Don’t get stuck in the GOOP

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As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been going through the Self-Mastery course taught by Peter Sage.

Again, it is more designed for those with an entrepreneurial spirit, business-minded folks that are tired of living in the proverbial rat race and want to find more individual success. It is not a writing course or writing advice in any way, but I figured I would try it out during a time of career transition. Besides, in the end, writers are entrepreneurs, they are their own businesses—specifically if you choose the independent author route.

One particular phrase that keeps coming up through his lessons—which are essentially monetized versions of interviews he’s given throughout the years—is GOOP: the Good Opinions of Other People. Most people spend so much time either swimming in, drowning in, or seeking out the GOOP that they lose their authentic selves, he says.

I don’t know. I can understand his point, but I see the other side of it, too. Through a prolonged—and, let me tell you, I mean prolonged—job search, I am somewhat dependent on the GOOP, at least in the short term. As writers, we are somewhat, too. We need someone to have a good opinion of our work to pick it up, to publish it, to buy it. At the very least, we need more people to have a good opinion of our work than a negative one. The better it is, the more likely others are to share it, which will lead to more and more success—and more GOOP to keep you afloat when negative criticism comes your way.

I think the GOOP is something you should strive for, but not worry about. That criticism will come, no matter how polished your work is. It is impossible to be universally liked and if you strive for that, I think you will lose that important part of your work that only you can provide.

For example, at least half of my stories will be grounded in reality: they take place in a fictionalized version of the community where I bought my first house, where I lived, drank and worked as a reporter and editor of the small town of Wayne, MI. Many of the characters are based—loosely, of course, on real people. The stories have some relation to headlines I read or wrote. Usually, they’re just a starting point followed by: “What if.” There’s also a lot of interaction with the police department. Naturally, it’s not all flattering. I could strive to make everyone happy, but what good is a story filled with heroes?

You have to let that go. You have to learn it’s okay not to be liked. Until you get to that level, you won’t be that authentic and that is what we should all push for, no matter what our goals in life might be.

Set yourself up to win

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cropped-greener1.jpg2023 has been a difficult year for me and, in some ways, I have lost my sense of direction and identity. 

There’s no reason to get into the causes right now, other than to gloss over the specifics. It could have been many things, or a combination thereof: getting older, being busy, a new dog that requires a lot of walking–and I mean a LOT of walking–or something different entirely. I had many goals for the year, primarily writing-based and, staring down the final two months, I haven’t come close to doing what I want to do.

Three months ago, I decided my problem was procrastination. I needed to shift my thinking. I knew I was the cause of my own malaise; I had fallen into a rut that I couldn’t get out of. So I signed up for a series of classes from entrepreneur Peter Sage. I’m not exactly what caused them to show up in my newsfeed, but I think the hook was something about reinventing yourself. And I needed to reinvent myself. 

Or so I thought. 

Twelve weeks in, the series of courses has been hit or miss. There is some relevant content and I must admit, I admire the way he has monetized his various appearances, speeches and interviews. Should anyone click on the link and sign up, thinking it will help with their own writing, I’ll tell you right now: that’s not what it’s about. They are geared more toward business, toward entrepreneurship, but they are relevant in a way because what else is writing about, in the end? It’s a business. Like me, I assume you’re doing it to ultimately make money. 

I’ll be breaking down some of the lessons here on my blog, going forward–or at least what I think about them and how they relate to writing or life in general. There are a couple of reasons for this, and tops among them are: it’ll help me reinforce the concepts to myself and, as you might be able to tell, I need to get back into the practice of writing. Also, since I’ve been away, WordPress has upgraded most of the user-friendly aspects out of the platform and I need to re-learn how to use it again. 

Anyway, so far, my overriding takeaway is that I don’t need to reinvent myself. I need to remember who I am.

Maybe you fall under that category, too. There was a time when I wrote every day, even if I didn’t know what I was going to write about. I just banged away on an old electric typewriter–it wasn’t even mine–in a dorm room at Central Michigan University (the dorm room wasn’t technically mine, either; I only stayed there for a couple of semesters). It didn’t matter that I didn’t know what I was going to write. I, as I told myself and anyone who would listen, was a creative genius. I was a walking prompt. 

Somewhere along the way, I lost that. Honestly, that’s not accurate. I didn’t lose it. I let it go. I let the muscles get flabby. I didn’t commit to it. I set myself back and then looked for reasons to justify it, excuses that people would understand, when I explained why my name wasn’t on the shelves. Life got in the way. 

What I liked about Sage’s introduction (and much of the content) is that he essentially says if you’re using that excuse, you’re full of shit. Life always gets in the way. What you need to do, no matter what you want to do, is set yourself up to win. That means remembering who you are: nobody was brought into the world to fail. It means you have to have a vision and you have to have confidence in yourself and you have to make the commitment. 

I recently watched an interview with Arnold Schwarzenegger on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. When he was starting out as a bodybuilder (Arnold, not Stephen), he didn’t even have a Plan B. That’s how confident he was, and look where it took him. 

The commitment to yourself and your goals, according to Sage, is setting yourself up to win. You have to do it every day and evaluate the steps you take along the way. 

“Commitment is doing the thing you said you’d do, long after the mood you set it in has left you,” he said. “Do things while you’re in the mood to set yourself up for when you’re not in the mood.”

In other words, don’t let life get in the way. Don’t forget who you are, or why you’re doing what you’re doing.

Right on? Write on. 

 

 

 

Make time work for you

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“When you look through the years and see what you could have been
Oh, what you might have been, if you would have more time…”

I have always had a love/hate relationship with time, whether it’s time well spent, an impending deadline, a change in season, a new month—or time wasted.

Many of my favorite songs deal with the subject; my ‘Oddly Inspirational’ playlist is filled with music that reminds me how time is slipping away. I remember that every time I go to a bookstore and run my fingers across the smooth volumes on the shelves and see another title from an author whose debut I read or checked out years ago.

Could’ve been me, I think. Or, could be me.

Yet I’ve remained trapped, in my own personal writing at least, by procrastination. Days and weeks go by as I’ve searched for the right formula to make everything come together. Maybe you’re the same way: between the job, the chores, the inane necessities of life, or walking the dogs, staying somewhat social and fit, you wonder: how is finding time to write possible?

Well, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. The bad news is there’s no perfect formula. Nobody can do it the same way. Most advice, including this, is unnecessary. But that’s also part of the good news, because the good news is there is a formula and it exists in your mind, within your grasp. The only thing holding you back is you.

I realize as I type this that I am, in part, talking to myself. But my goal is to help others with my own struggles because I don’t think they’re that uncommon.

I recently started watching a series of courses put together by entrepreneur Peter Sage about changing your mindset and overcoming procrastination. It’s been a hit-or-miss series so far: some lessons are good, some irrelevant. They are not in any way geared toward writing, but I look for ways to apply them to that lifestyle. His goal is to get people to succeed in business and, in the end, writing is a business.

The introduction to one lesson stuck out to me. In about 40 seconds, he essentially says the excuse about not having enough time (he meant for the course, but it’s easily applicable to writing) is bullshit.

“We all have the same amount of time every single day,” he said. “What you’re really saying is I’m not making transforming my life or getting rid of my negative patterns a priority. Or, I’m getting too much secondary gain from being a victim.”

Essentially, he’s saying that he—and all the advice columns you read or listen to—can only do so much. You have to make the commitment; you have to put your butt in the chair, as Anne LaMott would say (and, in fact, has).

I still scoff at some of the writing advice out there, authors who say they keep a notebook and jot stuff down in 15-minute intervals or while they’re waiting to flip a grilled cheese sandwich or something. That never sounded practical to me. Sage’s advice isn’t about that: his point is that his course only requires about an hour a week and, if you’re reluctant to give up that much, are you really committed?

If you’re in the same situation as I’m in (self-imposed, I know), you need to ask yourself the same question: how committed am I? Do I really want this? Between all you do, is there an hour a day you can take control of? I bet, between the phone, doom-scrolling on social media, the TV or something else, there is. Find it. Recognize it. Make it work for you.

From the embers, a new beginning

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Fire Dog is a weird story, even for me.

The basic idea came to me while I was drinking by the fireside and noticed a log in the center of the fire (pictured, on cover) looked vaguely like the snout of a dog emerging from the embers. My mind wandered, collecting and sometimes discarding the ‘what ifs’ that formed the foundation of the story.

I liked the idea of a system of magic, or at least one niche of a larger system of magic, that would allow sorcerers to look out through different campfires across the world of Korin and send messengers or minions to strike secretly at their enemies.

Gradually, the idea of the Heatstone developed from the murk drugs and alcohol and, the theft, the tension between the main characters, Korson and Glory, and the connection to the world of Korin.

What makes it weird is that I didn’t know what it was about until three or four paragraphs from the end–and then I realized it wasn’t an end at all, but a beginning. Perhaps that’s true of all short stories, but this particular beginning means retrofitting some other stories to meet this new concept. Or maybe not. I’ll decide that when I continue this story (because it is, in fact, just a beginning.)

Although Fire Dog takes place in the same world as the Keegan stories, Unclaimed and Three Sacrifices, along with Keeper of the Dead, Two Cows Too Many and The Sigilist, and features one of the same characters (sort of), the story itself stands on its own. It’s another snapshot, another entry point, another look at the world as it takes shape through the eyes of the people that live in it.

I hope you’ll take a few minutes, spend a buck and check it out–and, as always, let me know what you think!

A life well-loved

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The first time I saw Jack, I knew he was going to be trouble.

It was at an adoption event in a park in Redford in the late summer of 2010. He was in a cage, soaking up the sun, his head slightly tilted up – smiling, it looked like, but there was a hint of mischief in that smile, too.

“Are you sure?” I asked my wife, Lisa. “I heard they were a handful.”

She nodded. “He’s the one.”

So we asked if we could walk him around the park – and he quickly ran my tired old ass up and down the field at what I later learned was nowhere near his top speed. Panting, I looked for the nearest ATM. He sat in my lap all the way home – sort of – and the rest was history.

Jack’s first nickname was Lickety-Split because he would jump up on the coach – or chair, or bed, or whatever – lick your cheek and dash off right away. There were many more nicknames to follow in the 12+ years we were lucky enough to share with him: Captain Jack; Jack, Jack the doggie maniac; Action Jackson; Puppernut; Pum Pum and a whole lot more.

We walked everywhere. Back then, I was out of shape. I had some kind of nagging hip issue that slowed me down. I had a bit of a belly and I got winded easily. Jack took care of all that. It was not uncommon for us to walk two hours a day on the weekends, an hour in the morning and an hour at night, and he was usually ready for more (except during a year-long period shortly after the Michigan legislature allowed year-round fireworks someone set off a brick of firecrackers on a Sunday morning in February and it took me several months to coax him back outside). I think he thought of me as Walker. Even lately, with George Michael pulling the way, Jack trotted along, keeping up as best he could.

Jack’s vet summed him up on his first visit, with five words that described him perfectly: “What a good-natured fella.”

He would welcome anyone into the house, but wasn’t fond of anyone leaving. He liked other dogs – especially larger ones; I think he measured himself as their equal. If anyone wanted to pat his head or scratch his ears while we were out exploring, he’d be happy to oblige.

As I look back at all the difficult periods over the past 12 years – and there have been a lot: the loss of my dad, my mom, grandma, grandpa, almost Henry, my job, Lisa’s grandma and mom – I know I was lucky to have Jack at my side. My dog. My buddy. Always willing to walk, to sit, be a hug pillow or whatever.

The mischief was there, too. He was a smallish dog, but strong. He would pull on his leash when I was in midstride and threaten to topple me (he loved doing this when I was on ice). He pooped in high places – on landscaping rocks, or logs, steps – as if he was proud of all his deposits. He chased geese – until he cornered one; he gave them a wide berth after that.

We had our little rituals. I would talk baseball with him and, based on his silence, think he agreed with me.

“Jack,” I would say to him frequently, “you’re a dog. Don’t get me wrong: you’re a good dog. I mean, a real good dog. Maybe even the best of all dogs – I can’t say for sure, because I haven’t met them all, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

And I would sing to him, too.

“You’re my doggie, you’re my doggie,
You’re my liiiiiiittle lifelong friend;
I hope you know I always loved you,
From the beginning to the end.”

We know very little about Jack’s life before he was rescued. He was found wandering the streets, weighing only 11 pounds. They guessed he was three years old, but I think he was a bit older than that.

I only know that we gave him the best happy ending we could. He traveled all around with us, sniffing out trails, fighting waves on Michigan lakes, dipping his toes in rivers and ponds, checking out waterfalls – even though I had to carry him down (and back up) all 116 steps at Tahquamenon Falls. And he knew love, every minute of every day.

I was right all along. He was trouble. He was a handful. And we loved every bit of it, and every bit of him. He truly was the best of all dogs.

Rest In Peace buddy.

“You know, it don’t come easy…”

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Someone once asked me if I thought it was possible to essentially flip a switch and change into the person you wanted to be.

My guess is that it was around the end of the year and we were talking about things we wanted to do in the upcoming year. I know neither one of us was happy — both of us worked in a restaurant at the time. She had aspirations of becoming a gourmet pastry chef. I wanted to write.

Perhaps feeling the weight of unwritten stories on me, I said I was optimistic. People can change. You just have to commit.

That was 1992.

Nearly 30 years later, I find myself in a similar situation. Okay, that’s not entirely true. Or, if I think hard on it, even remotely true. A lot has happened: I went to college, got out of the restaurant biz and, in many respects, became a writer — first in the newspaper industry, then healthcare and now in my position as communications manager. I have written three novels (first drafts, which have since languished) and published stories on Amazon through Kindle Direct Publishing.

What I haven’t done, I think, is make that commitment I hinted at so long ago. I still struggle to maintain a daily writing goal, to build up the mental muscles and writing technique necessary to improve my work. A quick look at this blog will provide some evidence, Amazon another — I haven’t posted anything new in more than a year, because I haven’t finished anything new in that long.

In 2021, I will again attempt to flip that switch. I have plans, big plans, but I’ve learned that if I don’t write them down — and tell someone else about them — then they won’t progress any further than that.

I will, at minimum, finish my current Work In Progress (WIP), both the first draft and whatever subsequent revisions are needed to make it suitable to publish. My initial goal, to have it finished by the end of this month, has already changed (which is also part of the reason why I’m writing this). My new deadline on it is the end of February (it’s another month, but at least it’s a short month).

I also have two short stories that are half-finished. They will be complete within the same timeframe.

After that, I will edit one of my previous novels, then go back to my current one with fresh eyes. By the end of the year, I will have two novels ready to send out, as well as any short stories that come up in the meantime. And regular blog posts, too.

Part of my confidence this year is tied into my physical fitness goals: I think to get my mind back in shape, I need to get my body in shape, too. I’ve set a goal of riding — between trail, road and exercise bike — 2,021 miles this year.

If you’re in the same boat as I am, frustrated at lack of progress try these simple steps. Write your goals down. Tell someone else and authorize them to hold you accountable. If writing is your goal, find someone who is willing to check in on you, maybe a weekly zoom meeting, where you can talk shop, talk progress or just decompress.

I still believe people can change. It’s just not as easy as flipping a switch.

Random thoughts from the apocalypse: face masks

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Things are gradually re-opening here in Michigan and I am somewhat skeptical of its long-term success.

This comes despite a statewide mandate for people to wear face masks in stores, restaurants, bars and other places of business, as well as in crowded outdoor venues.

Wearing facemasks has, for some reason, become just as politically charged as the decision to put the state on lockdown to begin with. I would guess anywhere between 60-70 percent of people are wearing them, but it doesn’t take too many morons who refuse to wear them to put the rest of us in jeopardy.

Yes, I said morons. I’ll explain why later.

I was both encouraged and alarmed during a recent trip to Houghton Lake, Michigan. There were signs in front of businesses asking or requiting people to wear masks for entry. The signs varied in tone: “Please wear a mask indoors,” “Face masks required,” and so on. My favorite and, I think, the most effective, was the one on the Habitat for Humanity Resale shop: “No Shirt, No Shoes, No Mask, No Service.” Each article of clothing was underlined twice. Still, the one restaurant I visited had no masks visible — not among the staff and not among the patrons sitting inside.

The reasons I’ve heard for not wearing a face mask are weak, at best:

“You wear a mask so I don’t have to.”

“Coronavirus only affects older or sicker people — I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“It’s an assault on my civil liberties.”

These excuses are based on bad science and a misunderstanding of the Constitution and seasoned with a lack of empathy or common sense.

I want to talk about those who think they don’t need to wear a mask because they’re not at risk. You don’t wear protective equipment because of what you think will happen, you wear it because of what could. When you get into your car, are you expecting to get into an accident?

I have a similar disdain for people who don’t wear helmets while riding bikes or motorcycles. I first started to wear one when I lived in Eugene, OR, attending the University of Oregon, after I heard about an accident involving two cyclists who collided head-on at night on one of the paths along the river. One of them died. It wasn’t too long after that the my helmet saved my life — or at least my brain function.

I have ridden on all types of terrain and in all types of weather. I’ve navigated thin, curving trails up and down hills, rode through snow and down icy street gutters, but the worst spill I ever took was not on any of those rides. It was on a straight, flat bit of asphalt in the middle of a sunny summer afternoon.

I was on my way to work when it happened. One moment I was cruising along, cursing the wind (it was in a section of path not protected by forest or buildings, a half-mile wind tunnel next to the river) and the next thing I knew I was looking up at the sky. I don’t know how long I laid like that. I just lay there, blinking, until the face of a homeless guy appeared, looking down at me.

“Are you okay, man?” he asked.

I sat up and slowly figured out what had happened. Something got entangled in my front tire and was then kicked up against the brake and fork. It must have stopped instantly and thrown me ass over elbows. I cleared the handlebars. I stood up, a bit shaky, took off my helmet and inspected it — and saw a nickel-sized depression that I could stick my thumb in. A rock had penetrated the helmet.

“That would’ve been my skull,” I said, in a sort of dazed wonder. I’ve worn one ever since, no matter how fast, slow, technical or boring the ride is.

I get that people think something like that won’t happen to them. I get that they believe they are careful, confident and have reflexes quick enough to save them. I was in my prime then; I had legs of steel, the balance of Spider-Man and all of my mental faculties — you wouldn’t even recognize me now. None of that mattered.

People who won’t wear masks, despite the mandate, are even more foolish. They’re gambling not only with their own safety and livelihood, but that of others. The ones who verbally or physically assault those who ask them to follow this policy are the worst of the lot. How selfish do you have to be to attack someone who’s merely trying to protect him or herself, their colleagues and family? What level of assholery do they aspire to?

For that matter, what level of cowardice exists on a national level to force these confrontations on front-line workers?

Fortunately, more and more people are masking up. There are still too many people out there that will not do it, however, and far, far too many that would assault and berate those who ask them to and throw tantrums when they don’t get their way.

Mask up!

 

Program your mind for writing success

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When my job first transitioned into a remote work situation, I had high hopes.

I would finally be able to get into a regular writing routine. I would get back in shape. I’d reconnect with my dog. After all, without the daily commute, I was gaining at least two hours every day when you factored in the drive time and the time it took to prepare for and recover from sharing the road with far too many idiots. With that much extra time, I told myself, all things were possible.

Eight or so weeks later, that hope is dwindling but my level of determination is increasing. It turns out – and maybe you’ve heard this before – change ain’t easy, no matter how bad you want it. That’s because just wanting to change isn’t enough; you have to take action – and that action begins with your own thoughts.

To help keep everyone thinking sharp as we all exchanged our corporate casual outfits for pjs, robes and slippers, the manager of Organizational Development and Learning at my employer has been sending out optional training and inspirational videos. One in particular struck a chord: it was about programming your mind for success.

It’s not specifically about writing, but it certainly relates to it.

The presenter, Carrie Green, talks about all the subconscious factors that hinder us from achieving our full potential: fear, obstacles, lack of motivation. They are self-limiting thoughts that keep us from action.

“People miss out on amazing opportunities all the time because of what’s going on in their heads,” she said.

If you let these things get in your way, you tend to make bad decisions based on a bad frame of mind, she said. You talk yourself out of ideas – maybe telling yourself “there’s always tomorrow” – and your potential stays locked inside.

Anne Lamott, in her wonderful book ‘Bird by Bird,’ describes something similar as an internal radio station stuck in your head. She called it KFKD.

The key to breaking through is asking yourself a series of questions:

  • What do you want to achieve?
  • Why do I want to achieve it? Or, put another way: What does it mean to me?
  • What kind of person do I have to be to make it happen?

When you can answer those questions, you can start to reprogram your mind for success. You begin to control your thoughts, rather than letting them control you.

Let’s talk about writing for a minute. We’re all familiar with the who, what, when, where and why, which is the foundation of any story. If you are having a hard time motivating yourself, stop thinking about the story and just ask yourself the three Ws:

  • What do I want?
  • Why do I want it?
  • Who do I have to be?

Again, it won’t be easy. Chances are, the answer to the third question will not be someone who sleeps in, watches reruns or waits for inspiration to strike. You have to commit to it and take it on like it’s the toughest job you’ll ever have. Keep the ‘why’ in mind and hold yourself accountable. Success, in writing or in any other endeavor in life, is no accident. You have to do it on purpose.

Bet on your Beta readers

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Recently a friend of mine had a little extra time on her hands and was looking for new things to read.

I, sheepishly at first, suggested one of my stories on Amazon. Specifically, I picked A Better Way, because it had always been a favorite of mine, it was difficult to classify and I wanted an honest take on it. It had been up and published for a while with no reviews. (That, sadly, is still the case).

BetterWay1

It had been a while since I wrote it, too, and that gave me the chance to experience it again through fresh eyes — hers.

“You’ll have to let me know what you think,” I told her via text. “Even if it’s stupid. You won’t offend me, but I’ll ask you why.”

Because A Better Way, while being a favorite, is a bit of an odd story. Conceived and written post 9/11, it is about government overreach and how we are all, at the end of the day, beholden to the corporations that employ us and under the suspicion of the government that oversees us. The main character, Darryl Johnson, is based in name on one of my cousins, may he rest his soul. His name is the only similarity. In the story, Darryl has a rather convoluted thought process; he’s a bit of a wool-gatherer, with thoughts the circle and meander like Billy walking around his neighborhood in those old Family Circus cartoons. Good for character (I hoped) but not necessarily good for advancing the plot–and, of course, you are not supposed to waste a word in a short story.

Darryl becomes under suspicion from a shadowy branch of the government because he’s a bit of a clueless yoke and he placed one too many American flag stamps on his envelopes upside down. It gets a bit more bizarre from there. It probably doesn’t help that it was initially based on a fart joke and a ‘word of the day’ that came across one of my social media apps.

Anyway, a tough story to market.

My beta reader, in many ways, validated what I tried to do.

“We’ve all been Darryl a time or two, haven’t we?”

“I love his thought process. Funny how we’ve all thought things like that; some so off the wall you kinda catch yourself like: ‘that’ll be five seconds I never get a back.'”

And, most importantly, “OK, I wanted more. You need to add to it!”

I forget who said it, but someone once described a short story as a prelude to a novel. That’s what Darryl’s story is to me. He was so much fun to write, with an occasional universal truth sneaking out of his macaroni and cheese mind.

Beta readers can be a hit or miss proposition. Many of them, your friends in particular, are afraid of offering honest feedback because they don’t want to hurt your feelings. I say: tell them not to worry about it and then do your best to keep up your side of the bargain. If you don’t agree with the criticism, you don’t have to apply it to your work. If they tell you they think it sucks, put aside your ego and ask what doesn’t work.

You can always learn something from a fresh pair of eyes (even if it’s not to use that particular fresh set of eyes again…) and you may inadvertently validate the hard work you’ve put into your story.

Write on!

 

 

Creating habits

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Through no real fault of my own, I recently had to take a job as a salesman in a Kia dealership. It wasn’t anything I was expecting to do–or trying to do–for a living, but after searching for seven months in vain for some type of communication or writing gig to replace the one I had been kicked out of, I had to take something to keep the lights on, the bills paid and, of course, provide health benefits.

No problem, I told myself. I could use the people I talked to on the job as the basis for characters. I could study dialogue or arrange story ideas and plot points in my head during the slower times. (And I assumed, in the Big Three-friendly confines of Metro Detroit, there would be plenty of slow times at a Korean car dealership). Everything is a learning experience, I reassured myself.

And I was right. Two weeks in, I have learned a lot. I have learned, for example, that I am not a car salesman. At least not a good one. I will never win a footrace to the door to greet a new customer or a potential sale. I can’t beat anyone to the phone, either. When someone tells me they don’t want to buy or lease a particular type of car, I don’t try to get them to get them to buy or lease it, anyway. There’s nothing wrong with people who can and like doing that every day. It’s a different skill set, that’s all, a different frame of mind and I just won’t get there.

Some skills translate to writing, though. The first training video I watched centered on Creating Habits or doing the things you need to do to be successful. The narrator called it “investing in your next opportunity.”

He talked about doing whatever was necessary to turn yourself into a winner, because car sales–like writing–involves a lot of rejection. You need to pick the smallest thing you can do each day that you can win at. Maybe it’s just getting in on time. Maybe it’s making a dozen phone calls.

Ray Bradbury put it this way: “We must take arms each and every day, perhaps knowing that the battle cannot be entirely won, but fight we must, if only a gentle bout. The smallest effort to win means, at the end of each day, a sort of victory.”

They only difference is that you’re not preparing yourself to be a more successful salesman, or preparing yourself for a promotion or for your next job. You’re preparing yourself to be a writer. Get the habits down. Set up time to write, and stick with it–even if you’re out of ideas and energy. If you can’t create something new, go over old work. Re-edit it. Tinker with half-developed plots. Make some character sketches–anything you can to work out your creative muscles. If you’re stuck, really stuck, try to do the smallest thing you can to make you feel like a writer again–and then build on it.

It’s so important to exercise your creativity in some way so, when inspiration hits, you’ll be ready and in shape and able to handle the load. All that preparation, the habits you are creating by sitting down and getting into the mindset will pay dividends. Your mind will already be nimble and ready to go down any plot path your characters take you!