Winter, Walking Casts, Writing Books. Going on...

At the nearby track where I walk when the roads are icy or I’m recovering from yet another injury, or have time only for a quick two miles, on many mornings on the inside field, a freelance soccer coach takes groups of youngsters through what to me seem like advanced skill drills. A blur of motion, legs, soccer balls. I have almost no interest in the game, but what I love is that no matter where on the track I am, or even how windy it may be, I hear the lilt of the coach’s rich voice, his island accent, urging his players on.

When he first appeared, I noticed that no matter what mistake a player may make, no matter how much one of the kids may be struggling, what comes out of this man’s mouth is: “And, we go on.”

 At first, I couldn’t decipher it, thinking I’d heard: “andweeego own…” But then I got it, and realized he was encouraging his charges, constantly—and more, suggesting that errors, small or large missteps, don’t matter as much as going on, without pausing to worry or feel sorry.

I learned to love hearing him, and some days when I was driving to the track, hoped fervently the coach would be there, boosting those hopeful, keep-on-trying kids. When I hear him encouraging them, especially on days when I’m considering cutting my walk short, that small push is enough.

 And, we go on.

 And so, I do.

Like now. 

Middle of winter in New Jersey. And though I’ve lived here all but a half-dozen years of my life, I’m always and inexplicably a bit surprised at what happens (snow, ice, bone rattling cold), and also a little dismayed (Seasonal Affective Disorder, otherwise known as the daily gray day doldrums). Toss in two new broken bones in my foot, and here we are indeed: February, slightly depressed, too much forced sedentary-ness, staying home far too much.

 And, we go on.

Keeping me going just now, as I clump around in an awkward walking boot: teaching (this semester, an MFA course, “Reading as a Writer,” which I developed several years ago); writing (barely trudging around the track, but showing up); editing and coaching (absolutely nothing better than helping writers polish their drafts, manuscripts, and skills).

Yet, some days, when it all gets to me—like the gray and icy 13-degree day last week when my foot ached and I ran out of British crime dramas to watch—it’s my non-writer, feeling crummy but determined to do something activities that keep me going on. That is, I organize. Cull closets and shelves, then toss, sell, or find ways to give away. I’ve culled my office, notably my bulging bookshelves, three times recently. A neighborhood social media page ensures the novels and memoirs and biographies I part with find new readers nearby.

Most recently, I’ve been thinning my writing craft bookshevles. This group (pictured) is ready to go. (I've either got a duplicate copy, or read it and got what I needed from it, or for some reason it didn't speak to me but may be just what another writer needs.) And I’d love to give them to you, my blog readers and writing and reading friends. Want one? Email me with your U.S. postal address and I’ll send it via media mail at my cost. (If you can make good use of several, and are willing to share mailing expenses, we can do that too.) That’s it. Books to a new home where they can maybe inspire another writer.

Here’s hoping your winter/pandemic/getting-back-to-normal/whatever projects and activities are feeding you.

 And, we go on together.

 P.S. I have two open editing slots for winter and three for spring, to take on full manuscripts, and room for a few new coaching clients. And of course, editing/feedback for shorter works is available almost anytime. Get started here or email me.  

What I Heard and Learned at the AWP Writers Conference

Last weekend, I spent a day and a half at the AWP conference, and because I hadn't planned things out in advance, I missed a lot I'm sure that, had I spent more time studying the program, would have been useful. I went with my gut, with my knee's pain level, and my energy and willingness to scout out a tucked away presentation room three-quarters of a mile of connecting walkways and escalators away.

As many conference attendees do, I sometimes caught the first half of a panel presentation, then ducked out to listen to the second half of another. It may be that someone, in one of the sessions I mention below, said something extraordinarily exciting and I missed it. Nevertheless, here's a potpourri of the takeaways I either jotted into my notebook, or that made their way into my brain. 

At a panel playfully called, "Nope, That Still Ain't a Story: Developmental Editing in Creative Nonfiction," two authors and their editor discussed their joint experiences. Bill Patrick, of Hudson Whitman Excelsior College Press, explained that while Amy Ryan "didn’t have a book" when she brought him her manuscript of living with diabetes, writer Anthony D'Aries "had four books" lurking in his manuscript about learning to understand his father. Ryan talked about getting instructions from Patrick about chapters she needed to write, often more personal and revealing than she'd planned; D'Aries discussed the process of locating the essence of his story, and paring away. 

Patrick also mentioned the value of "bridge chapters". These explore the less personal aspects of the main memoir topic/story, but are related and connected to the larger picture. They give the reader a bit of a break from heavy unfolding narrative, and act as a way of moving the camera from close-up to a wider angle; they can also provide context of how the narrator's story fits into the broader world.

> If you're thinking of running a one- or multi-day workshop, retreat, mini-conference, there was the panel, "Starting Small: Grassroots Workshops and Conferences". Dave Housley from Barrelhouse suggested finding a like-minded organization to partner with—like a college, arts center, etc.—that can provide free or low-cost space. Tyler McMahon, who runs the Ko`oalu Writers Workshop  in Hawaii, warned, "Don't run at a deficit; you want to break even or make money from the start." Another good tip: serve a free lunch at a session for which you want a large audience! For those seeking gigs as presenters or workshop leaders at small conferences, panelists advised developing a unique program that other writers can't offer, and/or something you've developed specifically for their audience.

> At "Opening the Doors to Discovery: The Generative Writing Workshop," panelists offered interesting ways to utilize prompts, writing exercises, and reading for inspiration when conducting one-time workshops with time for writers to produce new material. Baron Wormser (one of my MFA workshop leaders a decade ago), said he thinks of a prompt as "a quick way into the unconscious, to get at the unknown, the unbidden." It forces a writer to access some new area of thought because something must be produced in the time allotted. Another panelist advised that at one-time gatherings (as opposed to on-going workshop series), reading and sharing be met only with positive responses, absent critical feedback. Kim Dana Kupperman recommended locating prompts within a piece of published work the group reads together.

> "Essaying the Edge: Teaching Alternative Forms of Nonfiction," focused on the so-called hermit crab essay, hybrids, collage, and other experimental nonfiction. Panelists talked of sneaking in these forms without at first identifying them, so that students might simply read and like them, and decide on their own what to call them.

> At the panel, "Just Don't Read the Comments: On the Joys and Risks of Publishing Personal Essays Online," I heard just the last ten minutes, including advice from Laura Bogart to ask for headline approval and hashtag/tagging approval, pre-publication. Her awareness of this was spurred by an incident when one of her essays was headlined and tagged in a way that included Trump's four-word slogan; she asked that it be changed, and the editor/venue complied, but not before it had resulted in unpleasant emails and online thrashing.

> At an abundantly informative panel, "Beyond the Classroom: Teaching Outside Academia," I was scribbling so fast, and all four panelists were making so many useful suggestions every minute, I didn't record who said what. The following bits of advice came from Stuart Horwitz, Julie Duffy, Jane Friedman, Andi Cumbo-Floyd, and Gabriella Pereira.

Know what you WANT to teach (not just what you've been teaching all along). You'll earn more by teaching/leading an add-on workshop at a conference than if you are one of the general presenters. Develop packages and products to offer repeat clients/students. Offer a free something to attract mailing list sign-ups. Hand out (or offer to email) something useful following an in-person teaching event. Pitch your online or in-person class with a very specific outcome highlighted ("After four weeks, you'll have two essays ready to submit.."). Students and coaching clients want to be held accountable, so build in a deadline/reporting/accountability component. Offer tiered pricing if possible [$X for the full feedback option; $(X-Y) for a scaled down version.] Include student/client accomplishments in your promotional materials. 

I just saw today that Jane Friedman has a new blog post up outlining much of what she talked about at the conference, plus more.

> Finally, it seemed fitting that, in Washington, D.C., during the final session of the final day, I ended by listening to one particular panelist whose sincere, practical and pragmatic, encouraging talk on "How to Publish Your Book Without an Agent," made me want to stand up and shout, Nevertheless, She Persisted! That panelist was Janice Eidus, someone I recognized from Facebook and from her essays, but had never met. But by happy coincidence I'd share dinner with her later that evening (via invitation of a mutual writing friend). Eidus and her fellow panelists' stories of perseverance and eventual publication—and the sprawling Book Fair where I found at least a dozen independent traditional publishers of literary works that I was not previously aware of (and trust me, I'd already compiled a long list!)—capped off my personal AWP experience on a hopeful note.

Want more post-AWP coverage? I'll have a bunch of links to others' blog posts in the Friday link round up later this week. 

The Many Hats of a Writing Life. What's one more?

So many writers wear other hats, and I'm not just talking about non-writing careers or day jobs. I mean the different hats they don within the literary world that usually don't come with fat paychecks or profits: editing journals, publishing literary websites, running boutique publishing houses, organizing book festivals, hosting a writing conference.

I'm one of those folks who some days worry my hat rack is about to tip over. Often, I have to remember what my husband said when I headed out to Family-School Association meetings: Just. Say. No. Because I was already on two committees, or had just wrapped up five years of booking assemblies.

So I have said no to otherwise interesting sounding, tempting literary "side jobs" that didn't feel like a good fit, or conflicted with something I was already doing, or when I did not have an extra ten minutes.

But then something comes along, appearing in that sweet, rare spot (that maybe lasts two days) when I (usually incorrectly!) believe I actually do have a bit of "spare" time, which coincides with a piqued interest in the job (hat) in question. That's when I forget everything my husband taught me, my arm shoots up, and I say Yes.

My newest hat is editing craft essays about nonfiction writing for the cool literary site Cleaver Magazine. After I was published in Cleaver in June, I struck up a friendly online exchange with editor Karen Rile. She messaged me one night to see if I'd take on the job, knowing I was interested.

It was my good luck to inherit an inbox with a few good submissions already waiting, and it was even better luck to work first with writer Andrea Jarrell on her piece, doing exactly what I love—exchanging editing ideas with a writer whose work is already excellent.

 Andrea's wonderful piece will resonate with many memoir writers. In "Becoming an Outlaw (How my short fiction became a memoir),"—which is, on its own, a lovely bit of memoir—Andrea brings the writer into her writing process, her mind, and her heart. Along the way, we learn how she managed some of the bigger obstacles of memoir writing: finding the boundaries between narrator and major secondary characters, navigating the possibility of hurting a family member with our story, figuring out why she's writing at all, and how that knowledge helped impose an organizing principle on the manuscript.

I hope you'll take the time to read Andrea's work at Cleaver. And, if you're interested in writing a craft essay, we're open to submissions.

Images: Hats - Flickr/CreativeCommons-MCroft; Cleaver article illustration - Candice Seplow/Unsplash

A Friday NO-Fridge Link to My Post on How (one) Lit Journal Editor Thinks

It's been a busy travel week for me (complicated by my wrist still being in a cast), so instead of the usual Friday links of interest to writers, there's just one this week; as it happens, one of mine.

Like, I suppose, a lot of writers who send work out via Submittable -- the seamless interface that facilitates easy submissions to thousands of literary and (increasingly) mainstream publication venues -- I was not aware until recently that there's more to the site than submissions. 

Their blog, for example, houses articles on many aspects of the creative life, including guest posts from a diverse cadre of artists. 

While exploring the site, I was coincidentally thinking about writing an article on demystifying the editorial process at a literary journal. Since I can only speak for the one where I edit the Creative Nonfiction section, Compose Journal, that's what I did.

This week, the Submittable Blog editors published "Want to Know How Lit Journal Editors Think? What One Issue's Accepted Work Can Tell You."  In it, I walk the reader through the CNF pieces in the Spring issue of Compose, talk about why a piece was chosen, and give some behind-the-scenes tidbits about the editing process.

I hope you will read it, and then consider exploring some of the blog's other offerings.

(FYI - for my readers who also occasionally write about the writing life, the Submittable blog pays for accepted guest posts. And, the editors were a pleasure to work with.)

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- June 17, 2016 Edition

> Joshua Becker, at the Minimalist advises, "Accomplish More with a 3-item To Do List." My comment at that post: I have been doing this for years. Didn’t know it was a real thing. I just call it my 1-2-3 Rule. Long to do lists are overwhelming. But who can’t do 3 things?  (And there -- you've just gotten one of my *secret* coaching tips.)

> Read and weep (a little - in the spirit of what my father sometimes said: Beware what you wish for - you might just get it.) "Lisa33 and Me -- The Harrowing True Story of a Six-Figure Advance," at Rottingpost.

> One of my bigger editing pet peeves: dialogue tags other than said or asked.  (Okay, very occasionally I can see the need for something like whispered which usually can't be communicated via the dialogue itself. Then again, I'd probably opt for action, if appropriate, like...he leaned close to her ear and...). My writer pal Linda Sienkiewicz weighs in with "Nancy Pontificated."

> The Wall Street Journal reports that HarperCollins launched a Facebook Live initiative, featuring live video with authors interacting with readers on HC's FB page daily (and also on the individual authors' FB pages).

> At Book Riot, Kelly Jensen with "33 Ways to Have a More Bookish Summer." Why not? (hat tip Buddhapuss Ink)

> Writer Beware examines the BookLife Prize in Fiction.

>Love food and literature, and are local to New York's Hudson Valley? Check out Read and Feed on July 30. Details: "Basilica Hudson, in partnership with CLMP, the Community of Literary Magazines and Presses, announce READ & FEED, the launching of a projected annual event bringing together artisanal makers of food with artisanal makers of literature." Tickets here.

> At Writer Unboxed, Donald Maass asks (and does a pretty good job of answering) 

"What Makes Fiction Literary: Scenes Versus Postcards." Be sure to check out the many good comments too.

> Finally, if you have not done so yet, do read Maggie Smith's excellent poem "Good Bones" at Waxwing Magazine. It's rare for a contemporary poem to "go viral" but apparently that's what has happened this week. Read it and, if you're paying even sideways attention to U.S. and world news lately and are weary and disheartened, you'll know why it's struck such a universal chord.

Have a great weekend!

Image: Flickr/CreativeCommons -FaceMePls

Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers -- October 16, 2015 Edition

> A recent Backgrounder podcast features Anna Quindlen, novelist, essayist, and Pulitzer Prize winning columnist (and incidentally, a strong influence on me).

> Some quick tips from Women on Writing to get through National Novel Writing Month.

> Writers must read, a lot. Of course. But how can we turn off the reading-as-a-writer stance, and just read for pleasure? At Literary Hub, Jessica Ferri (and a bunch of literary folks) have some suggestions.

> Lisa Rivero offers "8 Takeaways from the 2015 Publishing Institute."  

> In "Omission," a writing craft essay at The New Yorker last month, the inimitable John McPhee on knowing what to cut.

> I recently discovered Colette Sartor's blog, where she frequently shares writing craft advice, like this one on writing about loved ones. There's also a terrific writers resource page with links to many (many!) helpful articles by others.

> Medium is making some changes.

> At the Glimmer Train blog, enjoy (especially if you watch TV), David James Poissant's "How to Balance Writing, Family, Work, and Life: An Unhelpful Guide for the Perplexed." 

>Then, for a wee bit 'o more fun, try the Los Angeles Times' "How to Be a Writer" board game (think Candyland for lit types).

> Libba Bray will crack you up with her "letters" keeping friends updated on the success of her just-published book.

> And finally, considering my Friday Fridge Clean-Out heading and the rotating array of refrigerator photos -- how could I not mention the intriguing new book, Chilled: How Refrigeration Changed the World, and Might Do So Again, by Tom Jackson. I'm going to read it.

Have a great weekend!

Image: Flickr/Creative Commons - Don Graham, inkknife_2000

Banish the Inner Writing Critic? Maybe not so fast.

The polite name for him or her (or them) is the "inner critic". The more common appellation might be that lousy jerk (or crowd) inside my head who won't shut up and keeps telling me what I'm writing is crap. You know that voice, don't you? 

The one on constant rewind, that endless loop of self-recrimination that's moving along at a faster clip then your fingers on the keyboard, dancing to its own destructive beat, that repetitive drone of No! Wrong! Bad! Unoriginal! Cliché! Trite! Been done before! Boring! Stupid!

I think every writer, to some degree or another, has this internal censor, the uninvited disruptive guest whose job seems to be to put a stop to your writing, to make us doubt ourselves, our stories, our right to write those stories.

So, what to do?  I think we've got three choices.

If you're lucky, or practiced and determined and experienced – or maybe just handy with self-hypnosis – find a way to completely turn this voice off. Flip a switch, banish it, move on. (Good luck and let me know how you did it.)

If you're not that writer, then you'll still be dealing with that critic's carps:  It's too long!  Too short!  Not deep enough!  Plot hole!  Thin plot! Why the hell can't you think of a plot!

Option two: we learn to ignore that voice. It doesn't go away, and yes, we know it's there, but maybe we grow skilled at letting the unhelpful chatter fade into the white background noise of our brain. Yeah, we hear it, but we've learned not to acknowledge it, to write anyway. We deal with like the stand-up comic trains herself to ignore the hecklers and turn away from the audience members who keep their arms folded and mouths arranged in frowns.

This is where I find myself most often. When I hear the internal cynic revving up—No one cares! Dumb details! Vague! Generic! Learn some new damn verbs!—in another part of my brain I'm thinking, "Yeah, yeah, yada, yada, yada," and I keep writing that lousy first draft, or revising that limping second draft

But not always.

Sometimes that voice is too loud, too insistent. And sometimes, got to admit, sometimes that loathsome little twerp is too close to what I think may be the truth. Yep, sometimes that inner critic has something to say that I need to hear.

So I listen. But. I don't stop what I'm writing, don't just agree with the voice, delete, and close the laptop.

What I sometimes do is find a way to acknowledge the points that voice is railing about. I take notes, either in the side margins of what I'm writing (you can use Track Changes, or divide the text into two columns, one for your draft, the second for the critic's notes). Sometimes I jot these nagging nabobs of negativism on a sticky note, or in my writer's notebook.

Just the act of recording the criticism seems to end it – I've cleared it out of my head and have it on hand should I need/want to consider whether it has any validity. In a way, I've "honored" that inner critic—or at least what I like to think of as his well-meaning but tactless spirit—by taking down the message, and moving on.

Mind you, I don't write precisely what I hear between my ears (Crappy dialogue! Confusing backstory! Terrible transition!), but try to translate the raw thought into something that may prove helpful later: Is this conversation authentic to the time period?  Can I move more of the backstory to previous pages?  Find a smoother way to get from A to B?

What I've figured out is that the grumbling, grousing, complaining, crabby, argumentative, techy naysayer who lives in my head is not going away. He can be silenced on occasion and I know how to ignore him and push him into the background, but once in a while, that guy is going to have something handy to say. He just doesn't always say it so nicely. 

Images - all Flickr/Creative Commons: NO - AranZazu; Switch - LynnDurfey; Listening - BesZain

Looking Inside: Creative Nonfiction in the Fall Issue of Compose

Excuse me for kvelling just a little. (Can an Italian Catholic girl kvell? Nevermind.) I'll just say the Fall 2013 issue of Compose journal is now live and it's lovely. I began as creative nonfiction editor this spring and from the start I knew that founder/managing editor Suzannah Windsor (I interviewed her here), would make sure every aspect of it was excellent, and I've loved being part of a group of editors who are interesting folks.

It's been fun, instructive, challenging, frustrating, and surprising to be involved in my first issue from start to finish – soliciting, reading, selecting (and yes, declining – that's the frustrating part), and editing. I'm proud of the CNF pieces which appear, and working directly with the writers of each piece was one of the most gratifying things I've ever done – and I'm jazzed that I get to do it again for the Spring 2014 issue, and again.

Here's a little tour of the creative nonfiction section.

Because it's likely to make you a little sad in a very good way, depending on the type of person/reader you are, either begin or end with Eliana Ramage's lovely short essay of remembrance, 26 Tea Lights.

Then turn to Lori Horvitz's Little Pink Hatchling, a tale of a college coupling and the messy ways it continues, and doesn't, and does, and ends. Plus, a side of Italian ice.

If you've ever inherited something from a loved one – and then that treasured item was lost from your life  – you will understand the heart of Milena Nigam's Stolen Family Jewelry, and Other Gifts. Actually, I take back the part about inheritance. Anyone who has loved and lost – anything – will find her/himself in Milena's story.

I love a piece of prose that feels like poetry, but is also very clearly creative nonfiction, a piece with brevity and verve, snap and grit, a little mystery and moxie, and that's what Lita Kurth brings to Red on White. Hard to describe, so I won't:  Read it and you'll get it, and be glad you did.

Finally, listen in on Ana Consuelo Matiella as she muses on a certain aunt from her Mexican childhood, an image on a bottle of tequila, and a sudden midlife shift, in La Viuda-The Widow. The turn at the end is delicious.

There's fine fiction and poetry and artwork on offer too, as well as features and craft pieces to feed the writer, from three favorite nonfiction writers/teachers: Marion Roach Smith on Time Management;  Beth Kephart with an excerpt from her new memoir writing book; and Katrina Kenison on the value she found in a reader's nasty email.

Take a look. Read. Maybe submit something to Compose for the next issue. Or submit anywhere.

Many people have said this, and I always wanted to believe though had my doubts, but now I know it's true:  Editors everywhere, at every journal – are waiting, hoping to find something great, something unexpected in the submissions inbox. Surprise one of them.

Department of Shameless Self-Promotion

A few things I'd like to share.  I'll keep to the rule of threes.

> Another of my recent Boot Camp students wrote about how the experience helped her make commitments to her writing and to develop a submissions strategy.  She had this to say about me: "She was TOUGH. She was DIRECT. She was HONEST." I'm proud of that because I think it's my job to be all three of those things when it comes to writers who spend money, time, and energy working with me.

> Last year, my husband and I were so relieved to be done with the grueling process of filling out our first college financial aid forms, we temporarily forgot we'd be at it again this winter, and -- with one kid a freshman in college right now and another a freshman in high school -- again and again...until...2020.  I have an essay up over at BaristaKids today about one aspect of the funding gauntlet. Hope you'll hop over and read, "Same Time Last Year -- Paying for College: Forms, Good Intel...and Wine."

> I like to work "both sides of the desk," so to speak, and so am happy to have recently been appointed Creative Nonfiction Editor for the forthcoming online journal, Compose. The first issue is in the works, and I'm pleased to be working with a talented group of editors representing several countries.

What's your good news?  Share it in comments if you like!

The freelance jobs we seek vs. the jobs that find us: Lessons learned.

In a recent post, I mentioned that the list of things we did in a writing year is worth studying.  For me, three such items on my 2012 *I Did It List*, for example, had something to tell me. These involved two opportunities which came my way without my going in search of them, and one which didn't

The two which sort of fell at my feet are the exception, not the norm. Normally we freelancers pursue existing opportunities, or try to create ones where none seem available; we follow-up on leads and tips and referrals, respond to job postings, send queries and pitches and letters of introduction. But sometimes we get lucky - if that's the right word.

Last week, I was telling a friend about the two new jobs that seemed to come from thin air – one for a website (where I now work the editor's desk one day a week), and the other for a writing center (where I am now teach creative nonfiction). The website editor and the writing center director both contacted me, and within a few days, each asked me to join them, and I said yes.

"You mean people just call you up and offer you jobs you didn't apply for?" she asked, part disbelieving, part joking.

Well, yes – and of course, no. 

About four years I met the website founder at an event hosted by a local writers and editors organization. Over the next few years, we ran into one another at book launch parties, and chatted about our writing lives. Then, a bit stuck between novels, she signed up for my Boot Camp, and when it was over invited me to breakfast. Months later I reciprocated, and over lunch asked if she know of any part time, permanent freelance jobs. She did not, and her own site had no editor openings either. Fast forward six months; the site owner took a major new media job, two editors were moving on; her editor-in-chief emailed to say she needed to fill editing slots. We talked, I said yes and started a week or so later. So, did someone offer me work I hadn't specifically asked for? Yes. Sort of.

The teaching job came about similarly. About three years ago at a regional book festival, I met two local novelists who were sharing a table (and would eventually become co-directors of a writing center). A few months later, I invited one of them to contribute a guest post here. Over the next two years, our names kept coming up in intersecting circles. We all knew a lot of the same local writers, became Facebook friends, commented on one another's blogs.

I noticed, and admired, what they were doing in establishing a physical location for writing education in northern New Jersey; I was keeping my eye on developments and wondered idly about contacting them about teaching. Meanwhile, it turned out they were noticing the teaching I was doing at Rutgers, and privately online. When the email arrived inviting me to talk about teaching creative nonfiction, we scheduled coffee a few days later, and struck the deal. So, did someone just offer me work I hadn't applied for? Yes. Again, sort of.

I say "sort of" in both cases because while I didn't apply for a specific job, it's good to notice in retrospect how these things happened:  an initial contact (both in person, as it happens), followed by continued interactions (online and/or in person); noticing what each other was up to professionally. In these instances, the way I went about simply doing what I do-- teaching, editing, writing, talking to mutual acquaintances, interacting online, helping other writers, being open and receptive to ideas, was if you will, part resume, business card, cover letter.

But.

Usually it goes more like the story of how I got the third new freelance editing gig on my 2012 *I Did It List*. I noticed, sadly, that a magazine I admire was shutting down, and then a few months later, that a new owner was reviving it. I found her website and read her background, discovered we shared some common literary ground, and I liked her vision. New owner, working hard to revive a beloved literary magazine? Maybe she could use some editing help?

I wrote her a friendly introductory email, wishing her luck, and asking if I could send along my CV, so that if, in the future, she had editing needs. We connected on various social media channels, exchanged more emails; she looked over my blog and my published work, set up a phone interview, which went well. More emails -- defining the editing job, setting rates, getting to know one another's work styles. She sent me two essays to edit for one issue. Then, weeks later, four more for another issue.

Did she contact me first and offer me work?  Absolutely not. But then again, did I apply for a job opening? No, not really. From what I understand, the "job" didn't really exist when I sent my first email. It was just a hunch on my part that such a job would materialize, and need filling.

All of this is why, once again, I place so much emphasis on the idea of a writer's *I Did It List* exercise. Once we list our accomplishments – and after some much-deserved pats on our own backs – that list can be a trove of information about how we can do more, do the next thing, do the things that will go on the next year's *Want To Do* list. Anything that helps us understand how we did something can only help us figure out how to do the next thing.

Care for a Critique? Place your bid. (Updated)

Some time ago, I was fortunate to receive a patient, thoughtful, and helpful critique on a very long essay, from a writer/editor I admired. I wasn't enrolled in a course and I hadn't hired her. Instead, I "won" a bid for her services in an auction set up to raise funds for a charity. 

At the time, I would not have been able to afford her services; in fact at the time, I wasn't even actively looking for help with that particular writing project.  But when I saw the listing, I put in a bid and was so glad I did.

That's why I decided to join with Publishing Gives Back, a grassroots auction effort, set up by BookEnds, a New Jersey literary agency. They've corralled more than three dozen agents, publishing house editors, freelance editors, and others to offer services to the highest bidder, to raise funds that will help restore the state after Hurricane Sandy's damage.

Most of the offerings -- full and partial critiques of query letters, synopses, chapters, and manuscripts -- are for works of fiction, in many different genres. But mine is for the nonfiction writer: a critique of a query letter, synopsis and the first 25 pages of a nonfiction manuscript, and an in-person coffee date (if the winning bidder is local; otherwise it's a phone call).

Traffic is picking up on the site, but there are plenty of services that are still relative "steals". Beyond the manuscript critiques, on the block are a consultation on cover design, editorial phone consults, and in-person meetings at upcoming writing conferences.

Would love it if you'd pass this along - to anyone, but especially to other Garden State writers!

Update: The auction is now closed 12/11). Thanks to those who bid on all the items. Looking forward to working with the writer who won my offering. 

Guest Blogger Liz Sheffield on Banishing the Inner Editor with NaNoWriMo

Liz Sheffield has been a writing student and editing client of mine over the last few years. She is a blogger and freelance writer focused on the topics of parenting, wellness and leadership.  Her essays, articles and short fiction have been published in national and regional publications, including Brain, Child and Family Fun. Until recently, Liz spent more than 11 years writing, editing and designing training materials for Starbucks. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two young sons.

Please welcome Liz Sheffield

This year, when I asked the young writers in the early weeks of my National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) workshop to tell me what their inner editors say, the kids (ages 8 to 11) didn’t hesitate to respond:

“You suck.”

“That’s no good.”

“You can’t spell.”

Ouch! Our inner editors develop at such a young age.

These fifteen students are part of the afterschool NaNoWriMo workshop I’m teaching at my son’s elementary school. A few years ago, the Office of Letters and Light (OLL) – the group that oversees NaNoWriMo for adults – created the Young Writers Program as well as a NaNoWriMo curriculum for kids and youth. It’s the same concept (write a novel in a month) but with a word count goal that is reasonable for each young writer.

September and October are all about training. In our weekly lessons, we discuss topics such as the inner editor, main characters, plot and setting . The goal is that by November 1, these students will be able to write their novels in 30 days. In order to succeed, I know from personal experience, the first step is to get their inner editors out of the way.

“Next, we’re going to draw these inner editors,” I continue after hearing the feedback from my students’ inner editors.

Villains wielding swords, with scowling faces, missing teeth and furrowed brows evolved on the blank pages of the kids’ workbooks.

“Now it’s time for these inner editors to take a hike,” I told my students.

I walked around the room with a shoe box covered in bronze-colored paper. After the last editor was in the box, I closed the lid and wrapped metallic string around and around the box to lock it.

“Is that barbed wire?” a sixth grader asked, incredulous.

“Yes. Star-studded barbed wire.”

The box rattled in my hands. I could hardly contain the energy inside the bronze-covered shoe box.

“These editors are desperate to get out,” I warned, “but if we want to write a novel in thirty days, we can’t let them out until December 1.”

Some of the younger students looked worried. (Okay, so maybe the shaking box was a little bit much.)

“Are we going to let these inner editors out of the box?” I asked.

“No way!” the kids hollered, a few boys adding an air-punch for emphasis.

If keeping their inner editors in the box is the one thing my students learn through this NaNoWriMo experience, I’ll be thrilled.  

And, they’ll be decades ahead of me.

I have a powerful, demanding and often hope-dashing inner editor who has played a leading role in my writing life: You’re going to use that word? Who will want to read this? You can’t write. You don’t have an MFA. You’re not old enough. Wait, you’re too old, it’s too late. You don’t have time.

I’ve heard this voice for years, but it wasn’t until I took the NaNoWriMo challenge myself in November 2010 that I understood the power my inner editor had over my creative process.

My sons were age two and six, I was working full-time in a corporate cube and commuting an hour each way. Since college, I’d been too busy (drinking beer, teaching ESL in Japan, romancing with my future husband) to write. Skeptics, including my inner editor, told me I had no business taking on the challenge of writing a novel, much less attempting to write one in thirty days.

I signed up anyway. And I wrote 50,064 words in 30 days.

“How did you do it?” everyone asked after I came out of the NaNoWriMo fog.

The answer was simple: I told my inner editor to take a hike.

During NaNoWriMo, I gave myself permission to write a less-than-perfect novel. I ignored the thoughts that I had to come up with the “perfect” first sentence, find the “perfect” time to write, or labor late into the night, attempting to format a document so that it was “just right”.

With thirty days of practice, I gained confidence. My inner editor got quiet.

"Don’t look at this early stage for every sentence to be perfect—that will come. Don’t expect every description to be spot-on. That will come too. This is an opportunity to experiment. It’s your giant blotter. An empty slate, ready to be filled."

These encouraging words in Jasper Fforde’s pep talk to participants in the 2010 NaNoWriMo rang true. Having sent my inner editor on a hike, day by day, word by word, I was able to fill the empty slate.

My creative self took over. I added a hospital to the setting. My protagonist befriended a homeless teen. The plot twisted and turned in ways that my inner editor would have avoided (and admonished) but which I welcomed. I finished on November 30 with a novel that wasn’t perfect, but that had a beginning, a middle and an end. A year after I finished NaNoWriMo, I read what I’d written. While there are revisions to be made, I can say that I like what I wrote. (Take that, inner editor!)

As my students prepare for their NaNoWriMo adventures, I hope that locking their inner editors away in that shoe box will bring them the same sense of freedom; that they will embrace the time for creativity.

Most creative folks will agree that keeping the inner editor at bay is difficult. In fact, since I banished mine two years ago during NaNoWriMo, I’ve noticed my inner editor creeping back into my writing world.

But I’ve had enough. I make my way to the garage in search of the box covered in star-studded barbed wire. There’s got to be enough room for one more inner editor in the shoe box in the garage: mine.

Note from Lisa: NaNoWriMo begins on November 1. You needn't write a novel during the 30 days; it's also a great way to generate around 50,000 words towards any manuscript or writing project, keep track of your progress, and commit to a regular writing practice. For the math-challenged, 50K words in a month works out to about 1,670 words per day.

Of Writers, Editors, and Time

In early June, I finished the first-pass editing of a 315 page memoir manuscript for a client halfway across the globe. The way we had arranged things, she was then to take about five months to complete a revision and return it for a second, final round of feedback. 

In reality, most editing clients don't wait the full five months (or however long we've agreed on); for various reasons some choose to turn around the manuscript in just weeks. Often this is a mistake because  for some writers and some manuscripts, weeks are needed just to fully digest and consider the initial feedback, think it all through and make decisions about revisions. 

Other than a "Thanks – be in touch" email when I returned the manuscript in June, I hadn't heard from this client. I generally force myself not to initiate contact during this revision period because I don't want to imply the writer should be moving faster. So I waited.

But last week I began to worry: Did she hate all of my editing suggestions? Had I offended her with some tough-love comments? Was she interpreting my feedback as harsher than intended and felt paralyzed? Had  she tossed her manuscript in the shredder? 

I knew I would eventually have to send a reminder email that the deadline was approaching…and just as I was about to, an email arrived with a cheery note that she had been hard at work finishing the revision – oh, and thanks for helpful feedback/edits. Phew!

Point is – nothing was wrong; everything was taking exactly as long as it was supposed to take, in fact as long as I had advised. This experience made me think again about how every writer, me included, needs to have more perspective about the time that needs to elapse while we are waiting to hear back from editors, agents, publishers, coaches, teachers, mentors, writing buddies offering feedback. 

Maybe things are progressing precisely as they should, taking just the right amount of time. Maybe people are taking time to respond because they are doing what we really want them to do -- carefully reading, then thinking about, considering, re-reading, and pondering our work.

My father always used to say, "No news is good news."  As I keep discovering, he was often right.

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Friday Fridge Clean-Out: Links for Writers, Feb. 10, 2012 Edition

►Fans of Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way -- there's an app for that.

►Over at Fiction Writers Review, challenging advice on fiction writing, yearning, and being fearless, from Robert Olen Butler.

►For those who want to do more magazine writing, check out this excellent instructional post on The Science (Not Art) of the Magazine Pitch, from a Stanford University journalism professor. (via @LaurieAbkemeier)

►In a guest post on Jane Friedman's blog, C.S. Lakin has helpful tips for choosing a freelance editor. Since I do that work myself, I'm in favor of prospective clients putting a lot of thought into the selection process, and agree with her advice for a test-drive: "If you’ve found someone who might be the right editor for you, but you’re still hesitant, hire her to edit a few chapters. See how it goes—not just the editing but the overall communication and support."

►I am occasionally asked to suggest online poetry classes that, like mine for creative nonfiction, last only a few weeks, are affordable, and provide a lot of feedback. A poet friend I trust recommends the offerings at The Rooster Moans Poetry Cooperative.

►Poet and essayist Sheila Squillante, on saying goodbye -- to the just-folded MFA program where she earned a degree and once worked, to a writer friend, and more. 

►Northern New Jersey nonfiction writers might want to check out this ArtsQuest  one-day memoir writing conference in Bethlehem, PA on April 28.

►The ASJA (American Society of Journalists and Authors) is hosting a two-hour seminar on "Writing About Your Mother and/or Father," in Manhattan (also available via live webcast) on March 6.

Have a great weekend!