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I wish I had a picture of it. When I was in high school, in Driver’s Ed class, we drove down country roads to practice. One drive took us by a plot of grass and Oklahoma mud where a farmhouse had once stood. Stripped to the concrete foundation, I remember the square of irises, popping purple and green from the ground. They were something left behind. A little light, a little brightness, to say “we were here.”

Now I have my own little plot of mud and grass. And on those days when it’s just overwhelming, when the world feels like it’s regressing to somewhere darker, I plant flowers. I leave a little light behind.

It’s almost winter. Denver went from golden autumn to gray, so it wasn’t much fun, but I spent some time today putting about 150 bulbs into the mud. It may take a year or two, but they will bloom. Black parrot tulips, crocus in purple and white, early snow glories, and a crazy rainbow spread of irises.

I plant flowers. I leave a little light behind.

Here are the slides for my session on World-Building.

World Building From the Fatal Flaw

I’d just discovered sushi when my grandmother died. It wasn’t the sort of food you found in rural Oklahoma, not the time I grew up. I tried it when my boss took us there for dinner. I enjoyed it and learned that I have good chopstick days and bad chopstick days.

A few weeks after grandmother passed away, I dreamed about sushi, about sitting in a beautiful restaurant: dark granite table, fine wine, and limited lighting. I could hear other tables, snatches of their conversation, the chink of glass on stone, but I couldn’t see them. I looked around the table and saw my father across from me and my grandmother sitting next to me.

The meal continued. We ate. We laughed. We talked about nothing important. A waiter appeared with a small tray. As he set it on the table, he said, “This is the only fish of this kind. This is the only time you will have this meal.”

At that moment I realized my grandmother was dead, that I was dreaming, and that when I woke she’d be gone again. As the thought came to me she winked, and I woke up.

Since then I’ve made sushi my happy food. I eat it when I’m down, sad, or grieving. My father died this week, and I’m eating a lot of sushi. My friend Liz, dear heart, sent me a set of chopsticks she picked up for me in Japan. I don’t know if she’s like me is terrible about mailing things or if they just arrived, but I love them and I intend to put them to good use.

Here are the slides for my Pikes Peak Writers Conference presentation on Finding Your Inner Extrovert.

Finding Your Inner Extrovert

For those who attended my Pikes Peak Writers Conference session on Agile Project Managemen for Writers, here are the slides. If you’d like to ask follow up questions or to discuss, please reply to this post.

Slides: Agile Project Management for Writers.

I want to post a picture of my friend Helen’s checklist for last editing sprint. I like this method:

Use every rejection to fuel your determination.

Use every bit of good news, every gain, to fuel your persistence.

Whether it’s a good day or a bad one, write your way through whatever blocks or distracts you.

Writing should be your joy, the thing that stops time because you’re lost in it.

Take the best parts of your life and crystallize them in words.

Take the worst parts of your life and write your way out. Because it’s the only way past them.

This is the best, most consistent advice I can give.

When you’re trying to succeed at writing you’re often told to avoid critique from your mom, your friends, from anyone whose feedback on your work won’t be critical enough to help you improve. This is good advice — to a point. You need honest feedback if you want to improve as a writer. Critique partners and brutal editors are your friends when it comes to spotting weak points in your craft, especially when it comes to clarity.

That said, writing is hard. Rejection is hard, and trying to make it as an author is for most of us, a long, brutal road. It can beat you down and it can be hard sometimes to peel yourself off the mat.

That’s where alpha readers come in. These readers aren’t necessarily going to give you much feedback. They might spot problems, tell you when something isn’t working, but I don’t count on them for line edits or even provide suggested fixes to structural problems.

Their primary purpose is to cheerlead. I use them to know whether or not a book is headed in the right direction, to get behind it and encourage me to keep writing the book. Since I work in an Agile method, I can ship a few chapters a week. My alpha readers, the first round readers, provide feedback and encouragement.

They act as an audience, people who want to know where the story is going. That bit of pressure can keep me working, keep me barreling past the hard parts in a book. I don’t want to let them down.

They’re often my most enthusiastic readers. They ask me how it’s going, and give me a sounding board when I get stuck. Knowing they’re in my corner, that my book has someone waiting to meet it, helps me keep going.

You have to be careful with alpha readers, just as you do with betas. You need to make sure that you trust the person to support and encourage you. Like beta readers, you need to make sure they can provide input you can use and when they do, be sure to parse it against your gut. Don’t let alpha or beta reader feedback sway you if your story feels right as it is. That said, DO listen. Do think about all feedback. It’s a delicate balance between letting your ego tell you to ignore input and letting yourself get pulled in any direction a reader tries to push you. The first results in sub-standard writing and the second in eternal edits. Thank your readers, alphas, and betas.

Most people know that one side of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi had “Know Thyself” written over the main entrance. What most people don’t know is what they wrote over the back door: “Know Thy Limits.” The ancient Greeks were trying to warn us about hubris, dangerous pride and thinking ourselves gods. I like to think they also meant it in regards to overextension.

Creative burn out is a real thing. We talk a lot about word count and daily goals in writing and pursuing success in writing, but it’s important to know when to rest, when to recharge. Our creative batteries need a break, even when our creativity is our escape.

We’re in a time of political unrest, when it’s easy to let the news and the constant stream of input derail completely us. For me, I want to stay active, to call my representatives, to march, to donate where I can. Still, I must accept my limits. I have to know when to pull back and take some time for self-care before I burn out. It’s hard to balance it all, hard to have it all. Be active. Write. Do the work. It’s the only way out for me, but always know your limits and accept the damage done when you surpass them.

Give yourself permission to rest sometimes. You’re not a god. Give yourself permission to take the time out when you need it. Remember, it’s a marathon, not a sprint. Aim to win the long race.

William Shakespeare’s Hamlet (original Middle English text from the First Folio of 1623) with stamp – selective focus

I saw the Book of Will tonight at the Denver Performing Arts Center. I have to admit that when my friend Jo invited me I wasn’t certain I needed a deep dive into how Shakespeare’s First Folio was published. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The play is set a few years after Shakespeare’s death, when his friends and actors are confronting their mortality and the realization that the words they’ve loved and lived by, his words, are fading from their collective memory. The fire at the original Globe destroyed the original manuscripts, and the copywriting method Shakespeare employed, only giving each actor his written part, threatens to erase the plays from the world. To publish his plays they have to side with foes, make deals with those they consider devils, and collect bits of text from closets and privies. The lost words hurt even as the cast sees their time on earth running out. They’re racing against time and death.

Book of Will brings the importance of Shakespeare to the front and holds it there, right where the audience can see it. It unabashedly pleads with you to see the value of art, theater, and continuing to feel with an open heart in a world where children can die before their parents and pain is a constant. The performances were stellar. I cried more than once and left wanting more than anything to write, to strive to put something into the world to ease the pain.

See it if you can. Read it if you can’t. Or if you have to settle, read some Shakespeare.