Eight Habits of a Slightly Unsuccessful Writer (Or, How to Write When You Don’t Take it Too Seriously)
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Eight Habits of a Slightly Unsuccessful Writer
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But first, NOLA NOTE: I recently returned from my annual trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference where I was told by several professionals I am, in fact, doing the Write Thing (aw, see what I did there?). Most importantly, the Godfather (who shall otherwise remain nameless, to protect the innocent) gave me some words of wisdom on how to proceed. In particular, he opened the conversation with, “Why didn’t you come to me for publishing advice?” To which I gulpedshiveredreplied, “I didn’t know I could.” Yeah. So, now I have a mentor for future writings, and, you know, a little eleventh-hour input into NOLA. I’d love to have y’all join my private Facebook group for more information, memes, and all-around fun. (Don’t worry, the Godfather won’t be there.) You can join on Facebook by clicking here: NOLA Swarm. [Side Note: Pray for the return of Bee the Zebra and Whisper, as they did not make their way home in the luggage, and are somewhere, I hope, still on the Ridgecrest Campus, waiting for my rescue.]
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Have you seen Whisper and Bee the Zebra?
And now, the post you’ve all been waiting for:
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Eight Habits of a Slightly Unsuccessful Author:
Isolate yourself. Writers are lonely, crazy beings with no people skills whatsoever. We have no understanding of human nature, and say things we can’t edit. You most certainly will not learn anything by holding unnecessary conversations, especially with other writers. If you must socialize, do so in small groups, and in small doses.
Drink copious amounts of coffee. From noon to 3pm, drink gallons of decaf. At 6pm, drink another cup of espresso for good measure. Sleep two hours. Wake up and start all over. Your brain will thank you for it, even if your body doesn’t. If you must drink other than coffee, add something to it. Like fermented grapes.
Write, don’t read. You don’t have time to pay attention to someone else’s works. It’s imperative you put your own words on paper, in whatever fashion you can. There’s nothing to learn by reading classics or books within your genre. Who cares about the writing style of someone else, or supporting your friends already in print? If you must read, read outside your genre, and read things that will allow your mind to wander as your eyes skim the pages.
Don’t diversify your creativity. It’s best to focus on your writing and master it completely. Train your discipline. Give up photography, scrapbooking, creative journaling and the like. Other people have multiple interests, but that’s not you. So write. And, only write. If you must express creativity in other ways, don’t let others know about it. Don’t invest in it. And never share it on Instagram.
Write only what you know. Stay away from fantastical ideas, and topics you’re unfamiliar with. Research? Who has time for research? World-building? That’s too complicated. If you must write new material, use nonsensical words and settings and make it too complicated for others to understand.
Write when the muse hits you. Don’t worry about setting a time to write every day. Writer’s block? That’s for other writers, the ones who aren’t as focused. Because whenever you sit down, the words always flow without stopping. If you must write on a schedule, make sure to have multiple journals and lists available so you can jot a thousand grocery items and ten ways to fix the house as these thoughts will invariably demand your attention.
Don’t feed your muse. Stay away from inspirational movies and music. Don’t play with your food, enjoy nature walks, or travel. These will only inspire you in other ways and thus confuse your writing. If you must feed the muse, don’t enjoy the arts or have new experiences. This will only deter you from your true calling of being a writer.
Never, ever continue writing unless what you’ve already written is perfect. Brain-dumping and first drafts are myths and will not help you clear your head. Definitely do not use place-filler text [“Write Something Here About Rain’s past relationship with Cheryl and have him hint at why he no longer trusts Penny Jo”]. If you must write imperfectly and continuously, do not revisit those pages. They will only depress you and keep you from getting to the true heart of your story.
LEAVE A COMMENT: What tips and habits do you cultivate for your craft?
With a blank page and a full glass, Happy Writing. ~Molly Jo
Frankly, My Dear . . . Savor the Journey!
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Bohemian Hurricane
Molly Jo is better known as the Bohemian Hurricane. She is the author/curator of The Unemployment Cookbook and several eBooks available on Amazon. Her work-in-progress, NOLA, is a romantic mystery novel set in New Orleans, and the first in her City Series.
God has never required us to be perfect to be in His presence.
In my mind I know this, but in my actions, my soul, my convictions . . . Well, that’s another story. Or another lie.
Frankly, On Faith . . . : My Imperfect Bible Reading
The enemy will use whatever he can to get to us, and that includes climbing inside our heads and making us think our thoughts are our own. But we can conquer those negativities one at a time.
When I chose to embrace my imperfections for this year, it opened up an attitude of joy. I’m no longer stressed or struggling to make everything “just right.”
It’s okay if my apartment is messy or I didn’t wash the car last week. I don’t have to balance the budget every day, and ice cream once in a while is good for my mood. Scribbles aren’t the death of a notebook. [That’s a big one!]
I bought a new Bible for the year. It’s the C.S. Lewis Bible, NRSV. I’m enjoying it abundantly. The quotes and meditations included from Mr. Lewis give new or refreshed insight into certain passages.
I even bought a cover and tabs. All went well until I placed 2 Kings under 1 Kings.
Frankly, On Faith . . . : My Imperfect Bible Reading
I could have become angry at myself. Frustrated. Disappointed. I could have tried to remove the tab, thus ripping the page. I could have carefully cut the tab and repositioned it with regular tape. I could have placed the next tab in its place. Or I could leave it as a reminder that I’m not perfect, but God loves me anyway.
Do you think God cares about the placement of Bible tabs? Only so much as it satisfies my soul. But if I allow the imperfect positioning of those tabs to come between me and God, that’s a whole ‘nother story.
The Bible tells us over and over of imperfect people whom God chose to deliver His message: Moses, Joseph, Esther, Paul . . . so why would He expect perfection of little ol’ me and not them?
Frankly, On Faith . . . : It is never a requirement to be perfect to be loved by God.
Answer: He wouldn’t.
No, O people, the LORD has told you what is good,
and this is what he requires of you:
to do what is right, to love mercy,
and to walk humbly with your God.
~Micah 6:8 NLT
God sees through to the parts of our hearts we’re unaware of. And if He can do that, and still love us as His own, why shouldn’t we love ourselves? Forgive ourselves? Respect ourselves?
Answer: We should.
Because in doing so to ourselves, it reflects outward and we will love, forgive, and respect others more.
I missed the last three days of Bible reading. The first day I thought I was too busy. The second day I was definitely too tired from being too busy on Day One. The third day I was catching up on what I didn’t do on Day Two. Yeah, I feel a little bad about not making my Bible reading a priority. But I did do some reading, and that’s a start.
Frankly, On Faith . . . : My Imperfect Bible Reading
Even without catching up on my reading, God still spoke to me.
How will you let Him speak to you today?
With an open heart and open hand,
Happy Sunday.
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . : That’s all she wrote!
Can I just tell y’all how hard it is for me to write this post? I mean this post, with that word in the title. Oh, yes. THAT word.
PERFECT.
It’s like a flashing neon arrow pointing right at me, screaming “HYPOCRITE!”
It’s a little funny, dontcha think? After last month’s post about embracing my imperfections? The thing is… I just don’t know where to start. Wait. That makes it sound like I have way too many imperfections. Okay, stop nodding in agreement, brother. I know where you live.
Frankly, My Dear . . . The Perfect Start
Anyway. I’m imperfect. CHECK. But I’m trying. CHECK. And I want to move forward. Uhm, check?
How does a perfectionist move forward with imperfections? Well, for This Girl, I’m just gonna start. Someone once told me, “Three steps forward and two steps back is still one step forward.”
I HAVE LISTS.
#truestory. I have list upon list upon list of things I want to do this year. Posts to blog. Books to read. Things to learn. Recipes to create. Experiences to, well, experience.
I’ve already embraced the imperfections of my planning skills and allowed myself to scribble in my Happy Planner. *gasp* Insert SCREAM face here, right?!
Well, being as I’m now what is known as a true Southerner, I queried my local writing friends over a cup of Starbucks. Cuz, you know, we’re writers. We need the coffee to do the thinking to do the writing. And I’m an extrovert. I need the talk to do the energy to do the writing. Put me in a social setting with caffeine and BAM! Instant Bohemian Hurricane. Anyway, focus: Yes. I received some excellent advice on doing a blog relaunch. Now, I’m not going to do a big Facebook Live Event. But I am going to narrow my focus. Rather, refocus my focus. Good gravy there’s a lot of focus in this paragraph and I still haven’t gotten to the point. *sigh*
IMPERFECT POST: CHECK.
I’ve kept myself locked in a holding pattern, unable to do anything but circle the target. I can’t fly away, I can’t land. Until I get the gears and the mechanics and the passengers (uhm, that would be all of you) in just the write right place, I can’t do anything. So I do nothing.
BIG UNCHECK HERE, PLEASE.
I’ve been wanting to relaunch Frankly, My Dear . . . with a stronger emphasis on the four tenets I’ve held all along: Faith, Family, Food, and Fun (Fun being the one that incorporates the outings and the writings and the everything elses that happen in life). Edie and Cathy told me to just keep doing what I’m doing. But, keep doing it. Don’t sit back and wait for it to magically appear. After all, Harry Potter doesn’t live in Simpsonville. So, think of the Four F’s as the legs of a table. And you’re all invited. And since I’m a true Southerner now (can y’all tell I just love saying that?!), I want to keep in line with the whole Southern Gone With the Wind “Frankly, My Dear . . .” theme. I mean, I just wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell it like it is from my perspective.
Sidenote: Someone told me it takes ten years to become a true Southerner. Someone else countered it doesn’t take any time at all. In NOLA, Toni tells Josie what it’s like to be a local. This is where my good friend Beckie Lindseywould say, “You’re being Josie!” And this is where I agree.
So, ultimately, it comes down to boiling the potato like this: Do I want to start, or do I want to stagnate? Given that I’m adverse to mold and immobility, I choose the former. And I hope you’ll come to the table. There’s plenty to go ’round. And I hope you’ll keep me accountable to what’s on the menu.
With a heaping plate and a pitcher of tea,
Happy Everything.
~Molly Jo
Zoiks! (Said in my best Scooby-Doo imitation). What a whirlwind. Some might suggest my life has been a bit of a hurricane lately. Hmmm…
I don’t know where I got the idea that being a Bohemian Hurricane went hand-in-hand with perfectionism. ‘Cause you know what? It doesn’t.[Stop nodding, mother. And don’t say anything when we call later.] Anyway, yes. I haven’t blogged because I haven’t written because I’m still unpacking from the beautiful chaos of having moved cross-country six weeks ago and downsized from a three bedroom house to a two bedroom apartment and helping Berry Sunshine cross the Rainbow Bridge and meeting and greeting all the people I moved to be close to and buying winter clothes (for the South? Are you even serious right now?!) and figuring out how to catch my breath and as of this moment, preparing to enjoy my first Southern snowfall. (So, yes. Back to the winter clothes thing. Apparently it is serious down here.) [Note to self: Get Starbucks card for Edie as thank you for finding the perfect coat when I had given up the search.]
Frankly, My Dear . . . That One Time I Didn’t Have to Be Perfect
Now, y’all know part of the main reason I moved was to be needyattach tosurround myself with some of the best writers I know: my peeps from Blue Ridge. Yes, that Blue Ridge. The Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference that I go to each year. The same one where Steve Laube and I are now expected to throw Scooby Snacks at each other every year. The same one where I do incredibly stupid things like shout at people at inappropriate moments (although, really. Bless your heart. Is there ever a wrong time to yell, “You go, girl!” or “Aaron Gansky? Ohmagosh, I know him!”?). The same conference that I attend every May, and every June tell all y’all how my life has changed and I’m better for it, and my writing will be better for it . . . yadayadayada. I. Know.
But this time, it’s different. Because this time, I’m surrounded by perfectly imperfect writing people. And I love them completely. And they love me. As imperfect as I am. What an example! What mentors they are without even trying.
And I realize I don’t have to have a perfectly clean house or perfectly quiet area or perfectly planned plot (Okay, say that last one five times fast!) to accept their friendships. Or to be who I am. I just have to keep writing. Keep cleaning. Keep breathing. Keep being me.
You know . . . Keep on Keepin’ On.
And when I make mistakes, it’s not the end of the world. If I leave a dirty dish in the sink for a day, if I don’t check the mail or respond to a message right away, if I have a typo or missing punctuation, the world doesn’t really end. *GASP*. I know. But it’s true! I’m totally living proof!
I have to stop waiting to get everything perfect in my head and heart before sharing it, even with myself. I have to let go of the image of a perfect Facebook-post-worthy me. Cuz let’s be real. That rarely happens. Snow angels have boot prints leading up to them. My life is quite often the epitome of #NailedItFail, okay?
I gotta take what I have and move it forward. Whatever that means. Hey, you get a small ding on your car, do you junk it? No way. You have a story to tell. Your bananas turn brown before you eat them all. Toss ’em? Uh-uh. Make banana-walnut bread! What am I waiting for?
Imperfections are the lessons we teach ourselves. It’s where we learn to be creative and allow ourselves to find alternate solutions. It’s the pieces of our mosaic selves and the music we didn’t intend to sing.
Imperfections are not failures.
I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.
~Thomas A. Edison
My word for 2019 is IMPERFECT.
And I’m going to embrace it perfectly.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Perfectly Imperfect
With a scribbled-in notebook and a snowflake covered sleeve,
Happy imperfecting.
~Molly Jo
For Nathan and Pam and Naomi and Lori and Cindy and all my Marys and Beckies and everyone I’ve been talking to. I hope you know how each of you has helped me. I hope I’ve been able to return that help.
God – December 8, 2014
A few days ago, I posted a lengthy status on my personal Facebook page. Since then, people have commented, sent messages, and shared.
It’s no secret where I stand in my faith. I’m not a Bible thumper. I’m not perfect. In fact, I revel in my imperfectness. I’m just glad there’s a God who loves me the way I am, and who continues to help me be a better person for the world around me.
“Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
~2 Corinthians 12:7b-9, NIV
Let’s face it. Life is hard. It’s hard when you know God. It’s hard when you don’t know God. This post isn’t about God. It’s about Christians and the disservice we do to one another in our own community by expecting only the Pretties to be seen, by submerging the imperfections, the thorns, the scars.
If we as Christians portray only a perfect example of God, how can draw people closer to Him? If we tell seekers “It’s okay that you’re broken” then why do we expect completeness of ourselves?
The Christian Community can send out false messages. Not intentionally, mind you. I believe our desire is to attract others to Christ, and we feel we can’t do that if we’re shattered or chipped.
I disagree.
We are all damaged. One way or another, we are all broken.
I’m okay with that.
“Stop forcing a catastrophe where there’s not even a storm.”
Because God is the True Healer. He can, has, and will continue to heal my brokenness whether it is caused by others or myself. Whether my brokenness is physical, spiritual, emotional, mental, financial, or any-other-al, He continues to seek me out and heal me.
The healing may not come in the way I want, or as fast as I think I need. But His timing is perfect. And I’m okay with waiting on Him.
Cuz Father knows best.
The following is the Facebook post from a few days ago. I hope it starts a dialogue of honesty and openness. I hope everyone has a friend who accepts them unconditionally. And if you want to know more about my God, I hope you ask.
Please read, comment, share. And watch the video at the end.
Life is hard. But God is always good.
I promise.
You Matter.
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June 7, 2015
So an interesting thing happened. Late last night I posted a status (now removed) of how it’s okay that I’m angry with God. I received some comments and messages that others are praying for me, that others understand, and a few that cautioned me about being so public about it.
Here’s the thing, and I’m not upset, just puzzled . . . but here’s the thing.
Not one person asked WHY. Not one person asked, “How can I help?”
And it saddens me. Not because I need attention (although we all do, right?). Not because I feel alone (I mostly don’t). But because the impression or attitude seems to imply that as a Christian I’m not allowed to have bad days, that I should share only joy and keep the rest to myself.
And it makes me wonder, if the people I know are Christian (myself included), if we are sending out these vibes that it’s not okay to be NOT okay, how are we being authentic? How are we letting others know we’re there for them?
Do we as Christians stifle the outreach and community of those who need us? Is it possible by saying “This isn’t the time or place” that what they hear is “You’re not worth my time or energy”?
I have a lot going on. So do you. So does everyone. I don’t air my “dirty laundry” for everyone. In fact, there is not one single person who knows everything. There are some who know most, some who get headlines without details, and some who get only one story or prayer request instead of the whole basket.
I’m not advocating spilling your entire life on Facebook or other public forum. I’m not agreeing with those people who are “virtue suckers” and complain just to get attention.
But do the people who need us know we’re here for them? Do they really know?
Or have we made it too hard for them to reach out? Have we made them fearful that we won’t reach back?
Or worse, do we assume because we already know them that we know what the current moment is about? Do we pray for them, consider them, reach out to them based on past experiences?
Or do we say “I’m still praying . . .” for whatever issue WE think needs prayer.
When was the last time you came up to a friend and said, “Tell me what’s really going on.”? And didn’t fill your head with presumptions of who you think they are and what you think they’re going through?
So many of us are really going through our own hell on earth, yet we’re expected to live daily as if we’re not. So many of us are so skewed by our own hells that we can’t see someone else’s is different. We can’t see that we’re sometimes hurting instead of helping.
So I apologize, here, publicly, to all my family and friends. I’m sorry that I’ve not reached out to see where you’re at or how I can help you. I’m sorry that I put myself first — my own thoughts and ideas of how life should be, of how you’re doing it wrong, of how you’re not there for me. I’m sorry for not being there for you in the capacity I should be.
I’m sorry.
But hear this: You’re important to me. In many different ways.
Our lives are silk webs that criss-cross and intertwine and pull others into and out of the design and I want to strengthen your thread.
I want to be here for you.
I’ve ignored you, I’m sorry. I’ve made you feel less important, I’m sorry. I’ve made my own hells more important than yours, and that is farce. Everyone’s hell is important. Everyone needs a helping hand to get out and rise above the crud that tries to buries us.
This is me. Being as authentic as I’m allowed to be.
I let you down, and I’m sorry.
I’m here for you now. All of you.
All I’m asking is that you be here for me, too.
And the rest of your people.
Make sure they know.
