Last week we talked about some of the misconceptions that surround a writing career, including the lie that only certain people have a compelling story to tell.
But there are more lies than just those that surround the actual pursuit of a writing career. There are also lies that surround the conditions of a writing career. We think we have to do it full time. Or we think we have to give it up when we have kids. Or we think we have to get out there and brush shoulders with all the important people, because we need to know somebody in order to make it in this business (sometimes that can work. But not all the time.).
So here are four more lies we tend to grab when the going gets hard.
1. You can’t build a writing career when you have kids.
I am a living testament to the fact that a writing career does not end just because you have kids. Now. It takes a lot of juggling. My husband and I split our days down the middle, and he’s the one making the money, which means he only has half as many hours to do what most men do in eight (he’s pretty incredible). He’s been supportive since the very beginning, which is what every writer needs—a supportive partner.
But even before we did it this way, when I was working a full-time job to support my family, I needed an outlet for all the passion and heartache and frustration and joy in my life. So I would write in the late-night hours, after the kids were in bed. I would find the time.
[Tweet “There’s always time to write. We just have to find it—and we will if we love it enough.”]
My kids give me great stories. They also help me better tell my stories, because I can read what I write to them, and the questions they ask are good questions about characters and plot and what this means. Because I write kid-lit, their questions are incredibly helpful in the revision process—which makes them fantastic people to have on my team. They’ve made me a much better writer than I used to be.
2. You can’t do it when you have a full-time job.
I started this business with a full-time job. It was tough. I was a mom of five and working full-time and there were all the house things that needed to be done, too. But you know what? If we want something badly enough, we’ll work hard for it.
So I would take my journal out, when my husband was getting ready for bed and my kids were already asleep, and I would jot down fifteen minutes worth of words, every night. I did that for a year, and at the end of the year, I had a book. Actually, I had the equivalent of three long books, with more than 300,000 words.
3. You have to work at writing full time if you want to go anywhere with it.
See the above answer.
Yeah, it’s hard to find time in all the spaces, but if we really, really want it, we’ll do it. We’ll do it however we can. We’ll write in the bathroom, we’ll write while the kids are taking a bath, we’ll write in the mornings before they get up. We’ll find the time somewhere.
If we’re not writing full-time, we’ll have to get really good at making a plan and sticking to it. We’ll have to get really good at putting a project down and picking it back up. We’ll have to get really good at learning to use the available spaces for whatever we can manage—and yet still have time to spend with our family. It’s not balance so much as it is integration. Our writing can be integrated into our daily lives in small ways that, over time, become large ways.
4. You have to know someone to make it somewhere.
I used to tell myself this one a lot—that those people who were successful writers just knew someone, and that’s how they got the awesome publishing deal. Or that’s how they got 10,000 readers on their mailing list. Or that’s how they made it to the top of the bestseller list. And it’s true that sometimes authors do know someone, or they are someone (celebrity memoirs sell better than others). But it’s all in what you do with your time, not all in who you know.
This is a difficult one to wrap our minds around, because sometimes it can be discouraging to actually do the work it takes to get published, and what we really want is a magic little pill that gets us an agent and a publisher and a great advance (or a successful indie book).
But if we’re not doing the work in the first place, whether or not we know someone won’t make the slightest bit of difference.
So let’s recap:
1. We can build a writing career when we have kids.
2. We can build a writing career while working full time.
3. We don’t have to be a full-time writer to begin our writing career.
4. We don’t have to know someone to make it in the writing business.
All we really have to do is do the work, which takes a commitment in and of itself. But if we’re willing to do it, we’ll watch our career leap to the next level.
Week’s prompt
Photos have an amazing ability to unlock our creativity. So write on the photo below for as long as you want. Write what you see, write what it makes you think about, write what you feel. Just write.
I never thought I’d be a mom of all boys. When I first started my parenting journey, I thought for sure that I would have one or two girls in the mix, because everyone I know does. But then we had boy after boy after boy, and I realized, soon enough, that I was not meant to be a girl mom.
I was meant to be a boy mom. And there are some really special things about being a mother of boys.
1. You’re the prettiest girl they’ve ever seen.
You’ll always be the prettiest girl they’ve ever seen. You are the standard to which they will hold every other girl, at least for a while. They think you’re beautiful when you’ve been wearing the same workout pants for three days in a row and when your hair hasn’t been washed in a couple of days and when you don’t even have makeup on. They think you’re beautiful when you’re in a bad mood or a silly mood or an I-don’t-really-want-to-be-a-mother-today mood. They think you’re beautiful because they see through a lens of innocence, a lens of love.
2. You will get grossed out daily.
Most kids are pretty gross, but boys are the worst. They don’t care about the snot running all the way down to their chin; they’ll just reach their little tongues up to “wipe” it away. They don’t care that if they hug you, they’re going to get a big slimy glob on your shoulder. They don’t care that when they poop, they probably need at least three good wipes. They’ll leave it at one and then stripe the toilet with the rest. Boys are pretty gross. Just get used to it.
3. You’re a flower repository.
Every time you pass a wildflower field, boys will want to go pick as many flowers as they can and bring them back to you. They will want you to try to put those centimeter-long stems in your hair, even though they’re too short to wrap around your ear. They will want you to display the pink ones in a vase so they can show off the bouquet to whomever may come to visit today, which is usually no one, because when you’re a mom of boys, you’re not often entertaining anyone else. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m the only one afraid of social contact after being slimed all day by boys.
6. They’re obsessed with their body parts. One in particular.
Not only do my boys love streaking through the house naked, even though they’ve been instructed to put on their pajamas directly after their bath so that we can get along to story time, they are fascinated by their body parts—well, one body part. They will play with their penises and compare penises and try to smack each other’s penises just for the fun of it. They are uncivilized and untamable.
5. You will have regular exposure to potty humor or humor related to bodily functions.
Boys think all bodily humor is hilarious. And I mean all of it. If you make a farting sound between the lyrics to “Happy Birthday” while you’re singing to their brother, they will fall apart giggling. If you end your prayers with an arm fart, or try to pretend like you’re arm farting the ABC song, they will laugh until they’re crying. If you say anything about “penis” or “naked booty,” or “burp-farts,” they will shriek with delight.
6. When you burp at the table, you feel like you’ve just won an award.
Boys will be contagiously delighted when their mom burps at the table. They think it’s the funniest thing ever. Which is great, because holding in gas was never really my strong point. I always thought it was a flaw. Turns out it’s not, because, that’s right. Boys. I win the table every night, after the last bite. They’ll laugh and applaud and I’ll feel on top of the world, because I’ve never won anything in my life.
7. You get used to naked people.
As soon as the 6-year-old gets home from school, he likes to strip down to his boxers and underwear, whichever it is he’s wearing for the day. He knows, of course, that he has to put on clothes to go outside, but that doesn’t even matter. He’ll choose a whole new ensemble if he goes outside, because those other clothes were the slightest bit damp from the walk home, and he “doesn’t like to sweat.” Bath time in our house is a constant chorus of “Go put on your pajamas” and “Here are your pajamas. Put them on.” And “You can’t sit on my lap naked,” because, well, boys just like the feeling of running free.
8. You don’t get to hold them for long.
A few days after my youngest turned one, he started coming over to give me a hug and then immediately squirming out of my arms before I was ready to let him go. Boys are active and rambunctious and prefer, always, to move. Every now and then I can entice this littlest one to stay a while, if I’m bouncing around or doing a ridiculous dance, or if I start running through the house, but if I’m not doing any of those things, he’s not going to make an effort to stay.
Boys want to be moving at all times. I, on the other hand, don’t. But I do want to snuggle with my boys every now and then, so sometimes I’ll pick myself up off the floor, with great, sighing effort and run around, too. Sometimes it’s the only way I can steal a quick hug.
9. Disgusting smells become everyday smells.
My upstairs smells like a swamp, because there’s a bathroom up there that the boys always, always, always forget to flush. Their room smells like a locker room, because not only do they need to start wearing deodorant right about now but they also like to wear their soccer socks for three days in a row, and, believe me, you haven’t smelled disgusting until you’ve smelled worn-three-days-in-a-row soccer socks (or the shoes that have embraced them all day). Not only that, but whenever a boy is sitting on my lap, a cloud of fumes inevitably forms around us, because they’re really, really good at SBDs (silent but deadlies—it’s a type of fart you probably don’t ever want to experience, in a class of its own). I can usually tell who’s the culprit because of the self-satisfied smirk on his face while he looks around to see if anyone noticed. Of course we noticed. It smells like a sulfur plant in here. My nose hairs are singed.
Boys aren’t easy. They’re a whole lot of work. They require more energy than we’ll probably ever have, because they never, ever stop. They’re always getting into things, especially the food, and they’re always making a mess, especially with the clothes they strip and leave on the floor, and they’re always asking us if we smelled that or if we want to see what they just did to the toilet (forever and ever answer: Nope.).
But the most amazing thing I’ve learned about boys is that they will love the insecurities right off a mama. They will love her doubts away. They will love away all that has come before and infuse hope into all that comes after.
I know, because that’s what my boys have done for me.
I read a whole lot to my boys. Every day at lunch, I read to my twins and my littlest one from two picture books and a chapter book. Every night before bed, my entire family gathers around stories—two more picture books and another chapter book. But a surprising time when I read to my boys is during their baths. My boys are still young, so I know this won’t happen forever, but I’m always looking for opportunities where I can read more to my children. Bath time happened to be one of those.
It actually came about when my 9-year-old, who is probably one of the greatest lovers of story I’ve ever known (besides myself, of course), asked me to start reading a book to him while he took a bath. So I did. And then the 6-year-old and 5-year-old asked me the same, once they saw me doing it for their big brother.
Right now I’m reading Chicken Boy, by Frances O’Roark Dowell to the 5-year-old, Rain Reign, by Ann M. Martin, to the 6-year-old, and The Night Gardener, by Jonathan Auxier, to the 9-year-old. These are all books I’ve read already. I like to read books I’ve already read to my boys, because sometimes you don’t know about the content. Sometimes it’s too mature. Sometimes it’s not quite engaging enough for one kid’s particular personality. Every now and then I’ll read books with my boys that I haven’t read yet, but it’s usually only after I’ve done some research on the book’s content and feel, or if I know the author.
I’ve already talked before about Rain Reign, as well as The Night Gardener, so today I’d like to talk about Chicken Boy.
The first thing I noticed about Chicken Boy was the voice. The story is told from the perspective of Tobin McCauley, who is a little bit of a tough guy. He has a crazy grandmother, juvenile-delinquent siblings and a dad who doesn’t take much interest in his kids. He doesn’t really have any friends, because he doesn’t think he needs them, even though he knows, deep down, that he does. But then a new kid comes to town and wants to befriend him. The problem is, this kid cares a whole lot about chickens, and Tobin doesn’t really care about anything.
It’s a story of friendship and identity and what it really means to be loved.
Tobin’s voice is one of the most engaging I’ve ever read in middle grade literature, with sentences like this:
“I thought about Granny’s chickens. You couldn’t pay me money to believe them birds had ever though a thought or felt a single feeling other than a hankering to peck in the dirt for bugs. I’d seen red-tailed hawks out in the woods, and I could imagine they had all sorts of noble ideas. But chickens? Forget it, son.”
At times the story is funny, at times incredibly sad. But what its readers will remember most is the story of a boy who found where he belongs in unexpected places—and came to understand that the person he thought he was, based on his family history, and the person he actually is—a better one than he imagined—are worlds apart.
Learning
A couple of months ago, I began a course called “Your First 10,000 Readers,” which is offered by a successful indie author named Nick Stephenson. He only offers the course about twice a year, so it’s actually not open right now, but it will be in the future. It’s a fantastic course for those who want to make a career out of their writing, whether they want to publish their own work or become traditionally published. The course’s greatest asset is what it teaches about marketing books.
This is one of the areas where I struggle most. I’ve talked about how much I dislike trying to sell myself, but the reality is, if I want to make a living out of my writing, I’m going to have to get over it. My writing has value. I believe that. And if I believe it, then I have to be willing to share that value with other people, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me feel. I’m not selling my work. I’m selling an encouraged heart or a bit of entertainment or some laughter. Those are all valuable things.
So in the weeks leading up to my book launch, I’ve been scouring this course, trying to learn as much as I can about the proper way to set up an email list when you’re a writer and the right kinds of funnels to have in place and the best way to pull off a launch. I have pages and pages of notes that I’ve begun incorporating. I can’t say enough about the 10,000 Readers course. I’m looking forward to seeing just how it changes my book launches from here on out.
Personal
At the beginning of this year, I decided that I wanted to learn a little more about photography. So this year I’ve been practicing more photography—not so I can go professional but because I write so many blogs and love using my own pictures. Sometimes I still have to use free stock images, but most times, especially on my humor parenting site, I use all my own photos.
Photography has done this amazing thing to me. In the mornings, when I’m trying to rush boys out the door to get to school on time, I’ve begun picking up the camera and snapping shots. Photography has a way of slowing down time. Maybe because it’s still shots. You have a moment captured in time, but the moment before you snap the picture, you’re staring through a lens, watching for the best angle or the best facial expression or the best lighting. Even when we’re rushing, I’m taking time to look and see and snap. It’s been amazing.
I haven’t learned much about photography yet. I’m sort of reading a couple of books on it, but I don’t always have the time to study. But what I’ve enjoyed most is not just having these photos I’ve taken myself, but it’s also having the reason to stop and study and see.
Writing
I mentioned recently that I tend to write on a bunch of different projects at a time. I did that, originally, because I have so many ideas, and I wanted to make sure I could get to them all. The problem is, even as I’m fleshing out these book ideas, I’m still coming up with more. So I’ve decided to do something different.
I keep this purple binder near me at all times, which is filled with all my fiction and nonfiction books ideas. I jot down another idea as I have it, and then I let it be. I don’t get started. I wait until the current project I’m working on is finished. What that means is that I’ve gone from working on three book projects at a time every week to working on only one. This has helped me to focus more on the story, because not only do I have the time to really walk around in my world and observe my characters, but I also have the focus to bring their story to life in a greater way. I found it challenging every week, when I was working on multiple projects, to change between the different worlds and tenses and points of view. Some of my books are written in first-person. Some are written in third-person. Some are written in past tense. Some are written in present tense. I found places in my manuscripts where I was getting confused on all of that. So focusing on one at a time has helped me to really dig down deep and get to the heart of the story.
And, as a bonus, it’s helped me actually write those stories faster.
Right now I’m working on a story about a boy with an autistic brother who has to choose between claiming his brother as his brother and being the popular kid at school, for once in his life. I can already tell it’s going to be a good one.
Watching
I tend to be a creature of habit. So every week, on our “date night,” because we don’t get to go out often, Husband and I sit and watch “Once Upon a Time” on Netflix. Husband is a binge kind of person, but I tend to take my one or two episodes every week. The series has gotten interesting, and I enjoy seeing what new fairy tale characters they’re going to introduce next. We’re still in Season Two, but I can already tell that the writing has gotten worlds better than it was, which, if you’re a nitpicky person like I am, you’ll find worth celebrating.
In this episode, Rachel shares about three middle grade books that are great read-alouds for kids, a great indie author marketing course, the hidden gift in learning photography, why she’s decided to work on one writing project at a time, at least for now, and more about the ABC series “Once Upon a Time.”
Wake up, wake up, it’s time to start the day, come down to breakfast, don’t play around now, put that book down, get downstairs, make sure you get your socks, put your shoes on, you should tie your laces so you don’t trip over them, where are your shoes? I have no idea where they are, did you leave them outside? You probably left them outside, go look, they’re all wet? Well, you’ll still have to wear them, pack up your backpack, we’re leaving in ten minutes, pack up your backpack, we’re leaving in five minutes, get your backpack, one more minute, well, looks like you’re walking yourself to school, because your brothers and I are leaving, remember, if you’re late to school that means you don’t get technology time when you get home, come on, boys, stay out of the street, stay by me, on the grass, make sue you don’t get your shoes too terribly wet, watch out for that sprinkler, oh, watch out for the dog poop, please don’t step in the dog poop, welp, now we’re going to have to clean your shoes off, come over here, wait boys, we have to clean the poop off so your brother doesn’t track it inside the school, don’t cross the street yet, you need to wait for me, there are cars coming, okay, ready, set, go! You’re getting too far ahead, wait up for us, watch where you’re going, share the sidewalk, don’t stop when you’re walking right in front of me, hurry up, we can’t be late for school, hold the door, please, wait for me, let’s be quiet through the hallways, don’t stand on the bench, let’s walk your brothers to their classes, I love you, remember who you are, strong, kind, courageous and mostly Son, have a wonderful day, okay, come on, boys, let’s go back home, are you cold? Let’s fix your jacket, hold the door open, please, slow down, boys, stop before you get to the street, do not cross without me, I’m coming as fast as I can, this stroller isn’t a running one, wait a minute, let me get a picture of you with that flower, okay, let’s cross, one more street, we can do it, I know you’re tired, I know it’s cold, yay we’re home, what do you want to play with? Please stay out of that, stay out of that, please stay out of that, for the love, please leave things alone, just leave it alone, you know what you can play with and what you should stay out of, okay, thank God, it’s story time, go pick some stories, let’s read, time for lights out, better stay in your beds, I’ll be right here, [go to work], someone’s knocking, it’s time for dinner, walking down the stairs is not a race, I’m coming, I’m coming, everybody’s here, let’s pray, what was the best part of your day, everybody listen, your brother’s trying to talk, be quiet, hey, your brother is trying to talk, and it’s not polite to interrupt, this is a really great dinner, how could you possibly still be hungry, you’ve had three plates, make sure you eat all your vegetables, they’re good for you, don’t eat too much, though, your tummy will hurt, but make sure you eat enough, because your tummy will hurt, don’t put your elbows on the table, keep your voices down, please, wait, guys, wait, where did you go, it’s time for after-dinner chores, don’t hit your brother, make sure you put your shoes where they belong, don’t go out front without a parent watching, how many times do I have to tell you, doesn’t matter if you’re a big boy, you have no idea how to stay alive like I do, hey, don’t hurt your brother just because you’re angry, remember, we don’t hurt people in our anger, we use our words to express how we feel, time for chores, time for baths, time to get out, I said put the toys down and get out of the bath, drain the water, let’s read some stories, everybody be quiet, I can’t read over your voices and I really don’t like to try, be quiet, hey guys, be quiet, please get off me, I don’t mind you sitting n my lap, but not when you’re wrestling, okay silent reading time, I said silent reading time, does anybody know what silent means? Apparently I’m the only one, you know what, everybody just brush your teeth and get in bed, I said it’s time for bed, get back in your bed, get.back.in.your.bed., GET BACK IN YOUR BED, get back in your bed get back in your bed get back in your bed…
I see you in the early morning, when it’s still dark, before the kids are up, trying to type out a business plan that’s been taking you a month to finish, because you only get to work on it in the tiny little margin hours, and I see you racing through that devotional and jotting down your own words, and then I see you come quietly down the stairs to start breakfast and hot tea and lay out all the vitamins before it’s time to wake up the kids, because this is how you love.
I see you rushing through the morning, kids asking for shoes and where their socks are and can you help him find his pajamas, because today is pajama day at school, and no one wants to miss pajama day, no way, and where is his lunch and can you help him zip his backpack, tie his shoes, pour more smoothie, find his other library book, decide which picture he should take, sign his reading log, wipe this yogurt spot off the table so he can do the homework he forgot to do yesterday, read this one little part of the book because it’s due today and he didn’t know it. I see you bending, just a little more, with each request that flies your way, because it all feels heavy this morning.
I see you walking them to school, down the sidewalk where too many cars go too fast, and I see you watching them with every bit of attention you have, making sure they don’t even miss a step, because if they do, you fear they’ll go stumbling toward a street that’s much too dangerous in a residential area like this one. I see you walking half of them back, up the same road but with a little less anxiety, because three have been safely delivered, and I see you return to the house you so hurriedly left and straighten up, without ever having a bite of breakfast to eat yourself.
I see you opening your laptop to try to fire off a few emails, or just get a few random thoughts down before kids start coming in and asking for things and the baby needs to eat again, or gets tired and wants to fall asleep in your arms, which you don’t mind, because he’s your last. I see you using the other “free” time to tidy what needs tidying and cut carrots and slap peanut butter on a sandwich and pull grapes from their vines and arrange it all on a plate you slide before them after they’ve cleaned up the crayons and put the Hot Wheels back where they belong.
I see you wrestling them down for naps so you’ll at least have a little bit of time to work, and I see you sitting right outside their bedroom, because you can’t really trust them to be left alone for a single minute, and I see you smiling at their little twinanigans, when before you only felt annoyed, because you’re learning, minute by minute, day by day, to be grateful instead of perpetually annoyed. I see you steal back to your room as soon as the last one falls asleep, to steal a few minutes with your computer.
I see you look around your room and wonder how anyone could work—or even sleep— in a disaster area like this. And even though you’d like nothing more than to work or even sleep, you should really be prepping for the afternoon, getting snacks ready, doing dishes, finishing up the laundry, tidying up the house or this disaster of a room.
I see you bending over the pile of laundry, this pile that seems to pile again as soon as you’ve finished the week’s loads. I see you sorting it all—the white clothes and the light clothes and the dark clothes and the towels and the random things like hats and stuffed animals and blankets and costumes that get put in the laundry because kids are too lazy to put them back where they’re supposed to go and think it would just be easier to put them here.
Easier on everyone but you, of course.
I see you standing at the sink, handing off those plates to one of your boys, while he bends and loads them into a dishwasher you’ll probably rearrange later, because he hasn’t quite mastered the art of saving space yet. I see you wrinkling your nose at those old plates they all forgot to wash off this morning, with the dried yogurt spills, and I see you smile, because you remember what they said when you put those plates in front of them, but they ate it all in spite of the complaints.
I see you sit on the side of your bed after the last one has been wrestled into his, and I see you put your head in your hands, because no matter what, no matter how much work you do, it never feels like you’ve done enough. There’s always something else that needs doing Always some cleaning to be done. Always some relationship that needs repair. Always some request that needs to be filled. Always someone needing something from you. Always some other, more important thing that you should take the time to do, instead of taking the time for you.
There is so much to do in this mother world. And you are only one person.
How does anyone do it? How do they make it look so easy? You must be a failure, all around.
But you’re not. Do you know why?
Look at all this. Look at what you’ve done in a day (as if that’s the measure of success or failure, but we’ll get to that). Look at all the love and the attention and the care and the detail that threads through your morning. Look at the afternoons when you’ll open a window into your soul and let it come sliding out onto paper. Look at the evening, when you’ll sit down to dinner or take them places or read them long stories or let them splash in the bath or put them back to bed a thousand times because you know sleep is important, and you’re kind of a little bit of a freak about this.
What you’re doing is enough.
You, dear mama, don’t have to do everything. You don’t. You don’t even have to come close to doing everything. You don’t have to make beds and do laundry and fold it the same day and scrub the table clean and try to write and make that perfect business plan and send those invoices before they’re too late and read to your kids and bathe them every night and keep your house perfectly neat and tidy and fix dinners that are immaculate and wonderful and should grace the papers of a magazine, or Pinterest, at least, and send those homemade goodies to school so he doesn’t have to eat processed food and volunteer at his class party and cheer him on at field day and somehow find the time to call his teacher about that one thing and pick up all the socks they left on the floor yesterday and write on that one story and make those important calls and balance the checkbook to the last penny and do a puzzle with one and play chess with another and wipe down all the counters until they shine and reserve, if you can, a little bit of energy for your husband tonight and smile through it all, like you’re the happiest June Cleaver on earth.
You don’t have to do it all. You don’t. You are not a failure if you don’t do it all. You’re not a bad mother. You’re not selfish.
There are a lot of misconceptions that hover around the writing profession. I can see them in people’s eyes when I answer the question “What do you do?” with “I’m an author.”
People think they have an idea of what it’s like to be a writer. (I thought I had an idea of what it was like to be a writer–before I became one.) They think writers sit around and write all day and that they either make a lot of money or they’ll be really poor (nothing in between).
I’ve heard these lies all my life (and even spread them), and for a while, I truly believed them. But what I’m discovering, as an indie author who also has manuscripts out with agents, is that I get to decide which ones are lies and which ones are truth. Here are the lies I’ve found.
1. You’ll be poor.
I know a whole group of authors who are doing this writing thing as their only job, and they’re not anywhere close to poor. Most of them are self-published authors who have control over all parts of the publishing process and also keep all the proceeds from their sales, but there are some traditional authors who are making good money, too.
Now. That’s not to say that all authors will be rich, of course. There are only a small percentage of writers who actually get rich at it, and they’re usually the ones sitting up on the bestseller lists for years at a time (not saying you can’t, just saying it’s good to know what it takes). It depends a lot of genre. If you prefer writing literary books like I do, you’ll probably never get rich at it, unless you have a thousand books. People don’t buy poetry and literary fiction like they buy thrillers and romance.
But we can all still make a good living off our writing if we’re smart about the way we run our business.
2. Writing is a creative endeavor, so you don’t have to worry about the business side of things.
False. The truth is, we’re all business people if we’re writers, and we’re going to have to learn things like email marketing and how to have a social media presence and what we can do to build a platform. That becomes especially important as indie authors, but traditional authors need to know about marketing, too. Releasing a book, unfortunately, isn’t as simple as releasing a book. There’s timing and wording and selling, and a whole bunch of things I didn’t really know about when I first got started..
I was surprised by how much I had to do to get my books published on the indie side. I shouldn’t have been. In the traditional world, it takes six months to a year (sometimes longer) to get a book published once a publisher accepts it. Of course it’s going to take a self-published author a little time to do it, too.
But if we’re not considering the business side of things, we’re not going to go very far in this business.
3. A writing career isn’t all that rewarding.
If you’re looking at things from a monetary standpoint, then maybe for some it isn’t really worth making a career of writing. My books have only made a handful of change in the last six months. But when I think about how those words were all bottled up inside me and now they’re finally out, finally free, I feel like writing is definitely worth the work it requires.
It’s always a worthy choice to tell our stories, whether or not anybody picks them up to read them. Do you know what happens when we tell our stories? We come to know ourselves better. We find our voice. So just because one project doesn’t sell well doesn’t mean the next one won’t, either—because we’re always practicing and always doing the work, which means we’re getting better and better and better.
4. Only a certain kind of person has a compelling story to tell.
Its true that sometimes it can feel hard to find a compelling story to tell, but I always tell people to start with their lives. What story can they tell from their life in fiction or nonfiction that might resonate with readers? Maybe you had a boring life (I think every life is fascinating, so you’d be hard-pressed to convince me that you haven’t led an interesting one), or maybe you don’t feel like anything all that significant happened to you growing up or maybe you never met a quirky person in all your years. In that case, I’d invite you to revisit your memories and open up your eyes. Look for stories everywhere and then practice telling them. Start a blog.
There’s this guy I know who writes a blog about all the homeless people he meets on the streets of his city. His stories are intriguing, and he is one of the most compassionate men I’ve ever known. His readers love hearing about the characters they’ve come to know from his street stories.
[Tweet “There’s a story to tell everywhere. We just have to crack our lives open and tell them.”]
These aren’t the only writing lies, and I have a Part 2 coming next week–about the lies we unknowingly place around the circumstances of our writing careers.
But for now, remember: You have a compelling story to tell. So tell it.
I’m not a hoarder. Not even close. In fact, I’m probably the opposite of a hoarder. I periodically like to go through a room and take all of the unnecessary things out of it and just throw them away.
But my kids? Well, they’re a different story altogether.
They hoard stuffed animals.
For Easter this year, the kids were talking about all the amazing toys their friends were getting from the Easter Bunny. It seems like the Easter Bunny has turned into a second Santa in many kids’ lives. Fortunately, we don’t do the Easter Bunny, and Mama and Daddy are much cheaper than the Easter Bunny. So the boys got a small gift card to a local yogurt shop (which ended in a GREAT family outing, let me tell you) and another small one to Hobby Lobby.
I had high hopes for the Hobby Lobby card. We’re always running out of art supplies, and I thought that’s what they’d buy. But no. In we walked, and they headed straight for the Beanie Boos display (which also happens to be the “impulse buy” display) and then directly to the checkout counter.
It’s not like they don’t have a billion already. But they hoard stuffed animals. Every time they have money, they want to buy another one. These things are like rabbits, multiplying at every turn. I’ve tried to get rid of some of the old ones—the ones that are too beat up to even recognize anymore because the 4-year-old twins went through a de-fluffing stage—but the boys started crying like someone had died. “We can’t even have a fake dog?” they said.
Well, tell me if you’d argue with that one.
“They’re all loved,” they say. Which is a nice sentiment. Except there’s one that’s been caught in a backyard tree for about three weeks, and no one’s made a move to bring him back in.
They hoard papers.
Papers are my nemesis. I have three boys in school, and the number of papers they bring home is nothing compared to the number of papers they find and draw on at home. I’m sorting through about three hundred papers a day, and that’s not even an exaggeration. And I have to be stealthy about when I put the papers I don’t want in the recycling bin, because if boys see me? It’s “I made that for you. You don’t want it?” and then I’m feeling guilty for even being alive.
They hoard bug carcasses.
Anytime my 4-year-old twins go outside—which is a lot these days, because twins are hard—they’re digging holes in the yard. They are fascinated by worms and pillbugs and lady bugs, and because it’s been a beautiful spring here in Texas, there are plenty of bugs to choose from. The problem is, they steal mason jars and fill them with bugs and then stock them in the pantry, so the next time I go to reach for the raw sunflower seeds, I’m met with a prop from a horror movie. But when I want to throw them away, the twins say the jar is full of their pets.
“They’re my pets,” one of them will say.
“No, they’re mine,” the other will say.
While they’re fighting about it, I dump the contents of the jar in the trash and still have plenty of time to relax, because it’ll be about an hour before they’ve settled their disagreement.
They hoard LEGOs.
It’s been a while since we introduced LEGOs into our house. And I’m so glad we did. I love having to nag my 9-year-old to clean up his LEGOs every other minute, because he gets so focused on a building project he doesn’t care that it’s time for dinner, he just wants to keep building.
LEGOs are great. Even I enjoy building with them sometimes, when the kids aren’t home to tell me how I’m doing it all wrong. The problem is, my kids are always talking about how they want more, more, more. Have you seen how many LEGO sets there are out on the market? We would need another house to collect them all, but the 9-year-old has a mission that sounds exactly like that: collect them all.
They hoard nature.
Here’s a ridiculous admission for you: when I’m doing laundry, I never check the pockets. I know I should. It’s really dangerous not to, but when you’re separating a weeks’ worth of laundry for eight people, you don’t really have much time to do pocket-checking. Periodically, I’ll have a load going in the washer and hear a terrible thumping noise. At first I’ll think it’s someone trying to break into the house, because what can I say about my imagination except that it’s highly active and also doomsday-ish. And then I’ll realize it’s coming from the washer, so I’ll think the washer is probably breaking, great, now what are we going to do, there’s no way I’ll be able to wash clothes the old-fashioned way for all these people.
But then I’ll open the washer and see the source of all that clunking: rocks.
Don’t ask me why I didn’t feel the weight of those rocks when I was sorting the clothes. That’s a ridiculous question.
It’s not just rocks, either. It’s sticks in the bathtub and leaves all over the front entryway and dirt in cups and flowers encased in bowls of water they put in the freezer for a “quick science experiment.” My kids are hoarders of everything nature.
I like a simple home, but kids make it anything but simple—not just in the emotional sense but in every other sense. It doesn’t matter how many times we explain to our kids that a lower number of “things” makes us much happier, they want more. It’s human nature. They have to learn themselves that things are not what will make them happy in the end. And they’ll learn that eventually.
In the meantime, let’s just all pretend I’m on an episode of “Hoarders” and call it a successful day.
I just got done reading The Husband’s Secret, by Liane Moriarty. I discovered Moriarty about a year ago when I picked up her book Big Little Lies and loved it. So I thought I’d try another. The Husband’s Secret is a story about three families that come crashing together in unforgettable ways. The story begins with a letter a wife finds, by accident, in the attic of her home. The letter is addressed to her from her husband and says it’s to be opened after her husband’s death. This, of course, is a great way to start the book, because at first you’re wondering what’s in the letter, and then you’re wondering what she’s going to do about what’s in the letter. (I actually cheated and skipped ahead to have my questions answered, because sometimes I have enough mystery in my life and like to know what’s going to happen in the stories I read.)
Moriarty has a singular style of writing that keeps a reader engaged and entertained and hardly able to put a book down, and I love that about her books. She’s entertaining, interesting and intriguing, and that’s hard to do when you’re not writing something like a mystery thriller. Her characters are quirky and smart and funny, and they really come alive on the page. I’ve got the rest of her books on my list now, because once I find an author I like, I read everything they write. So Liane Moriarty just got another superfan.
Learning
I’ve been on sort of a health kick lately, so I’ve been reading all sorts of books about eating and exercise and the science of mind over body. Two of the books I’ve just finished are Cure: A Journey into the Science of Mind Over Body, by Jo Marchant, and The Feelgood Plan, by Dalton Wong and Kate Faithfull-Williams.
Cure is a book about exactly what it says: the science of mind over body. It’s been a fascinating read full of research and information about how things like placebos work and how our mind can actually reduce the symptoms of our illnesses, and, in some cases, even the actual illness itself. Maybe it’s because my husband and I just recently finished watching the PBS series “The Brain with David Eagleman,” but I find the brain and its ability to create a whole different reality really, interesting. And a little disturbing.
The Feelgood Plan is a great book about diet and exercise and choosing a healthy lifestyle. I’m always interested in learning more about food and health, and this book has been really great for nutritional information and also motivation. Wong, one of the co-authors, actually trained Jennifer Lawrence before she filmed The Hunger Games, and what he and Faithfull-Williams include in the book is really helpful for someone who’s interested in learning more about food and exercise health.
The book includes a bunch of pictures and graphics, so it’s not just pages and pages of information that puts you to sleep. It’s actually really engaging. What I like most about it is the 12-week plan the authors include in the back of the book, where you’re not just drastically changing everything in Week 1 and shocking your system into submission. You’re easing into a lifestyle change.
Personal
My second son just turned seven, which is really hard to believe. Everyone tells you all the time that parenthood flies by, but I can really see it every time my kids have a birthday. The days feel forever long, but the years are so terribly short. My boys are on their way to becoming young men, and there’s a sadness to that, but there’s also an incredible sense of pride. This is the story of parenthood.
I want to make sure I’m available and present for them every moment I can. While it’s important for them to see me work and be my own person and help take care of the home, it’s also important for me to say with my time, your heart is really important to me. I value my connection with you. So let’s be together for a while and just be.
We schedule this time in our house, and it’s made all the difference in the strength of our relationship and our connections.
Writing
I mentioned last week that I have a few book releases coming up soon, so I’m madly revising and editing my manuscripts. One of my series, Family on Purpose, which is a spiritual nonfiction project, will release May 4, and it’s not as difficult to get this one right, because it’s just a collection of diary entries that detail my family intentional living journey. For a year we lived out our family values and I write in journals about our progress.
But the other series, Fairendale, which releases June 1, is the one that’s starting to make my eyes cross a little. I’ve realized in the revising and editing of this series that I am even more of a perfectionist than I ever thought. It’s so hard to let works go, out into the world. It’s hard not to keep looking at the manuscripts and thinking that this could surely be better. That version two or three or five could be better.
Of course a manuscript could always be better. I’m always growing as a writer and honing my skills. But at some point, I have to release my work out into the world. I have to give it to my readers. I have to send it on its way so that it can live in the hearts of others. That means that at some point, my work has to be good enough.
This is one of the reasons why working with deadlines is great when you’re a writer. A deadline is a finish date. It says, you cannot look over this manuscript one more time. You must let it go. So I’ve got my deadlines circled on my calendar, and this week, I’m going to be finished. Or maybe next week. Or the week after that, because, you know, I’m sure I can make it better if I read through it one more time.
Listening
In the mornings when I’m fixing breakfast for my boys, I tend to be the only one up. So, because I’m sort of afraid to be in a room alone when it’s still dark outside, I usually turn on a narrated story to keep me company. Lately that story has been Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll.
The audio book for this classic is read by Jim Dale, who is the narrator of the Harry Potter series and also narrates the classic, Peter Pan. He’s a fantastic narrator and makes classic stories really engaging. Last year my boys and I listened to his narrated version of Peter Pan, and they kept asking for it over and over and over again. It’s one of their favorites.
I’m looking forward to showing them Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and I’m hoping that he reads some other children’s classics—because kids love classics when they’re engaging. And Jim Dale is definitely an engaging voice.
In this week’s On My Shelf, I’m talking about an adult author I really enjoy, a new science book that’s been fascinating me, a health and wellness read that’s great for learning more about taking care of your body, how, the importance of incorporating deadlines as a writer and another audio book reader you won’t want to miss.
