Going beyond Critique: Structuring Feedback to Best Help Your Writing

One summer I attended a workshop with an award-winning short-story writer.  His writing astounded me, and his stories were favorites for years as I studied the craft.   When I learned he'd be teaching at a well-respected conference that year, I was thrilled.

We were asked to prepare a short story for critique.  I polished my very best one, which had won a couple of writing contests, and prepared to learn how to take it to the next level.  I looked forward to this great writer opening doors for me, creatively.  But I took a writing friend along, since at heart I was nervous about his feedback.  If it proved heart-breaking, I could cry on my friend's shoulder.   

Each day we listened to this writer rant.  Midweek we began to talk about the stories we'd brought, but he decided only to work on a few stories by previous students of his who were also in the workshop.  Mine got a cursory discussion, as did most of the others.  To say I was underwhelmed would be an understatement.  No creative doors were opened for me, but I did learn a lot about the writer's fame and struggles with his own work--interesting to a point but not for five days.  He was not able to give good feedback because his own writing was his only world.   

Sadly, many of us went away from that workshop confused about the writing journey.  Does it really lead to this kind of self-absorption?  Can't writers learn to help each other succeed?  The flatness inside gave me no real idea how to take the next step with my short story.  It found its way to a drawer in my closet and never got looked at again after that summer.     

Critique--Only One Model for Feedback

Many years went by and I learned more about this feedback and especially critique, the academic method for giving feedback.  The goal of critique is to find what is wrong--it looks at writing with a critical eye and the sense grows in the writer that she will never quite be enough.

Critical feedback has it uses at certain stages.  But it works best if delivered with the intent to open doors in the writer's creative self.  Not close them.  I had made the mistake of thinking that this famous writer would know how to teach as well as how to write.   

That he would be able to help me.  Actually, he was really only able to help himself. 

How Do We Get Help for Our Writing?  How Do We Learn to Give it to Other Writers? 

Writers learn about their writing in several ways.  There's the harsh experience of rejection letters--which tell you everything is bad.  There's the gentle experience of support--which tells you everything is good.  In the middle is constructive feedback.  This points out both strengths and weaknesses in writing.  It lets the writer know the solid ground to stand on, as well as the next step to take to grow.

Most writers aren't born with an inherent ability to give good feedback. Even professional writers, as I learned that summer, can be lousy at it. They don't necessarily offer comments that the writer can actually use. And they give feedback for all sorts of wrong reasons-to show off how much they know, to make every­one aware they'd never be caught dead making a mistake like that, to boost literary egos.

Obviously, this does nothing good for the receiving author-to-be.

That's why I've come to believe that questions are the most untapped form of good feedback. In teaching writing for over twenty years, I've found that questions open door­ways for the writer. They let us see (1) there's something unaddressed or unanswered here, and (2) there are ways to find out what it might be. When we are asked a question, it allows new information to come up organically from our in­terior worlds. A lot of my first-time students don't believe in the power of questions. But after one exposure, they get it.

You really had to be there, to get the full impact of the question, to see the writer light up with new awareness and love for his manuscript, but perhaps some of these questions will trigger ideas on this form of feedback.

1.  What would happen if Jonah didn't say yes to Ann at that moment? (In response to a chapter where two characters fall into a pseudo-agreeability, where they really need to get more separate, this question caused the writer to catapult into an new realization of Ann's angrier side. We'd seen Ann simmering for weeks, but this writer hadn't yet, and it was deadening the chapter.)

2.  What's the most outrageous thing this woman could do? (In response to a stuck character, this ques­tion caused the writer to have her go into a bar and bargain sex for a ride to L.A., a totally unex­pected action that was entirely believable and got the writer excited once again about this person.)

3.  What was always in your mother's refrigerator? (A memoirist suddenly remembered her moth­er's quart bottles of diet Pepsi, which brought the realization that she hadn't yet written about junk food and constriction, an essential theme in understanding her family.)

4.  How does lightning play out in your life? (In re­sponse to a skilled writer's struggle with finding theme in his nonfiction book. He went from writing sequential and slightly repetitive scenes to interspersing musings on the nature of light­ning, personally and topically, which helped his book rise from the ashes.)

Any feedback in class needs to be monitored by an in­structor, who has the welfare of the students in mind. If there are writing classes in your area, try them out. Online classes are easy to find and good forums for learning feedback skills.

Assessing Your Feedback Needs

A writer in my classes was convinced that he didn't need feedback.  He worked hard on his novel and sent it off to a list of agents.  It was agony to watch him get the rejection letters--not one even read more than a couple of pages.

I suggested he spend some time getting feedback--finding out why.  Because the submission process had flattened him, Noah was more willing to try peer review now.  He found a writers' group in his Detroit neighbor­hood, one he's been with now for two years. He learned to ask good questions and he learned that careful and constructive feedback made his writing improve steadily.  He sees the group members for coffee and chapter exchange one Sat­urday morning each month, and each writer has grown tre­mendously from the feedback.

At first, Noah said, the group was large and not very committed. Over time, the original ten members shrank to five steady writers who showed up at each meeting. Those who didn't submit work eventually dropped away. Noah's writing was gently critiqued, chapter by chapter, until he col­lected good feedback on his entire book. He now knew more clearly why agents never got past chapter 1-and he's hard at work on a more informed revision.

To assess your feedback needs, spend some time with your writer's notebook or journal today. As you think about where you are in your manuscript revision, make some hon­est notes about your concerns and eagerness for feedback. Then, when you feel you're ready, take one small step toward reaching out.

Go on line, visit community bulletin boards in your lo­cal bookstores, or make a call to the English department of a nearby university or college. Research some possibilities for a manuscript exchange with a writers' group, writing coaches, or writing partner.

Discover how constructive feedback can help you take your manuscript to the finish line-and the publication that awaits there.

Your Weekly Writing Exercise

1.  Spend a few minutes today writing about how you feel about your book, right now.  Are you excited, overwhelmed, discouraged, skeptical?  Describe the feelings as specifically as possible:  "They feel like . . . " or "I feel like. . . "

2.  Now switch to assessing what might help you most at this place.  Begin writing again, finishing the sentence:  "I think I most need . . . "  Repeat this prompt 5 times, answering it differently every time.

3.  From this exercise, make a list of three things you need most to move forward right now.  They can be specific issues with your book or overall needs you have for support.

Listening with Your Whole Self: Writing from Both Sides of the Brain

Jess is a smart and polished lawyer who was a dedicated student in my writing classes. After hundreds of law briefs and legal articles, she was attempting a novel, a love story. She had crafted a hundred pages, but she hated what she’d written so far. What was wrong?  

We looked at the chapters she had created from her scenes, following her storyboard’s map (see this past article on my blog for a refresher on the storyboarding process).  

The basic story idea was good, the plot interesting and well structured. But the writing was way too linear for a love story. Written law-brief style, with romance plugged in, using dry language that sparked no emotion in a reader, even the writer herself was uninspired by it.  

But Jess was one persistent woman. She was committed to her story. She knew she had a great book idea. The prob­lem, we realized, was with her writing. She needed to learn how to show, not tell. Training her to listen to the creative side of her brain wasn’t easy. It bucked her natural preference for logic and analysis, for telling.

I proposed a plan to loosen her up.

     Pay a lot of attention to the senses-taste, touch, sound, smell, sight

     Go on solo outings to places inspiring these senses and take notes on what

     you see, smell, touch

     Begin a touch journal-jot down what things feel like

     Read novels and short stories that are strong in images

     Watch romantic movies instead of the documentaries you prefer

     Begin having fresh flowers in the house and eating home-cooked food

     Take long walks and afterward write down favorite images

     Listen to music-different kinds than you usually listen to

Jess was dubious. She cited no time for walks, music, flowers. She said I was asking her to change her life.  

Yes, I told her, I was asking her to change but not her life, rather her very left-brain approach to life. I told Jess to get a copy of My Stroke of Insight, by neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor. In this short but stunning memoir, Dr. Taylor reveals how after a sudden left-brain stroke shut down her left brain, she learned what it was like to operate just from the right brain.  

For hours after her stroke, Dr. Taylor was aware only of what the right brain delivers--sensory details, images, wholeness of being. In the bliss of right-brain beingness, she was barely able to save her own life.

Her left brain, which is home to ordered, logical thinking--the kind necessary to pick up a phone and call 911--had been all but annihilated by the stroke. It would take years of rehab to bring it back to life. Dr. Taylor had to learn all over again how to read, to add, to make decisions.

This dramatic experience of losing her left-brain functions changed Taylor’s entire approach to living. She slowed down, did less, but much to her surprise found she enjoyed life more.  

As Taylor says, we tend to use more of one side of our brains. We need both.

This is especially true for writers. We often miss the full potential of our book-writing journey by not tapping into the right brain. Our manuscripts develop primarily from the voice of our dominant hemisphere, which for most of us is the left. Blind spots appear on our book map because of this, creating unnecessary roadblocks on our journey. We get stuck easily.

Alone, neither the linear left brain nor the image-rich right brain can create a complete book. Using the whole creative self delivers both coherent structure and emotional engagement. Both sides working in concert turn every book into a more complete vision.

Jess took up the challenge of freeing her right brain. The newly embraced creative self began to speak up. Her writing changed. Novel scenes, very good ones that packed an emotional punch, emerged.

What Happened Next

I didn’t predict the next event, but I wasn’t surprised. Jess fell in love. She sold her practice, and she and her lover moved to another country. Falling in love is very much a right-brain activity. A person in love suddenly appreciates detail, especially sensory detail. Love changes your percep­tions about everything.  

I thought that was the end of Jess’s novel. But six months after her move, a chapter arrived by email. I couldn’t believe the difference. Here was real romance! The writing made my heart jump.

She was listening to the right half of her brain-and it changed not only her writing but her life. To date, the book is still in the works. It’s going to be wonderful.

“Share this story with your classes,” she emailed me. “If someone like me can make this change, anyone can.”

Do you have to fall in love to change your habitually left-brain approach? No. You just need to be willing to ac­cept the parts of your self that don’t make logical sense. Learn to balance the strengths of the organized left brain with the whimsy of the right. Learn to structure your wild imaginings so you really communicate your book’s message.

Which Side Do You Favor?

 As book writers our first task is discover which side is taking up the most room in our creative process. Asking good questions can help you learn which side you are favoring, and which you are ignoring.

Good Questions 

If you are naturally ordered in your writing, ask ques­tions that propel you or your character into awareness of senses, which comes from the right brain:

What did it smell like?

What sounds did you/she/he hear?

What time of day was it?    

If you tend toward the meandering and random, ask questions that track time sequence or logic, which comes from the left:

What happened right before this?

What will up the stakes right now?

What could happen next?

Our second task is to train ourselves to use both, to switch readily between them, using our whole creative selves and making our books publishable.

How many writers are able to seamlessly switch from ordered to random and back again? It often depends on how we approach our daily lives, how fluid we can be. When I surveyed my book-writing classes, writers were visibly uneasy at the idea of such fluidity. (Let’s not forget our culture is very left-brain oriented.)  

“My material is way too emotional to access all the time,” said a new memoirist. “It’s a wild animal; I have to keep it contained.” A skilled essayist and mother of three said, “I stay in left brain to survive. If I let myself get dreamy, I get instant chaos at home. I want to write this book but not if it means giving up control of the rest of my life!”

This is not about giving up anything. It’s about open­ing up to more, it’s about trusting the part of your creative self that gets less air time. If you’re naturally organized, keep the left-brain control, the structure-it’s essential. Just add in the beauty your nonlinear right-brain self can contribute. If you’re one of the rare right-brain dominant, then you will need to learn to embrace a structured writing system that can help bring order to your freewheeling words. 

Your Weekly Writing Exercise

This exercise allows you to access both sides of the brain, back and forth, and strengthen your ability to switch between them, via sensory memory and physical, present-time body sensations.  It's great training for any writer.

1.  Find an event from your childhood that evoked strong emotion.

2.  Write about it for 20 minutes, using the sense of sound as much as possible.

3.  Pause and close your eyes.  Briefly scan your physical body for any sensations that might have arisen as you wrote--are you feeling a bit dizzy, nauseous, euphoric?  Do you have a buzzing feeling in your head or a tightness in your throat.  Write about your present-time physical body sensations for a few minutes.

4.  Now go back to the childhood memory and continue writing, using the sense of smell.

5.  What differences do you perceive in the second writing session?

Simple Cures to Writer's Block: Fresh Writing and the Brainstorming List of Ideas

Writers produce writing.  We wait for inspiration, yes, but we eventually write.  Writing is not about the waiting; it's about the actual words on the page.  

And if you're contemplating a book, you need pages of it, produced regularly and methodically.   

So there must be writing practice as well, and good methods to overcome the negative self-talk of the Inner Critic, for your dream to be realized.   

Happy is the writer who has this rhythm.  She or he can click along, getting the writing done.  The pages pile up; there's a real sense of accomplishment.   

Then the writer hits an obstacle.  It might be as simple as starting a class where you find yourself in deeper water than you're used to swimming.  Maybe you have to share your raw efforts.  Maybe you are asked to read a good book and it puts your own writing in a different light--"Listen to that dialogue!  I'll never be able to write like that."  You compare yourself to your dream, and come up lacking.   

Slowly the regular writing rhythm changes, and the pages each day get shorter.  Ideas seem to dry up.  Eventually, if this isn't caught early, the writing stops.

We're all familiar with this infamous disease.  It's called writer's block.  After a few days of it, a week or a month, it's hard to even remember how to craft a sentence.    

Cures to Writer's Block Are Pretty Simple 

Keeping your creativity alive and flowing is the best cure to writer's block.  I've learned that even more important than production of pages, the successful writer must find a way to tap into this creativity each day.  This is actually what holds up that nurturing rhythm, that allows you to produce those pages that eventually become a book.

The goal is to learn how to keep the well filled, without exhausting your creative energy.  

Sounds like a no brainer.  Often, it's terrifically hard to put into practice.   

But I've found two techniques that allow me to pay attention to the internal process behind the writing:  techniques that keep me open to explore all the new avenues that my book journey presents.

My two techniques are:

* fresh writing every day

* keeping a brainstorming list of ideas 

Fresh Writing Every Day 

Even when I am knee-deep in editing a book, I try to produce fresh writing every day.  It keeps my Inner Critic at bay.  It keeps me alert, energized, and discovering.  Basically, it makes sure most of my writing is reasonably good. 

How much is enough? New writers can start out writ­ing a couple of paragraphs, building gradually to two pages, about 500 words, per sitting. Two pages is just enough to engage the creative self but not overwhelm it. It's fine to keep the pages unpolished--and eventually you'll get into a rhythm of lightly revising as you go. The goal at first is simply to build stamina for your writing practice.  The momentum of the practice gets you enthused, and once you are producing 500 words regularly, you might find yourself upping it to 800. How about 1000?

Fiction and memoir writers might spend their two pages on a short scene, a description of character or setting, or even a list of unanswered questions about their story. Nonfiction writers can use this time to build research facts into interest­ing prose, or develop anecdotes to illustrate a theory.

Note to those who love to edit their work:  It's important to make sure revising time doesn't replace fresh writing. If you find yourself wrestling word choices, try a freewrite to get the creative flow moving again.

Getting started can be a challenge.  Anne Lamott, author of the modern classic on writing, Bird by Bird, has an empty one-inch photo frame on her desk. When she sits down to write, it reminds her "all I have to do is to write down as much as I can see through a one-inch picture frame." Once you start with enough fresh writing for this short assignment, you may find yourself easily writing more.

Don't worry if it's any good--we often can't tell when we're producing writing that's fresh. We don't have the per­spective because we're too engaged. Plenty of time for the editor self to judge that later.

Your eventual goal is simple: two pages, every day, with depth and meaning. You'll be amazed at how quickly they become enough to make a book.

The Brainstorming List of Ideas 

One of my students is a professional journalist, with many awards behind him.  He's writing his memoir now, and when he got really stuck a few months ago, I suggested he begin a list.   

He was to write down all the top­ics he might want to write about.  Important:  Don't edit or censor them, and include the ones that terrified and bored him.  Even topics that might not end up in the book.  Everything went on the list.

He did.  With some reluctance.   

Once he had the list in hand, he found himself adding to it quite often.  He still was stuck, but his imagination was getting involved again.  After a few days of jotting down ideas, he had over thirty.  And there were a few he couldn't stop thinking about so he sat down one morning before the family got up and jotted down some notes.   

Of course, you know the end of this story.  The notes got him more interested.  And soon he was writing.   

And he still is.  He hasn't gotten writer's block again since.  He told me the list insured he always had something to write about every day that was relevant to his memoir.

He gave me permission to share some of his list.  Although it won't make sense to anyone else, it gives you an idea of the kinds of things that can be included:

red flannel shirts with leather elbows

miscarriage

disgust with spuds

Uncle S. and his smelly pipe

laughing too hard at the dinner table

rain on dirty windows

I recommend all book writers start keeping a brain­storming list. It is the key to connecting your current life, your interests, passions, fears, and hopes, with your book. It enlivens the material with you. And best of all, it keeps you writing regularly.

Brainstormed ideas don't have meaning at first--not until they're written about. As E.L. Doctorow said, "It's like driving a car at night. You never see further than your head­lights, but you can make the whole trip that way." Like imag­es caught in headlights as a car passes by, or like notes taken from a dream fragment, certain phrases or words encapsulate complete scenes you'll develop later.

Note: For the list to work, you need to jot down enough to jog your memory.

Keeping a brainstorming list is an ongoing task. I sug­gest adding to it at the end of each writing session. Use it throughout your book journey. The last few pages of my writ­ing notebook are reserved for my list, where it's easy to lo­cate. Some writers start a computer file for their lists, adding one or two new items every writing session.

It's important not to censor your list or eliminate top­ics that don't seem to "fit" the book. This is not the time to decide. Often your Inner Critic is talking you out of a deli­cious clue from the right brain: an insignificant image that finds its way to your list may become the very thing you need to bring emotion to an otherwise dull scene.

Ready to try it?  Here are the steps.

Your Weekly Writing Exercise

1.  Get out your writer's notebook or open a new document on your computer, saved to your desktop or some place you'll see it frequently.

2.  Write down 5 topics you're interested in writing about, that could possibly be part of your book or current writing project.  Don't censor the ideas that come--even if they seem off base right now.

3.  Save this and walk away for an hour.  Come back and add 3 more ideas.  

4.  Do this until you have 25 listed.  

5.  Pick one topic from the list and set a kitchen timer for 20 minutes.  Begin freewriting on it, again not censoring what comes through.  

6.  Repeat each day for 1 week.  See what you get. 

A Letter to Your Inner Critic--How to Stop the Invisible Sabotage to Your Creativity

If I had a way to capture the self-talk inside most writers' brains, as they sit down to do their writing practice, here's what I might hear:

“You need a lot more backstory here.”
“This section will take months of research. Stop writing and get started. It’ll be a good distraction.”
“You need to explain what your character is thinking here. Your writing isn’t good enough to just let the action show it.”
“For God’s sake, use bigger words. Everyone will think you’re uneducated.”
“Get to the action. How is anyone going to know what’s happening if you go on and on about setting?” “This is pretty boring, you know. Maybe wrap it up faster.”
“Your mother will hate this section. Kill it.”
“Why don’t you run out and get the dry-cleaning now, then write when you get back?”

Who is doing all this talking?  Who is making us hate our own writing?  I call this being the Inner Critic, and we each have one.  The challenge is to figure out what to do about its venomous voice, its worrisome messages, and how to keep writing anyway.

I've interviewed hundreds of writers at every skill level about the Inner Critic.  Professional writers, even those who have published widely and won awards, are well acquainted with this inner voice.  Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's sad, sometimes it's menacing.  But rarely is it truthful--and too often it sabotages our efforts to make art, to do our writing.  Professional writers have learned to calm the voice, to write anyway.  Some relied on alcohol or drugs or distractions to get a word in edgewise.  I've found a better plan.

First, it's important to face the facts:  The Inner Critic is part of any book journey—no matter how many books you’ve published.

Facing Down the Critic Inside You
Your first step is to disable the Inner Critic's overwhelming influence. I call this renegotiating the contract.  You might think you don't have a contract.  Read on.

Common wisdom suggests you fight the IC--use any means you can. Engage it in its own Hunger Games.  But that often turns into a never-ending battle.

The way that's worked for me is this:   Get to know your Critic and make it an ally, not an enemy.

First, recognize when it's affecting you.  It can be both strong and sneaky. As you explore and plan your book, it might worry that you don’t have a good enough idea. It will rumble in the background, causing doubt that your ideas are serious enough or good enough.

Then, as you write your book and form the chapters, it will convince you the draft is definitely in OK shape to show your best friend—right now, today! This, of course, is a not-so-subtle sabotage attempt, made real when your friend asks about missing parts and you crumble with the realization that you have omitted half your story.

Or as you revise, the Critic will get bored with inner story, theme, or pacing, those essential fine-tuning steps each book writer must implement. It will even tell you to edit out the juicy parts because all your relatives will shun you when they read them. And as you try to sell your book, the Critic will come into full battle mode. It may suggest you stop now before any rejection letters arrive.

It's actually trying to protect you.  Sound impossible?  Here's how I experienced it, with one of my books that was published years ago.  The lesson taught me a lot about how to keep writing, and how to work with the Inner Critic.

The Inner Critic as a Gatekeeper

One morning, I was finishing up a chapter in my self-help/memoir that centered on my business bankruptcy back in the 1980s. As I wrote, the Inner Critic began flooding me with feelings of shame about my failure. I began writing more slowly, reluctantly. The voice inside my head got louder, warning me to stop my exploration. “Why bring up this all over again?” it argued. “Totally in the past, not helpful to anyone else. Let it be.”

I persisted, angry at its interference. Suddenly I had to run to the bathroom. I was very ill, vomiting and dizzy. As I lay on the bathroom floor, the cold tiles against my face, I wondered if this was the work of the Inner Critic. Had it escalated the sensation of shame so strongly, that it turned into a physical reaction?

After a while, I came back to my desk. I was shaken. How could I keep writing if I was going to make myself sick? But I knew in my heart that the bankruptcy story was important in my book. During the 1980s recession, I met so many people who were devastated by failing businesses and personal loss. I wanted to help them with my own and others’ experience. How could I do this if I couldn’t get past my own Inner Critic?

So I did what I tell my writing students to do: take a break and do a freewrite—write outside my story. I located my writing notebook under the manuscript pages. I began writing about being literally sick with shame. As I wrote, I got the idea to start a “treaty” letter to this Gatekeeper-as-Inner-Critic, thanking it for its help in keeping me safe all these years. I wrote about how I appreciated its role. I wrote how I understood why it brought caution to my writing life because it had my best interests at heart. With each sentence, I felt a lessening of tension in my gut, a softening in my heart. No longer waged in battle, I was able to see my Inner Critic in a new way.

Then I asked it kindly to step aside, to let me write this chapter. I explained why I needed to write it, reassured the Critic that this story didn’t have to end up in the final book. I just needed to get it on paper. When the letter was finished, I closed my notebook and went back to my desk. The chapter flowed out better than I could’ve imagined and the Inner Critic was noticeably calmer the rest of that writing session. My Inner Critic only wanted to protect me from the shame of fame: people looking at me in a different way because I told about a business failure many years before. By collaborating with this gate-keeping voice, instead of rejecting its help, I was able to proceed.

My book, How to Master Change in Your Life, was finally published, and I got more letters and comments about that bankruptcy chapter than any other.

My intuition was right—people needed to hear about self-forgiveness for big mistakes.

 Your Weekly Writing Exercise: A Letter to the Inner Critic 

This is an exercise we use in my Part 1 online class, Your Book Starts Here.  Try it yourself.  You'll need about thirty minutes.

1.  You're going to be writing a letter to the Inner Critic.  Do this on paper or on the computer--whichever is easier.  To start, describe your Inner Critic.  What does it sound like?  Can you picture it?  Does it remind you of someone in your past?

2. Ask the Inner Critic what it’s contributing to your life. Listen inside for anything that might come, even small things it does for you.  How does it keep you safe? How does it keep you connected to others? How does it keep you responsible? How does it make you feel intelligent? How does it bring you respect of peers?

3. Thank it for its help in these areas. If more comes to mind as you write, add your gratitude about those.

4. Now write a request to the Inner Critic: ask it to step aside for a week. Tell it you’ll be exploring a new avenue in your writing and you feel you need freedom. Ask for its help in letting you try it.

5. Mark on your calendar to follow up in a week. 6. After one week, spend five minutes freewriting about any changes you’ve noticed. Are there fewer blocks in your creative process? Is your writing any different? Do you experience less negative self-talk?

Benefits of a Regular Writing Practice for Book Writers--How to Fit Writing a Book into Your Over-the-Top-Busy Life

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Summer and Fall Workshop Retreats: "Creative Process: How to Plan, Write, and Develop a Book and Take It to Publication!"

Join me on

Madeline Island

in beautiful Lake Superior

at Madeline Island School of the Arts

for five days of creative exploration, fun, writing community, and learning.   

  

Workshop Retreat:

"Creative Process:   

How to Plan, Write, and Develop a Book and Take It to Publication!"

 

July 16-21 (sold out)

July 23-27 (8 spots open)

September 24-28 (12 spots open)

    
You get:

● three-four hours of  classroom time with me each day, exploring new writing techniques and exercises

● one-to-one consultation with me about your project

● your own writing space 24/7 and unstructured time each day to focus on your book

● open time and structured gatherings in the evening, with writing/art activities and sharing of work-in- progress

● time to practice writing "islands" on the island--and take your writing to the next level--wherever you  start from

● immediate feedback as you test my simple three-act plan for your book

● the support of a small group of memoir, fiction, and nonfiction book writers

● free time to explore the beauty of Lake Superior and this charming island off  the coast of Wisconsin

Interested?   

Here's what to do:

Call 715-747-2054 or email Madeline School of the Arts at misa@cheqnet.net to ask questions or reserve your place.  Cost is $575.  Lodging (not included) is available on the island--wonderful B&B's, campgrounds by the lake shore, plus cottage accommodations at the school itself, if you prefer to be on site.   Click here to read more.

Benefits of a Regular Writing Practice for Book Writers--How to Fit Writing a Book into Your Over-the-Top-Busy Life

How do you find time to write?  That's a question I'm asked alot--by other writers, by students in my classes, by attendees at conferences where I give my book-structuring workshops.

 I've had a prolific writing career, with thirteen books published.  Yet I also have a family that needs attention and a teenager to raise, an elderly parent to care for, a huge garden that both gives me joy and takes a lot of energy, and a passion for painting.

How is it possible to do it all, and do everything as well as I'd like?

Answer:  I can't.  Nobody can.

But I've learned about what I can do.  And it's usually a lot more than I think.  If I can take an honest look at what is outwardly derailing my attempts to be a creative, fulfilled person--and what derailment is coming from inside--I can make time for the writing.

First, you need the five fundamentals in place.  Last week, I talked about these five fundamentals for writers.  See that post here.  Once these five are working in your life, even a little, you have a better chance of actually fitting your book into your life.  You must allow yourself to make room for writing, just like you'd make room for your grocery shopping or your kid's homework or your sleep.  If your writing is left to last, it will never fit in.

This morning is a great example, for me.  My wonderful spouse and I tag team childcare, and we talk about it ahead of time.  Mornings and evenings are the peak chaos moments, but usually if things are OK, only one of us needs to be "on duty."  While one person keeps the morning moving (waking the sleepy teenager, monitoring the clock, gathering stuff to take, heating up some breakfast), the other is allowed to retreat into creative work.  This morning was my time, and I woke earlier than usual, sat with my writer's notebook and thought about my chapter-in-progress, all before anyone else stirred.  By the time the family was up, I was already at work on the chapter--which is due this week to my writers group.  Around me was the normal morning chaos, but because of my agreement with my family, I was able to keep going, without guilt.

This sounds amazing, yes.  But when the writing begins to feed us, when we give it time to do so, it helps everyone around us. Writing posted, I had time to help clean up the kitchen, say goodbye to my teenager, kiss my spouse, and make myself something to eat before my own workday began.

I came away really energized.  Yes, it took negotiation--but as a family we are pretty good at it now.  It also took honoring my own time and space to write--despite the frantic nature of school mornings.  But most important, it took me believing in myself--that my writing was as important as everything else that was going on.

Radical Thought:  Doing My Writing Practice Heals Me, and Also Everyone around Me
I believe that my writing practice heals me, makes me a better person.  I am convinced that when I am creating regularly, my family, my work, and my relationships benefit as well.

You probably know by now that regular writing has been documented for its healing benefits. James Pennebaker, professor at the University of Texas, Austin, and author of Writing to Heal, studied the effects of writing on groups of medical patients. His landmark study showed marked improvements in immune function and general well-being from patients who wrote regularly.

Dr. Louise DeSalvo, in Writing as a Way of Healing, narrowed it down. She listed three areas writers must tap into, to benefit the most from writing practice.

Three Areas
1. How did the person feel then (during the event)?
2. How does person feel now, in comparison?
3. Which specific, concrete details, especially sensory detail, describe the past event?

This morning I was writing about a difficult crisis one of my characters is going through. For the writing to be transformative, it must reveal how the character felt when it happened, as well as afterward, and the comparison of feelings between the two. It must also use sensory detail to describe the past event. To test this theory, I applied it to my character, Molly, after the fight with her father.

If you're working on memoir, the "character" would be you--and incorporating the three areas would make the writing come together in an amazing way.  For nonfiction writers, the goal is to use these three areas to provide transformation for your reader.  How did the reader feel then, now, and what are the details around the change?  You use these three areas in your anecdotes.

In my classes, I ask students to prove this to themselves:  to scan favorite nonfiction books, memoirs, and novels from their bookshelves, ones they reread often and feel transformed by.

Here's what they usually tell me:  In every one, the authors showed people who (1) felt things in the present moment, and (2) remembered past feelings via backstory and compared the feelings of present and past, demonstrating change. Well-crafted scenes also used (3) specific sensory details to illustrate those feelings.

When I look at my own published books, my best-loved moments also showed these three healing aspects. So I try to include these three transformative areas in my writing practice, as questions to ask about my story. When I can, I find using these healing guidelines increases my joy in my practice of my craft.

Writing practice becomes easier as you do more of it. You see how it changes you for the better, how it helps you be happier, how it even keeps you out of trouble. “I create every day,” a painter told me, “because it keeps me happy. I’m less likely to cause problems for myself.” So it is with writing practice.

In Women Who Run with the Wolves, Clarissa Pinkola Estés wrote, “It is the love of something, having so much love for something—whether a person, a word, an image, an idea, the land, or humanity—that all that can be done with the overflow is to create. It is not a matter of wanting to, not a singular act of will; one solely must.”

A radical thought: The act of writing can keep you so at peace that you don’t search for problems where there aren’t any.

Your Weekly Writing Exercise:  Negotiating a Regular Writing Practice 
(Time needed: ten minutes a day for three weeks)

1. Find ten minutes a day that you can devote to your book.

2. Put your writing time on your calendar. Make it the same time every day.

3. Talk with your family, roommates, spouse, or kids. Explain that you’ll be spending fifteen, thirty, ninety, or more minutes a day on your writing. Ask their cooperation: when you are in your writing space, you are off duty. You can’t be asked questions or talked with.

4. Make a sign that says “Writer at Work” and put it near your writing space or on your door.

5. For the first week, do freewrites for ten minutes each day. Write about something that stuck with you, something that happened recently. One student wrote about going to a movie that week where the audience was primarily elderly people and how the way they laughed, moved her. Another wrote about taking her son to dinner at a Chinese restaurant where large cylindrical red-and-orange paper lanterns hung along the walls and how the conversation blossomed in this colorful atmosphere.

6. Keep these writings in a file on your computer called “Week One.”

7. Start a new file called “Week Two.” Day one of the second week, make a list or freewrite for ten minutes on possible topics for your book—anything you can imagine including. The rest of week two, choose one of these topics each day and write for ten minutes on it.

8. The third week, write about a new topic from your list each day but add one observation of something you experienced, saw, felt, or learned that week. See if you can blend the exercises from weeks one and two.