Riddle Me This

You know this classic riddle? “What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?” 

You know the answer? A person. Babies go about on all fours (infancy) until they learn to walk, which they do well into adulthood, until old age requires them to use a cane to support themselves.

I got into an amusing family discussion about the literalness of riddles. They’re not meant to be taken literally, but there has to be enough that’s literal for the riddle to work. Metaphorical and literal work together to reach an enlightening conclusion. 

But it also got me thinking about our assumptions. The convention of old age is that a person walks with a cane. But not every old person needs one, so, naturally, it’s not literal. And not every adult can walk on two legs, so, again, not inclusively literal. 

Riddles, like other forms of allusion, only work when the writer anticipates what the reader knows (canes = old age) and the reader can extract the writer’s meaning. Without this collaboration, the purpose of the riddle is lost. 

Keep this in mind as you write your own story. What are you expecting the reader to know? And will they know it? 

Then, like any good riddle, let the reader work out your meaning. 

Change YOUR Perspective

I recently rewatched the 1989 movie Dead Poets Society starring Robin Williams as a progressive English teacher in a 1950s boarding school who encourages his students to seize the day. In one scene, he has the students stand on top of their desks so they can get a new perspective on their world. 

We may not all be wanting to climb up onto our desks, but I came across another method, one that was much more subtle, yet still as powerful—and one that may help you as a writer even more. 

I had just put on a pair of boots with a two-inch heel, then realized I’d forgotten my phone in the kitchen. I don’t usually wear heels when I cook, so I’m used to the counters being at a certain height for me. Yet, suddenly, I was now two inches taller, and the counters felt like they were in the wrong place! An illusion, of course, but one that had me mildly disoriented. 

That’s what you want to do to your characters. Whether the discomfort is mild or extreme, we want them to start to see the world in a new way. It’s how we track their character growth and evolution. So, the next time you’re looking at your character, look for a way to make them “taller”. Or shorter. Or whatever. Just make them change. 

Then you’re well on your way to your own writing Carpe Diem. 

Writing IS Messy!

When I went to a doctor’s appointment recently, I walked into a medical building in the middle of a paint job. Baseboards had been removed, drop cloths scattered and paint tins full. A painter was sprawled on the ground, paint brush in hand. 

No surprise, the dishevel made the place look a mess. 

Did it bother me? Of course not. It was obvious why the hallways looked the way they did. Having painted my own house (and I’m so not a painter!) I could appreciate that the mess had to happen to get the results the painter (and building owners) wanted. 

Sound familiar? Does this sound like your first draft? That you necessarily have to make a mess before you can craft it into something beautiful, polished and finished.

And that’s that everyone expects. 

We usually apologize for our “shitty draft” or “terrible writing” or “mess of pages”. We shouldn’t. The painter I passed did not apologize for his work—he had no reason to. I understood he couldn’t do his job without making a mess. But I had every faith that he’d follow through the steps of a good paint job and finish. I’m sure the next time I go, the place will look fresh and finished. 

Therefore, there’s no reason for you to apologize for following the writing process. Unless you’re a literary genius (and I have yet to meet one), you will make a mess on your first (and second, third, maybe even tenth draft). It’s expected! 

So never feel like you need to say sorry for being creative. 

In the Moment

Happy New Year’s Eve! 

It’s tradition to look back on the year past and to look forward at the year to come. Absolutely there’s value in that. You can see how much you’ve accomplished—even if it’s just writing one word. You can set goals for what you’d like to accomplish—even if it’s just writing one word. 

But I’m taking a different track today. I’m neither looking forward, nor looking back. I’m going to be firmly in the moment. What do I want to do today? Do I want to write? Do I have time to write? If yes to both, then I’ll write. If no to one or the other, then I won’t. 

And then I’m going to do the same the next day and then the next day and the next. And maybe all of January and then February and the rest of the year. I’m going to ask myself do I want to write? And do I have time to write? And that’s going to guide me in the moment. 

For you, I wish you the same. Look forward or look back, if that helps you. But don’t forget to look at the here and now. That’s where you’ll find the most writing joy.

Wishing you all the best in 2025. Happy New Year! 

Make It Your Own

Merry Christmas!

I once read that prolific author Stephen King says he writes every day—except Christmas. Then he added that wasn’t true. He also writes on Christmas. He just didn’t want to sound too obsessed. 

Do these sound like writing goals to you? Or writing pressure? Do you feel like, wow, if Stephen King writes every day like that—and look at his success—then that’s what I have to do, too?

Perhaps you have more time to write over the holidays, so you think you should. But perhaps you don’t want to. Perhaps, if you’ve found a spare minute in all the holiday madness, you just want to… sit. Relax. Enjoy your family and friends. Or perhaps you don’t have extra time. Perhaps the season makes you crazy busy (or just crazy). Or perhaps your schedule doesn’t change, so there really is no extra time. 

It doesn’t matter what your writing situation is this last week of December—or what other people do with their writing time (Stephen King included). What matters is to be on the lookout for all the “shoulds” in your writing life—and eliminate them. If you want to write every day, Christmas, included, go for it! If you don’t—then don’t! 

Keep the joy of writing by keeping to a writing schedule that works for you. 

In other words, give yourself the gift of compassion. 

Happy Holidays! 

How Can You Choose?

Quick! Name your favourite authors! Yeah, I can’t do that quickly, either (the list is much, much, much too long). But that’s my point. There are so many terrific writers, some of whom are big names that everyone has heard of, some of whom are niche authors. Some may be, technically speaking, not very good, but have nonetheless have captured your heart. Some you may admire because they’re skilled to an astonishing degree. Some may have been your favourites way back when. Some may be your new favourites. Some may not have been favourites before, but are now.

However many stars there are in the night sky (and astronomers estimate that’s 200 billion trillion—and that’s a lot!) there are just as many (or, let’s face it more) emotional reactions to books. That’s huge of bandwidth for us to work with as writers. It’s a good reminder that we can’t set out to “be the favourite” because, well, whose favourite? And when? But we can be a reader’s favourite—even if we’re not published. You can love a story you read by a family member or friend. You can love a piece of writing you read online. You can love your own writing. How’s that for a challenge? Write so you become your favourite writer! 

To me, the concept is freeing. I can focus on what I want to write, how I want to write it, to the best of my ability, rather than attempt to satisfy impossible, nebulous—and artificial—metrics. 

Together On the Write Track

Did you know writing is hard? Shocking, I know. What’s (not) surprising is how many writers think it shouldn’t be. Even seasoned writer—in fact, I’d argue especially seasoned writers who’ve done it before and therefore think (wish) they can easy-breezy do it again—try to convince themselves that all they have to do is get words on the page. 

Yes, absolutely that’s what you have to do—as your starting point. But watch the credits the next time you finish a movie. See that long list of names? Now replace your name with each and every one of those roles. That’s what you’re doing. You’re doing all that work. You’re set designer, costume designer, dialogue coach, screenwriter, director, actor—you’re everything (even if you work with a book coach or editor or writing community or beta readers; they’re there to offer guidance and feedback, not to tackle the work themselves). 

So yes, writing is hard. Writing is layered. Writing is nuanced. Writing is circular. There’s no way you can ace every aspect of a good story on the first draft (or the second or third or tenth), despite how non-writers might have delusions to the contrary. (“Oh, I’ve always wanted to write a book!” “Yeah? You ever put in the blood, sweat and tears?”) 

I say again: writing is HARD! If you’re struggling, that’s normal. You’re on a tough journey—but remember, you’re not alone. We’re all on our own writing path, yes, but we’re still travelling together. 

Ignore Those Numbers

I read a dispiriting figure recently: more than 10,000 books are published in the U.S. every week. As published authors, how are we ever supposed to find our readers in that morass? And, as not-yet-published authors, how do we even break through to get to be one of the 10,000 books??

Uh, yeah, sorry, I don’t have the answers. I wish I did. I wish I had the magic bullet and could pass on the gun from which it was shot, but alas, I am as enmeshed in the quagmire of books as everyone else. 

Yes, there are a million examples of come-from-behind authors finally making it big (and a million more of those very same type of authors not succeeding in the conventional sense). There are the one-hit wonders and the rocketing, rising star, and yes, I hope that at least some of that fame can be yours (and mine) but the harsh reality is that it may never be.  

Instead, I have only my philosophy to offer you as comfort. Bonus: my philosophy also includes an action plan: write the best book you can. Keep honing your craft; keep practicing your skill.

We’ll always need stories—we’re hardwired for them—and that’s also why we’ll always have a plethora of writers, but that’s okay! It’s a good reminder that what we do matters.

So do what you can do is write and write well, and then, like I do, ignore the numbers. 

Create Your Own Monster-Hunter

There’s a voice in my head. Yours, too? It tells me all about how I’m an imposter, and how I’m not good enough and how I’m never going to make it as a writer. Yours, too? It doesn’t believe in logic, nor evidence. Yours, too? 

But you know what I realized? This voice sounds suspiciously like a cartoon, caricature, cardboard villain. In fact, if I wrote a character with the same personality as the negative voice in my head, I’d give myself a pretty damning review. The voice has a one-note trill; it’s neither melodic, nor original. It’s not a siren song luring me to the evil darkness of its message; it’s not even that intriguing.

Yet I buy into it. Don’t we all? It’s easy to fall prey to its tenor, and I don’t blame me (nor should you blame yourself). As harsh as it is, it preys on our own insecurities, making them sound like they’re real. 

But for every antagonist in our stories, we have a protagonist. We have a character who, against all odds, is going up against our villain. It’s not going to be easy—we, as their creators, will make sure of that—but (for most of us) they will win. So if we’ve created a monster in our minds, why not create our very own monster-hunter? 

I think my brain has enough capacity to house a different voice. A more encouraging, empathetic voice. Yours, too? 

Communication of the Imagination

I learned Dutch as a child, since my family is Dutch, and I learned French in school, since I live in bilingual Canada. I took classes in Russian and German in university, and even Swahili when I lived for a summer in Tanzania. I’m no longer fluent in Dutch and French (you don’t use it, you lose it—there’s a reason for that expression!) and I could hardly make sense of any of the other languages anymore, but my interest in languages remain. 

My current obsession is the language of imagination. It’s not a language the way we define the others, but the concept of translation and interpretation remain analogous. In our minds—our imagination—reside the perfect stories. We may not know all the details but we can feel the story in our heads/hearts/minds/souls. The problem is—like any language—translating what’s inside your head into something the outside world can understand. That’s why writing is so difficult! We think we should be able to spout what’s on our mind, pour our thoughts onto paper, but that’s not enough if we want readers to make sense of what we’re trying to say. 

Enter the principles of storytelling, the need for structure, the use of conventions, the expectations of readers. The more you learn about the “grammar” of stories, the more successful you’ll be at conveying your ideas. Writing, then, is the communication of the imagination.