1. Write anyway. What have you got to lose?

2. Bake bread. Not from a box or a mix. From scratch. Have you seen what goes into baking bread? Kneading, waiting, watching, wondering. Then you apply heat and hope it doesn’t suck.

3. Sing a song. One of two things will happen: you’ll either feel better or you’ll be so aghast at the sound of your own voice that even writing crap will seem more appealing.

4. Look at pictures of puppies. Smile.

5. Go to a bookstore. Get some coffee. Enjoy the ambiance. Then, pick up a few of the worst books you know of and read the first chapter. Two things can be gleaned from this: the recognition that you are a good writer (I’m sure you are) and the realization that terrible writers get published every day. Just plow through that block with whatever comes to mind. You can always change it later anyway.

Writing is like falling in love. It’s a relationship with this beautiful but tempestuous hips and butt and hands and voice. Always showing, never telling — good Writing. And it’s just the way you like it. And you can never get enough.

It’s there from the start, and you don’t see it until later. “You and writing…there’s this spark between the two of you,” your friends say. “I see the way you look at writing. You guys should just do it already.”

There’s an effortless joy and abandon that comes with the realization that you have been waiting years to be together, the both of you. Chocolate and flowers — Writing knows how cliche it all is. All Writing wants is to spend evenings in front of the computer together, wake up in the morning and have coffee with you.

For a while, it’s just poetry and short stories and maybe a tryst with Novel Writing. It’s good enough for you. Writing is happy, and it shows in everything you do together. It’s easy to just press the words to the paper, scratch ink into the pages, caress the keys. You carry a notebook in your back pocket, just for Writing. You show Writing — your lovely Writing — off to everyone.

Then, shit gets serious. You decide to get real with Writing, put more work into what you’ve got. And that’s impressing at first, but then…when you’re pushing so many hours a week, Writing starts…not being there. Missed calls, ideas forgotten. Writing shows up when you’re half-asleep or working on a countless query letter. Writing catches you with Business Writing, and you don’t talk for a month.

Writing is like falling out of love. It’s a falling apart with hands crossed over a chest and a scowl and too-tight muscles. Always showing, never telling — bad Writing. And it’s just the way that drives you made. And you can never get enough.

So as I mentioned the other week, I have started running. I am progressively working my way up to being able to run a 5K. It’s been rough. As I’ve been doing it, though, there are a few things I’ve realized that connect running with writing, certain ideas that connect these two exhausting activities:

1. It’s all about just getting started.

When it comes time to run, it’s easy to make excuses. About the weather, about other work that needs done, about how you’re feeling. If you can’t force yourself out the door, you’ll never get moving. It’s that two inches from the house to the other side of the door that’s the difference between sitting at home on your ass and making it all happen. Same thing with writing. It’s funny how there are so many other things to do than write…

2. Work your way up.

Nobody expects someone to hit the ground running and be able to keep it up for ten miles on the first trip. First comes walking, then jogging in intervals, then running for time and distance. And just like with writing, no one should have to feel bad because they can’t put out a novel when they’re getting started. One foot in front of the other. One word, then another, then another.

3. Do your homework.

Don’t run in flats. Don’t run on an empty stomach. Stay hydrated.

Don’t use passive voice. Don’t screw up dialogue. Write what you know.

Rules are there for a reason, sometimes.

4. Bring music.

Maybe this is just my own experience, but somethings got to get your butt (or fingers) moving!

5. Don’t give up.

You can do it. Anybody can do this. It just requires the recognition that it is worth the time, effort and work. If you want it enough, you can have it. The miles and words add up. Running and writing are things that anyone can do if they really want to do them. And over time, you’ll do them really well, too.

Read your stuff out loud.

I’d even go so far as to say that if you can stand the sound of your own voice (I can’t — not yours, dear, but mine) read your work into a recorder. Play it back.

I recommend this because writers don’t change much between 5th grade and 30, I find. When told to read something aloud, a writer starts happily and everything is good until suddenly:

“And he walked down the street with a…fish…in his pocket. A fish in his pocket? That’s not right! What the hell does that even mean? What was I thinking?!”

Or (better yet):

“I can’t even read what I wrote here. Sorry.”

Hide under your desk and do it. Close your door. Catch those little things before your editor does (or worse, your mom). Actually forcing the words out of your mouth gives you an idea what they are going to sound like to others. The practice slows you down, gives you real focus on the ebb and flow of your nouns, verbs, consonants and vowels. You’ll realize that what you thought was a great scene of dialogue sounds like two people trying to have a fight in another language.

Like a symphony, it can look fantastic on paper, but if it isn’t beautiful to hear, you’ve lost.

We live in a world where notebooks are an endangered species. Pens are antiques. In this day and age of technology, it’s so much easier to get an idea, type it out and save it “forever.”

“Forever.” Ha. Ha…ha…ha…ha…oh. No. No.

Know your files.

On a basic note, figure out a naming scheme for your files so you can find stuff. I can’t even tell you how many things I can’t find because I just called it something like, “doodymcthunderpants.doc.” Preface the file with what it is, the working title and then a date. So, for example, “shortstory-doodymcthunderpants031812.doc” Long, yes. Will I find it, though? Yes.

Print out your drafts. There are two reasons for this: first of all, it allows you a physical copy to comment on, proofread, show off to your friends, use as TP when you’ve been abandoned in the Rockies. The other is because you’ll really want a hard copy to work off when your computer explodes.

And your computer will explode. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but your computer can decide at any point that it is no longer one for this world, generate a little extra heat to that CPU and bzzt. The End.

Late last year, my computer passed away. My husband and I built a new one from scratch. Bought all new parts, a new case. I highly recommend this “exercise” (it didn’t feel like one at the time). Know everything in your computer. Know how to recognize when things aren’t going well. And clean it. God. Once every 1-3 months. Every little bit of dust is another million degrees of heat.

And be ready. Because even if your computer is a really stable guy with two-and-a-half kids, a wife, a nice job and a great body…your computer can always have a pulmonary embolism.

Back. Up. Your. Shit. There are places online to do this. Now and then, I use Google Docs. I also have a MyBook external harddrive. I’ve also been printing. I email stuff to myself.

I’m excessive.

I urge you to be excessive.

Get a hobby.

Do something - anything - other than write. It doesn’t really matter what it is. If all you ever do is write, you will lose your mind. Writing is like being on fire. It will consume you in such a way that your words will explode in a sudden, flaring passion and then burn out. Ash.

When I was at a flash fiction group last night, an older gentleman who has become a new member of our crew asked me what I do in my free time.

In a horrified whisper, I gasped, “What free time?”

I tried to explain that between writing (60 hours a month, roughly 15 hours a week ideally) and working (40 hours a week at a major Medicare company — no, no, I assure you, it’s notthatinteresting) I don’t have much free time. It was one of the most terrifying conversations I’ve had in a long time.

I think that’s why I took another look at my bucket list. That’s why I decided next week to start running. The weather up here in Pennsylvania is unseasonably warm and pleasant. I want to get out a bit.

Having something else to do gives you a break. It allows you to get your butt away from your desk, to have something else to work on. It puts out the fire, hides the matches, makes you go outside. Be around people, if you can stand them.

It’s okay. You and your writing are in an open relationship. It doesn’t mind that you sneak out with that cupcake mix or that shady sketchpad. It wants some time away from you too.

urbfangirl asked: How do you name your characters? I'm afraid of using too personal of names for my characters that could make what I write more personal than intended. Like maybe I didn't mean to do it, it just happened and then there I am either ruining something that was good or reliving something that was bad (say, if it's a villain) - all because of a name.

This is a great question. Naming a character isn’t easy — it’s even less easy if you’re writing something that’s based off something that really happened or if you want to use a name that’s the same as somebody you know. It gets worse the more well-known that person is.

I try to use unfamiliar names myself. Even people who are supposed to be your-neighbor-next-door kind of people have names I don’t hear on a normal basis. For more extraordinary characters, I really go all out and give them a lot of thought.

Here are some tricks I use:

• Look up baby name meanings. Think what kind of character it’s going to be and give them a name that means that. It’s a particularly clever idea if it’s somebody whose nature and demeanor are completely different.
• If the character has something they are really good at or is a prominent trait, find a real person who is similar and base their name off that name. For example, a character in the novel I’m currently working on ends up being a crazy psychopath. Her name is based off a real female psychopath I looked up online.
• If you are basing a character off a mythical figure, play with that name and give it your own spin. Another example: another novel I’m working on is a horror story where I am basing a horrific female figure off the being Lilith. Her name at the start of the book is Lila, a Jewish name, which becomes Lillian.

If you absolutely have to use a name that you have some association with, here’s another idea I recommend: find a picture that resembles the character (not a picture you’ve taken of a friend — Google Image search. Random stranger.) and print it out. Put it with your notes. If you feel personal associations with the name getting in the way of your writing, take out the picture and just give yourself a second to say, “This is not the person I know. This has nothing to do with me.”

I hope this helps!

Keep an organized desk.

“No! My creative clutter! If I confine my million pieces of paper to notebooks or folders, or if I force my books onto shelves, or if I know where everything is…why, what kind of writer will I be?!”

A saner one.

Recently, I went to Staples and I bought this giant cube. That’s not really what it is, but it’s what I call it. It’s a square shelf with 3x3 square compartments. I forced my husband to put it together because I was sure I’d end up throwing it off the hill we live on. It is one of the best investments I’ve made in months.

You don’t have to go all out, but figure out places for things. It makes such an awesome difference when it feels like you can breathe again, when there isn’t a mound of receipts or to-do lists or low-carb cookbooks taking up your writing space.

My recommendation: make it a goal of picking up at least one thing every night. One single paperclip. One single sticky note pad. Find a place for it. Then get back to work.

If your desk is a real disaster area, there is another last-ditch idea. Grab a shoe box. Throw it all in. Stick it under the bed. I recommend against continuing this habit, though — if your bed is anything like mine, those boxes are going to disappear. They may even make friends with vagrant pests.

Don’t have time? Make some time.

I also recommend toys. I love having things to pick up and reminisce over when I’m stuck on a piece. Currently, my monitor is bordered by a set of Lord of the Rings figurines. They are both on horseback: the Nazgul and its steed, Gandalf and Shadowfax. They make me think of my father, and that makes me smile.

And don’t call my a hypocrite; I always know where my toys are.

Introduce yourself as a writer. Frequently.

For a long time, I wasn’t published. To me, this was practically being tossed down the stairs in the wrong direction. It was a terrible feeling for a person who wanted to be a writer as soon as they recognized their words on paper didn’t look too bad. I was routinely put into situations where people would shake my hand, bright smile on their face and say, “Oh! And what do you do for a living?”

I have, from the time I wanted to be a writer to now, been:

• a student
• a floor worker at a shop that sold glass pipes, CD’s, incense, weaponry and knick-knacks
• a waitress
• an office manager/DJ/editor/writer/accounts manager at a Student Media Center
• a quality auditor
• a call center rep for a power company and a Medicare carrier
• an assistant and agent at a bagpiping school/folk music agency

While some of these sound like interesting stories - and they all come with more than a handful - none of them rolled off the tongue in the same way that ‘a writer’ did. But how could I say that when I didn’t have a book to flash or something more than my college rag?

I tried it out with a stranger at Super Cuts. “Oh, what do you do?” she asked.

“I’m a writer,” I said. “I also have a certification in sky diving and breed Saint Bernards. And I may be distantly related to British royalty. Wealthy British royalty.” The lies, the lies, the lies.

I voiced this concern to one of the first people who introduced me to the idea of writing professionally. We had met at a creative writing class, and she had been nice enough to look at several pieces I had written and wanted published. “Oh, you’re a writer,” she had said, smiling, not even pausing. “You can go on ahead and say that. I mean, it’s obvious.”

It was what I needed to hear then, and that’s why I’m telling you now: if you’re a writer, you’ll know it. Go ahead. Even if all you have is a notebook full of half-hashed short stories. Even if your novel is just strands and strands of fortune cookie paper. Say it. You’re a writer. Shake someone’s hand and yell it in their face.

Not too loud, though. You don’t want to be that writer.