by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
Some writers stay far away from personal experience when crafting stories.
Me? I like to toe the line. Most of my stories contain very specific pieces of my life. My first traditionally published book, The Colors of the Rain, included grandparents and an uncle and a real-life family tragedy. My second book, The Woods, was not my personal experience, but I drew upon real-life historical events—the Texas City Disaster. The First Magnificent Summer includes my experience starting my first period one thousand miles away from home while visiting my dad and stepmom after my parents divorced. And my most recent book, Something Maybe Magnificent, is a very close retelling of my stepdad’s and my story.
In Donald Maass’s book, The Emotional Craft of Fiction (which is one of the best craft books I’ve read, by the way), he says, “Writers have amazing personal stories. Sometimes they’re downright astonishing. What’s puzzling to me is that people with such rich experience to draw upon too often write stories far less dramatic than their own.’
Why is this?
I think sometimes we’re afraid to write our stories. We’re afraid to use the situations that caused us such turmoil and angst and all kinds of big emotions. But we felt those big emotions. And when we write about those big emotions, our readers will also feel them. That’s something worth considering.
What I’ve discovered as a writer of semi-autobiographical fiction is that often, sorting through those situations in my past—the ones that hurt me or the ones that threw me sideways or the big disappointments and setbacks—help me actually process through them in a healthy way. Write them into a better story, maybe. One of the most powerful things we can do in our lives is turning our experiences into a story—whether or not we share that story with the world. Psychology research shows that shaping our experiences into stories helps us process and heal from them.
Most of us have rich experiences that would make fascinating stories. Many times we think, No one else would be interested in this. But that’s just seeing through our foggy lenses. It may not be interesting to us, because we lived it. But it will definitely be interesting to others who haven’t lived it. Or others who have lived it; they’re grateful to know they’re not alone.
Of course we might not want to share every personal story we’ve lived. But some of them might be worth exploring, don’t you think?
Here are my best tips for doing that:
1. Make a list of all the significant events you can remember in your life so far.
I’m thinking high school trips where you fell in love (hello, Disney World band trip), the first week of college when you were trying to find your bearings. First love, first kiss, a marriage or engagement. Kids. Deaths. Divorce. That family tree project in third grade where you didn’t know anything about your family and could only trace back a couple of generations. The time your grandmother told you she liked you better when you ate.
(These are just my stories. I know they’re probably not yours. I’m just trying to get your brain working.)
Think about all those experiences that made an impact on you one way or another. They don’t have to be bad. They can be joyful, too. Though the disappointing and heartache-y situations make for better fiction. 🙂
2. Consider the question, If I had to write a story about my childhood, what would it be?
Or another: If I had to write a story about my young adulthood, what would it be. And: If I had to write a story about my life now, what would it be?
Sometimes just asking ourselves the question can unlock inspiration to draw upon for stories or writing pieces. For example, I had a string of months right after my oldest turned 13 when we couldn’t seem to have a conversation without an argument. He took everything I said the wrong way. I wrote a poem called, “I Am a Villain in His Story.” Because that’s very much how I felt. That led me to begin work on an adult novel about a mother exploring her relationships with her children and the myriad ways she lets herself down. It may or may not go anywhere. But it’s real-life inspiration.
3. Look back at old things.
After graduating high school, I spent my summer making scrapbooks of all four years of my high school education. These things are a treasure trove of what teenage Rachel felt was important to highlight in her life. Have I used them for some young adult story inspiration? Absolutely.
Journals, diary entries, old writings, yearbooks. Receipts, old emails, letters. Get your hands on anything that will tell you a little bit about your past life. Something more than your memory can tell you.
If you’ve been a diarist or journal keeper, these, too, can be spectacular treasures. When I was thinking back to my first love story (which I shared in the last email, if you want to read a teeny bit about it), journals were helpful for showing me just how melodramatic those first-love feelings can be. When you’re young and in love and that love is suddenly taken away, it’s devastating. It feels like life won’t go on (contrary to what Celine Dion sang the year of my first heartbreak). Like you will never feel that way about someone again. Like the world can’t possibly have another Bubba Loewe in it. (Yes, I dated a guy named Bubba, and I was completely smitten. I don’t even recall his real name.)
You never know what kind of inspiration you’ll find when you look back. So take out those old journals and start paging through your “important mementoes” drawer. Real-life stories can make lovely fiction.
When we write from real life, we don’t have to imagine emotions, because we lived them. We remember them. Or we’re still living them. And that makes a difference to readers. Because we remember the way books make us feel.
I hope you have a fantastic month of writing your stories—for yourself or for others.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
The first book I wrote I didn’t brainstorm. I flew by the seat of my pants. The second book was the same. Both took months of revision to get them in submission shape.
After those first two books I created a brainstorm document for myself. I thought I could use it for every book thereafter. My secret formula for writing a book.
I tried using the brainstorm document on the next book. Nothing worked. I felt completely helpless. I thought, How do you write a book?
That question creeps in every book I begin, no matter how many books I’ve written.
Maybe that’s discouraging to hear from someone who’s written more than 40 books. I don’t mean it to be. I think it’s actually kind of exciting. There’s this interesting thing called the knowledge gap that says the more we know and learn, the more we realize we need to know and learn. This keeps our minds open to new possibilities.
So when we’re faced with the question, Uhhh….how do you write a book again? our minds are primed to focus on developing our craft and making it easier for us. Making storytelling something intuitive instead of something we have to consciously think about endlessly.
Continuous learning is what brings us into expert territory. When we realize we don’t know what we’re doing, we approach each book as though it’s all brand new. Our books don’t become formulaic because most of the time we can’t use the exact same method of brainstorming and writing and revising for every single book.
I take some of the pieces from that brainstorm document I created and use them here and there, but every book is different. That’s what makes writing exciting. It’s also what keeps us pushing to learn more about our craft.
None of us really knows what we’re doing—and that can be liberating. Because we all have room for improvement. And that means we can really engage with our stories, instead of going through the motions and becoming, for lack of a better word, robotic at it.
When we’re learning something new, or learning more about it, we play closer attention to it. When we think we already know everything we need to know, our minds close up tight against new ideas that challenge what we think we know.
Creativity is best expressed through an open mind.
So when we face that blank page and we have no idea where to begin, we don’t have to feel stuck or get down on ourselves for not knowing exactly what to do next. It’s all a part of the grand process. Author Sue Grafton keeps journals for books she’s written. And whenever she starts a new book, she says she can always peek back at those journals and “discover I was just as confused and befuddled back then as I am today. Prior journals are reminders that regardless of past struggles, I did somehow manage to prevail.”
Here’s how to embrace the reality that every book is different:
1. Let the story lead.
Even when writing a series I have a slightly different method for each book (it’s worth noting that the differences aren’t always drastic). I thought I’d start my recent middle grade horror story (book 4 of the series) with the ghosts and flesh out their backstory before beginning on the plot. That wasn’t what the story wanted. So I jotted down some plot points, then dove deeper into the characters and ghosts.
I like to know the tone of a story and the voice of a character before I start writing. But in a recent story draft (another middle grade), I’ve just been clearing my throat. I know I’ll need to go back and probably cut several chapters from the beginning, but it’s what the story needed at the time. I followed its lead.
And that’s what a first draft is for: discovering the story. Sometimes it takes a while to find our way.
Some stories want extensive brainstorms. Some want to be told in a linear way. Some want us to focus all our energies on a particular cast of characters before we do anything else. Some don’t ask for any of that.
Don’t miss out on what the story has to tell you, however confounding and out of your comfort zone it may be.
2. Embrace the not-knowing.
I’m one of those people who hates not knowing anything—so this point is especially hard for me.
The truth is, most of us intuitively know how to tell a good story. We’ve been doing it since we were young. We might not get it right on the first try—but no one really does.
Not knowing how to do something makes us uncomfortable. It also makes us more willing to consider new ways to write and encourages us to learn more about storytelling and craft. If we embrace the unknown, we leave our minds open instead of closed. Creativity can have a field day with an open mind.
3. Remember that when we’re challenged we grow.
If writing were easy all the time, if we constantly knew what we were doing, it would not only get pretty boring but we would also cease to grow. We might stagnate. Our creativity and stories might stagnate.
No one wants to tell or read the same story over and over and over again. Formulas get boring for writers and readers.
Challenges can be frustrating and hard—but we become better writers—and people—by working our way through them.
Never stop growing. Keep embracing the mystery. Know what you don’t know and use it to your advantage.
I hope you have a stupendous month of creativity and joy.
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 | 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 | 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.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
Most writers are naturally curious people. We ask a lot of questions about the world. We wonder and challenge and try to make sense of the senseless.
And we love to know how other writers do things—how they write a book, how they manage their time, how they market themselves, how they live, how they breathe.
When I was first starting out as a writer, I was vulnerable to the temptation to do something—everything, maybe—the way someone else did it. I had to write for five hours a day, spend 20 percent of my time marketing, use this story structure, start my stories with a logline before I ever wrote a word, explore these concepts, never start with a theme, blah blah blah blah blah.
I tried. I really did. And I found myself getting burned out, frustrated, and completely overwhelmed.
There are lots of voices out there saying, This is the way to do it, and it’s the only way to do it if you want to be successful. I wasn’t experienced enough to see this for what it was: one person’s advice.
I disagree vehemently with the kind of advice that says, This is the only way to do it. Part of it is my contradictory nature; I don’t like someone telling me I have to do things this one way and that’s the only way, don’t even try to do something different. The other part is something it took me a while to realize: We are all different. We all work differently. We live differently and breathe differently and manage our time differently.
We also write differently.
I’m all for researching the different time management, writing, revision, marketing methods people use. And I’m happy to share my own.
But because every writer is different, we have our own way in which we work best. And we have to find our way.
My way into a story or a piece of writing includes spending a few weeks getting to know my characters or thinking about what I want to say before I even begin on the piece. I research and brainstorm for a few weeks. Then I write a first draft from start to finish, without editing or revision. My revising takes the longest and requires anything from three to eight or so more drafts, give or take a few depending on the story.
That process won’t work for everyone. Because there’s more than one way to write.
Some like the white noise of coffeeshops, some prefer listening to music, some can’t write unless there’s absolute silence. And guess what? For me it’s different for every story. So there’s that variable, too: Stories require different methods sometimes.
We all want some easy formula, some definitive way to write a story (or do things or live life). And those of us who have done it before are seen as experts. Because we’ve done it. But all we can really offer are suggestions.
We all have to find our own way. What works best for us, not everyone else.
Here’s how:
1. Be open to experimentation.
Take a scientific approach. Design your experiments intentionally to draw out a variety of writing methods. Go ahead and collect other people’s suggestions. Gather as much information as you can.
And then design some experiments to intentionally try out a variety of writing methods. And pivot continuously. Every experiment (failed or otherwise) gets you closer to your process and your way.
2. Take notes on what works and what doesn’t.
Every successful experiment requires notes. Ask yourself, What do I like about this way? What do I hate about it? What slows me down? What feels natural to my writing process?
Self-awareness and critical thinking are important factors in improvement—for writing, but also for anything in our lives.
Make a list. Start a spreadsheet. Identify what’s necessary and what’s not. I’ve learned over the years that I don’t need to fill out a long, complex character sheet on my characters, because I get to know them during my lengthy brainstorms. There may be additional things you need, and that’s okay. We all write differently. (Have I said it enough?)
3. Be patient with yourself.
It’s not unusual for me to read or hear about another author’s writing process and think, I really need to try that. Still! After writing more than 50 books!
We’ll fall under the spell of “Here’s how to do it.” But also keep in mind that we never stop growing and evolving and adjusting. Even when you think you have a process in place, you may discover a new method that really works. Stay open to that, too.
It’s all a grand experiment. Keep experimenting.
Take as long as you want and need to find your own process. And repeat to yourself: There is no right or wrong way to write.
Have a fantastic month of experimentation.
