“Our lives are at once ordinary and mythical. We live and die, age beautifully or full of wrinkles. We wake in the morning, buy yellow cheese, and hope we have enough money to pay for it. At the same instant we have these magnificent hearts that pump through all sorrow and all winters we are alive on the earth. We are important and our lives are important, magnificent really, and their details are worthy to be recorded. This is how writers must think, this is how we must sit down with pen in hand. We were here; we are human beings; this is how we lived. Let it be known, the earth passed before us. Our details are important. Otherwise, if they are not, we can drop a bomb and it doesn’t matter.”
—NATALIE GOLDBERG, WRITING DOWN THE BONES
When people ask me who I am, I always answer instinctively, “A writer.”
Not a mom. Not a woman. Not a wife. Not a friend. A writer. Being a writer defines the essence of who I am—and sometimes that’s scary. At times in my life, I’ve found myself shaking with the need to compose, to scribble down thoughts, to calm the demons. It’s how I make sense of this world and all its raw, naked, brutal glory.
It is not an easy life. Being an artist never is. But writers can find a greater payback than other occupations, and I think that’s what consistently drives us forward.
Since I was young, I ached to be a real writer. To me, that meant publication and readers other than my mother. It meant I’d finally be able to share my viewpoint and philosophy with the world and see if I made a small difference. Each committed word changed me and helped me grow. As I aged, the writing changed. As I gained more experience in life and love and heartbreak, the writing became richer, like perfectly tilled soil, prepped to accept the roots of a plant.
I found solace in stories about love, first kisses, and growing up. They buzzed with the passion and the messiness of youth—full of angst and hormones desperately screaming for an outlet. Writing young adult romance helped me imagine myself in that world I craved. And since I created it, I could be the reigning star.
One weekend my cousins visited and discovered my full manuscript stuffed in my desk drawer. My cousin pulled it out, her mouth open like a guppy, and asked what it was. Feeling horribly uncomfortable and embarrassed, I squirmed and told her I wrote a book. She blinked, focused on me, and shook her head. Then said, “You don’t date much, do you?”
I was humiliated. She was right. I was way behind on experiences like boyfriends, proms, and social cliques. I was too busy trying to find myself by writing. I later realized writing saved me, but at the time, I wished I was a different type of person. I felt weird. I didn’t know anyone else like me. Today, there’s much more support for young writers, especially online, but I still believe artists will always struggle with the feeling they are separate from other people. I never quite belonged anywhere, because a part of me was studying and furiously creating mental notes during every conversation, lecture, and commute. I imagine if aliens ever invaded Earth, the artists would be the first to welcome and understand them.
When I was a college student, I craved to explore the lofty philosophies of famous artists, and immerse myself in poetry and texts seeping with hidden meaning.
As I grew, sex became more important, along with the quest for a deeper type of long-term relationship. Writing adult contemporary romance was a perfect fit. I enjoyed writing erotic sex scenes, and exploring the connection between a man and woman forging careers and living full, fabulous lives. I also tried to figure out where my life was going, which led me to a decade of intense yoga and meditation practices. At one point, I found myself cross-legged in an Ashram, chanting and searching for inner peace and calm. I dove into writing about yoga, spirituality, and transcending body into spirit. I turned vegetarian and became a yoga instructor. It was a critical point in my life that helped me connect with who I was as a writer.
When I became a mother, I obsessed over stories depicting the ups and downs of motherhood. I needed humor to get through the smell of poop and the constant exhaustion and confusion. I wanted to connect with who I was before motherhood.
We must understand that our experiences consistently change us as people and writers. Writing is an energy that is alive and flowing in ebbs and tides. What we believed in yesterday may change tomorrow. In this way, we are re-creating our lives, our outlook, and the words we commit to the page. There is also a struggle to redefine our writing paths, and we must try to understand not only what we need as writers, but also what we need to live happily in our day-to-day routine.
When I moved from part-time writer to full-time, I faced many obstacles I never imagined.
Before The Marriage Bargain became big, I’d published one book and six novellas. After The Marriage Bargain, I published nineteen more stories within four years. I dedicated myself to growing my backlist and taking advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of interested readers. Of course, I was able to write full-time, so that helped, but I also committed to my writing—and to myself. I wanted to write every day.
But the move to writing full-time was a struggle. For years, I’d lived my life snatching time here and there to write. I sacrificed social events, television, books, and family time in my quest to get words on the paper. My writing time was sacred.
Suddenly, I had massive amounts of free time during the day to write. My children were in school. My husband was at work. The dogs slept all day. Nothing would distract me from my pursuit of heavy word counts. In pure amazement, I calculated the amount of words I’d write, and how easily I could make my deadlines. This was too easy!
And then things got in the way. Weird things. I’d always proudly told people I didn’t do a lot of cleaning. I wasn’t the domesticated sort, despised cleaning at all costs, and adhered to a philosophy that told me if it was only going to get dirty again soon, why bother in the first place? I’d let stuff pile up, not worry about the little things, and hired a cleaner to come in every other week for the deep scrubbing.
Imagine my shock when that first week passed in a blur of ... cleaning. I’d sit with my coffee, respond to e-mail, update social media, waste time on the Internet, then take a deep breath and open up my manuscript.
Until I found the need to wash my coffee cups. And let the dogs out one more time. And notice my laundry needed sorting. I was home now. I needed to do a bit more of my share because I had all this extra time to write. After all, I’d already squeezed out a book while scraping for writing time. Now, I’d be able to take care of the house, help my husband, and write a lot.
My family seemed to agree. My husband began calling me from work with a list of errands. I found myself grocery shopping, dealing with the gas company, calling the cable company, taking the car in for an oil change, and a dozen other details I’d never deign to do in the past. Friends who had toddlers at home began to call, asking if I could watch their child for just an hour. My phone rang off the hook. My mother grumbled and griped when I declined lunch, telling me I was home now, and I certainly had the time.
I found, at the end of thirty days, I had almost no new writing. Nada. I muttered under my breath about my husband not helping and found myself caught up in a cycle of resentment while my deadline ticked away. How had this happened?
Somehow I had lost my way due to my interpretation of time. I began to devalue the importance of my work. Instead of greedily protecting my writing time, I tossed the minutes away as if there was an endless surplus in the day. I treated my writing like it was disposable, so no new words appeared on the page.
My mind couldn’t make sense of what happened, and I decided to reevaluate. It took almost another month to grow strong enough to create boundaries in my life. In a way, I started from square one when I began writing full-time. I had to stand up and announce I was a writer and that my time at home was sacred. I had a long talk with my husband, explained my frustrations, and he understood. I learned to say no. A lot. Much more than I was comfortable with as a huge people pleaser. But slowly, I began to do the main thing that writers need in order to succeed.
I protected the work.
Finally, I fell into a routine, discovering the schedule that worked best. Some writers go by daily word count. Some by time spent actually writing. You need to find what works best for you, whether it’s an ambitious morning schedule and flexible afternoons, or vice versa. But you must treat your writing like a job. As Nora Roberts says, “I’m the hardest boss anyone could ever have.”
Yet, writing is not like filing. We need to be our own taskmasters, but a creative profession must include room to breathe, change, and grow.
I spoke earlier about how writing for yourself is very different than writing for a publisher or a deadline. Expectations change everything. It’s like there’s a bigger chance of failure once you’ve been published. You have more to lose. You’re no longer just writing. You’re a business entity responsible for a website, promotion, marketing, and a product. The stakes climb very high.
After composing so many contemporary romance novels back to back, my muse began to get cranky. I craved something different. I wanted to stretch my writing muscles and fly.
Self-publishing was the key to my freedom. I was growing a brand with Simon & Schuster, which was extremely important. Vital, even. But I was also a creative person with a soul that longed to fly in new directions—I know myself very well. If I didn’t give myself the room, I’d wither up and churn out bad writing. Again, my advice is to know yourself. Get to know your habits—good and bad—and what you need to stay fresh and grounded in your writing.
I’d spoken to an author at a writers conference and she broached the subject of doing a project together. Something different. The new adult market had exploded, and I was interested in trying my hand at a story. This had nothing to do with chasing the market. I’d had no desire to write new adult. I’d also steered away from writing first person, preferring third person. In fact, writing in first person scared me. But when we sketched out an idea for three books—all connected, but still stand-alone—about three college friends on spring break that find love, it felt fresh and fun.
And that, specifically, is why I signed on for the project.
Because it was self-published and I was writing with two friends, I had zero expectations. I wasn’t doing it to hit a list, get rich, or impress anyone. I followed the story, experimented with voice, and had fun. Readers embraced the new direction and Beyond Me actually ended up hitting the New York Times best-seller list.
That was back in 2013, though. The market is completely different today—glutted, which makes it harder to get your book in front of bloggers and readers who have endless choices, many either free or available for ninety-nine cents.
I made a decision to price my self-published work in the average range. Novellas would cost $2.99. Full-length, $4.99. The prices were still cheaper than my traditional books, but allowed me some leeway to create sales.
My goal became simple: Write the bigger books with Simon & Schuster while publishing independently to build my backlist. The key with self-publishing is the rights. You own them. You say when, how much, how long, and you pick your content. It’s a great way to experiment with different genres or to discover a new audience niche.
My main problem revolved around time. I wanted to focus on writing books and not become swamped in the details of launching a successful indie career. I decided to work with a publishing partner called Cool Gus Publishing. Our agreement was clear and simple: Cool Gus took care of all the mechanics in publishing the book, including editing, formatting, uploading to all platforms, cover design, and basic marketing. In return, they received a percentage of my royalties. They became trusted advisors while I retained control of my rights and what I wanted to write. They met with all publishing representatives from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Google Play. Cool Gus helped arrange sales and BookBub ads, analyzed my algorithms, and created video trailers and slide shares. They even issued a free book called, Sneak Peeks, which offered readers sample chapters of all my work and included exclusive behind-the-scenes content. Cool Gus and I still work together to continuously brainstorm about fresh ways to bring my work to new readers.
This type of partnership works well for me, and we have now issued eight books together, with an ambitious schedule for the upcoming year. But no matter how much help you have, certain books seem to do better than others for various reasons.
For example, after Beyond Me, I wrote the sequel Chasing Me, and the sales weren’t that good. This fascinated me. The book featured the same characters, same genre, same type of covers, and was released around the same time. We followed the same exact marketing strategy, including the ninety-nine cent price point for only preorders, an extensive blog tour, social media advertising, and the combination of all our newsletter lists and street teams.
Yet, the sequel tanked.
Another lesson learned: You cannot repeat the same magic because the market is consistently changing. That’s another reason this business is so hard. The moment you have things figured out, the market shifts, and you need a brand-new plan.
Still, I don’t regret it. I felt the book was solid, I had fun, and I learned. I also now had a strong dual set, with the ability to offer the first book for free or discounted.
My other forays into genres include a paranormal novella based on superheroes. Inspired by my son’s adoration of superheroes, which forced me to Google every character multiple times, I ached to write this one. I was an aficionado on the subject at that point and grew to truly respect the growth of superheroes and the tortured-hero type. My idea was for a trilogy of connected superheroes, so I wrote Dante’s Fire and released it into the world.
It sold less than Chasing Me. Ouch.
I realized now that the cover wasn’t the right fit, and I eventually updated the look for an uptick in sales. The second book scheduled was pushed back due to time constrictions with my Simon & Schuster contract, so I pushed the trilogy to the back of my mind. Eventually, I intend to finish the trilogy and promote it as a set.
I also decided to reissue three erotic novellas after I resecured my rights from the publisher. This included an extensive rewrite to update the stories, new covers, and a complete repackaging of the brand. I decided to write a fourth novella for readers who had already read the series, and issued them a week apart.
My vision for my career included consistent releases every few months in an effort to keep building my brand and reader base. My writing schedule was extremely ambitious, with both traditional and indie book releases. It revolved around working on a one-hundred-thousand-word book for a good three months, revising, copyediting, and diving into a self-published novella. At that time, I’d also need to promote the first book, and the cycle would repeat. Simply put, there were not enough hours in my day, especially when the new writing moved slower than I wanted.
As you know, I’m a big advocate of sitting in the chair and forcing out words, but I also know a good writing day can mean one decent page, and another day can mean two thousand words. When I hit the last quarter of a book, I clock in four- to five-thousand words every day.
Yet, each time I hit a new stage in the process, I still worry. I wonder if this is the last book I’ll ever write. I worry my Muse permanently packs up for vacation in Vegas and decides to stay for good. I torture myself with comparisons to previous books, other author’s books, and the horrific middle where I fall apart each and every time like clockwork.
If I’ve written over twenty-five books, why do I still worry? Why don’t I ever confidently strut my stuff and act like a rock star?
Every time I open up a Word document, I start at square one. I sit and stare at the screen, gripped in terror that I have to do this all over again. Will it all fall apart this time? Will I finally reveal my big secret? That I’m just a big, fat fraud?
That’s depressing.
And sometimes, exhausting.
Oh, and it’s also imposter syndrome, which most successful women suffer from. I diagnosed myself with it at an early age. I was taking a psychology class in college and my professor wrote the term on the board. He explained that imposter syndrome occurs when no matter how successful a person is, whether she’s winning trophies, getting As on tests, or writing and publishing books, she feels like a fraud. A person suffering from imposter syndrome convinces herself the teacher was easy on her, or that she finished too close to her opponent in the race to really deserve the trophy, or that her book succeeded because it had the right cover or blurb or that it really wasn’t her talent, it was just … luck.
I remember blinking at the board, and the fog around me suddenly shriveled up, revealing the clear road ahead. Yes! I shouted to myself. That’s me! I finally found out what I have!
The problem was how to fix it. There’s no real cure. Just a lot of practice trying to believe in yourself, and repeating helpful tasks. Mine were journaling, meditating at an ashram, and seeking spiritual peace to transition my fears away from my work. Today, it’s spending time with my boys, my dogs, and my family. Family time reminds me I have other important aspects of my life and helps me balance my vision of my work.
But there’s always going to be fear and that’s part of the package. We need to learn to live with it, and to coexist peacefully with it, and to accept with grace that it will always be our companion.
Fear can be a very valuable tool that helps push your career forward. I have learned one lesson that I share with all of my workshop students and writer friends: If something scares you, you should do it. You’re scared for a reason. Fear is the slithering snake whispering vile things in your ear, making you think this new venture will be a total disaster. Usually, it won’t be. If it is, it’s still worth the risk, because you’ll learn something.
Mistakes are good. You cannot do everything perfectly in this life, and I promise you, even after reading this book, listening to workshops, and taking advice from your mentors, you are going to make mistakes. You’ll probably make a lot of them. Good for you. At least you’re living, and if you’re living, you have something great to write about.
Our lives become textures mingled into our writing, and the richer, the better. The page is a safe place to dive deep, to release the demons, and to unleash them on the world. It will be uncomfortable and sometimes painful. You will want to quit. But if you follow through, you may be surprised you’ve reached levels in your writing you’ve never achieved before.
Stake your claim in this world and show us what no one has before. There will be many people who won’t understand or agree with your viewpoint. There will be many people who do, and who read your book and feel something.
Every good book I read changes me in some small way. It could be a simple scene, character, or the chemistry between hero and heroine. It could be the richness of setting, the title, or the cover. It could be that the book drew me in, and I forgot about real life for a little while. Those moments are precious.
We are the people who deliver those moments. Doesn’t that make us a little bit immortal? Don’t writers exhibit naked vulnerability and massive courage to put their work out there into the public hands? Don’t writers risk everything, with the possibility of having their work literally and figuratively ripped apart, analyzed, and mocked, all in the quest for just one reader to fall in love?
Count me in. That’s the type of career and life I want to live. I may be the shy, plain girl in the corner of a rollicking party, but on the page I am a tigress, a fire in the tundra, a glittering ruby buried in a pile of jagged slate rocks.
Katy Perry tells us to roar and light up like a firework. Rocky tells us it’s not how many times you get hit, but how many times you get back up. Rachel Platten tells us it only takes a small spark to start a fiery explosion. Barry Manilow tells us to make our own parade (don’t judge me people).
There will be many times in this career that you will have to make choices, and sometimes going the artistic route won’t be feasible. Writers with strict contracts may find themselves locked in with a publisher and not able to self-publish for a while. Authors who juggle day jobs may not be able to write that extra book, choosing to spend their precious free time with family or developing promotions for their book.
I don’t think there are wrong choices, but you must give each one careful consideration. If you are a writer, and you bought this book, you want to be a career writer. You want a body of work that grows along the way, and it just may grow slower and more organically than other authors.
I know, because I reached different stages of my career over the past thirty years. Looking back, I see how each stage fit to free me up for the next. At the time, I saw nothing but my bitter frustration of how my life was passing me by and I’d never “make it.”
Success means different things to different people. My publishing partner, Cool Gus, consistently repeats the magic phrase to all authors: There are many roads to Oz.
I have that printed on my wall to help remind me I’m not other writers. I’m me. I have my own path, and I need to follow it with a truthful heart. I never could have sustained my current writing schedule when I had two kids in diapers. But, at that time, I followed a path that was right for me.
Be bold, but be patient. Don’t ever expect to explode out of the gate. I always preferred betting on the long shot anyway—it was a much bigger payoff and a damn fun surprise.
Write down what success means for you. Then write down your goal for one year and five years. Commit to paper the things you want to achieve and the small steps necessary to get there. It’s amazing how good it feels to cross even one item off your list. Seeing career goals on paper changes things—it makes them possible. It makes them real.