Already jotted down that final punctuation mark? Look at you being awesome.

Still en route? No problem! The journey is long, but you’re well on your way.

But here’s something you may not know: outlining isn’t just a pre-planning tool, and it’s not just something to keep you moving as your manuscript unfolds.

A post-first-draft outline can empower your hero’s journey and your book’s lifeblood.

Here’s how this transformative revision process works:

1. Write your book’s Mission Statement.

After you finish your manuscript, write a single sentence that captures what your protagonist wants and/or what they’re up against. This is the Mission Statement of your book, the expectation you give your readers from the start that will be the driving force that holds your entire story together.*

A company needs a Mission Statement to stay on point or their customers will take notice. A book should be similarly purposeful.

Themes and take-aways are different conversations. Vision Statements and Mission Statements are separate concepts; however, if you focus on your mission, you’re able to assess if you’re getting the job done.

2. Examine what you’ve captured on the page.

Skim through your entire book, and begin a post-first-draft outline. Using index cards, sticky notes, a paper notebook, or your favorite writing software or app, go through your book scene by scene, chapter by chapter, and write down the “happenings.” A sentence or a few notes on the developing story are all every scene needs for this outline—not the ideas or thoughts or dialogue, just the elements of the plot.

If you already outlined, that original draft doesn’t matter for this exercise. If this level of detail would have distracted your muse earlier, that’s fine too. Your goal in the story-structure revision stage isn’t to see what you planned; it’s to see what you’ve accomplished.

With a little bit of time, you’ll have an at-a-glance recap of your entire book.

3. Double-check every scene against your Mission Statement.

Every single moment in your book needs to be there for a reason, driving your narrative forward in some way. Are you upping the stakes? Is your plot progressing? Are your scenes on point or are they unrelated vignettes? Amusing tangents, fascinating research, and character backgrounds are fun to write, but they can weaken the experience of a story if they’re not connected to the hero’s journey in some way.

(How to Know When Your Manuscript Is Ready)

Every scene you find that’s “on mission,” add a check mark, highlight it green, or otherwise distinguish “goal accomplished!” on your outline.

For every scene that’s “off mission,” ask yourself why it’s there. Is it establishing something else vital to the story? If not, how can you elevate it so that it is? Or would anything be lost from the total story if it was cut?

An outline also allows you to catch the pivotal moments of your plot that are thinner than they should be. Seek out these scenes too and consider their expansion to ensure maximum story impact.

There are so many ways to examine your novel’s structure before, during, and after writing your manuscript. A book can be a living, breathing beast. Editing is where you tame it and make it do your bidding.

You have a mission. All writers do, no matter what it might be. But are you fulfilling that mission? Are your pages? A post-first-draft outline allows you to double-check and be sure.

*Books that juggle multiple points of view are permitted multiple “Mission Statements,” but each thread needs to similarly stay on task.

Click to continue.

The post The Transformative Power of a Post-First-Draft Outline appeared first on Writer's Digest.

I encourage both novice writers and veteran ones to attend writer’s conferences. I have learned so much, connected to some great people, and connected to literary agents and publishers by attending. For many writers, the experience can be both exciting and overwhelming. They find themselves surrounded by so many people who love reading, and most importantly, writing. It can make you feel small and insignificant, but read on and I will reveal a secret.

Writers are not always good with large crowds or stepping out to introduce themselves. Our work is a solitary one, with just you and the page. And of course, the occasional furry friend as a companion. It is my belief the we need to connect with other writers to provide a network of support, friendship, context to our work, and mutual understanding. Who knows better what a writer goes through daily than another writer?

In May of this year, I presented a session on the 20 rules of effective networking. It was during the lunch break, so I figured that a few people would grab a quick bite to listen. To my surprise and delight, the room was full of people wanting to know how to network better. Below are my top 10 tips of effective networking at writing conferences.

Find your group.

There are all types of writer’s conferences that you can attend year-round. Some are general, while others focus on a genre such as romance or sci-fi. Find your group and take a chance. They are just like you!

Step out of your comfort zone and be the best version of yourself.

It is tough being a social butterfly if that is not your nature. Sometimes you must step out beyond self-imposed boundaries. Here is the little secret I alluded to earlier: Everyone else in the room feels the same as you do. If you step out a little, so will everyone else, because you are making it a safe to do so. You have a story to tell; you are a writer. Just let that story come out in a natural way, and people will be drawn to you and want to know more. Take a risk. It’s worth it.

Invest in relationships and get paid for your business.

This is such an important to understand. It has been the secret sauce in my success as a writer. When I meet someone, I listen to them. I think about ways I can help them. But I never sell to them. I never try to get them to buy a service, or publish my book, or hire me as a writer. I ask instead how I might help them. Often it is matchmaking- connecting authors to other people in the industry that may help them. I invest time in relationships. I get paid for writing. I don’t do referral fees or charge people for mentoring them- I just provide what I can. It always comes back to me as work one way or another, and in the process, I have made another friend for life.

Smile, shake, eye contact.

Engaging with someone for the first time seems like a lost art. Smile, not in a creepy homicidal maniac kind of way, but in a natural way. People’s natural response is to smile back, and it opens up the opportunity to introduce yourself. Maintain good eye contact; just try not to panic people by staring into their soul. Shake their hand firmly but not crushingly. You can use two hands if you wish, but be sure to let go. There is nothing more awkward than a person who is talking to you but won’t let go of your hand.

Have a business card.

This seems obvious in a networking situation, but I have found that many writers don’t see themselves as the entrepreneurs that they are. Your book is your business, even if it is a work-in-progress. You are the marketing department of your own business and therefore you need a card for people to be able to find you after an event. They don’t have to be fancy or expensive, but I do recommend you have one. Try not to use your business card for your day job. You are a writer and an entrepreneur; embrace it.

Listen up and shut up.

Sometimes we are so excited about what we are working on that we tend to babble, or convince someone that a) it will be the next bestseller and b) it will become a movie. Both could be true, but in a networking situation, it is about getting know the other person. You cannot possibly do that if you are dominating the conversation. Be a great listener. People will think you are wise beyond your years. Give others a chance to open up, and eventually they will come around and ask about you. Then you will have their full attention.

Turn off the devices.

I worked as a child protective services social worker for many years before becoming a writer. I was constantly on call. When my pager or phone rang, it meant a child needed my help. Those were true emergencies that could not wait. As a writer, there are fewer true emergencies. If your manuscript is on fire, then call the fire department, but when you are talking to someone DO NOT look at your phone or tablet. There is nothing more disengaging then someone looking at their phone every 10 seconds. The message is that the phone is way more important than talking to them. I often just move on when this happens to me. Spend the time to really engage one on one with someone. That is how relationships are built.

Don’t act desperate.

When approaching people in the industry such as publishers, editors, and agents, don’t act desperate. Don’t follow them around and pester them. Don’t make your move to introduce yourself in the bathroom if you happen to see them there. Just be patient, and when you see they are not busy, approach them politely, say something nice, and then move on. If you are nice and engaging, they will remember you for that.

Follow up.

You will more than likely return home from an event with a stack of cards and numbers. Wait a day or two and send each person a personalized message. If you really connected, follow it up with a phone call. Write down their special dates and send them something in the mail. People love real mail! Be active with them on social media. Promote them and congratulate them publicly for their accomplishments.

Pre-emptive strike: Let everyone know you are coming on social media.

I like to begin sending out messages on social media that I am coming and try to include hashtags and organizations in those messages. I usually wear a hat to conferences and I encourage people to say hello to me when they see me. It gives them permission and a reason to introduce themselves.

One bonus tip is that much of the best networking is done after hours. Find out what is going on and where people are going. Have fun and mingle. These are where many of the deals are done, so take a chance and step out in order to stand out.

Write better. Get published. Build your network.

Writer’s Digest Annual Conference | New York City

The post 10 Tips for Effective Networking at a Writer’s Conference appeared first on Writer's Digest.

In the summer of 2016, I found myself sitting across from Keith Jesperson at the Oregon State Penitentiary. This was the second day of my face-to-face visits with Jesperson, occurring after we had conversed by weekly phone calls and letters for many months. Between 1990 and 1995, Jesperson murdered eight women by strangulation, after raping most of them. Previously married and a father of three, Jesperson met most of his victims while working for a long-haul trucking company. He targeted easy prey—vulnerable women such as prostitutes or transients—gambling that they could disappear for a long time before anyone noticed them missing.

Craving attention, Jesperson left an anonymous note on the bathroom wall of a truck stop and sent a letter to reporters bragging about his murders. Because he signed the letter with a smiley face, reporters dubbed him “the Happy Face Killer.” Jesperson’s five-year killing spree ended only when he murdered a woman whom the police could tie him to directly: his girlfriend, Julie Ann Winningham. Jesperson now serves life without parole in the Oregon State Penitentiary.

As I sat across from him in the visiting room, with only a small coffee table between us, I listened as he described his murders in sickening detail. I had read everything out there about Jesperson’s murders. But it was a very different experience to sit across from the man and hear him describe the murders to me. And one of the hardest things I had ever had to do was sit there and listen.

How did I get there and why did I do this?

As an avid fan of true crime, I’ve read many books about convicted serial murderers; many were pure sensationalist drivel. But some attempted to truly decipher the motives, backgrounds, and causes behind such violence. I, too, was trying to unravel some clues that could explain how someone like Jesperson becomes the person he becomes, but I was doing this from a different angle. As a neurologist studying empathy for animals, I knew of the published studies that suggested that many serial murderers abused animals as children and that their failure to develop empathy for both animals and humans stemmed from a shared root. The problem with these studies, though, was that they were not wholly informative. One of their major limitations was that they were rather superficial—they were more like a checklist:Did the person hurt animals?Yes or no? If yes, at what age and what was the circumstance? The studies didn’t provide full insight as to why violent people abuse animals and how that abuse starts.

I decided to go one step further than simply rehash the published studies. I decided to meet a serial killer and ask my questions directly.

Of course, I had no idea where to start. How does one go about meeting serial killers? It’s not something they taught in medical school. So I started my journey where anyone else would: I Googled it.

I researched convicted serial murderers who had a reported history of abusing animals. At the top of my list was Keith Jesperson. I contacted the Oregon State Penitentiary and asked how to send a letter to Jesperson. I then wrote to him explaining that I was a neurologist studying empathy for humans and animals and asked to talk with him about his history.

In less than a week, Jesperson responded and we started a series of weekly phone calls that ended up being some of the most disturbing, horrifying, annoying, and surprising that I have ever had. My conversations with him gave me insight into the mind of a violent person that I would never have had otherwise.

There are several lessons that I learned along the way that proved invaluable in maintaining a working relationship with Jesperson for more than a year.

Do your research first.

Before I contacted Jesperson, I researched convicted serial murderers who acknowledged their crimes. This criteria was critical, as it increased the chance that the person would speak truthfully with me. I had no desire to waste time with someone who would play games with me. Additionally, many serial murderers are quite narcissistic. If you contact them knowing little about them, chances are you will not get a response. If however, you show that you have done your research on them, they are more likely to appreciate your due diligence.

Contact specialists.

If you can, contact a specialist in criminal psychology before you contact the serial killer. Learn all you can from that specialist about how to behave with such a killer and what to expect from them. As a neurologist with a deep background in psychiatry I had a leg up on understanding the behaviors of violent killers. Still, there was always more to learn. My discussions with former FBI special agents and criminal psychiatrists provided me with extremely helpful advice that made for better interviews with Jesperson.

Be prepared to give up control.

Serial killers are all about control. Many times over the months that followed, Jesperson tried to manipulate me and take complete control over what we discussed. And I had to be OK with that. If you hope to understand the behavior of an individual like Jesperson, you need to be open to experiencing many facets of their personalities. You need to let them have enough control so that they stay with you. They can end conversations with you at any time. After all, if they are not getting anything out of the conversations, why should they bother with you? What Jesperson wanted from me was a face-to-face visit. For many months when we first started our conversations, I felt that I was getting what I needed from our phone calls. I didn’t see a need to visit him. But he felt differently. He wanted a female visitor. As uncomfortable as that made me, I had to agree to visiting him in order to continue our conversations. Ultimately, that was the best decision I made with Jesperson. He spoke more openly to me in person than he ever did over the phone.

Never lie.

Many serial killers are, understandably, suspicious of those who contact them. Authors wanting to sensationalize their lives and make a quick buck have taken advantage of people like Jesperson. Be upfront and honest about why you are contacting them. If you intend to write a book about them, say so. If, as in my case, your interviews with them are only a small part of your book, say that as well. Be honest about your intentions. If they feel you are being less than truthful, they will not hesitate to end conversations with you.

Treat your interview subject courteously.

No matter how heinous their crimes, serial murderers are still individuals with emotions and who who respond to basic courtesies. It doesn’t mean that you can’t be honest with them about how you feel about their crimes—by all means don’t be afraid to show your true feelings—but temper them. You must consider yourself a partner with the interviewee if you hope to get honest responses.

Have personal experiences you want to share? WD University’s Writing the Personal Essay 101: Fundamentals will teach you how to avoid the dreaded responses of “so what?” and “I guess you had to be there” by utilizing sensory details, learn to trust your writing intuitions, and develop a skilled internal editor to help with revision. Register today!

The post How I Interviewed a Serial Killer and Stayed Sane appeared first on Writer's Digest.

I was always going to be a writer. Well, that or the next vampire slayer, but I was never called, so writing became my calling. In ninth grade, I was sure I would be the kind of writer who changed lives and made a positive impact on the world. I only read classic literature and books like The Alchemist and The Celestine Prophecy, and I wrote poetry. Really bad poetry. And I was weird.

The day the teacher told her class to open their textbooks to a page featuring a photograph of the Giza Plateau, she had no way of knowing the quiet new girl was obsessed with the Great Pyramid. She hadn’t seen the cross-sectional diagrams detailing the structure scribbled into the margins of every notebook I owned, complete with hidden shafts and star orientations above. She did the absolute worst possible thing she could do. She asked the class if anyone knew what we were looking at. I took a deep breath, raised my hand in a tentative, jerky motion, and decided to speak for the first time in the weeks we’d been meeting. When she called on me, I felt my cheeks burn and my stomach twist as my adrenaline spiked. I launched into a full-on diatribe about perfect angles, constellations, ancient civilizations, historical cover-ups, and the potential for life on other planets. Halfway through my speech, I made a fatal error. I looked up. The entire class was staring slack-jawed in my direction. I trailed off to a stutter, then to awkward silence, and the class followed suit. It was the kind of silence that thickens the air.

“You’re weird,” proclaimed a boy from a few desks away. The class erupted in laughter, and I focused all my non-existent powers on willing myself invisible.

Weird. It’s a word that’s followed me around. In my younger days it was my own, personal Beetlejuice, a thing that would become real if muttered three times. Here’s the thing, though: I am weird. I just wasn’t ready to embrace it yet. I didn’t want to be weird. I wanted to be the next Charlotte Brontë, Robert Frost, or Daniel Quinn.

I interviewed for the Bell Honors Program my senior year, an interdisciplinary, team-taught approach to education in a small group atmosphere. Despite having blown the Governors’ Honor interview the year before by impersonating a largemouth bass when asked to name a single author I admired, I was surprisingly at ease during the interview, speaking freely and candidly. On the way home, I just knew they saw me for what I was. Weird. When I got home, there was a message waiting with an offer into the program. I was exactly what they were looking for, it said. And Dr. Joiner was right. The program was perfectly suited to the way my mind makes connections. For once, I didn’t feel so weird.

The first week of college, it rained. There was a huge puddle outside the dorm. Nobody was around, so I jumped in. The next thing I knew, my little puddle turned into a pit of reckless, muddy frivolity. I was body-slammed into the mud by one of the 15 or so classmates who joined me. It was awesome. I found my place and my people. At some point during those days, I scribbled a scene about the sentient wind seeking help for a girl who served as a vessel for magic. I stuffed that story away and went to a kegger, forgetting its existence for years.

When college ended, I entered a world where once again, I was weird. I liked progressive metal, writing, caring for injured wildlife, and swing dancing. None of my interests overlapped, I felt like an outcast within each of my individual communities, and my poetry went through a dark phase. I started to think that if I felt so isolated in my weirdness, so must all my fellow misfits, so I began a concept piece called “Identify” comprised of poems, flash fiction, and other randomness. I thought I could connect us all, and I still wanted to change the world with my writing. “Identify” never felt complete. I struggled with believing I had the focus to write an entire book, so for the longest time, I didn’t.

Eventually I found the opening to that story I’d penned in college. It was pretentious. It was lofty. It was all in passive voice. But in my head, I could see Nithya, hair swirling around her, light and dark magic combined in a single form, being hauled off by a sorcerer. From that one scene, I created The Key of Argos, a 130K-word epic fantasy with a lazy title, and I proved something to myself—I could write a book. While the plot was heavy on tropes, the heart of the story was unique. There was something special here, but I was still putting too much pressure on myself.

I started my second book after a ridiculous conversation with my husband, another weirdo. It was a snowball of absurd ideas culminating in the concept of a crew of specialist trolls pulling a heist in broad daylight. I wrote the book with no expectations, no pressures to change the world or conform, no plans for the future. I wrote it simply because the idea of grog-chugging, baby-eating trolls starring in a sitcom version of Oceans 11 made me laugh. It was weird, but it was meant to be.

When I hit the query trenches, I got only complementary or form rejections. The only real feedback I got was that humor is a hard sell. I was still in the midst of querying when I saw the acquisitions announcement from The Parliament House, and it included four edgy, weird fantasy titles. That’s when I realized that a small press may be the perfect place for my niche story.

That book, Double-Crossing the Bridge, releases fall 2019. #BewareTheGoats!

See the September 2019 issue of Writer’s Digest for our interview with Sover.

Writing Double-Crossing the Bridge gave me license to be myself. Here I was trying to change the world with my writing for so long until I realized that it was my writing that needed to change me, to teach me to accept myself. It’s only in retrospect that I realize I have my weirdness to thank for everything I’ve achieved.

My advice to everyone, in writing and in all your endeavors, is to lean into your weird. Find the thing that makes you abnormal and embrace it. You hear “be yourself” all the time, but what does that really mean? For me, it meant that instead of shrinking away from my ideas because they don’t fit into someone’s definition of normal, I run with them. While I may not be the authority on ancient people colonizing other planets by leaving earth from the Giza Plateau anymore, I’ll be damned if I let anyone shame me for my passions. I love Disney and craft beer. Machinehead and Journey. Broadway and Deadpool. My mind works in ways that are sometimes hard for others to follow, makes connections that others may not, and that’s not just OK, it’s kind of awesome.

I’m weird, but so are you in your own weird way. So find it, and embrace it. Figure out how to use it and go wherever your mind takes you. Your writing will feel less forced, and you may just learn something about yourself.

And the best part of finding success through your weirdness is that you never have to pretend to be anything else ever again.

The post Why Writers Should Embrace Their Weird Side appeared first on Writer's Digest.

It’s often said that writing is a solitary act. And it’s true — no one can put the words on paper for you. But that doesn’t mean you should go solo on the journey to publication. The right friends can help you finish your novel, minimize the angst of the submission process, maintain perspective as you approach publication, and get to launch day with your sanity intact.

As I approach the publication of my debut novel, The Last Book Party, I’m feeling grateful for a particular group of friends, each of whom supported my efforts in a different way. Herewith, my guide to the 7 essential pals for finishing and publishing a novel.

The Fellow Traveler

Writing can be a scary, lonely, roller coaster of doubt, which is why it’s best to have a friend strapped in with you. For the past several years, I’ve begun every week with a phone call with my friend Sally who, like me, got serious about writing later in life. During our Monday morning phone calls, Sally and I have discussed imposter syndrome, the inevitability of dreadful first drafts, and writing schedules that work. We’ve talked about writers we admire, sometimes for their drive as much as their talent, the ones who leave us in awe, and a few who make us think, “Well, if she can do it, so can we.”

Having one fellow traveler is essential; even better is to also be part of a writing group that meets regularly or an online support group. I’ve been lucky to have both. For eight years, my writing group has not only provided critical insights and a much-needed weekly deadline, but saw way before I did that the pages I was bringing in every Tuesday were turning into a novel. And for much of the past year, I’ve been part of a Facebook group for debut writers that has been a goldmine of support, advice, and friendship.

Write better. Get published. Build your network.

Writer’s Digest Annual Conference | August 22-25 | New York City

The Tough Mother

Friends can be great cheerleaders, but sometimes you need a friend who is willing to kick you in the pants. My friend Maggie, a no-nonsense Australian mother of four, not only taught me how to expect more from my children, but also to demand more from myself. When I told Maggie during a long overdue visit that I was finally going to get serious about writing a novel, she rolled her eyes and said, “Puh-lease! You’ve been saying that forever!” My first impulse was to defend myself (“What about my job/kids/house/dog/mother?”), but Maggie was right. I was more talk than action, spending more time reading about writing than plugging away on my novel. I returned home with Maggie’s voice in my head and an invigorated focus on writing, including a new, self-imposed rule that I wouldn’t read books, blogs, or articles about writing unless I had already devoted time to writing that day.

The Veteran

When you finally have a draft and are ready to start submitting to agents, it’s time to find a friend who has been around the publishing block before. My go-to expert is my college roommate, Suzy, an author-illustrator whose first book was a New York Times best-seller and has published 10 other books for both children and adults. Suzy has been my personal publishing Wikipedia, answering questions on the submission process, agent contracts, marketing, publicity, and book tours. When my novel was on submission and I was in danger of spending entire days refreshing my browser in hopes of a response, Suzy told me what to do instead. “Get cracking on the next book,” she said. “Writing is absolutely the only thing in this entire process that you can control.”

The Friend Who Doesn’t Read

Who do you call when you’re convinced that future happiness will elude you forever if you don’t get a book contract? Or, when you’re caught in an endless loop of checking Amazon rankings and Goodreads reviews? You call your friend who lives a perfectly happy life without books. This is the friend whose first reaction upon hearing about your book contract is “Fabulous! What will you wear to the book party?” And when Terry Gross, after expressing initial interest, decides not to interview you on Fresh Air, you call this friend, who gives you some much-needed perspective by asking “Who’s Terry Gross?”

The Friend Who Reads but Doesn’t Write

Getting your book published is a wondrous thing, except perhaps for the friends who are trying to do the same. They’ll say they are happy for you, and they probably are, but there are times, and understandably so, when hearing about your success doesn’t make their struggle any easier. This is when you need a friend (or in my case, my sister Laura) who shares your love of books but not your ambition to write and thus can enjoy your journey without ambivalence. Whenever I head into a meeting with my editor, I know that by the time I walk out I’ll have a text from Laura asking, “How was it? Call me!”

The Friend Who Doesn’t Really Like Your Writing

Shortly before finishing my novel, while caught up in the throes of wondering if anyone would like it, I asked a friend what she thought of the novel just published by one of her oldest friends. “Oh, it’s awful,” she said casually. “I can’t stand his writing.” I was taken aback, but then had the glorious realization that true friendship has nothing to do with one’s artistic output. Your writing may be the most important thing to you, but to your friends and loved ones it’s not the most important thing about you. Being reminded of this is both reassuring and liberating. I have a hunch which of my friends is less than keen on my novel, and I’m OK with that.

The Beginner

Just as you needed more experienced friends, someone out there needs your hard-earned wisdom. Find a friend who is taking baby steps on the path to publication and assure her that writing is not only a worthy goal, but a process that will enrich her life. With this friend, you not only get to share what you’ve learned – that writing is supposed to be hard, that you sometimes feel like you’re writing in the dark, and that you have to trust the process and let the story reveal itself – but you get to remind yourself of those very things too. As you help your friend write a query letter, survive the weeks of waiting, or cope with her first round of edits, you are paying it forward. And when you’re obsessing about sales figures and media attention, you get a renewed sense of how far you’ve come, that there was a time when you, too, wanted nothing more than to write a novel and get it published, and how amazing it is that you’ve done just that.

Have an amazing story idea, but need to learn the basics of how to write a book? WD University’s Fundamentals of Fiction will take you through all of the basics of writing a novel including how important it is to choose a great setting, how to build characters, what point of view you should choose, how to write great dialogue, and more. Register today!

The post Writing a Novel? Here are Seven Friends You Need appeared first on Writer's Digest.

We asked some of our WDC19 speakers for their favorite writing tips, and their responses were practical, inspirational, and—somewhat surprisingly—pretty consistent.

CARLA HOCH (Fight Write, WD Books): Tosca Lee once told me to write the first draft like nobody will read it. That really takes the pressure off.

STEVEN JAMES (Synapse, Thomas Nelson): Never fall in love with your first draft. Too many people with great ideas end up settling on an early draft when they really need to keep revising their story. I remember revising the first chapter to one of my books more than 50 times. It was brutal, but essential. That opening chapter remains one of the most powerful I’ve ever written.

JEFF SOMERS (We Are Not Good People, Gallery): Elmore Leonard’s brilliant “Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.” I always rework that into “Skip the boring parts.” It’s so easy to implement, too: If you find yourself struggling, if writing a scene feels like lifting a heavy object over your head, ask yourself if you’re bored, if you’re writing it just because you think you have to. If the answer is yes, skip it.

CHRISTINE CONRADT (Murdered at 17, HarperTeen): Never stop writing at the end of a scene or chapter. Stop midway through even though you know you know what comes next and could finish. It makes it that much easier to start again tomorrow and get into the flow of writing again.

PAULA MUNIER (A Borrowing of Bones, Minotaur Books): Here are the three rules that guide my writing process: 1. Keep the reader reading. 2. Don’t get it right, get it written. 3. Writing is rewriting.

JORDAN ROSENFELD (How To Write A Page-Turner, WD Books): Persist. Talent is no guarantee of success; persistence is. You can learn to be a better writer. You can write more drafts, take more classes, query more agents. If you persist at what you need to do to become a published author, you will succeed.

JESSICA STRAWSER (Forget You Know Me, St. Martin’s Press): It depends on what day you ask me! But in the thick of a draft or a revision, I think my favorite advice comes from Patricia Cornwell: To treat your writing like a relationship, not a job.

LILLIAM RIVERA (Dealing in Dreams, Simon & Schuster): Make time for your art because no one else will. Even if you have to steal 10 minutes a day, make sure you help grow your gift.

ZACHARY PETIT (The Essential Guide to Freelance Writing, WD Books): It comes from the writer George Singleton: “Keep a small can of WD-40 on your desk—away from any open flames—to remind yourself that if you don’t write daily, you will get rusty.”

JENNIFER BAKER (Everyday People: The Color of Life, Atria Books): Take your time. Many writers especially rush to get something out because they have a contract or an editor/agent showed interest and the work simply isn’t ready. Take your time, get feedback on (and distance from) the work, then submit. Also ask questions; it’s never a bad thing to be upfront with what you don’t know rather than be embarrassed for asking in the first place.

What’s your favorite piece of advice that keeps you writing?

Write better. Get published. Build your network.

Writer’s Digest Annual Conference | August 22-25 | New York City

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Everyone knows that the best way to finally write a book is to set challenging goals and stick to them. Sick kid or leaky roof, let nothing deter you from your 1,000 words per day. Wait, that sounds kind of hard. Sorry! The real best way to tackle it is by being … gentle on yourself. A few perfect sentences a day, no more no less. Easy does it. Hmmm, but that might take a while. How about you just let yourself write when the mood or inspiration strike? You’re bound to be in the mood and inspired a lot, right?

If your goal is become a more productive writer, odds are that some variation of most of this wisdom has buzzed around in your head like a kind of advice tinnitus as you write or, more likely, struggle to write. While the advice may differ, the throughline is self-doubt. You (and you alone!), the advice sometimes seems to imply, are not doing this whole writing thing quite right.

But that’s only because every piece of wisdom about writing is correct—for someone. Understanding what works for you only requires taking an honest inventory of the way you relate to your everyday to-do list. Writing is a practice, sure, but so is getting dinner together every night, staying on top of the laundry, or making time for some exercise, and I bet you make some semblance of those things happen with reasonable regularity. Unfortunately, our “hustle harder” culture often makes many of us feel shameful or guilty about our relationship to our work.

Consider instead a practice that takes into account your habits, motivations, and life rhythms as the valuable data it is rather than something to be squeezed into someone else’s version of idealized productivity. Take a moment and consider the you that’s off social media—the one who’s #notwriting, with a messy house and plenty of obligations beyond your writing life—and make a judgement-free plan of action based on the kind of motivation you respond to.

What type of writer are you? See if any of the archetypes below fit your writing style, and try the advice that tends to help these types of writers.

The Externally Motivated Writer

Recently, I edited the novel of a friend who was trying his hand at finishing long-form fiction for the first time. The quality of the manuscript blew me away but, knowing he’d stopped and started novels in the past with little traction, I wanted to know what made this time different. He confided the following: “I saw a lot of people who were worse writers than me getting published and it finally made me mad enough.” Tactful? Um, he did ask to be quoted anonymously. Powerful? Absolutely!

Suspect you’re the kind of person who needs to throw a party to finally clean your house or get an invitation to to your high school reunion to kickstart an exercise plan? Great! Now you know what gets your gears turning.

One of the best ways you can continue to fuel that fire is to follow the trade publications such as Publisher’s Weekly. See what’s being sold, to whom, and why. Think you could do better? Then get writing. OK, need to think more outside the box? No judgments here. Find a worthy competitor and keep score (mentally, that is; you should probably skip telling them). Even Roxane Gay keeps a nemesis (or 5) around.

The Completist Writer

If you’ve ever started to Kon-Mari your house but instead found yourself deep into Amazon results for drawer organizers 10 minutes in to the tidying, you might also recognize this behavior in your writing life. Knowing things makes you feel safe and in control. In your writing life, that need might be met through exhaustive research or extensive world-building. And when you finally submit a manuscript, it’s a polished one.

Holding yourself to a high standard is laudable, but can sometimes be immobilizing. To you, I gift a writing partner, a critical reader you can trust. OK, I can’t actually give you one, but finding a solid partner on your own might be easier than you think. Conferences are a great place to meet like-minded people, but local writers’ groups can be just as fertile ground. I’d prioritize personality mesh over genre match, because this is someone you want to trust with tender feelings and imperfect words. Try to find someone on the same path as you. Their goals don’t have to be lofty, so long as they align with yours. If you want to finish your book this year, whereas they want to publish “someday,” they won’t be able to offer you what you most need: accountability.

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The All or Nothing Writer

Oh, you beautiful, misunderstood genius (can you tell this is my type?). When you commit you really commit. And that’s fantastic. Until you burn out. You’ve Whole 30-ed and squat challenged with the best of them, but your stick-to-it-ness won’t amount to much if you can’t keep it up. When you push yourself too hard, it can be a sign that you’re more focused on results than process.

For someone as productivity-focused as you, sometimes writing simply needs to look different. Carve out 20 minutes during your commute to daydream about the absolute worst obstacle you could throw in front of your protagonist (and then maybe do it). Instead of reading the internet during your desk lunch, Google Street View your setting. Sit outside with a notepad and scratch out a character’s family tree. Writing doesn’t always have to look like getting words down on paper. The more fun and low-stakes you can make it, the more momentum you gather.

The Pencil It In Writer

You diligently track your workouts, doctor’s appointment, and meet-ups with friends. Why should writing be any different? For some of us, Microsoft Word (or Google Calendar) is bond. If you say you’re going to do it, you will. So how can this hard worker possibly follow through any harder? Take a second and double-check that calendar. Are you valuing your writing goals enough to dedicate time solely to your work? If not, it might be time to throw some metaphorical elbows and make space in there.

Already doing that? Then, it’s time to play beat the clock. Writing sprints, either on your own or with an online group, might be just the thing to get your heart beating. Or, stoke your competitive spirit (and honor your need for clearly delineated boundaries) by doing NaNoWriMo or its spring or summer cousin, Camp NaNoWriMo, and add a little community to your solo goals.

This list of writing archetypes only scratches the surface. There are as many approaches to writing as there are writers. Few of us fit neatly into any single category, but isn’t that the point? No singular piece of advice will work for you in every situation, but once you learn to recognize your patterns without judgment, you can make a little peace with yourself. And once you make peace, you can finally make progress.

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We also hope that our opening chapter fits that bill. We aim for a smooth and exciting chapter, one that will draw readers in until they commit to our story.

I debuted as a novelist in 2018 with two full-lengths, so in preparation for my third, I had some idea of what needed to happen in the opening. However, even though I was proud of my first chapter, something wasn’t right with the manuscript.

And my editor found it in the first sentence:

“The landscaping outside the home Valerie Perry recently inherited from her grandmother had been picture-perfect … until today.”

In my mind, it was spunky and fun, setting a playful tone I wanted to carry into the relationship that would unfold between my hero and heroine.

Julie Sturgeon: But what it didn’t do was ground the reader in the right voice.

Audrey’s first two novels were in the women’s fiction genre, so those heroines’ point of view was a given. But when this book started with a female voice, it instantly threw me. This manuscript was the first in a series about Texas brothers who own a barbeque restaurant. Since that central story will be marketed on the cover and on the description blurb, the opening scene needed to meet readers’ expectations.

Readers don’t want to read about a heroine moving to town; not yet. They want a man and his barbeque pit.

We needed to reimagine the opening from the male’s perspective, starting in the place that was central to his identity and set up his goal:

“Hutch squared off with Cole across a table in the dining area of their family business.”

Audrey: Of course, changing the point of view meant more than changing the opening line. It was a springboard for other changes that needed to occur in the chapter.

There was an initial sense of frustration because this was a whole new way to look at the story. But changes to chapter one brought the rest of the storyline into clearer focus, creating a stronger anchor than I originally had. Plus, the scene I scrapped as the story’s opening was still able to have significant placement later.

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Julie: Ultimately, Audrey’s changes involved these general areas, which should help any writer struggling with troubleshooting a first chapter:

1. Start in media res, or in the action. Readers want to dive in, so meet that expectation by placing them a few minutes before the inciting incident—that positive or negative event that sets into motion a series of actions and emotions the characters weren’t planning to deal with.
2. Don’t frontload the backstory. Characters have a past, but reveal it in small layers throughout the first half of the book: during moments of reflection or decision, when a new character is introduced, when your protagonist answers questions, during action—basically at moments when knowing about their past matters the most.
3. Raise the stakes by the end of this first chapter. Since stakes provide a reason for the reader to continue reading, there must be enough challenges at play—personally, publicly, morally, romantically—to sustain a story.
4. The most important detail that will hook readers is how they relate to the protagonist. Description isn’t as important as opinion—let that character’s voice hog the spotlight!

Both the author and the editor should feel comfortable with the changes. Positive collaboration makes a better final product, and readers ultimately benefit from that.

Audrey: Having Julie work with me on these changes made all the difference. I felt confident about my new first chapter because of the revisions. I’m eager to see readers’ reactions to the new opening chapter, which is available in On the Market through Tule Publishing in July 2019. It truly was a teamwork approach to starting the story off right.

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I had gone to see a show called The Final Incision at Art Space 220—a new, underground performance venue. I would never have gone to anything called The Final Incision except that I had a mild crush on the girl who invited me. I was glad I did go, though not because I enjoyed the evening. It was a strange, performance art cabaret that included, among other acts: an extremely long, rigorously monotone poetry reading; a scatological, semi-pornographic homemade film and a band that didn’t so much play their instruments as use them to find and sustain feedback for 40 minutes. These disparate acts were all stitched together by a common theme: Life stinks. I felt that I could complain with the best of them, but these guys showed me what full commitment looked like.

After the show, the girl and I had an uncomfortable debate on the way home about the value of this sort of art. I thought it was crap, while she thought it was needed. Our love was not meant to be. Still, the show stayed on my mind. If AS 220 will let those people do that, I reasoned, they’d let anyone do anything. A week later, my brother and I were lying to the owner about the other places we’d performed and telling him we’d like to do a night at the Art Space. He was game, and we booked our first show! Now, we just had to figure out what that show was.

It was a great way to create something. All we knew was that we’d have a blank stage and two performers. We could do literally anything we wanted. If our entire show consisted of burning a squadron of G.I. Joes in effigy, he’d have let us. We settled on a mixture of sketches and serious pieces, and it went OK. We kept doing the show, eventually adding a piano player and a lighting guy and dropping the more dramatic stuff and adding more philosophical comedy because that’s where we were the happiest. We called our show, “new vaudeville.”

A few years after we’d quit doing the show, I found myself in Seattle wondering what I should do next. My brother was still in Providence, and I was living with the woman I’d soon marry. Should I go back to school, audition for one of the local repertory companies, write a screenplay? None of it seemed right. I kept thinking about the The American Basement Review, how natural it felt to me, how it was similar to other stuff I’d seen but just different enough to be ours. But I was done with that show. I wanted to create something like it, but I had no idea what that something would be.

So, I started novel. I had no story idea, nothing burning I wanted to say. I wasn’t even particularly in love with fiction at that time. I just wanted to make something. It was tough sledding from word one, but I’d made my decision and once I was a couple years into the first draft of my first book, I didn’t feel I could turn back.

Twenty years and many unpublished books later, I’d hit a wall. I was sick of fiction, sick of how hard it felt, sick of almost publishing books. One night, out of pure frustration, I asked myself this question: “If you could write anything, regardless of whether it sold, what would it be?” In 20 years, I had never asked myself this very basic question. And I immediately had an answer. I didn’t know exactly what it form it would take, but I knew I would tell stories from my own life, and that every story would have the same message: Everything’s OK, even when it looks like everything is not okay.

I had begun every novel facing a blank page. Yet even looking directly at that perfectly clean field of white, I often misunderstood what I was seeing. In my mind were all the stories that had already been told, as well as the idea of the market, of what a reader or an agent or an editor might like. Now the page wasn’t blank anymore. Now I was trying to hit some imaginary target for which I would be rewarded. That target kept moving and moving and moving, and I called all my misses’ failure.

In retrospect, the biggest difference between The American Basement Review and my first novel was my age. With the show, I was still young enough not to worry about making a living. This is why writing takes a certain kind of courage. “Courage” comes from the Latin word for “heart.” Yes, we must lead from our heart, must go wherever it points us. The same as it led me to the woman I love, my heart has led me to the stories I want to tell—but only when I listened to it. The heart, after all, doesn’t care about money or fame or agents and editors. It only wants to be free to express itself, to go wherever love wants.

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Do I love my characters? Do I love my book? More importantly, do I love creating? The creative process is the path from essential elements of story craft to finished piece of art. And passion for that work is the fuel that propels you there.

After three decades of writing and being a writing instructor, I believe that craft can be taught. You can pack every bookshelf in your home with guides on understanding plot structure, take courses on forming complex characters, attend seminars on effectively wielding poetic devices—and with each morsel of advice, your skill set will grow.

[This article originally appeared in Writer’s Digest magazine. Subscribe today to get these insights all year long.]

Art is when craft is taken to the next level. We must discuss art and establish a conscious framework from which to move toward it. It boils down to a key question all artists must eventually ask themselves: How do I create? When I wrote my first manuscript in 1988, I was clueless. In retrospect, I was merely regurgitating all the thrillers I’d read in order to write my own.

More than 70 novels later, I’ve matured into a greater understanding of my own working methods. Yet even with the wisdom of experience, I’ve come to understand that the creative process is not a defined series of steps from Point A to Point B. It continues to evolve, just as I continue to do so as a writer. The longer I’ve been an author, the more I examine my process and that of my peers. Understanding how best to approach your writing—how to kindle your passion—is as essential to becoming a more polished craftsman and artist as studying the craft of writing.

Successful writers observe the practices of those they admire and employ what they learn to refine their own: polishing the positive, admitting where they are weak and working to improve. That requires moving our natural creativity from our subconscious into the conscious mind—instead of taking it for granted as an inherent trait, considering where it comes from at the source and how to best empower it. The more we understand it on a deeper level, the more effectively we can wield it. Here are six questions that will help you hone your own creative workflow:

1. ARE YOU DRIVEN BY THE PROCESS ITSELF OR THE ULTIMATE RESULT?

This question causes great strife between my wife and me. She is a process person. When she does something, she enjoys the activity itself. In contrast, I am motivated by the end result—the satisfaction of having completed whatever I set my mind to. If you have trouble completing a manuscript, you are probably a process person.

Subconsciously, the prospect of actually finishing may breed negative feelings because it means the process is over. Console yourself with the maxim that the first thing a writer should do when done with a manuscript isn’t to immediately start querying or marketing, but to start the next book and immerse in the process once more. Tackling those business aspects will seem less foreboding when neck-deep in a new project.

For the results-oriented person, pursuing a profession in which the road to the ultimate result for every book is so long and painstaking can foment tremendous angst. The trick is to set smaller benchmarks, such as word or page counts, which can provide a sense of accomplishment en route to the greater goal.

At its core, this question asks whether you are writing a book or writing to finish a book. Simply understanding your motivation can invigorate your process.

2. DO YOU FOCUS ON DETAILS OR PREFER THE BIG PICTURE?

When my wife asks me to fetch something, she doesn’t simply say, “Go get the potato peeler.” She says: “Go get the potato peeler, in the second drawer down, on the right side, behind the silverware.” And even then I won’t find it. I’m just not into details. I’m a big-picture guy. Except details make up the big picture.

Look at an impressionist painting. From a distance the image is clear, yet when you get close, the likeness disappears into thousands of details—individual brushstrokes that together compose the whole.

How do I overcome my lack of attention to detail? I love my wife, so I pay attention to what she says. And I love my characters and my book, so I pay attention to what I’m writing. More importantly, I force myself to focus on the task at hand, rather than letting my mind wander.

On the flip side, a detail-driven person must sometimes step back from dabbing those little strokes on the painting and try to envision what the final product will look like. Use external tools to compensate.

Since I’m bad with details, I have to externalize them in a single place I can use as a resource. For every book I’ve written, I’ve made a spreadsheet that I call a Story Grid. The columns across the top are labeled Chapter, Start Page, End Page, Location, Time and Summary (where I draft a brief summary of the action in each scene). Each row is a scene. The story grid is not an outline—it’s a device I fill out as I write the book to help keep me oriented.

When I co-wrote novels with author Jennifer Crusie, she made collages representing the story we were writing. As a details person, visualizing things helped her to grasp the big picture. So she externalized that in a single display she could use to ground herself in that larger canvas of the story.

3. WHAT’S YOUR PATHOLOGICAL NEED AS A WRITER?

Phrased differently: Why are you writing? What is the message you are trying to communicate?

Many writers aren’t conscious of their message. If they’re fortunate, an underlying meaning intuitively resonates with readers, even though the writer didn’t deliberately incorporate it.

A pathological need is one we can’t control. It is the core of our being. While we don’t fully control it, if we know and understand our pathological need we can work with it, refine it and channel it effectively. I often say that if you are a writer you must be in therapy. This provokes a good laugh at conferences … except I’m not joking.

Athletes must test their speed, endurance and strength. Similarly, as an artist, you must experiment with different approaches to your work in order to understand what is most conducive to your creativity.

We all have blind spots in how we think. We need outside help in order to identify and compensate for those blind spots.

Another challenge that writers must face is assuming the point of view of others—primarily, our characters.

Can we rise above our own pathological need to fully present someone else’s? Even if that person is a fictional character we’ve invented who possesses a distinctly different worldview? Even more, do we understand the needs of readers? Can we connect with them on an emotional level? Will our story resonate with them?

The answers to these questions will be different for each of us, and may even change from book to book, but keeping them in mind can help inform how we approach the process.

Fired Up: Robert Crais on Passion, Process and Plot Twists

4. HAVE YOU OPENED YOURSELF UP TO CHANGE?

In my seminars, I often explain that in order for a character to experience a fully rounded character arc, they must pass through the three stages of change:

1. Moment of Enlightenment
2. Decision
3. Sustained Action

The Moment of Enlightenment is a revelation of some kind—the classic “lightbulb” moment, at which point a new perspective is gained. That’s followed by a Decision—not necessarily a good decision—that cannot by itself be considered change, but binds the character in a sudden obligation, either externally imposed or internally motivated. Then, through Sustained Action, over time that Decision provokes a change in behavior.

In lectures, I ask the audience which of the three they have the most trouble with. Most people raise their hand for Sustained Action. After all, it’s difficult to make a fundamental change in character seem believable. But then I ask them to reflect on key points in their own lives in which an event triggered a Moment of Enlightenment, Decision and Sustained Action, and to think carefully about the hardest part of that process. As we start to share these instances, it slowly becomes clear that to even get to Sustained Action, we must first realize there is a need to change.

Applying this frame of thinking to the creative process, we can elicit our own Moment of Enlightment: realizing that a particular action isn’t working, making a decision to try something new and training that new behavior into a habit through sustained action. I’ve worked with thousands of writers, and only a handful have truly accepted that their process isn’t working and a change is needed.

Most of us struggle with making decisions. And often, it’s not because we are afraid of the decision, but that we’re afraid of making a mistake. Of being wrong. Yet the only way to become an artist is to risk. To accept that being wrong is an inherent part of the process of creativity. By testing different methods and identifying which areas you have the most trouble with, you can figure out …

5. HOW DO YOU SABOTAGE YOURSELF CREATIVELY?

Consider, for a moment, how the first kernel of a story takes shape in your mind. Do you start with a terrific premise? A charismatic protagonist? An expansive world?

Where you begin likely reflects your strengths as a writer, whether you’re a proficient plotter, capable character creator or adept world-builder. We naturally gravitate toward our strengths, which is fine. But if we don’t address our weaknesses, we will never become true artists. And in order to address our weaknesses, we must change—just like our characters. Based on your answers to the previous questions, you should now be able to pinpoint the elements currently holding you back from fully realizing the potential of your creative process.

For example, because I am a results-oriented person, I tend to move too fast. That means I am apt to jump into a project before thinking (and feeling) my way into it. I write too fast, wanting to see that word count pile up, regardless of the quality of work. So instead, I force myself to do what is counterintuitive: Slow down. Focus. Feel. Ponder what areas of weakness hinder your work, and implement ways to counteract their effects.

6. HOW COURAGEOUS ARE YOU?

The opposite of love is not hate. Hate springs from fear. We hate what we don’t understand. We hate what we’re afraid of. Love is the power we use to overcome our fear. The number one problem facing every artist, every person, is fear.

Essayist Anaïs Nin said, “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” So does our art. Courage is taking action in the face of fear. The fuel for courage is the passion channeled by our process. Mastering this process leads us from craft to art.

Bob Mayer is a New York Times bestselling author and the CEO of Cool Gus Publishing. He is a West Point graduate and former Green Beret. Mayer has authored over 60 novels in multiple genres, selling more than 4 million books, including the #1 series Area 51, Atlantis, and The Green Berets. bobmayer.com

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