by Rachel Toalson | Wing Chair Musings
I have always been a person of action.
It’s good to sit around and dream and talk about what we want to do. My husband and I have regular dream sessions, in which we dream about where we want to be in the future. We write things down and make seemingly impossible plans and grab hope with both hands because sometimes it’s what you have to do.
But what good is dreaming if we don’t act on those dreams?
We have to do something. We have to take the steps necessary to achieve our dream. We have to identify those necessary steps.
So many people tell me they want to write a book. But either they never get started or they abandon it before it’s done. They’re in good company. Some experts estimate that about 97 percent of people who start a book don’t finish it. And that’s only accounting for the people who actually get started on a book in the first place.
Action is what gets the book written. We have to make a plan to do it—and then do it.
It sounds so simple, but doing the work is how a book gets written.
Lennox Lewis, an English Canadian boxer, says, “Action is what separates the dreamers from the doers.” We have to act on our dreams to make them realities.
I will admit: There are hundreds of things that get in the way, that make it hard to do the work—and many times we’ll have to choose between one good thing and another. But when something is important to us, we find the time to do it.
Getting your butt in the chair and doing the work of writing is the most important thing if you want to write a book. Here are my suggestions for how to do that:
1. Have a chair.
What I mean by that is carve out a space—both physical and metaphorical—for writing. Writers do need a space where they can be alone (or mostly alone) and create. We also need a special space in our schedule. Writing takes time—which means we have to give it time.
It helps me to use the same time every day for my writing. That predictability helps me stay consistent with my writing. But I know that doesn’t work for everyone.
Maybe it’s as much as saying, I’ll write for fifteen minutes every day, and then look for the time to do it.
Making this space in your physical space (your calendar and your home) and your mental space (your mind) signals to your brain that writing is important. And when the brain notices anything is important, it works harder at it—which is what we want.
2. Be consistent and make writing a habit.
Life happens. Habits, at least the good ones, are challenging to form. As soon as we decide we want to develop a habit, a thousand things pull our attention to exactly the opposite.
It may be challenging at first to stick with writing every day, to not get bored after the initial excitement wears off. But if we show up every day—or most days—it gets easier. You can trick yourself, too, by rewarding yourself for showing up consistently.
There are all kinds of books out there that teach about building habits. Thinking of writing as a habit can certainly be a first step toward a consistent practice. And when we reward ourselves for that consistency, the brain associates the act with pleasure. And it says, This is fun. I want to do it again!
Which is exactly what we want the brain to do.
3. Allow room for terrible writing.
Just like with any other habit, we won’t feel like writing every day.
I run every day but Sunday. And some mornings I peel myself out of bed and think, I really don’t feel like running this morning. I do it anyway. I may not enjoy it, but it’s good for me. And it gets easier once I get started.
Some runs are slogs. Some mornings I haven’t gotten enough sleep or I’m a little burned out. Some days the writing is a slog. I have other things on my mind, or I can’t focus or the writing’s just off. I remind myself not every run can be awesome, and not every writing session can be awesome.
Some days we’ll write terribly or we won’t get many words. But there’s always tomorrow. And the next day and the next.
And that’s the hope when it’s a writing habit: we’ll do it every day—and tomorrow can turn the whole thing around.
One of my writing mantras is, “You can’t revise what doesn’t exist.” So carve out space, build your writing habit, and make no judgements—yet.
Writing a terrible something is better than writing nothing.
I hope you have a marvelous month of writing.
by Rachel Toalson | Books
Here are 5 (or 6) things worth sharing this week:
1. Reading (YA): “Couples that stim together stay together.” I loved loved loved Tilly in Technicolor, by Mazey Eddings. It’s about a young woman, Tilly, who has ADHD, and a young man, Oliver, who has autism. Though they are wildly different, they fall in love. So much of it reminded me of my husband and me (except with the neurodivergence reversed) that I made my husband read it. It’ll make you laugh, swoon, and probably get a little teary-eyed now and then. Highly recommended. This is the first of Eddings’s books I’ve read, though she has other romances, including Lizzie Blake’s Best Mistake and A Brush with Love.
2. Reading (MG): I just finished Jenn Reese’s latest book, Every Bird a Prince, and wow, was it spectacular. I love Reese’s speculative fiction (she’s the author of A Game of Fox & Squirrels, which I talked about a few newsletters back). This one features Eren Evers, who is confronting her greatest fears and also helping a collection of bird royalty save the forest kingdom. I loved all the references to fear and how to have courage. It was so beautifully told. I can’t wait for her next book, Puzzleheart, which releases May 14.
3. Reading (Adult NF): “History is a merciless judge. It lays bare our tragic blunders and foolish missteps and exposes our most intimate secrets, wielding the power of hindsight like an arrogant detective who seems to know the end of the mystery from the outset.” When I first picked up Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI, by David Grann, I didn’t even realize it was a true story. Probably because I’d only seen the title on the Apple TV movie (which I have not yet watched), and I only picked it up because I have a deal with myself that I have to read books before I watch movies based on books. But it was so worth it. This story is fascinating and tragic and will make you burn with fury. I’m looking forward to watching the movie. Probably I’ll be watching it alone, since I’m the only person in my family who’s a sucker for movies based on true stories!
4. Watching: I just finished watching the docu-series The Super Models on Apple TV. This series follows Cindy Crawford, Linda Evangelista, Naomi Campbell, and Christy Turlington in their rise to become supermodels in the 1980s. I found it fascinating to watch about their challenges and also the ways they stomped through stereotypes of beautiful women. They are inspirational women; one of my favorite lines in the series was something Linda Evangelista says: “Youth is not sustainable. Beauty is.” I LOVED that! And now I’m gonna work on an adult story framed around that quote. 🙂
5. Reading (YA): If you’re looking for a fun, funny, heartwarming graphic novel, look no farther than Huda F Cares? by Huda Fahmy. (I mean, with a title like that, how could you not pick it up?) It was a National Book Award finalist this year, and it’s a story of Huda and her sisters and her family’s trip to Disney World. I’d pick it up just for the Disney World in it, but it was funny, heartwarming, and delightfully fun. Fahmy is also the author of Huda F Are You? As well as some graphic memoirs for adults. Check her out; you’ll be glad you did.
6. Reading (chapter books): I’m currently reading back through the Ramona series of chapter books, by Beverly Cleary, and I had forgotten how much I love Ramona (I just finished Ramona the Pest, and I’m pretty sure I was smiling through the whole thing). What a spunky little girl! Reading back through these, I can see why first-grade Rachel LOVED the Ramona books. Ramona is a girl who pushes all the limits. It’s been great fun to revisit her story and imagine what I might have been thinking as I read it all those years ago.
by Rachel Toalson | Wing Chair Musings
One of my goals for this year is to take off all the school holidays with my kids. It’s been my goal for several years, actually. But I always seem to find one reason or another not to do it.
My sons recently had a winter break, which gave them a five-day weekend. Not even a month later, they have Spring Break. And as Spring Break hurtles toward us, I find myself thinking, Maybe I can just do a few things. They just have so many days off! And I just spent three whole days with them!
There are so many days off…and there’s always so much to do.
I start with such good intentions. And then the work starts creeping into those days off. And before I know it, I’m right back where I was when I found myself thinking, These days aren’t gonna last forever. I really should enjoy them. I should take off all the holidays with the kids.
Round and round we go.
It’s very hard for me to just…do nothing. Part of it is my personality; I feel most comfortable keeping myself busy. Dividing up my time into segmented activities, even if one of those activities is rest. I write it on my calendar. It says, “Rest,” and usually has a time limit. How regimented, right?
Sometimes I think I need to learn how to chill. How does someone learn how to chill?
My kids can sit and chill out on their phones or relax watching a Netflix show or playing a video game (which is probably a little more productive than just watching something or phone scrolling) for hours. If I sit still for a few minutes, I start to feel itchy. My brain pitches a hundred other things I could be doing. And then I start thinking, I’m taking time off to hang out with my kids and they’re looking at their phones. Why am I even here?
My husband and I used to take my sons out on individual dates when they were younger. It gave us one-on-one time with each of them—precious in a house of so many. But even when we went out on dates, we had to be doing something or it didn’t feel productive.
Why am I like this?! I ask myself that many times a day.
Lollygagging is not a natural state of being for me.
Several people in my home have ADHD. Every Saturday morning we have family council meetings to talk about our schedules, issues in the family, and how each member is feeling. Do you know what meetings are like with people who have ADHD? My husband is one of them; every Sunday we have a budget meeting to go over finances. And sometimes it’s excruciating. Back when we were in a band there was so much downtime during rehearsals, when he’d chase rabbits down trails, that I started bringing a book with me so I could read in the gaps and at least make progress on my “To-be-read” shelf.
I like my time to feel productive. My time is meticulously scheduled, by choice; even days off have a bit of a routine. It’s unclear if that routine is part of my personality or a result of trauma. Routine feels like a form of control, and there’s so much of life that’s out of control.
I’d like to get better at lollygagging, though.
When my kids were young, they were really good at it. They’d waste so much time and I’d try to hurry them along. We had places to be, things to do. But I got better at it back then. They were good at teaching and challenging me.
Now things happen at the speed of light, so it feels like I have to do everything fast, right this minute, don’t waste any time. Maybe that’s also a result of getting older. You realize your time isn’t infinite. There are real consequences for what we choose to spend our time on.
My husband has been picking up music again; he asked me if I would be in a band with him again. I love music…but there’s only so much time, and I don’t know if I love it enough. So I told him maybe. If he can figure out how to practice efficiently, if I get all the details I need. It’s the same answer for the podcast he asked me to join him in starting up again.
The reality is I don’t have all the time in the world; none of us do. We can’t say yes to everything. We have to assess what we’ll trade and what we’ll give up and get really good at saying no.
That’s how we can slow down the speed of life, maybe get back to a little lollygagging…even if it makes us itchy.
The more we practice lollygagging the better at it we get.
Here are some of my favorite suggestions for slowing down the speed of life:
1. Learn to say no.
Every time I’m asked to do something I think: What will I have to give up to do this? And am I willing to give that up?
The reality is, we’ll always be giving something up, trading our time. It might be time with our kids or partner or progress on a work project or time to ourselves. But we can’t endlessly add without taking something away. I always try to keep that in mind and assess my priorities accordingly. It would be nice if we had endless time…but we don’t.
2. Embrace (or schedule downtime for) the unexpected.
The thing about a routine is it doesn’t leave much room for the unexpected. It’s good to be spontaneous; it keeps us fresh and on our toes. It can spark creativity.
Not everyone exists on a schedule. Plus: emergencies.
If you have to schedule your down time, do it. Lollygagging is good. I like time to just sit and think…or sit and do absolutely nothing. I overhear the funniest conversations when I actually take the time to do nothing.
3. Learn to lollygag.
This is the hardest part for me, as I’ve said. What is a moment if it’s not productive?
Sit. Be. Observe. Have a nothing conversation with your kids or your partner. Laugh, play a game, do some improv, do nothing that seems terribly productive. Forget about the to-do list. (I know…easier said than done. But I’ll try if you will.)
Our brains love this kind of open freedom, to just wander and turn over things.
Make no plans for a day and see how it turns out. And if you fail, try again. You’ll never really know if lollygagging works for you until you give it a good shot.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
When I visit schools to talk to elementary and middle school students, one of the most frequently asked questions I get from them is “How much money do you make?” I get some interesting variations—“Are you rich?” “Do you live in a big house?” And at the most recent visit—“What’s your net worth?”
Uh…none of your business?
I usually try to answer this “How much do you make” question diplomatically: Not as much as you think.
Readers often have an inflated idea of how much money authors make. Most of us don’t make a whole lot. There’s a popular myth about authors that says once they get a book published, they’re all set. Maybe we believe or believed that once, too.
I certainly did. At first. Before I learned the real story.
When my first book published, I thought everything would change. I wasn’t under the illusion that I’d be rich, but I thought maybe I’d start earning at least a steady income.
That was in 2018. Here we are, six years later, and I don’t make a steady income as an author—yet. It’s the yet, I think, that keeps writers going. The endless hope that something will change, this will be my year, this book will be the breakout.
Writing takes time and commitment. It’s not an easy job. Most of us who do it love it—and it’s that love for it that keeps us coming back to the blank page again and again and again. We want to do it for love. It’s our pleasure, maybe even our purpose (it certainly is mine).
And in a perfect world, we wouldn’t have to concern ourselves with money. But we don’t live in a perfect world, and we do have to concern ourselves with money. Which means, at a certain point, we need to make money at our writing, if we want this to be a feasible, long-lasting career. And for the majority of us, that won’t happen with book sales alone.
Here are some things I’ve learned along the way about writing for love and writing for money:
1. We have to treat our writing like a business.
While I would like to spend all day every day writing, there are business tasks I have to take care of for my business. Things like sending communication, creating marketing content, setting up book signings and public appearances.
Some of us might be able to hire someone to take care of those business tasks we don’t want to do. I’ve not gotten to the point of financial stability to do that—yet (there’s that word again). So I take care of them all myself. And even if someone else takes care of them for us, those business tasks remain, and we have to be aware of and delegate them.
Of course one of the most important things we can do is write the next book. But the next book won’t go anywhere if we don’t see to the business side of things.
2. There’s no reason we can’t write for both love and money.
Money isn’t bad, you know. I grew up in a spiritual tradition that taught me not to chase money, it was the root of all evil. It’s taken me decades to overcome that teaching.
Maybe as a result of that, I used to think writing just to make money was bad. But do you know what money does? It grants us the freedom to also write what we love. When we’re not constantly worried about money or how we’ll pay our bills, our minds are freed up to be creative. And more money gives us more resources with which to be generous.
I used to hate the thought of writing for money. Now I know the more books I sell, the more freedom I also have to write the books I love.
We might even surprise ourselves—the books we start out writing for money might become some of our favorite things to write. (What do I mean by writing books for money? Some genres sell much better than others—romance, for instance, or thrillers. Genres in top-selling categories can provide a good income for authors.)
3. Find other income streams.
Most of the authors I know have additional income streams. I do school visits, Webinars, ghostwriting, client work when needed. I’m a hybrid author, which means I publish traditionally and I also self-publish—because this is what I’m good at, and I need to make money at it. Self publishing allows me a wider income stream with multiple different formats—serialized stories, novels, shorts.
I also have an online store with hundreds of products. I have digital downloads and online course products and writing prompts I sell.
Our lives as writers can offer a lot to the world, and we can find all kinds of creative ways to supplement our income. And just because we have to supplement our income doesn’t mean we’re not “real” writers. Writers work hard and write and do whatever it takes to succeed at what we love.
We can do this for love. And we can do it for money, too. Both can exist at the same time.
I hope you have a glorious month of writing for love and money.
by Rachel Toalson | Books
Here are 5 (or 6) things worth sharing this week:
1. Reading (MG): I just finished Gravebooks, the sequel to Nightbooks, by J.A. White. It’s a scary story that also examines writing and all the frustrations that come along with the act of writing. The main character, Alex, is a writer of paranormal stories, and the books incorporate some o\f his stories throughout the narrative, which I LOVE. White is also the author of the Thickety series, which is a whole collection of spellbinding books.
2. Reading (Adult fiction): “It’s as though her life has shot forward while she was looking the other way, and there’s a grief in it that wrenches her soul.” Not much happens in Amazing Grace Adams, by Fran Littlewood—but that’s okay. You don’t read it for the action, you read it for the character. And Grace Adams is a character. I enjoyed this read from start to finish. So many relatable bits, and phrases that I wrote in my notebook that I’ve felt myself. Be sure to pay attention, though, the timeline jumps around a bit.
3. Reading (MG): Farther Than the Moon, by Lindsay Lackey, was a sweet read about brothers, differently abled people, and space. Houston Stewart goes to astronaut camp and has to leave behind his brother with cerebral palsy. He’s always promised his brother he’ll one day take him to space—and now he has to figure out if that’s possible…and how it might be. So very good! (Lackey is also the author of All the Impossible Things, which was great as well.)
4. Watching: If you haven’t yet watched the Breaking 2 documentary on Disney+, you must. It’s a documentary about the quest to break two hours in the marathon. There are three runners highlighted, one of them my hero, Eliud Kipchoge, who is a phenomenal runner and person. Even if you’re not a runner, you’ll be inspired.
5. Reading (YA): Helena Fox’s latest book, The Quiet and the Loud, is a lovely, emotional read. Fox’s prose reads like poetry, and the story of George, who is trying to find quiet in her loud life, is at times hilarious and tragic. I haven’t read many storytellers like Fox. Another of my favorites is her How it Feels to Float. Both of them are well worth the read.
6. Reading (Adult fiction): “How were you supposed to change—in ways both big and small—when your family was always there to remind you of exactly the person you apparently signed an ironclad contract to be?” I’ve been on a Taylor Jenkins Reid kick lately. I don’t know what it is about her books; she writes about the “rich and famous,” except they’re fictional people—but maybe based on real people? Her stories are fascinating and so relatable—even though I’ve never been rich or famous. In Malibu Rising, which I recently finished, I related to Nina, the oldest sister, who takes care of her siblings. It’s a great read. Two of my other favorites by Jenkins Reid are Daisy Jones and the Six and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo.
by Rachel Toalson | Wing Chair Musings
When my kids were young, we identified some family values and spent a few years examining them. It was a way for us to frame our family lives, a way of living with integrity. We chose values like listening well, embracing creativity, honoring all people, believing in ourselves and others, loving all people and creatures.
It’s important to me to live with integrity. So of course that was one of our values, too. But that’s a hard concept to teach kids. Integrity is not just honesty, it’s also being who we are. Living from our values.
It’s not easy to be who we are all the time. Some days we feel grumpy, some days we feel sad, some days we carry a thousand hurts.
Living with integrity, to me, means asking the best of ourselves and others. Not asking perfection, but asking the best we have to give today.
Every day is different, right? Some days I think, I’m not sure I gave it my all today. I could have done better. That’s why we can’t expect perfection.
Integrity also means carrying our values and the things that are important to us into every part of our lives—work, relationships, play. Meryl Streep says, “Integrate what you believe in every single area of your life. Take your heart to work and ask the most and best of everybody else, too.”
Take your heart to work—that’s my favorite part. Because taking our hearts to work is integrity. Carrying our hearts everywhere, living from that wellspring of light and life and love—that is being who we are. Choosing to live with integrity.
One of my personal values is honesty. I believe we shouldn’t make promises we can’t keep. Part of that springs from my experiences as a child—I had to sort through all kinds of empty promises, and sometimes I believed them. The disappointment of an unkept promise forged this value. It makes me hesitant to promise anything to my kids that I can’t absolutely deliver.
I carry that everywhere. And sometimes it causes tension in relationships, because not everyone feels the same about promises. For some, they’re no big deal. Just words. I get that. I have to adjust my expectations of other people sometimes, because not all of us share the same values. We can’t possibly—we’re different people with different backgrounds and experiences. That’s okay. We all have different things that are important to us, different things we believe.
Another value for my family is love. I believe we should treat everyone with love, regardless of who they are or what they believe or how they live. That’s one I don’t let slide—I ask the most and best of myself and everyone else around me. I carry my heart to work and to meetings with friends and gatherings with my family and out into the world. I try to love the best I can.
Of course I don’t always succeed. I’m an imperfect human—not always generous, not always kind and compassionate (at least in my thoughts…I try to be kind and compassionate in my speech and actions, or I take myself on a break).
When we carry our hearts everywhere we go and we incorporate what we believe into all areas of our lives, we shine. We live with integrity.
I hope you have a radiant month of living with integrity.
How to live with integrity—and ask the most and best of yourself and everyone else:
1. Know what you believe
We can’t bring what we believe into all areas of our lives if we don’t even know what we believe. Spend some times connecting with your beliefs. Schedule some time to sit down and assess the things that matter to you. Honesty? Listening well? Encouraging others? Generosity? Gratitude? Love?
Conversations help. Facilitate some discussions with your friends or your partner or other family members. Write down some values that stick out to you. Think, If I wanted to leave a legacy, what would it be?
2. Find places in your life to incorporate your values more intentionally.
When my family and I were discussing our values, we came up with some specific actions for each value. Things like writing each other love notes. Sharing one gratitude around the table every night. Doing one generous thing for each other or someone else every week. Specific actions help us incorporate our values into our daily lives.
Make a habit chart. Reward yourself for acting with integrity. Do it with someone else so you can share your progress.
Or journal about it. I journaled about our family value journey. Keeping a record of your values can help you adjust and refine, which means it’s more likely you’ll keep living with integrity.
3. Remember today is today.
Wait. What do I mean by that?
Doing your best work, being the best version of yourself, is living with integrity. But we won’t be able to do it all the time. Sometimes we forget who we are. But values and beliefs give us an important framework to get back to. Living with integrity is also calling it like it is—this will not be easy. We may live with integrity today but miss the mark by a long shot tomorrow. Today is today. Tomorrow is…whatever comes.
Also, we’ll grow and change. We’ll refine our values. We’ll evolve. We don’t leave room for that if we expect perfection.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
Writing anything takes a long time.
When I visit schools and talk about my writing process, eyes glaze over if I mention revising. I suspect a lot of us feel our eyes glaze over when we consider how much revision a piece of writing requires.
It would be nice to be done on the first try, wouldn’t it? We have to read that whole thing again? No thanks. But the answer is yes. We have to read it again and again and again. We don’t produce our best work on the first try.
Nothing I write comes out perfect on the first try. My novels take anywhere from four (if I’m lucky) to twenty (if I’m unlucky) drafts. Think about that.
Rewriting and rewriting and rewriting (sometimes endlessly) is hard and time-consuming. Many of us give up before we get to the end. Or maybe we don’t even get started in the first place, because…yeah. That’s a lot of writing and rewriting.
Getting started—and finishing—is easier when we’re writing our passion. What we care deeply about.
The projects I tend to procrastinate on (and I’m not generally a procrastinator) are the ones I’m not quite as excited about for one reason or another. When I’m working on a project or a subject I care about, things go much more smoothly—and quickly.
This is one reason why writing to trends doesn’t usually work out, unless the trend so happens to be your passion. We may be excited about writing that first book to the trend, but what about the next? Is the “passion” sustainable?
The fact is, we’re more likely to finish a novel or piece of writing we care deeply about. And only a finished product stands a chance of getting published.
The important questions we need to ask ourselves are:
What do I care about?
How can I use that in my writing?
Maybe it’s building a theme in a story or designing a character who cares about the same thing(s) we do. Or writing a poem or an essay about the subject.
Passion and excitement come through in our writing—so does boredom and dread.
How do we find our passion?
1. Make a list of things that are important to you.
Think about your values and what you like to do. Think about what you don’t love. Think about who you are at the deepest level (an environmentalist? A feminist? A defender of human rights?). Consider what you talk about most or what you’re excited to tell others.
Collect them all in the same place, and use them as springboards for compositions.
2. Look back at your earlier writing.
Early writing can tell us something valuable about our passion and the things we care deeply about. Writing from when we were kids, or writing from when we were first getting started. Any of it can point us toward what we care about.
If you journal, you can likely find some of what you love and feel passionately about in the pages of past journals. Note patterns or things that crossed your mind frequently, wonderings you had. Hopes and dreams.
3. Broaden your list.
Engage your curiosity. Curiosity can lead us to new things that interest and intrigue us, that open up a whole new realm of writing possibilities. Stay open-minded. Try new things. Listen to new voices. You might find another passion you haven’t considered before. You never know until you give it a chance!
Have a fantastic month of writing—and finishing—stories and pieces that contain you, your passion, and everything that intrigues you.
by Rachel Toalson | Books
Here are 5 (or 6) things worth sharing this month:
1. Reading (MG): “I wondered if ideas were born the same way stars are, starting off small and collecting space clouds and dust until they have enough to burst open.” If you’re looking for a sweet, unusual, compulsively readable middle grade book, be sure to pick up What Stars Are Made Of, by Sarah Allen. It’s about a girl born with Turner Syndrome, and I don’t think you’ll ever read another book like it. Allen is also the author of Breathing Underwater, which is on my 2024 TBR list.
2. Reading (YA): Elana K. Arnold’s newest book, The Blood Years, is a mesmerizing YA historical novel about a girl in Romania and her family’s struggle to survive the Holocaust. This book will captivate you all the way through. There’s so much historical detail—but not so much that it becomes tedious; it only adds to the intrigue of the story. Arnold is also the author of several YA books I’ve loved, including Damsel, What Girls Are Made Of, and Red Hood.
3. Reading (adult, F): “Humans. For the most part, you are dull and blundering. But occasionally, you can be remarkably bright creatures.” I LOVED Remarkably Bright Creatures, by Shelby Van Pelt, so much! It’s the first of Van Pelt’s books I’ve read (and so happens to be her first), but I hope it will not be my last. This book is full of quirky and lovable characters, a beautiful storyline, and an octopus you’ll root for until the end.
4. Reading (adult, NF): I started listening to Mary Louise Kelly’s It.Goes.So.Fast.: the Year of No Do-Overs, while working out on the elliptical because of significant rain during the last few weeks. I couldn’t do it, though. It was way too emotional, so I had to listen at other times, when I wasn’t already breathing hard. This book is a beautiful memoir about children growing up. And maybe it hit me in all the feels because I’m the parent of a high school junior—which means next year will be my last year with my firstborn. Oh my. Kelly saw right through to my heart. I highly recommend it for parents. (By the way Kelly, who is an NPR correspondent, read the audiobook.)
5. Reading (adult, NF): “Under a lifetime of vigilance and fear of bodily harm often lies a bedrock of rage.” Another great nonfiction read is Melissa Febos’s Girlhood, a collection of essays that examine the narratives women are taught about what it means to be female. I think I’ll have to read it twice. It was so very good. Febos is also the author of the memoirs Whip Smart and Abandon Me, both of which are on my 2024 TBR, as well as Body Work: The Radical Power of Personal Narrative, which I got for the holidays and can’t wait to dive in to.
6. Reading (adult, F): “The wonder is that you could start life with nothing, end with nothing, and lose so much in between.” Demon Copperhead, by Barbara Kingsolver, was one of the best adult reads I read this year (and I’m not the only one who thought so—it won this year’s Pulitzer Prize). It examines small-town life and the opioid epidemic in a way that felt real and true and not given to stereotypes (and I’ve seen a lot of stereotypes when writers write about small-town, rural, American south, maybe because they’ve never lived there). It’s worth a read, even though it’s long. I read the audiobook, which made for a fantastic experience.
by Rachel Toalson | Wing Chair Musings
Every new year comes with a bit of reflection.
We may do it consciously or unconsciously, but there’s something about a new year that encourages reflection. All those things that have passed and happened in the year before. Or all the years before. Everything we hope for this next year.
It’s kind of arbitrary timing, turning over from December to January (although it was wonderfully symmetrical this year, beginning a new year on a Monday, wasn’t it?). Reflection, after all, can happen at any time—and probably should, if we want to make real progress toward our goals and personal growth.
January is also the month of my birthday, when I start thinking, What exactly have I done in the last year? Other questions follow. Have I been intentional? Did I meet my goals? How many? (Definitely not all of them. But that’s okay, I tell myself. They’re goals, something you work toward.)
And perhaps the biggest question: What can I do differently in the next year, using what I learned last year?
And there it is—reflection.
During this reflection time, I have to remind myself, often, that I’m a work in progress. We all are. A work in progress isn’t perfect. So we can’t expect perfection of ourselves (or others, as it happens).
There are things I want to get better at—things I’ve wanted to get better at for years (and no, it’s not knowing where to place prepositions to speak and write properly. I already know that. I just break the rules). Maybe I’m making progress toward these self-improvement goals…but how do we really know unless we look at things honestly and evaluate?
What have I done? Well, maybe I didn’t write as much; I finished fewer drafts last year than I have in previous years. But I visited several schools and had some great conversations with students and made some new friends. And I published some books. And I did finish drafts—several. I hung out with my family and my kids and their friends. I wrote some notes, encouraged people, helped out where I could.
I’m beginning to learn that what matters more than what we’ve done is the mark we’ve made. What have we left behind us?
I’d like to change my question “What exactly have I done” to “How has what I did this year made the world better?” It’s a perspective of purpose.
I want to make the world better. I want to make people think and believe in the magnificence of their whole selves. It may not shift the world in a dramatic, easily quantifiable way, but someone somewhere might be changed by one of my books or words I share or an encounter with me. And a little bit goes a long way, doesn’t it?
We don’t always see the full impact of our work and our existence. So much of what we do and the marks we make happen underground. We plant seeds or we water seeds or we clear the ground for a seed to be planted later. Our marks aren’t always obvious.
As I make my goals for the new year, I try to remember they can shift, much like I hope to do throughout the year. What’s important now may not be important in six months. I’m not the most flexible person, and I want to work on that. Sometimes that’s the way to make the world better, too: realize we’re not done growing and learning and changing, too.
I hope I’ve done work that has made the world better. I also hope it’s made humanity better. And me better. I may not be able to measure whether my work has made its mark or how spectacular a mark it’s made.
But maybe it’s enough to know, for all of us to know, that we’ve done our part—ushered good books into the world, impacted children—our own or others—and influenced the circle of people in our care.
Let’s keep doing our little bit.
Have a magical month of making your mark.
Some things to remember when reflecting on your year:
1. We’ve come a long way.
It’s easy to discount how far we’ve come when we feel we should have done more in a year…or five years…or ten…
But don’t forget to look at what you have done and how you’ve grown. I may not have written as many drafts in 2023 as I did in 2022—but I wrote several. And that’s something to celebrate.
Even one step forward is progress. Keep moving.
2. We have a long way to go.
A year is a long time (well, theoretically…my years seem to fly by now). We have another wide-open opportunity to grow and change.
I don’t want to be stagnant. I want to understand that I don’t know everything—not even half of it. I want to learn all I can and listen all I can.
All of life is an opportunity to become ourselves. Remember: We’re works in progress and always will be. Never stop growing.
3. A blank slate is available any time we need it.
It’s easy to use a new year as that time for change and reflection—but the truth is, we can do that at any point of the year. The beginning of a quarter or the beginning of a month, the beginning of a week, the beginning of a day. Reflection is a state of mind.
We can create our own blank slate any time we need it.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
One of the most surprising and beautiful things I have learned about the kid-lit community is it is filled with kind and generous writers. There is an unspoken belief among my fellow writers: We need each other.
Sometimes, when we’re immersed in the writing world, it can seem like there are only so many spaces for people—and in some ways that’s true. Only a certain number of books get picked up by traditional publishers. Not every book can win an award. Only a few make a bestseller list.
It can be extremely hard to remember this is not a competition. We all have our own race to run.
I like to think that when you give generously—when you help out another writer or you introduce them to your network or you gush about their book—it comes back to you. Pay it forward, and maybe it will come back. Maybe it won’t, too. But that doesn’t matter, because in the act of paying it forward, you realize something important: Generosity is good for you.
If I have influence, I want to help other people. There are so many good stories out there, and so many that still need to be told.
Before my first book, a novel in verse, published, I attended a conference where I knew pretty much nobody. But I saw that an author I admired—Laura Shovan, who wrote one of my favorite novels in verse (The Last Fifth Grade of Emerson Elementary)—was also there, so I went out on a limb and contacted her.
She generously took me under her wing, introduced me to some outstanding poets, and brought me into the fold. She showed me that I belonged there in the writing community, and I have never ever ever forgotten it. I’m in her poetry community now, and every February a large group of us create and share with each other themed poetry for the month.
The friends I meet—I’m cheering them on. I genuinely want to see them succeed. A rising tide lifts all boats.
I want to have a generous spirit, as a writer. I have definitely met some who didn’t and don’t. Nobody’s happy in a writing culture of competition. But in a writing community of generosity? We all win.
Here are some of my favorite ways to pay it forward as a writer.
1. Share resources and things you’ve learned.
This is probably one of the easiest ways to pay it forward. We don’t start out being awesome writers. So how did we get here? Sharing craft books and teaching resources that moved us along our journey can be incredibly helpful to those a little farther behind us on the journey.
When writers have questions, answer them. (Now, I’m not proposing you answer every single question that comes your way individually. When would we have time to write if we did? My friends and I have a standard email we send out to people who contact us for questions, pointing them to answers and resources that can help.)
As you progress, bring someone else along with you. As you learn, share.
2. Share your network.
One of the most valuable things we can do in the writing world is build our network. But when we’re new, we don’t know many people. And we’re probably also suffering from a gigantic case of imposter syndrome. (Actually, that plagues us every step of the way—but it is worse in the beginning.)
Introduce new writers to people you know. People they can learn from. The writing community can be an incredibly supportive place. We understand and recognize each other.
At any point in our writing journey, there will always be someone farther ahead and someone farther behind. Help the laggers, and you’ll probably find yourself helped, too.
3. Read other writers’ work and share about it.
Word of mouth is one of the most effective ways books get into readers’ hands. So talk about your favorite books and authors.
And also—tell authors what you loved about their book. We hear a lot of reasons people don’t like our books; it does us good to hear the positives. Be generous with your praise.
It’s important to remember in the writing world that there’s room for us all. Readers will keep reading books. And there are plenty of readers to go around.
We’re stronger together.
Have a marvelous month of paying it forward.
