by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
It’s not unusual in my house to hear someone slam through the front door, along with the words, “I’m not playing with them anymore.”
This could be for any number of reasons—someone’s cheating (according to the one upset), someone made them mad, or, the most frequent offense, someone doesn’t like losing. (That would typically be the one who walked his declaration inside.)
My sons love playing street hockey in our cul-de-sac. At least until they lose.
I can’t really blame them. Everybody wants to win. Who likes losing?
This gets the best of me sometimes. Right around this time of year, actually. There are awards lists. And best-of lists. And lists to predict the awards and best-of lists. Not making it on one of these lists is kind of a confidence- and soul-crushing thing. For me.
Writers are sensitive people, you know.
I usually have to take a social media break because of the lists. Winning and losing has always mattered to me. Being the best—that especially mattered.
When I ran track, competitions came standard—and how you performed was important. There were clear winners and losers, and I wanted to be a winner. The same was true when I played the clarinet and auditioned for the all-state band. I made second-chair state my junior year of high school, and that felt like a win. But when I made second-chair state my senior year, it felt like a loss, because I wanted to be first chair.
Your goals change the higher you rise.
It’s long been a dream of mine to win a major award for one of the books I write. That feels like winning to me—winning an award and achieving a dream at the same time. But is it losing if I never win a major award? Sometimes it feels like it.
It can be really tempting to feel competitive with other writers, especially when award season comes around. Especially when we think about winning and losing this way.
Carlos Gershenson, a computer scientist and researcher, says, “Winning or losing doesn’t matter so much as what you learn from it.” I like that. It reminds me that we get to make our own definition of winning and losing.
We learn from winning, and we also learn from losing. Actually, we might learn more from losing. Losing—facing disappointments and setbacks—often makes us want to work harder toward our goals. That’s an important part of the journey, too.
What if, instead of focusing on the black-and-white reality of winning and losing, we lean more toward the gray: what we learn? From the journey. From the training. From the day in, day out act of writing. Being. Becoming ourselves.
And maybe we win, in the process—because the measure changes. Winning is learning something. Losing is learning nothing.
Here are some things we can learn from the journey:
1. We are stronger than we know.
Sometimes the disappointment of what we consider losing can completely overwhelm us. Maybe we’re knocked out of the game for a while. That’s okay. Somewhere along the way we’ll pick ourselves back up and start the work again—stronger and fiercer and steadier than before. We learn we’re made of stronger stuff than the flimsy paper that disintegrates in the rain. We learn that no one has control over whether or not we write every day except ourselves. And we learn that falls only hurt for so long before all the bruises go away.
2. We will persist.
We face a lot of rejection and disappointment in the writing industry. But that’s not losing, it’s winning—we’re putting ourselves out there, inviting people into our stories. It’s a vulnerable place to be.
The stories and poems and novels I’ve written have been rejected many times in the years I’ve been submitting them. Rejection always hurts. It never gets easier (at least not for me). But I’ve learned, in the years spent navigating this rejection, that it’s only the end of my writing career if I let it be. Sure, it stings, and sure, it can feel like a kind of death, but rejection doesn’t matter nearly as much as persistence. In the writing world, those who persist in spite of seemingly endless setbacks and disappointments ultimately win.
3. “Losing” is not the end of the world—or the end of us.
We know, intuitively, that “this” (whatever “this” is) is not the end of the world. It can certainly feel like it in the beginning, when the pain of “losing” is fresh. Our hope flatlines sometimes—for a while, maybe. But “losing” is only a hurdle, an opportunity to strengthen our resolve, our skills, and our belief in ourselves. How badly do we want our goals? We can’t let any rejection or disappointment or “losing” get in the way of them.
Have a spectacular month of persisting.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
Some creative people think that creativity only happens when the “muse” strikes.
That always sounded strange to me. Who was the muse? Am I not my own muse? In charge of my own creativity? If I had to depend on some nameless, invisible muse, who may or may not show up when I had some extra time to write, how would I ever get anything done?
It all sounded very unpredictable. And I don’t like unpredictable (in case you haven’t already figured that out).
So I probably don’t even need to tell you that I don’t subscribe to this belief.
What I do, instead, is train like a writing athlete.
I can hear the groans already. Training? Athlete? We became writers so we didn’t have to expend that much energy.
While it is some work to train like a writing athlete, I promise it’s not as much physical as it is mental.
And if you’re the kind of creative person who prefers waiting for inspiration to strike, then the following tips can help lay out the red carpet for the muse.
1. Be consistent.
I know it’s not always easy being consistent. I have six kids. This summer was a flurry of pediatrician well checks and eye doctor appointments and dentist appointments—and that’s just the scheduled extras. There are so many variables with six kids. Someone forgot to tell me about drama practice, someone missed the morning bus, someone got sick, someone decided he didn’t like carrots anymore.
But still, if all else fails, I try to squeeze in at least fifteen minutes to half an hour of writing time every day. I’d prefer more, sure, but the consistency is what’s important.
Consistency leads to necessary gains. Just like my consistent training makes me a better, stronger runner, so consistent training (or practice) makes us better, stronger writers.
Build your process. Experiment with what works for you. We’re all different. Don’t worry about how fast or slow you write. Focus on the best training schedule for you.
2. Don’t be afraid to add variety.
When we’re not training in our one specific fitness area (such as running), we think it hinders progress. I believed this for a long time—until I injured myself and had to take some time off, which is actually what hindered my progress. I spent that time off strength training, adding pilates and yoga to my regular workout rotation, and rowing. I came back a much stronger runner than I was before.
Writing, too, needs variety. Writing different forms in different genres, for different age groups—even if it’s just for fun and never goes beyond a very short story on our hard drive—challenges and stretches us as writers. Adding variety into our regular writing routine can strengthen our main discipline. If we write novels and change it up by writing short stories, we’ll likely write better novels. If we write essays and change it up to write some poetry, we’ll come back to the discipline we love much stronger.
In the same way, adding a variety of creative disciplines into our regular routine can make us better at our main creative discipline. Do other creative things that don’t seem to have anything to do with writing. Compose some songs, draw some pictures, pick up an instrument, dance like no one’s watching. Creativity enhances creativity.
3. Rest and recovery are just as important as the discipline of work.
You know where fitness gains really happen? In the rest after putting in the work. Muscles repair themselves and get stronger. Lungs expand and improve their capacity.
I like to think the same is true in writing. The brain keeps working even when we take time off. The subconscious mind works while we’re unaware of it.
So take a day or two or a whole week off. Spend the time doing other creative things or nothing at all. Let your brain rest. It will likely keep working for you—but will appreciate the rest all the same.
I hope you have a joyous month of consistency, variety, and rest.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
The first year I ran track in middle school, I remember my coach telling us, “Running is about 90 percent mental.” I remember thinking, That’s ridiculous. I’m not running with my mind, I’m running with my body. And my body is too tired for this.
And as soon as I thought that, my body was too tired for it.
Which proved her point (but it would take me many more years to concede that).
The same is true for writing. I’m not sure about the 90 percent when it pertains to running, but it’s definitely true for writing, which is all done with the brain and needs positive, clear, excited brains to actually get started on any kind of project.
Just like when I head out the door for a run thinking, This is hard and awful and the run turns out to be hard and awful, if I start my writing session thinking, This is not gonna be good, it probably won’t be good. Our thoughts and attitudes make a huge difference in this career.
The mental game of writing is not an easy one to master. Thoughts break in during the middle of a writing session: Oh, this is so bad. No one’s gonna want to read it. I don’t want to read it, even. I should just trash the whole thing. This was a terrible idea anyway.
It didn’t take me nearly enough time to write that paragraph, because I’m intimately familiar with these intrusive thoughts. They plague me.
Peace Pilgrim, an American teacher, once said, “If you realized how powerful your thoughts are, you’d never think a negative thought.” But it’s not quite as simple as never thinking a negative thought again, is it? Because our minds sometimes have minds of their own.
So how can we better play the mental game of writing?
Here are some suggestions.
1. Do the work.
The more you practice, the better you get and the more you can talk back to those voices.
Most skills and talents don’t improve beyond any small measure we may have been born with if we’re not willing to practice. Practice develops expertise and competence. And as we develop expertise and competence, we also practice taking on the mental game of writing, facing all those voices that seek to stop us, pushing through their resistance, and building our perseverance. All of that practice is worthwhile.
But we also have to practice strategically. If we practice mistakes, we’ll get better at mistakes. When I played clarinet in high school and college, I had a rigorous practice routine. I’d spend between 90 minutes and two hours practicing to a metronome. I’d first warm up on every scale, including the chromatic, from memory. Then I’d start with the problem areas, slowing things down until I played the problem area perfectly, then speeding it up and moving on only when I felt comfortable with my competence playing the passage.
I take this same meticulous approach to my writing. I identify my weaknesses, study, play around with no-pressure compositions that challenge my weaknesses and work on strengthening them. It’s a grueling process, but it’s a good boost to the confidence when a part of writing that used to feel so hard doesn’t feel all that hard anymore.
2. Practice turning a negative phrase into a positive one.
Let’s say you sit down to write and your brain immediately says, You can’t do this. Talk back. Say, I can do this. And I will. If your brain says, What’s the point? No one will read it. No one cares. Say, Someone will read it. Someone will care. And the point is also that I love this and someone needs my story. If your brain tells you, This is crap, tell it, It may be crap now, but revision is where crap turns into brilliant.
If it’s too hard to do this mentally, take out a sheet of paper. If your brain throws you a negative thought while you’re writing on your project, use your sheet of paper to record the negative thought (even if it breaks your flow for a second or two). Underneath it, write the opposite of what the voice is saying (preferably in larger, bolder letters. Put that voice in its place.). Do this for every negative thought your brain supplies. And then put your paper on a bulletin board or wall where you can see it every time you write.
Negative thoughts get quieter when you take away their power.
3. Remember every writer faces resistance.
You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. No award, no bestseller status, no three-book deal will eliminate the mental game you’ll have to conquer (nearly) every time you sit down to write. We never feel 100 percent competent. We all deal with imposter syndrome, however many books we’ve written or how long we’ve been doing this. That’s either a source of comfort or a source of despair. I hope it’s the former.
Our thoughts can be powerful. But we don’t have to let the negative ones have the final say.
Have a wondrous month of talking back.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
There’s a myth out there that says the longer you write the better you get at it.
Okay, that’s not a myth. Practice makes progress, after all. But where the myth shows its face is in the belief that as you get better at writing, it also gets easier.
Uh…I’m sorry if I have to burst some hope-filled bubbles here (and I’ll try to give you new hope-filled bubbles by the end of this), but writing does not get easier with practice.
I mean, in some instances it does. I now have sort-of a process for getting a first draft written and revising it endlessly and perfecting it even longer—it’s not all just loose ends flapping in the wind. So I suppose that’s gotten easier. But what hasn’t gotten any easier is getting started. Or dragging myself through the middle—although I have gotten better at them…it’s just that by the time you get to the middle of a project your excitement for the newness of it has worn off and you’re not yet excited for the end because you still have so…far…to go.
What I’m trying to say is the mechanics of writing get a little easier the longer we’ve been writing. But the thing that gets in all our ways—the headspace of writing—doesn’t necessarily get much easier.
Unless…
You know I wouldn’t leave you with something as hopeless as it never gets any easier, didn’t you?
The truth is, our heads get used to the constant persistence after a while. We feel that initial little oh, wow, this is a big commitment, I don’t have the time, and we know we’ve done it before. We’ve found the time. We hear those voices that say, Well, this idea is crap and no one will ever want to read it, but we also know we’ve taken a crap idea to a brilliant idea before, so it stands to reason we can do it again.
We’re faced with a blank page and that little surge of panic that accompanies the thought, I don’t know what to write, and we remember what Frank Choi, a Korean American poet, said: “Just start a sentence and hope brilliance will strike.”
And we get started, like we did last time.
We just start a brainstorm and hope brilliance will strike. We just start a sentence and hope brilliance will strike. We just start a revision and hope brilliance will strike.
And brilliance usually does, eventually, if we’ve put in the work and the time.
Here are some ways we can help brilliance along:
1. Write the first draft by hand.
I know it’s a radical ask. We live in the golden age of technology! Why would we write an entire book by hand?! It takes so much longer!
Sometimes that’s the point. When we fly through scenes, we sometimes don’t get everything out of them that we may have gotten if we’d slowed down a little. Maybe there’s a significant look one character gave another that meant something ominous. Maybe there’s a vital line of dialogue we missed in our hurry to get all the words typed into the document. Maybe we’re missing an entire point in our essay because we haven’t slowed down enough to let it marinate.
And besides that, scientific research indicates that we use a different part of our creative brain when we write by hand. So if you write the first draft by hand and subsequent drafts by computer, you’re using your whole brain. How cool is that?
So grab a notebook and start writing. And if you don’t want to write an entire book by hand, try just the first chapter.
2. Put your composition away for a while.
When you’ve finished a draft of whatever you’re writing, I always recommend putting the story aside for a while before picking it back up. Time and distance allow our brains to approach stories with fresh ideas, and we can more clearly see problem areas and places that need fixing.
How long should you put it away? Well, that depends on your preference. My first drafts often get put away for three or four months before I dust them back off. And hopefully in that time I’ve not only grown as a writer but also as a person, and I can make vast improvements to the story.
Later drafts (drafts 2-6 or so) get put away for between two weeks and a month. Fresh eyes are valuable.
3. Remember you’ve been here before.
The longer you practice writing and the more stories and compositions you complete from start to finish, the more likely you can remind yourself, at any step of the process, that you’ve been here before and you’ve written your way out. The exciting beginning, the not-so-thrilling middle (I know I’ve been dumping on the middles, but truthfully the more middles I write the fonder I get of them), the I’m-not-sure-how-to-end-this…you’ve been in all these places before. Which means you can confidently and expertly (maybe) see yourself through them again.
Writing comes with all kinds of resistance. But the more practice we get putting words on a page and pushing through the resistance that’s bound to come, the better at it we get. And…dare I say it? The easier it all gets.
Not easy. Just easier. Marginally.
But we don’t do it because it’s easy, do we? We do it because we love it.
Have a fantastic month of starting and finishing sentences—hopefully brilliantly.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
Part of collecting ideas includes not just searching outside yourself but also searching inside.
I suppose this could also be a step in the process of developing ideas.
We all have unique experiences and backgrounds that have shaped us into unique people. Why wouldn’t we delve into that history to pull out some ideas for stories and content? Writers are, after all, told to write what we know. So our lives and memories are a treasure trove of ideas.
Here’s how we can unlock and open up that treasure trove.
1. Start by remembering.
I acknowledge that some events in our pasts might be unexplored indefinitely (and intentionally) because they cause us pain and heartache. It’s okay to figuratively block those off until you’re ready to approach them—if ever you are.
But we also likely have all kinds of memories that aren’t painful—disappointing, maybe, or a little bit scary or really, really happy—whether those memories are things we did with other people, learning experiences, trips and vacations, big events like graduations and sports games and band concerts or competitions. Start with these. Think about the things you remember. Are there any memories that contain the seed of a story idea, something you could build a character around or a place you went once upon a time that would make a perfect setting for a murder mystery or a romantic meet cute or a creepy location for a horror scene?
Memories hold all kinds of potential for story ideas. I’d suggest making a list of the big ones and seeing if that opens up some of the smaller ones—and then mining them in turn for any kind of creative writing you might do.
2. Consider the things that are most important to you.
Make a list of the things you care about. Family, maintaining healthy friendships, kids owning their power and remembering they’re magnificent. Environmentalism. Integrity and honesty. Writing. Running. Being fit in general. Music. Books. Gender equality. Equality in general. Climate change. Social justice. Homelessness. There are so many more things I care deeply about. I’m sure there are many things you care deeply about, too.
How can these places of deep care help you come up with story ideas? Well, they could be themes. Or characters who have expertise in one of your areas of interest (because it’s fun learning more about the things we care about!). Or they could frame a whole story.
I’ve written books about musicians, kid environmentalists, runners (lots of these), characters who are writers and journalists, books focused around media literacy and gender equality. When we care deeply about something, it’s worthwhile to put it in a story or composition—because the care comes through onto the page. And sometimes it’s contagious.
3. Collect your daily life in journals.
I know. Here I go again, talking about journaling. You might be tired of hearing me try to convince you to journal, but this is yet another reason to do it—you can get writing ideas from it!
When I was writing for Huff Post and Babble, I often used journal entries as a springboard for my humorous parenting essays—because those early parenting years I collected all kinds of funny, maddening, overwhelming, joyous moments in my journals. It made coming up with new essay ideas practically simple.
These days I’ve used my journal entries for essays, fiction, memoir, and even poetry ideas—in fact, when I find myself bereft of ideas, I’ll pick a journal at random from my shelf and start reading at the beginning or in the middle. Some seasons I’ve been so obsessed with quality of sleep that I’m developing a humorous character who stresses endlessly about sleep.
Give it a try. You might be surprised how many ideas follow just putting a pen to the page.
I hope these tips have been helpful for you; I’d love to know how you use yourself or your experiences to generate writing ideas.
Have a fantastic month of generating ideas and writing!
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
Ideas are all around us.
The problem is, sometimes we’re so focused on other things, our eyes fixed on just about everything else, that we miss them.
When I visit schools or I do author panels or interviews, I’m frequently asked where I get my ideas. My answer is usually, “Everywhere.”
Sometimes I’m reading an article in the paper or the latest National Geographic, and an idea knocks on my brain. Sometimes I’m out for a walk, clearing my mind, and suddenly ideas flood me. Sometimes one of my kids makes an observations or says something funny or offers up the magic words, “What if…”
So many ideas come from the words “what if.”
I keep an idea journal ever at the ready, because I can never predict when the next idea will announce itself. Sometimes it’s a book idea, sometimes it’s a marketing strategy, sometimes it’s a way to get my 16-year-old out of bed in the morning. All the ideas go into this journal (which means it’s a bit of mess), no matter how outrageous or seemingly impossible.
It seems silly to say, but I think ideas like being captured and collected. They multiply when they know they have an open mind to land in.
If you have trouble coming up with writing ideas, whether it’s for books or essays or poems or whatever you may be writing, here are some suggestions that might help generate some.
1. Read!
I know this one’s pretty obvious. Most writers know that the more they read, the better writer they’ll be. But I will add something to the advice:
Read widely.
It doesn’t matter if you write kids books or romance or mysteries or nonfiction—read them all. Most of the advice we get as writers is “read in your genre.” But as an eclectic reader who picks up middle grade literary books, young adult fantasies, adult historical fiction, poetry books, biographies about Sylvia Plath and Mark Twain, memoirs, National Geographic, Psychology Today, the local newspaper (really, I read all over the place), I’ve found that the richest ideas come from the most unlikely and unexpected places. Our brains are amazing at stitching together new ideas if we give them all the threads.
2. Take a walk.
This comes with a catch: Don’t take any distractions with you.
Some of my most exciting ideas have come to me when I’ve been out on a walk or run in my neighborhood. For my walks I leave my phone at home. For the runs where I want to generate ideas or think something through, I listen to music. There’s something magical about moving the body while out in nature that stimulates the brain and gets ideas flowing.
If you’re afraid of losing the ideas that may come to you on those walks or runs, take a notepad with you.
3. Cultivate your relationships.
It seems a strange way to generate ideas, but we all have people in our lives with whom we come in contact on a regular basis. And sometimes all it takes is tuning in and listening to the people around us to come up with ideas. I was washing dishes one night during my family’s after-dinner chore time when I turned around to throw away a tea bag and nearly collided with my second son, who was supposed to be sweeping the floor. He was, instead, dancing with a broom and throwing out new I wonders for our “I Wonder Wall.” One of them was, “I wonder what it would be like to live in a home without a roof.”
I now have a middle grade book called The Home Without a Roof, based on my research about and my work with the homeless here in my city.
Of course these aren’t the only ways to generate ideas; there are many more (listening in on conversations, anyone?). But what they all have in common is the importance of keeping your eyes and ears wide open. You never know what brilliant ideas await you just around the corner. Make sure you’re paying attention.
I hope you have a wondrous month full of new and exciting ideas.
