Take a stand. Make an effort.
Take a stab. Make a noise.
Take a chance. Make a mark.
Take a step. Make a plan.
Take initiative. Make a difference.
Take pride. Make meaning.
Take the plunge. Make a splash.
Take off. Make something.
Category: Writing (page 2 of 3)
Image via http://netminds.com/blog/guy-kawasaki-on-self-publishing-giving-credit-and-cheating
I followed Guy Kawasaki’s Twitter feed yesterday as he gave some practical tips for getting your writing done and getting your writing published. He knows a thing or two about both aspects.
As both of you loyal readers of this space have noticed (repeatedly, I’m afraid!) I always say I want to write. Yet, as you’ve also undoubtedly noticed, not much happens in that direction.
Here are Guy’s tips (with my related thoughts):
- “If you really want to learn how/why to write, read If You Want to Write by Brenda Ueland.” I first discovered this little book when I read Garr Reynolds’s PresentationZen. I’ve given away about five copies to friends and colleagues who wanted to write. Of course, I told them this was a great book, blah, blah, blah, and all the time, I needed to do what she says. It’s old, and it seems a bit dated, but it’s encouraging and inspiring.
- “Write every day. No matter what’s going wrong, how busy, whatever. Get into the habit.” Almost every artist and creator I know is adamant about the habitual nature of their craft. This has been the biggest obstacle for me in trying to write.
- “Use Word. Sure there are better, cheaper, more elegant, whatever but Word is the standard for everyone. Go with the flow.” I like my Moleskine, Mirado Black Warriors, and Pilot G-2s. But I wonder if that’s just because of the hype about the Moleskine’s illustrious reputation as the tool for creatives. I also know that I don’t type really well. On the other hand, my handwriting falls apart within a couple of lines, to the point that it’s totally illegible. My hero, Michael Hyatt, is not a fan of Word, and prefers other more elegant, less cumbersome tools. I think Guy may be onto something, though. My students use Word. It’s readily available wherever I am, and if ever the day comes that I actually get published, I’ll have to get it into a Word document anyway. (Please note I am writing this post in the WordPress editor).
- “Start building your social media platform the day you start writing, not after you’re finished.” Guy, Michael Hyatt, Jeff Goins, and others are pretty big on building your platform to promote your writing and creating. I get that. I know if you want to be noticed, you have to increase your exposure to those who might benefit from your art or your service or your product. This might be my biggest obstacle, next to the simple act of sitting down every day and doing the work. It sounds to me a lot like blatant self-promotion. In reality, there is a fine line between confident exposure and brash egotism. I’m afraid of trampling that line.
- “Hire a copyeditor. The odds that you’re a good writer and copyeditor is 0.” I don’t know enough about the ins and outs of copy editing, although it sounds like fascinating work. I guess that’s the grammar Nazi in me! Anyway, if Guy Kawasaki says you need a copy editor, then you – and I – need a copy editor. Period.
- “Hire a cover designer. The odds that you’re a good writer and designer is 0.” See copy editor above.
- “Test your ebook on every platform. Assuming that deployment works on every platform is an illusion.” I know this to be true. I have read books on my Kindle Touch, and the same ones on the Kindle app for PC and the iPad. The formatting is often inconsistent. This is distracting. The fact that Guy couches this tip in terms of “assuming” warms my heart. After all, I tell my students all the time that “assume” is one of my favorite words because when you assume, you make one out of U and ME. Let the reader understand.
- “If you want to simplify your life, just sell your ebook through Amazon Kindle. It’s 75% of the action alone.” Again, I plead ignorance of how publishing works. It only makes sense that Kindle has the lion’s share of the ebook market.
- “Think like NPR: provide such great social media content/curation that people tolerate the telethon. In other words, provide value to earn the right to promote your stuff.” This goes along with the part about building your platform. NPR is annoying, but they are annoying mainly once or twice a year. The rest of the time, they provide programming that attracts passionate followers. Those passionate followers gladly tolerate, and even participate in the fund-raising. My current social media involvement is a far cry from this ideal. I’m stuck in the early days of blogging, when you blogged to tell folks about your life and times. I can see where social media has evolved; I just haven’t successfully navigated the current. On the other hand, I consider myself a curator of sorts, so this might be easier to overcome than I imagine.
- “Ignore the naysayers. Odds are that you haven’t written a good book, but if you listen to naysayers, you won’t know for sure.” This great point reminds me of the old proverb: “Those who say it cannot be done should not interrupt the one who is doing it.” Vincent van Gogh reportedly said the artist must silence the voices that say you can’t. Sometimes those voices are the voices of family, friends, and critics. But often, those voices are screaming from the inside of our own heads. Either way, you won’t know if you can do it, or how good it is until you do it.
Obviously, Guy Kawasaki knows what he’s talking about. My challenge – and yours – is to glean what we can, get busy finding our own voice, and let it be heard.
Thomas Hawk via Compfight
Mark Twain reportedly said, “Write what you know.”
Others have echoed that sentiment, and others have dismissed it.
My favorite quote on the subject came from an interview with Georgia physician-author, Ferrol Sams, who repeated his college writing professor’s adage: “Don’t write a story about the streets of Paris if you’ve never been out of Valdosta.”
Writers, it is said, are defined by one thing: whether they write. I want to write, always have.
Started a few times, got discouraged or afraid of how others would respond, quit.
Had a pity party. Claimed I really wanted to write, but just didn’t have anything to write about that anyone else would want to read. Rationalized that I don’t know enough about anything to write coherently.
Whined. In blog posts. Promised to do better.
Encouraged others to write. Acted like I knew how to encourage others to write.And on and on.
Finally, I have come to a couple of conclusions about writing.
I can write what I know/ Or I can learn something else and write about it.
It doesn’t really matter if anyone else wants to read it. At first. If I keep on, they will want to read it eventually.
Practice may not make perfect, but if I don’t write, one thing’s for sure: I won’t be a writer.
So, I’ve never been to Paris. And the streets of Valdosta would probably seem as unfamiliar anyway. So here’s to learning and observing and gathering and sharing what I know.
Maybe you’ll come along…
Image via http://www.flickr.com/photos/re_birf/68815967/
I want to write.
I want to write because of a fourth-grade reading book that took me from my little first-grade table to the whole wide world.
I want to write because of “The Turkey from Albuquerque,” The Odd Sane Dog, and “Behold the Man.”
I want to write because of Kirby Bunton, Jim Wells, and Brave New World.
I want to write because of the grammar errors I found. On the college English exemption exam.
I want to write because of Dr. Patrick Spurgeon, Dr. Hollis Cate, and Strunk & White.
I want to write because of Ernie Wyatt, The George-Anne, and Dr. Pamela Bourland-Davis.
I want to write because of Ralph McGill, Furman Bisher, and yes, Lewis Grizzard.
I want to write because of J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and Max Lucado.
I want to write because of John Milton, Langston Hughes, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Ernest Hemingway.
I want to write because of William F. Buckley, Thomas Sowell, and “The Perils of Being a Young Conservative.”
I want to write because of Moleskines and Mirado Black Warriors and Pink Pearls.
I want to write because of William Zinsser, Anne Lamott, and Stephen King.
I want to write because of Jeff Goins, Jason Brooks, and Michael Hyatt.
I want to write because some days, I have words that are straining to get out.
I want to write because I can’t draw or paint.
I want to write because it’s crazy to say you’re teaching someone how to do something you don’t do a lot of yourself.
I want to write.
So let’s get to it…
I read Hemingway. I like to read Hemingway. I encourage my students to read Hemingway.
But sometimes, I think I read Hemingway because I’m supposed to read Hemingway. Even though I can’t follow him sometimes. Even though I think his “one true sentences” don’t always seem that “true.”
I read Hemingway – or at least act like I’m reading Hemingway – because of what he said about writing.
I saw somewhere recently that some writer sat down and typed The Great Gatsby word for word to get a feel for how writers write.
Maybe I need to try that with Hemingway.
All the things we assume about being “creative” ain’t necessarily so…
- You don’t have to be gay to be creative.
- You don’t have to be a liberal to be creative.
- You don’t have to be an atheist or an agnostic to be creative.
- You don’t have to be weird to be creative.
(Image via http://www.flickr.com/photos/stitch/12738176/)
As long as I can remember, I’ve loved reading and writing while lying on the floor.
In school, I did my best work (and there’s a relative term!) on the floor.
I made it through seminary mostly by working on the floor in our little apartment.
When I first committed to “the ministry,” I remember getting my yellow pad and writing lists of resources I wanted from the Baptist Book Store catalog, all while lying prone on the floor.
When we first got married, I would lie on the floor in our den, surrounded by books, and study and prepare sermons.
The floor has been my zafu, if you will. My launching pad. My creative place.
Maybe that’s the reason I’ve not been nearly as “creative” as I once was. Maybe “graduating” from the floor to the desk, to the computer, looks like progress. But maybe, it’s a step backward.
Lying prone on the floor is not conducive to typing, even on your laptop.
Maybe, instead of a cool, hip, trendy standing desk, I need a decidedly lower and un-cool lying desk!
I love the old quote about planting trees:
The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second best time is now.
I know all those cliches and platitudes. I know all the motivational posters and speeches. I’ve spouted most of them, as though a regular outpouring of the words would serve as an incantation to summon the genie of success.
(Image via iStockphoto.com)
…there was this guy who discovered blogging. And he was fascinated by the fact that anybody – even little ol’ he! – could hop on the Internet, write whatever came to mind, and it would go out to millions of people all over the world.
And so, this guy started reading other blogs. And he copied their styles. And he learned that he had a voice as well. And he enjoyed it.
Oh, he never wrote about much that was profound or important. In fact, he mostly wrote about what he was thinking, doing, and seeing. And he enjoyed it.
Then one day, it stopped. It stopped because the guy got preoccupied with a lot of things. Like getting old, failing, and stress.
Oh, and somewhere along the way, he also discovered Twitter and Facebook, and he realized those formats offered a better platform for his brand of quick, cynical, sardonic hits. And he enjoyed it. And he forgot about the blog.
Except every now and again, when he would crack it open, blow the dust off, and look wistfully through the old posts. And he wanted to write something. Something important. Something profound. But he realized he would never write anything important or profound until he started writing something!
And so here we are. One more attempt at restarting the blog.
Ah! Ironic coincidence! I’m sitting outside on a gray overcast day, having just picked up Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer and Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast from the little used-book shop down the street. Hemingway tells of sitting in a fine Paris café, writing in his notebook with a pencil, and Miller’s once-banned classic is set in the same city. And here I am, on the “sidewalk” in a suburban substitute for the cozy cafés of Paris, writing in my notebook with a pencil, and drinking the not-quite equal of Hemingway’s café au lait.
It’s quiet on this dreary day, even with the chiming church bells from across the highway, the constant stream of traffic, and the bouncy pop music blaring from the Starbucks speakers.
There are signs of life: commerce, travel, building, eating at the fast-food drive-thru window, the big box store across the way. People have computers inside. They are huddled around the tables, discussing this or that, reading the latest romance novel, and computing on important-looking projects. Not exactly the cultural center of the Earth, but likely a prime example of what passes for culture in our day and place.
I’m anonymous at the table. At least no one lets on that they know me, and I happily leave them alone as well. In my imagination, they probably look at my little notebook and little black pencil and say something like, “Look! There’s a new Hemingway, writing something profound in his notebook!” I could be a writer, I guess, except for the fact that I can’t write.
I wonder if there’s an Arby’s across from the fine Paris café where Hemingway sat and wrote and drank. I wonder if the fall of Miller’s second year in Paris included a Wal-Mart parking lot. I wonder if either of those observers ever thought of the kind of impression their presence was making on those around them.
I wonder which is more interesting – the traffic outside or the people inside?