August 1, 2016
Tongue firmly planted in cheek. But not.
Start by reading David Sedaris and Ann Lemott. Read ancient poetry and crappy human interest stories in the local news. Journal and then rip out the pages and burn them. Swear a lot. Go to therapy.
Sit in your car and wonder about people in the parking lots. Drink coffee as if it is the nectar of everlasting life. Procrastinate. Make to-do lists and pace around your kitchen building story arcs in your head. Write 12 pages of crap and then get really excited about one decent paragraph. Order takeout. Get distracted by emails. Turn your life into a series of experiments: give up sugar or Netflix or speaking for a month so that you can write about it. Write at 3 am when you desperately need to sleep. Sleep at 3 pm when you desperately need to be awake. Wrestle with your inner demons often; preferably out loud and in public.
Read biographies. Read medical journals. Read recent bestsellers and assure yourself that your writing is at least that good even though it likely isn't. Learn to be kind to yourself. Go to more therapy. Write about it. Dig up your childhood and write about that. Tell stories to your friends about the funny thing that happened last week and pay attention to their body language. Have another coffee and try not to think about writing for a minute.
Write because you accidentally left the sprinkler on all day yesterday and you need money to cover next month's water bill.
Write because you can't not write.
And then edit it.
Edit it again. And again. Until your own words become so familiar they make you queasy.
And then bare your whole naked self before an endless stream of editors only to be rejected again and again until one finally accepts your work, edits the fuck out of it and pays you in magazine copies and chump change.