New Year’s Resolutions–Or Not

I am ambivalent about New Year’s resolutions. If I make them, I go all in! And I have succeeded: walking outside every single day of the year; reading across wider genres; cutting back on sugar.

I make them not “because they’re good for me” but because the habits I already want to form benefit from a nudge. 

Last year was different. I resolved to take up yoga. I’d hated it in the past, but I’d finally been convinced of its benefits. So I started. And continued. And when January rolled into February, I was still doing yoga. 

Only, I never liked it. Maybe it was helping me physically, but it was a chore. Still, I told myself I couldn’t give up. New Year’s resolution and all.

But then I realized I’d chosen yoga “because it was good for me”. Not because it was a habit I wanted to form. 

So, if you do resolutions, especially about writing, consider how much you want to do what you’ve resolved to do. If you want to write every day, then put five minutes into your schedule every day. If you think you should write every day because that’s what “writers” do, then you’ll end up like me and yoga: resentful. 

My New Year’s Resolution? This year, I’m going without. I’ll write when I can, and read what I want and try to be healthy. Okay, maybe that is my resolution. 🙂

Wishing you all the best in 2024! 

Boundaries and Boxing Day

We talk a lot about boundaries as writers. How do we set boundaries for our own writing time? Our own space? How do we give all of ourselves in our craft, without giving all of ourselves, period? 

I struggle with boundaries as much as the next writer—only, I realized, I’ve actually succeeded in setting boundaries in one important aspect of my life. 

Boxing Day. TODAY! My absolute favourite day of the year—even over Christmas. Here’s why: Boundaries. Years ago, before kids and even after, I put my foot down about my responsibilities on Boxing Day: ZERO. Everyone in my entire family knows that on Boxing Day, they are not to expect me to do a single chore. No cooking, no clean up, nothing. It is my day to pick up my new book (the one my family must give me on Christmas) and read. That’s it. 

And I feel ZERO guilt. My husband could (and does) pick up the slack on that one day, and my girls grew up thinking it was normal. In fact, they’ve all gotten into the spirit; it is the laziest, most relaxed day of the whole year in our household.

How did I manage it? By deciding I deserved it. I wasn’t selfish to demand this one day. I wasn’t neglectful, nor would it harm my children or my husband. 

Boundaries. When you recognize you deserve what you are demanding. 

The key to writing. The key to life. 

Happy Boxing Day!  

What The Future May Bring

Recently I found myself back at a hotel a year after my first visit. It was strange because when I’d left, I never expected to go back. We’d gone there for a convention, and without the convention, there was no reason to return. 

And yet, there I was again. The reasons were not mysterious, fated or destiny. We needed a hotel in the same city and my husband had collected enough points to get us a free room. 

Still, the visit seemed auspicious. Nothing monumental happened, except a shift in my perspective. If I’d never imagined returning to this hotel, but I’d come back a second time, what else have I not imagined that may end up happening? It gave me hope for my writing life. Could something happen in my writing life that I haven’t yet considered? It seems obvious, but when you’re in the trenches, it’s actually not. Our brains are hardwired to look for patterns; we often use what we’ve experienced in the past to make sense of the present and try to understand the future. In a profession where, say, rejection is commonplace, one can easily assume rejection will be all you get. It may very well be. Just because I landed at the same hotel two years in a row doesn’t mean magic will make all my writing dreams come true. But it does remind me to keep my mind open to all sorts of possibilities. We honestly, truly, just never know.

Black Holes and Other Mysteries

My daughter is interested in physics—something about which I know less than nothing—so when she tried to explain her understanding of black holes, I was stumped. 

“You know, sweetie, you got 98 percent on your first high school physics test. I got eight percent on mine.” (If you want to talk about how to own your failures, I excel at it when it comes to science!) 

But I wanted to listen nonetheless. “Explain it again,” I said, and she did. “Nope, still don’t get it.”

She paused. “Okay, imagine two astronauts…” And off she launched into a story to demonstrate the gravitational pull of a black hole and its warping effects. I didn’t grasp all the nuances of what she was explaining, but I got it—because she’d turned the lesson into a story. 

When she played a clip of what a black hole sounds like—NASA shares a lot—I was hooked. “I get it now,” I said. I had reference points from what I already knew, plus the narrative elements like sensory detail. 

We often learn through story. That’s why stories are so incredibly powerful. We need them. We need yours. 

I did have to have the last word, however. “So if we give Astronaut #1 a tragic backstory…” 🙂

What’s In OUR Control

It’s obvious that “bestseller” and “best author” are not the same thing—though, of course they could be. Sales aren’t solely the result of quality writing; a big name, established reputation, or industry insiders rooting for you can change the game no matter what you write.

That doesn’t mean we give up on our “bestseller” dreams, but it does mean we remind ourselves that SO much of writing is out of our control. This, too, is not new, but still, we think we’re not good enough if the magic doesn’t happen to us. 

So we have to keep reminding ourselves of the facts: our writing is not the only factor in our (conventional) success. If neuroplasticity, where the brain can create new pathways to rewire itself is based on repetition of the action or thought it is meant to override, then repetition of that fact is key to our own writing sanity.  

Please, repeat after me: Our writing is not the only factor in our (conventional) success. 

Again: Our writing is not the only factor in our (conventional) success. 

One more time: Our writing is not the only factor in our (conventional) success. 

Nope. Make that another time: Our writing is not the only factor in our (conventional) success. 

And another: Our writing is not the only factor in our (conventional) success. 

Keep going: Our writing is not the only factor in our (conventional) success. 

Our. Writing. Is. NOT. The. Only. Factor. In. Our. (Conventional). Success. 

Repeat it until you believe it. 🙂

The Villain in Our Own Heads

My author friend Katie Keridan wrote these words:

“You allow me to be the villain I wish I was while acting like the virtuous heroine I begrudgingly pretend to be.”

So a) this is why Katie rocks—isn’t that brilliantly written? And b) Katie’s sentiment kinda covers the life of a writer–especially comparing ourselves to other writers–doesn’t it? 

We don’t want to envy other authors their success. We want to be supportive and cheerful, but wow, it’s hard sometimes. So I suggest we admit those emotions; allow ourselves to feel mad, upset, hurt, jealous, or whatever, but then the second part of Katie’s phrase reminds us of why we don’t act on those emotions. We know it’s not fair, and we’re not going to be that person. But that doesn’t make it easy, does it? Especially if we’re all vying for that same brass ring. 

Yet we’re human. We feel and sometimes those feelings feel petty or cruel. That’s because we’re not the good guy all the time. We’re not always the bad guy, either, and that’s what makes us amazing writers. We get the emotional complexity of our characters. That’s what brings them to life. 

Because, well, we live their anguish with them. 

So be the villain in your own head. Rail against the authors whose success you covet. Then turn your feelings into a story. It’s one I would want to read. 🙂

A Cheerleader Reader!

I’ve coined a new term: Cheerleader Reader. It’s someone who reads your work and doesn’t criticize it. They are under STRICT instructions to say nothing but good things about it. And if they don’t like something? They have to keep their mouths shut. 🙂

I stumbled on this concept decades ago in my own life, when I turned to my husband, a non-fiction reader, for support. He balked, reminding me he knew nothing about how to write fiction. I insisted; he relented and offered me feedback that threw me into a spiral. How could he not like my secondary character?? The inevitable fight ensued, hurt feelings on both sides, until I realized our marriage was MUCH better off if he didn’t critique my work. 🙂 But I still wanted to share it with him, so I set out parameters that would become the rules for a Cheerleader Reader: say only positive things. 

It started as a bit of a joke, a “rule” only for my husband so we could avoid fights, but I came to appreciate the value of it for every writer. We should all seek out a Cheerleader Reader. Someone fully, one hundred percent on our side emotionally. You might have the most terrible plot, or the most horrendous climax, but your Cheerleader Reader will tell you how amazing your secondary characters are. 

We all need professional critiques, absolutely, but couldn’t we also do with a pair of eyes that may only ever be rose-tinted in our favour? 

The Positive in Every Book

In my weekly newsletter, I include my take on a book from my “to-read” pile. Some readers have commented on my always-positive mini-reviews. 

“Don’t you ever not like a book?” one of them asked. 

Absolutely. In fact, there are a lot of books I don’t like, many I don’t finish (because I learned early on life it too short to read books you don’t enjoy!). And, some of the books I highlight aren’t always my favourite, either. But I’m never lying because there’s always something to like about every book I’ve encountered. Even the ones I don’t finish. My purpose isn’t to critique; my purpose is to simply share. And, having written many books myself, I know how much blood, sweat and tears go into the process. So why not share the good that I’ve discovered in every book? If it encourages you to pick it up and see for yourself, great. If it doesn’t, that’s okay, too. So why, if I have only a few lines, would I prejudice you against a book before giving you a chance to read it yourself? My purpose is less about “recommending” and more about helping readers become aware of books that are out there. Some are big name bestsellers that everyone and their dog would know about. Others, maybe not so much. 

It’s not hard for me to find something good in any book. That’s what I want to share with you: the opportunity to make up your own mind. 🙂

The Definition of a “Creative”

I’ve been hearing the term “Creative” bandied about a lot as a noun. As in, “she’s a creative.” Or, “This is the way creatives think.” 

I love the idea that there’s recognition that what we do as writers—create stories with words—has enough value to earn its own collective noun. I also love that the term is all-encompassing. A musician, a visual artist—even a software designer—can all be a creative.

Yet it worries me. The term itself is not new, but like all language, it evolves, and I fear the evolution of “creatives” as a noun sets up new writers with the wrong idea. It sounds like there’s one way to be a “creative” or that you have to have certain characteristics or a lifestyle to be a “creative”. Working the gig economy to fund one’s creative works, or becoming a digital nomad, for example, like the 21^st century of “penniless author in the attic”. 

But the world of “creatives” is as wide and vast as the individuals who identify as such. If there are conventions necessary to belong to a community, they are minimal: one must create. 

So if you are a suburban soccer mom with a mini-van, 2.5 kids and a civil-servant day job that may scream anything butcreative, yet you choose to write when you can? You are a creative. 

Labels can be important to feel like we belong. Just be careful you don’t exclude yourself from where you do belong. 

Role Models for Understanding

I read an interview with a famous literary writer who explained she was reading a famous literary classic on a recent flight. Her seatmate, on the other hand, was playing a video game on her phone. The tone of the quote was condescending.

Now, to be fair, I’m reading the author’s words through the interpretation of a journalist. Still I was bothered at the perceived judgment. Was the author implying that the woman with the phone was not educated or cultured? But what if the woman was a literature professor who read classics every day and wanted a break? Or what if the woman had an invisible learning disability that made reading difficult? Or the woman (gasp!) simply didn’t like to read?

As an individual, I try hard not to judge. But as an author, I think it’s expected of us not to judge. We’re the people who get into the minds of others. We figure out what’s going on behind a smile or a frown—or a game of Candy Crush. We’re inside their heads and in their emotions, and that should remind us not to make assumptions about others in the real world. 

I hope I did misread the tone of the author’s quote. But even if I didn’t, it spurs me to be an even better role model as an author. We want the world to know we understand the people in our stories; I’ll make sure the world knows I’m trying to understand the people in it, too.