship where we’re accumulating those 10,000 hours of Practice. 
 
Back to Goines: He actually calls Practice “painful practice,” and says if you’re not feeling at least a little bit of pain, you’re probably not doing it right. Does this remind you of that Frankl quote? Now, I really don’t wish suffering on any of us, but I think this is immensely powerful because it normalizes the painful part of this journey. It’s normal to feel the sting of rejection. Discouragement will happen. Even tears. (Okay, a lot of tears.) And they’re okay. They don’t mean anything about our chances of success. Or, to turn that around, they mean everything about our chances of success because we’re practicing stamina and perseverance, and we’re “in it.” In the game.
 
This all boils down to my motto: The only way we won’t succeed is if we stop trying. As long as we don’t quit, we can’t possibly fail.

​There are two main reasons:
 
1) Outcomes aren’t always behaviorally-driven. In other words, the thing we’re trying to accomplish isn’t directly under our control.
 
We can cut calories at will (even though that’s frickin’ hard too), but we can’t lose weight at will. Whether we shed or gain pounds is due to many complex factors, including our behaviors and processes inside our bodies; we can’t predict exactly how much we’ll lose or how fast.
 
In the writing realm, there is a mind-boggling number of uncontrollable factors, like what others think of our work. We can (and should) always practice to get better, but we can be the best writer the multi-verse has ever seen, and someone will still call our book very bad names. We can’t control when the agent will read our query or whether that editor will request the full.
 
Another challenge of writing is, we can control the number of words we write, but we can’t control how those words will come together to form a story. Or, to be more specific, we can control how the words come together, but it takes many passes to get it right.  That brings me to number two.
 
aviors to be successful. 

​steps, and sub-sub-sub-steps) that are needed to become a published writer. 

If our jeans are still tight after a week of effort, or if that book doesn’t simply pour out of our fingers onto the computer screen, it’s easy to quit, to say we’re not cut out for success, or—worst yet—to say bad things about ourselves for not being successful.
 
If, however, we focus on behavioral goals, we stay tuned-in to the small but steady ways we are making progress toward our outcome every single day. If I hit my calorie count, even if my jeans are still making my feet go numb after a week, eventually they’ll fit better. They have to, as long as I don’t give up. If I get my 1k, that book may not be done this week or this month, but it will get done as long as I don’t give up.
 
We need to celebrate our goal-achievement every day. And when we nail it, we have more motivation to hit it hard the next day.