About a decade ago, I read Peter Turchi’s Maps of the Imagination: The Writer As Cartographer. The book had a big impact on me, so I was delighted to be asked to interview him last month at the Texas Book Festival about his new book, A Muse and a Maze: Writing as Puzzle, Mystery, and Magic. I recorded our discussion and edited it down (liberally) to the post below. Enjoy. [Read more…]
10 things I learned while writing my last book
My third book Show Your Work! came out a year ago. I kept a diary while writing the book, but it’s too painful and embarrassing to share in full. So here’s a list of lessons I learned while writing it, adapted from a series of tweets…
1. Don’t try to write a book while taking care of a newborn baby.
I drastically underestimated how much physical, mental, and spiritual energy it requires. (Sarah Ruhl writes really well about the distractions of parenting.) Those first two months are just brutal — take them off if you can. Keep a pocket notebook and take little notes for later.
2. Write outside of the house.
Get an office, or go to the coffee shop, or ride the train around. At the very least, find a room in your house with a door that closes. Set up a bliss station.
I wrote Show at the top of the stairs in an open loft, wearing headphones to try to block out the cries of the baby. Let me tell you: Headphones are not a replacement for a shut door.
3. Stop researching, start writing.
“There’s an awful temptation to just keep on researching,” says David McCollough. “There comes a point where you just have to stop, and start writing. When I began, I thought that the way one should work was to do all the research and then write the book. In time I began to understand that it’s when you start writing that you really find out what you don’t know and need to know.”
4. Once you’re in the middle of writing the book, talk about the book as little as possible.
I’m an extreme extrovert, which is really great after I write a book and I have to go out into the world and talk to people about it, but not so great when I need to sequester myself long enough to actually get some real writing done.
I do most of my thinking “out loud,” which means that ideas don’t really come to me until I’ve expressed them. If I express them through speech, I’m less likely to turn around and say them in writing. (This chart might help.)
5. Stick to an outline until you’re between drafts.
This has screwed me so many times. Don’t try to change structure during a draft. Power through until the draft is done. (Get The Clockwork Muse, which covers this subject brilliantly.)
6. A book can be a pain-in-the-ass to write as long as it isn’t a pain-in-the-ass to read.
People are surprised when I tell them what a horrible time I had writing this book. Which means I did my job!
7. Your partner is so, so sick of you.
Seriously. Do something nice for him/her, or at the very least, don’t talk about your book. Schedule regular time together when you don’t talk about work.
8. Don’t use childbirth as a metaphor.
There is only one way that writing a book is like giving birth: After it enters the world, the pain is mostly over, but the work has only begun.
9. Don’t squander your momentum.
After you finish one book, start writing something else as soon as you can. Chain-smoke.
If you’re truly burnt out, quit for a while. Read. Travel. Talk to people. Go away so you can come back.
10. Know what you’re getting into.
Best case scenario: You write a good book that sells. Then everyone will want you to write another one. “What next?” is a never-ending question for the writer… so beware!
You can get a copy of Show Your Work! right here.
Making a mark
Some mornings, after our walk, my 21-month-old son and I will sit on our front steps and draw on a little square of the sidewalk with chalk. Birds (“brrr!”), trucks (“chuck!”) and maybe the letter S (“esh!”) or B (“buh!”) It never gets old, but it gets hot, so when we’re sweaty enough, I stick the little box of sidewalk chalk behind a potted plant on our porch, and we go back inside the house.
* * *
This morning when we got back from our walk, I noticed someone had taken the red chalk from the box and written down the sidewalk:
COMPOST!!! COMPLETES THE CYCLE. CREATES COMMUNITY. “CATCHING.”
At first I was puzzled by the graffiti, but then I looked across the street at the signs stuck in my neighbors’ tree lawns, advertising the URL of the local “bike-powered compost recycling” startup. And like Will Graham in an episode Hannibal, I blinked my eyes a couple times, and reconstructed the scene: The Composter, biking the big barrel around, collecting the green buckets from porches, comes across my porch, which is bucketless. The Composter takes in our drawings, notices the sidewalk chalk, and sees not a marketing opportunity, no, but a chance to spread the message.
* * *
I’ve been feeling cranky lately about the slogans I’ve seen coming from the “creative” slash “entrepreneural” slash “startup” worlds:
MAKE YOUR MARK.
PUT A DENT IN THE UNIVERSE.
It strikes me that both of these metaphors involve vandalism.
Sentencing
I hate writing. What I really love is reading. I tell people I became a professional writer so I could be a professional reader. (Adam Phillips: “I had never had any desire to be a writer. I wanted to be a reader.”)
The Risks Worth Taking
One of my least favorite quotes on creativity comes courtesy of ad man George Lois:
You can be Cautious or you can be Creative (but there’s no such thing as a Cautious Creative).
I hate this quote for two reasons:
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I think the word “Creative” should never be used as a noun
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I am one of the more cautious people I know
A few months ago, a reporter said to me in the middle of an interview, “It seems like you haven’t made any bad choices.” I stammered for a bit and mumbled something about how I’ve been very lucky, but then I told the truth: I’m not a big risk-taker.