“Becoming a Mapbuilder” by Danielle Lazarin
What you notice as a writer isn’t an accident, nor is it objectively interesting. This sense of recognition, of compulsion toward a subject or character or storyline, is the layering of the lenses of your childhood and your adulthood, your jobs and your relationships, the series of small and large decisions we make, life’s little accidents constructing our fictions as much as they make our real lives. By indulging yourself in these raw materials, allowing them to be the match to the kindling of the world you walk through every day, you’re likely to start a story that matters to you, one that you can’t help but write, because it comes from your gut.
“The Fear of Not Saying Interesting Things” by Kimberly Bunker
For a long time I wrote because I thought of interesting things. I didn’t identify myself with it, and I didn’t think about it most of the time. As soon as I changed methods—when I started chasing after ideas, when I started “perspiring,” because that’s what real writers do—the words became more elusive. I had become a writer, but I’d changed the methods that let me write in the first place.
This isn’t to say I plan to sit around waiting for lightning to strike. It’s certainly more nuanced than that. For instance, I think it’s possible to cultivate a mindset that’s receptive to but not obsessive about ideas, and to be methodical about pursuing the ideas that seem worth pursuing—i.e., finding a balance between waiting for lightning to strike, and getting behind the mule.
But it boils down to priorities and believing that you deserve it. If it’s a dream of yours to write, then don’t let anybody—yourself included—diminish its importance in your life. When you’re “prepublished,” it’s hard to feel like you’re a “real writer.” It’s really hard to ask other people to prioritize and possibly sacrifice for your dream. But you have to.
“Stop Reading My Fiction as the Story of My Life” by Jami Attenberg
Fiction is a magic trick of sorts. But at its best it doesn’t just conjure up an imaginary world; it makes the real one disappear, it makes the author disappear. Only a book can do this — let you lose yourself so completely. So, if you can, forget about everything else. Just be there with the book.