by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
I’m a very task-oriented person. I make my goals, I make my list of tasks to support those goals, I work myself every hour I have and don’t quit until the clock says my work day is officially done.
This means that while I accomplish a ridiculous amount of tasks during my working hours, I also creep close to burnout frequently.
I solve this problem with rest.
Every six or seven weeks (depending on my sons’ school schedules—I like to match up my time off with their holidays from school) I take an entire week off work. I don’t do anything work-related. I read some books, hang out with my kids, play some board games, maybe even do a little sewing. I play. I take naps. I breathe.
I call these weeks Sabbaticals. They are my time to recover from my weeks of focused and intentional work.
I’m coming up on the last Sabbatical of the year, which extends for two weeks, as a sort of celebration and goodbye to the previous year and welcoming of the new year (plus, my kids are out of school for two weeks and counting down to Christmas Day, and getting any work done is highly unlikely). I use this two-week break to make New Year goals, prepare for the holidays, and schedule my next year—including Sabbath weeks.
When you spend so many weeks (even if you don’t have many hours in a day) in such focused and intense work, burnout is a given. Add to that family life and adult responsibilities and the unpredictability of life, and it’s a wonder any of us get anything done.
Intentional rest opens up the space to breathe again—which is necessary to create.
Resting keeps me focused on and energized for the work ahead of me—and I’m always ready to get back to work once those seven days (and especially the fourteen days) have passed.
(Note 1: I don’t completely forbid myself to write during my Sabbaticals; writing often keeps me sane when I’m home with my sons. And creative work is never really predictable. If the urge strikes me to write something—as long as it’s not a project I’m currently working on—I write. It’s usually something playful or silly or experimental that could potentially become something greater someday. I never want to lose that opportunity to create something new, but I do want to rest well.)
(Note 2: Your Sabbatical will look different than mine. There is no one right way to do it.)
(Photo by Angelina Kichukova on Unsplash)
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life, Wing Chair Musings
One of the most difficult and yet important pieces of the writer life is believing in yourself and believing in your work.
I have a book that just launched into the world (two days ago, to be exact). This is my first traditionally published book (but certainly not my last). I am currently in the launch season, and I’m feeling all the feelings that a writer can possibly feel. Nervous, ecstatic, terrified.
Yes, mostly terrified.
Is it really a good book? Will others think so? Am I good enough?
That’s what it really comes down to: Am I good enough?
Earlier in this pre-launch season, I was having dreams that various people at my publishing house would come to me and say, “Oh, never mind. We’re not publishing this book.” Dreams where no one bought the book and online reviews were filled with hate and criticism. Dreams where my book vanished in a cloud of gray smoke, just another unremarkable book in a world of them.
My husband is a very perceptive man. He has noticed my distraction, and, though he has been baffled by it, he has also been angered (in a good way) about it. The other day he stood in front of me, wrapped his hands around my upper arms, and said, “Do you believe you deserve this?”
Do I believe I deserve this? I wasn’t really sure how to answer the question.
Do I?
In some ways, yes. I work hard both to improve my craft and to produce the best stories I can possibly produce at any point in time. I put in the work—I get up at 4:15 in the morning so I can squeeze in some writing before my kids start begging for breakfast. I write in the afternoons, when I could be hanging out with my kids. I write in the evenings, sometimes, when I could be sleeping.
I write daily. I practice all the time. I focus on what needs doing, and I do it. I always have.
But in most ways, or at least the ways that matter, no. I don’t believe I deserve this.
I grew up in a home where my mother supported everything I did—to the point of keeping, still, now, a box underneath her bed with all my writing compositions from grade school on into college. But there was a missing dad. And when there’s a missing anything, we grow up with a large hole inside us, a hole that whispers:
You’re not good enough. You never will be.
You don’t deserve this. You never will.
It’s only a matter of time before they find out you’re nothing more than an abandoned girl.
This persistent whisper can derail a writer. Because the mental game is most of the game.
I have fought hard for this dream. I started from the ground up; I had no connections, no credits, nothing to recommend me to the world except a story and a drive to work hard and a conviction to be better tomorrow than I am today.
But maybe—well, maybe that was enough. Maybe it still is enough.
Do I deserve this? Yes. I do.
Do you deserve this? Yes. You do.
Believe that your hard work and persistent practice will pay off. Believe that you can reach your dream. Believe that your dream is glad you have found it, embraced it, fought for it.
Mostly, believe that you deserve it.
by Rachel Toalson | Books, This Writer Life
I once heard a writer say that she could usually finish all the research she needed to do for a story in about a week.
Meanwhile, this was my research stack for the summer.
It could be because I’m a former journalist, but one of the biggest challenges for me is knowing when to quit research.
It might seem strange to think about a fiction book needing so much research, but part of our responsibility (or so I believe) as writers is making sure that whatever we’re trying to portray—whether it’s a character who’s a twin (and don’t ever assume that just because you’re the parent of twins, like I am, that you completely understand the neurological and psychological characteristics of twins; I’ve learned so much from my research, which has, fortunately, also informed my parenting), or a place that’s becoming swallowed up by gentrification or a character who’s obsessed with trees—is portrayed accurately within the scope of our story.
The first thing I do during my research stage is put a bunch of books on hold at my local library. Usually all the holds come up at once and then I have to decide which books I’ll read first. Some of the books are more helpful than others for what I’m specifically trying to do, but I like to read as many of them as I can; I don’t think you can ever do too much research (unless, of course, it’s your excuse to avoid writing).
My second wave of research is interviewing people who have lived the lives I’m trying to portray. For example, I currently have on submission a young adult novel about suicide and depression. Even though I’ve experienced both of these things in my life (I was never suicidal, but someone very close to me was), I wanted to reach out and talk to more suicide survivors and their parents to record their experiences. Even if I don’t use any of what I’ve collected from these brave, resilient, remarkable teenagers, the more information I have, the more it helps me better portray whatever issue I’ve chosen in a story.
Which is much better than relying on stereotypes.
So take your time researching. You never know what you’ll find or just how much it will improve your story.
(Photo by All Bong on Unsplash)
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
Last month I talked about the importance of capturing your ideas in some way or another. I use index cards to jot down every idea that visits me, and that has worked well for me. It’s up to you how to capture them; it’s only necessary that you do.
But what happens to those ideas once you’ve captured them?
Again, you’ll have to find your own way through this (you might be more digitally oriented than I am), but I use a system of multiple photo boxes. Multiple stories are collected in each box, and each box is assigned a number. I have a key that tells me which story corresponds to which box.
The challenge, for me, is that I am never only working on one story at a time. I have so many ideas that are always working themselves out in the background, which means I need to have a system of, for example, collecting poems I read that might be brainstorm material for a story I write years from now. Or remembering a location that sounds interesting but doesn’t have a story yet. Or recording a character I want to write whose story I have not yet heard.
These boxes keep all of that safe and somewhat organized (about as organized as I can get).
I keep the boxes in my closet, and when I am ready to begin the long work of a story, I take out the box, examine all the notecards that I’ve collected, and begin on the research and brainstorm portion a few steps ahead.
This capturing system works well for me, although my husband complains that our closet doesn’t have enough room for shoes anymore. Who needs that many shoes?
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
The most frequent concern I hear from most writers is that they don’t have adequate time to write a book. It’s hard to find the time, when you work full-time or you’re a full-time parent. There are so many demands on us every single day that it often feels like there is no time left to give to anything—much less writing. And even if there were time, how in the world would we be able to summon creativity when we’re so exhausted by everything else in our lives.
Well, I want to tell you about a practice that should be a part of every writer’s toolbox—not only because it will save time but also because it will generate much better stories, essays and books.
For the first book I ever wrote, I flew by the seat of my pants.
I was working a full-time job as a managing editor of a newspaper, had five kids at the time, and honestly didn’t see any extra minutes I could spare to work on writing. But because I am made to write, I felt the impulse to try something—anything, that would get me writing consistently again. I asked a photographer friend if she wanted to partner with me—she could send me two pictures a week and I would write two chapters a week on a book. I thought this would set me straight and get me on the path to chasing my dream of becoming an author.
The problem is that I did not brainstorm the story before I began it.
I did spend the entire year writing two chapters a week, and by the end of that year I had a book. A sprawling, nonlinear book. But a book all the same.
That book, however, is still sitting on my hard drive waiting for a revision. It’s not a bad book. But it needs a lot of work in the way of story and development—and I believe this is because I did not brainstorm this story before I began writing it. I did not do any preparation work whatsoever for this book. I started with one character in the first scene, developed another character in the next scene and on and on it went. I had no idea where the story was going and how I would know I had finished it.
In the same way, I have a nonfiction manuscript that I am currently revising and editing that has taken me twice or maybe even three times as long to revise and edit, because I did not brainstorm it. There are many extraneous passages in its pages that could have been eliminated (which would have saved time), because a brainstorm would have given me a map as well as boundaries, and without that, I repeat myself. Often. And annoyingly.
At the time I wrote both of these books, I didn’t know anything about brainstorming. I sort of fell into brainstorming, because I found that when I brainstormed things like blogs, I could write them in half the time. So that extended to my stories. Could I write them in half the time if I actually brainstormed them? The answer was yes.
Some people are confused about what a brainstorm actually is. I’m not talking about the old outline we used in high school English class to plan what our research paper was going to be about. I’m talking about knowing a little bit about your story or essay or book before you begin to put pen to paper.
There’s been some debate about brainstorming and whether or not it impedes the creative process. Some writers say that one should never brainstorm, because it silences the muse. Some say you should never write without a very detailed outline of the book. I fall somewhere in the middle. Last year I wrote several books that were brainstormed pretty extensively—and by brainstormed extensively, I mean between 10,000 and 15,000 words of writing before I even begin the first draft of a story. It was so much work that I actually considered my brainstorm to be a very rough first draft.
In her book DIY MFA: Write With Focus, Read With Purpose, Build Your Community, Gabriela Pereira says, “Plotters have to challenge themselves to loosen up or risk writing mechanical, formulaic stories. And because subsequent books or series are often sold based on a book proposal (as opposed to a finished manuscript), pantsers must learn to write an outline if they want their writing career to extend past their first book.”
The point in my sharing this is that you will have to figure out for yourself what kind of brainstorm will work for you—the really detailed kind or the sparse kind. But in order to write anything fast and well, you will have to have some kind of brainstorm.
The brainstorm materials and methods will likely look different for every author. I use a computer, notecards, a cork board, Pinterest and stacks of research materials always at hand, but your brainstorm process will likely look different than mine.
If you choose to brainstorm your story, essay or book—and I hope you will—I believe you will see a much better story crafted in much less time.
by Rachel Toalson | This Writer Life
One of the most common problems for writers, whether they write fiction or nonfiction, is coming up with story ideas. I meet a lot of writers who have the beginnings of a story premise, but they abandon it halfway through because they don’t really like it anymore. This is another problem entirely, but the fact remains that they have nothing to fall back on. And if you have no bank of story ideas, you’ll find yourself stalling out sometimes.
Contrary to what many people believe, stories are actually everywhere around us. But when we’re not in the practice of seeing or remaining open to them, it’s difficult to recognize them for what they are. I see story possibilities all around, in children running down the street, in the newspaper I open every morning, in the interesting tidbit I read last night about autism. I have trained myself to see stories.
This is key. You have to train yourself to see stories, too.
And the best way to do this, is to (1) remain open to your experiences, and (2) be prepared at all times.
The preparation supplies are different for everyone. I carry around this nifty pouch of notecards—cards that are written on already and waiting for another flash of inspiration to be added, and blank cards, for completely new stories. I have some fun, colorful felt-tip pens that make recording story ideas joyful to me, because I’m a little bit OCD, and I love color coding stories. I keep this pouch always at hand.
Before I recycle our newspaper, I’ll go through it again, searching for interesting premises with the eye of a writer, rather than a reader. I keep clippings in a folder beside my writing desk and periodically sort through these when I need a bit of inspiration.
When something I read or something my children say or do stirs up an essay I think would be interesting to write, I jot it down on a notecard, where it then gets rubber banded into a stack of them, for another day when I’ll stare at the notecards for 30 or so minutes and jot down anything that comes to mind on the topic I’ve recorded.
I write down every single idea, and I save it all for further brainstorm.
And I believe that this is why I see inspiration everywhere.
My first career was journalism. I was trained to recognize story potential everywhere, and this makes me supremely glad that I chose that career first, because it has followed me into my fiction author and essayist career. I still recognize stories everywhere. I still write down every idea possibility.
Writing down our ideas doesn’t mean that we’re committed to developing them. Sometimes we’ll get a couple of months down the road and realize that we don’t really have any interest in writing the story idea we recorded on that one notecard, because the emotion and the passion of the moment has passed. But the point of writing everything down is that we are constantly ready for the ideas that may come to us at a moment’s notice. And when we are ready for our ideas, the universe will supply them.
I know that sounds kind of new age-y and strange, but it’s true. I can walk outside and see anything at all and create a whole story premise around it. Maybe I don’t know the details, but there’s a character or a setting or a question that forms around it. I can listen in on a conversation that’s happening in a library, which is where I prefer to spend my time, rather than a coffeeshop, and a story premise can be built out of people or subject matter. I can spend some extra time with my children, listening to their questions, and I have another possible story.
One of the best practices we can commit to every day, until it becomes second nature, is to deeply observe our world. Pay attention.
Scientific research also shows that when we are open to our experiences, we become more inspired.
Authors Scott Barry Kaufman and Carolyn Gregoire, in their book Wired to Create: Unraveling the Mysteries of the Creative Mind, say that “people who enjoy high frequency and intensity of inspiration in their daily lives tend to be more open to new experiences and report feeling greater absorption and flow in their activities. Openness to experience typically precedes inspiration, however, suggesting that those who are more open to inspiration are simply more likely to experience it.”
Remaining prepared at all times for our story ideas means that we are training ourselves to be open to experience, and, at the same time, inspiration.
Kaufman and Gregoire also report that “writers who are more inspired…actually do more work. Inspiration during writing is positively related to the productivity and efficiency of the final product. Inspired people are more likely, not less likely to do the hard work necessary to achieve their goals.”
So, you see, inspiration has many benefits.
The answer to the question, “Where do stories come from?” is both simple and complicated. Stories come from everywhere. But first we must be open to them and prepared to accept them.
How will you commit to recording your story ideas this week?
