8 Things Successful Writers Have in Common

Everything I keep reading says, “Consistent Efforts Wins Out.” Not that quote exactly, of course. I’m paraphrasing.

But think about it:

• Those who usually reach the finish line have worked hard for years and years before they ever cross it.

• The best writers write alllll the time. Some write an hour every day. Even when they are busy or don’t feel like it.

• The most prolific writers make writing a priority and find room in their schedules to make it happen. It comes first.

• The writers who succeed never give up.

• The best writers never mistake “good enough” for “complete.”

• The writers who make it change tacts if they need to.

• The ones who get the most out of their online circles have put the work into their relationships and haven’t given up when they can’t seem to break the 200 mark for followers or 10 friends and when nobody responds to their tweets. They keep chugging.

• They are consistently the same person. They have built their personal writing brand on who they are and who they can keep being day after day. They haven’t gone for the fake flash in the pan, they’ve gone for the genuine long haul.

It isn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it we want it, really truly want it… what’s standing in our way? Chances are… it’s ourselves.

I know I could improve on a couple of these things and be more consistent in terms of building my writing career. How about you? How are you doing?

The Fear of Finishing Last

Slow and steady wins the race, right?

Right now my husband is out running a 5K in high winds, pushing our little guy in a stroller. I’m at home.

Why? Oh, I have a ton of excuses for not registering in the fun run. Everything from I’m sure I won’t have the energy to I haven’t done much running since the Gorilla Run last fall–which I really enjoyed–and so I feel unprepared, to  not having a babysitter for our older child to who knows what the weather will be to maybe there will be scary hills… I could go on.

But the truth is layered in fear. I was afraid. Not of finishing last, but really sucking. Of it being painful. Of having to compete with people I know who have been training all winter. Of it not being any stinkin’ fun. Of losing/failing publicly.

All these stupid fears that are holding me back of doing something enjoyable–husband is now back and had fun just walking and running with the group from work–also holds me back with writing. That fear of finishing last–or close to last. Of not making it. Of showing up all geared up and everyone knowing… and then completely bombing it. It’s that fear of admitting I’m trying something new… something I may fail at. And having to face up to the fact that I couldn’t do it. That I failed. Of not being able to cross that finish line. A DNF (did not finish).

Nobody wants a DNF stamped across on their writing career. Nobody wants to go through the pain and hard work and not experience a reward at the end. Nobody wants to have to try and explain to their family and friends why they are still not published.

It’s easier to make a fool of ourselves in private, rather than in our nested hometown. And that’s why so few people in my real life know that I write. But I am realizing that maybe, in order to succeed, I need that hometown support. I need my friends cheering me on and walking and running beside me in order to make it across the finish line. I need their connections. Their tips, ideas, and understanding.

A friend on AQC just mentioned the three irons he has in the fire at the moment–and they are all due to networking and using his connections. And every book I’ve read lately about using social media effectively and building your brand says to use your friends. To get them on board. To use your connections. Your network. Let them know what you are doing and how they can support you. Use their belief in you to reach out to new people.

And if you are like me–too afraid to let them know what you are doing–how are they going to be able to help you? How will I reach that next level? How will I use my social network to get the word out about what I’m doing if I’m too afraid to tell them?

Quite plainly… I’m not. And that’s why I’m going to have to pull up my big girl pants and ask the people in my life to help me spread the word. Otherwise I will be today’s April Fool.

How about you? Have you had to pull up your big girl/boy pants and ask for help? How did it go? Any advice for me?

Ugly As All Get Out & Writing Fail

So last night I made some broccoli cheese soup that was a serious fail in the appearance sense of the word “edible.” We’re talking ugly as all get out. When my husband was being all lovely, polite, and upbeat and optimistic about it and taking his first bites he said, “Mmm. Did you make this with hate?” I just about fell off my chair laughing. Even though apparently he said, “Did you make this with potatoes?” Making it with hate is much more amusing, don’t you think?

Ugly doll. Don’t you love it?

Also last night I discovered that there is quite the crafting community on Twitter. I even joined my first Twitter ‘party.’ Not sure what made it ‘party.’ Maybe it was the prizes? Anyway, it was a ton of fun–oh, that probably made it a party! And I discovered that like other ‘fails’ on Twitter, there is a ‘craft fail.’ (I wonder if there is a ‘food fail?’ Probably! Just add soup.)

So I decided we need a writing fail. For those times when writing turns ugly. (Then after believing I was incredibly brilliant for thinking of this, I looked on Twitter and discovered there is in fact #writingfail. Of course.)

But what truly constitutes a ‘writing fail?’ Those times when you mean to sit down and write and social media sort of takes over the morning? (Darn! That video on Canada’s Hide and Seek Olympic Demonstration team was unreal. Those pictures my brother uploaded to SugarSync from Christmas were great. Oh… and did you hear about baby monkey riding on a pig?)

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Writing fail. How about those times when you sit down to write and you spill your tea and spend the next 15 minutes tackling the mess and then the baby wakes up and you are off on a new adventure? And then there is writing itself. Naming all your characters names that are almost the same and even you can’t tell them apart? Realizing that nurses don’t leave medications lying around willy nilly while dispensing them and a whole scene, chapter, and section of your story needs to be rewritten? Yeah, that says writing fail all over it.

How about you? Any writing fails? (It can be anything!)

Why Writers Can’t Let Go

According to WIRED, the magazine of intelligent geeks and nerds, it’s the IKEA Effect.

Okay, let me back up a bit.

If you are a writer or know a writer, you may have noticed that they have a heck of a time letting go of old stories. Particularly their first story. They work on it and work on it and work on it and can’t figure out why the heck the world doesn’t find this lovely story of daring and darlings as wonderful as they do. So… what’s up with that?

Well, according to Dan Ariely in July’s WIRED magazine, he says this is due to the IKEA Effect. The IKEA Effect is the idea that something becomes incredibly more valuable to us if we’ve spent a lot of time creating something. (IKEA because we think that our simple shelf is da bomb after we’ve gone through hair loss and divorce tying to put the damn thing together straight and strong. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise–that shelf is fab, darling. <smile and nod, smile and nod>)

Back to writing. The poor, struggling writer has learned so much while writing The 15 Date Rule, er, um, I mean their story. They have spent years… er, lots and lots of time writing, tweaking, rearranging, and editing this fine feast for the mind. Naturally, they are now quite heavily invested in this creation. It’s difficult, if not near impossible, to let go of something that has been given so much time out of one’s life. The effort put into this project is huge making it very hard to say, “Okay. This is as far as this one can go. I can’t do anymore. It will never quite get ‘there’ and thus, it must go in this musty old bottom drawer and stay there forever more.”

Now… if it is someone else’s story… that’s different. We aren’t nearly as invested are we?

And I guess this is why if you’ve ever watched Dragon’s Den (Shark Tank is the US equivalent), this is why you’ve seen some inventors/entrepreneurs who have spent more than the GNP of a small country on an invention that will never fly. It’s because they are suffering from the IKEA Effect and don’t even know it.

So, if you have a story that has popped in mind while reading this, and feel you might be suffering from the IKEA Effect… let go. Start something new. Or, go build a shelf.

When Novels Cough, Sputter and Die

I started Life of Pi by Yann Martel last night and was struck by something in the author’s note (which is truly the narrator’s note). The narrator (a writer) said the novel he attempted before this story (Life of Pi) had fine writing. The sentences, themes, dialogue, and plot were all good. The characters practically needed birth certificates they were so real. “Really, your story can only be great. But it all adds up to nothing.” As Martel said, an element was missing. The story was emotionally dead.

Reading this, I felt an echo in my heart. His words struck stone. But instead of it being “soul-destroying” it was surprisingly liberating.

Let me backtrack a bit. A few months ago I was debating what writing project I should tinker with over the next few months. Ideally, I should take something that is close to polished, polish it, and try to sell it. Right? Well, looking over my work I debated working on a scrap heap of a story that has done amazing over on WEbook. Literary professionals were giving the first few pages 5/5. It has even gone so far as to hit the final round and is now spending its time lounging in the literary showcase. (I should mention that people have only read the first 50 pages in that contest so they are unaware that while this story takes off like a great shot and has witty, funny, poignant moments, an element is missing and somewhere along the line, as Martel puts it, it has coughed, sputtered, and died.)

In many ways, this story has the trappings of a winner. So, find where it is oozing its vital fluids and stitch it up, right? And that is why, I decided, with some great cheers and bolstering from my wonderful cheerleading writing friends, to attempt CPR. And several transplant surgeries.

However, as it stands, the story’s organs are strewn about in Scrivener. It continues to ooze and flop about like a fish in its final throes of death. I continue to scratch my head. And the story flatlines. I feel the answer will come to me… eventually… but reading the opening of Life of Pi it gave me the much needed permission to release the story so it can peacefully go into the light. Let it have a glorious life, short-lived. (At least for now.) It will not no longer spend its lingering days suffering through needless, unsuccessful surgeries.

Let it sputter and die.

Me, I need to move on.

And I know exactly who the next patient will be and what it needs to be revived so it can enjoy a full and entertaining life.

Question: What do you do when your stories cough, sputter, and die? Do you mail them off to a fake address in Siberia with a non-existent return address like Martel’s narrator claims to have done? Do you operate on it until its organs are mush? Or do you move on? How do you know when its time?

(Oh, so many questions!!)