How to Write a Book

A Prologue

I write today from one of my favorites, the Sewanee Writers Conference. I’m on a mountaintop in Tennessee. I’ve been here before and loved it each time because of the incredible talent and spirit of the writers—faculty, students, and staff—who participate.

The large print library binding edition of The American Daughters is now on library shelves everywhere. It reminds me of the books I used to read when I volunteered back in high school. You can order a copy online, if you’re interested. A UK edition is in the works, too. More on that later.

As always, thank you to all the premium subscribers who keep the lights on. Say hello or send questions. You’re always welcome.

In other news, I’m wearing a gnarly black cast and riding a black knee scooter to get around. It’s all very punk. I assure you. Long story, but that’s the last time I try to kick box my way out of a children’s party. Seriously, something about having this cast and hobbling around makes me think of 80s books and films. Like The World According to Garp, where the characters have a series of accidents. But the main character is who I think most of. Garp, played by the inimitable Robin Williams, wanted to write a book and become famous since he was a boy. What a silly dream. Also, how dare he? That was my dream.

I meet writers all the time in my work. At schools, readings, and conferences. At parties, workshops, and retreats. I meet people who have dreamed of seeing their book on a shelf since they were children. And I meet writers who have produced acclaimed—even transcendent—work. We have conversations one-on-one or in groups. We talk around the issue or directly into it.

You would think the answer would be apparent to all, both amateurs and veterans, but it’s not. In other fields of inquiry, like mathematics, there are fundamental truths that provide answers: 1 + 1 = 2. But writing is elusive. I think this is because of the muse. Writing is magic. Not 1 + 1 = 2, but 1 + 1 = 5. The muse is what makes this alchemy possible.

Many have talked about the muse throughout history. Discussions about this mythical being often veer into the mystical. “The muse is a kind of genius that visits when it chooses.” I’m paraphrasing the brilliant Elizabeth Gilbert who, I think, was herself paraphrasing someone else.

I find this approach tiring and confusing sometimes. How do we communicate with something that is an idea? I’m not sure I know even now.

This leads to another question that is often talked around: can writing be taught? Or even can you teach someone to write a book?

I won’t beat around the bush. Of course, writing can be taught. But I think of learning about writing the same way I think about the muse. It must be wooed.

Whether you, dear readers, are in a writing program or on your own, I believe the following is true: the ability to write a book comes down to creating the proper conditions for your literary garden to grow.

Insert a montage here, preferably in black and white, of a hearty farmer lady in overalls planting seeds then harvesting beautiful flowers.

Or let’s be more businesslike and think of it the way an Executive Producer in Hollywood might. An EP is not an actor. They don’t make choices about how to perform in front of the screen. They’re not a director who sets the overall aesthetic. Nor are they the cinematographer, editor, or foley engineers who make decisions about visuals, pace, or sound.

No. The executive producer is the person who creates the conditions for success. The EP says the movie should look like this and evoke these kinds of feelings in the viewer. This movie should star Jim Carrey and make people laugh. Or: the star of this film should be Meryl Streep and viewers should bring a box of Kleenex.

This is extended allegory serves a purpose.

At the risk of putting too fine a point on it, you are the Executive Producer of your writing life.

About ten years ago, I was in a wilderness. I had lived through what felt like a beautiful film story. I had made what some would call a series courageous of decisions. I co-founded two writing groups. I returned to school to get a masters in creative writing. I’d gotten my first few story and essay publications. I made a bunch of incredible friends too.

But my overall plan had failed. I thought that if I went to grad school and got a degree and published some stories then I could transition out of my law practice and give myself over to writing full time.

What a fool that mortal was.

That transition wasn’t in the cards then. It didn’t work financially or professionally. I had no book. No tenure track job waiting for me. Who did I think I was? Why did I think it would be a seamless process? What, dear friends, was I smoking?

I had produced a life where I had an MFA and prospects. Yet, I had jumped from one rung of the trapeze without timing the arrival of the next rung. I fell and my life shattered.

I worked a series of law jobs from then forward. Each one less auspicious and more degrading than the last.

Chrissie Hynde said a wish is just a shot in the dark. Chrissie was right. 

But…I wasn’t done. All those years of working as a writer toughened me while improving my craft.

I’m here today, so apparently, I survived. I have three published books on the shelf. Like a mother the pain that led to their births doesn’t feel so vivid all these years later.  

So, how does one write a book? Any which way one can. Through successes and failures. Through life changes and world changes. Read everything. Make mistakes. Set the conditions for the future you want to see. How are you seeding your garden? What cinematographers and editors are you hiring? Are you pushing yourself? Are you having a good time even when you fall on your nose?

As an aside, I think I just finished my fourth book. But that is a story for another day. Let me go ice this leg. I’ve got writing to do.

Toodles!