I think getting started is the hardest part for just about anything. It’s certainly true for writing (whether it’s fiction, my day job, a new draft, revisions). It’s true for cleaning, shopping, writing thank-you notes, doing taxes, exercising, learning any new skill, taking up a hobby, etc. Once I start — whatever it is — I’m usually good, hitting a groove. But getting started can be torture, at times.

A quick google search revealed that much has been written about this phenomenon (see here, here, and here to start — ha!).

When people tell me they want to write and then ask my advice about it, I tell them the same thing: “butt in chair, butt in chair.” You just got to do it.

This all seems apt as I stare at the bright and shiny Day One of this new calendar year.

Here’s to getting started…may it be easier for all of us in 2018.

(And if it’s not? Just get started anyway.)

The post Getting Started is the Hardest Part (For Anything) appeared first on Robyn Bradley.

In the car, One Love by U2 came on the radio (yep, I still listen to the radio). It’s a classic, right? I just looked it up — it was released in 1991, which is the same year I graduated high school.

But the song…this version featured U2 and Mary J. Blige, and holy shit, WOW was it different in a really incredible way. Now, I have nothing against the original. As I said, it’s a classic. It’s U2. What’s not to like?

The re-imagined work, however — it’s special. (And yes, I realize I’m late to the party; they did the song together back in 2005, apparently.)

My experience with this song has stayed with me these last few dwindling December days. The readers who follow my blog know I’ve been working on a novel for the last 5.5 years. The novel has gone through A LOT. We’re talking top-to-bottom revisions (several), endless pitches to agents, countless submissions to traditional publishers, and two more rewrites once it became clear we weren’t going to get any takers. This past fall, I embarked on one final attempt at salvaging the damned thing.

So what’s the song got to do with my book? Well, as I was driving along the day after XMas, mesmerized by Bono and Blige, I realized what I’m attempting to do is exactly what they did to that song: breathe new life into an old work in a wholly original, emotional, and unexpected way.

I have no idea if I’ll make it. But at least I know what I need to do, what I’m striving for. And that’s something.

If you’re curious and haven’t heard this version, here you go. (If you’re reading this via email subscription, click through to watch the YouTube video.)

The post Breathing New Life into an Old Work appeared first on Robyn Bradley.

I do it for the boy I loved in third grade, for the agonizing awkwardness of seventh, for the “Look how fat she is!” comment made in high school as I leaned over the water bubbler after gym class.

I do it because Adrienne Rich was right: two people together really is a miracle.

I do it because eyes, breath, memory. I do it to piss people off, to scratch an itch, to embrace the pain, to run away from it. I do it because I’ve read something that moves me to recreate the magic for myself, by myself, on the blank page, wand-less though I am, the words falling apart and disintegrating into inky dust that flakes from my fingertips.

I do it to soothe, to slumber, to laugh, to anger, to hope, to learn, to discover. I do it even when the muse packs her bags and leaves without so much as a goddamn note. I do it when she returns, showering her with purple prose until I calm down with coherent thoughts.

I do it when it hurts, because it hurts, because I hurt someone else.

I do it to remember my childhood to forget my childhood to screw over the childhood bully who stole the granola bar from my brown lunch bag.

I do it because of the sunrise, the need to share it with someone who wasn’t there: No, not pink, not purple, not red—the color of love, the tickle of a kiss, your breath against my neck, maybe.

I do it because how else can you pass the time in a hospital, waiting for test results or the chemicals to kick in or the body once alive but now not.

I do it because life, death, madness, loneliness, the fifth floor balcony beckons me to jump, and I consider it, but stop because of the unfinished story, my characters’ and my own. No, not yet. Wait and see how it unfolds. Such a cliffhanger would be cliché.

I do it bird by freaking bird and to shut up the voices in my head.

I do it because of vanity, to make a buck, to get laid, even though Bukowski warned against that.

I do it because I fell in love with Old Yeller, Where the Red Fern Grows, the man who built the fire, because the words made me feel.

I do it because of the words, the beautiful words.

Because they understand.

Because they always understand.

This. Is. Why.

I do it.

The post Why I Write appeared first on Robyn Bradley.

It never even occurred to me that I might need to apologize for it until a fellow writer/reader and I got to talking about it one day.

Apparently, there are two types of people in this world: those who dog-ear books and those who don’t. Also: those who fill up on gas when the tank is half empty and those who fill up only when they’re driving on fumes and a friend needs to follow them to the gas station at midnight to make sure the car doesn’t break down. (You know who you are.)

Forget DISC, Myers-Briggs, INFJ, etc. I think I just discovered a much more reasonable way to categorize personality types:

• Dog ears, but fills up the gas tank when it’s half empty. DEFT (dog ears, fills tank)
• Dog ears, but doesn’t fill tank. DEDF (dog ears, doesn’t fill)
• Doesn’t dog ear, but fills up the tank when it’s half empty. DDFT (doesn’t dog-ear, fills tank)
• Doesn’t dog ear, doesn’t fill tank. DDDF (doesn’t dog-ear, doesn’t fill tank)

I’m DEFT.

HA.

This is how we DEFT folks torture our doesn’t-dog-ear counterparts. We send then pictures like this…

#sadistscribes

The post How Book Nerds Torture One Another appeared first on Robyn Bradley.

But not all advice is created equal. Unfortunately, even in this enlightened age, plenty of writing myths persist—myths that can discourage new writers or lead them down the wrong path.

So let’s set the record straight and bust some of the biggest myths for good.

Myth #1: Good writers are born, not made. While some folks are born with natural  talent—e.g. an innate sense of story or way with words—plenty of other people (including this writer right here) have learned the craft over time. If you’re willing to put in the time, you can pick up mechanics, structure, and so forth.  

Myth #2. If you can’t spell, you can’t write. Here’s a list of great thinkers who supposedly couldn’t spell. You’ll notice the list includes many famous authors. My point: while you should certainly strive to spell correctly, you won’t be doomed if spelling is your weakness. Telling a good story has nothing to do with knowing how many S’s are in Mississippi. That said, if you know spelling isn’t your thing, make sure you have someone proofread your work before you send it out into the world. (And remember that spell-check is your friend!)

Myth #3. Great writers get it right the first time. Ha. I wish. No writer gets it right the first time. And most of us don’t get it right the second or third time, either. Great writing is all about great rewriting. The writers who make the craft look effortless are the ones who embrace the revision process.  

Myth #4. You need to write every day. If you look online, you’ll find plenty of advice regarding how and when you should write, including the notion that you should write every day. First, be careful of any advice that uses the word “should.” Second, when it comes to writing, there are no absolutes. Some writers write every day, including holidays and birthdays (Stephen King comes to mind). Some writers work a Monday-to-Friday schedule. Others consider themselves weekend warriors. The key is learning what works best for you and your process.

Myth #5. Don’t start writing until you know exactly what you want to say. Remember, you can’t revise a blank page. And if you think the muse will rescue you by whispering sweet nothings in your ear, well—you’re going to end up sorely disappointed.

Myth #6. The writing life is a solitary life. OK, so here’s the thing. Writing can be solitary, but it doesn’t have to be. I’m an extreme introvert and relish my solitude, but I know plenty of writers who love engaging with their fellow scribblers. Think conferences, expos, meetups, or coffee dates with a fellow novelist pal. Bottom line: you decide how solitary you want your writing life to be.

Myth #7. Writers can’t make a living. I’ve been a professional writer since 2002. I pay the rent. I buy groceries. I put money away for a rainy day. In other words, I make a living as a writer.  

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Will you be able to make a living as a fiction writer? Possibly. You have a better chance now than ever before, thanks to self-publishing (which is something I also do; and yes, I make money from my self-pubbed fiction). Like any other endeavor, it won’t happen overnight, and you will need to work at it. But it can happen.

Myth #8. You need an English degree or graduate degree to write. Nope. And this is coming from someone who earned a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. The only things you need: your imagination, your willingness to get your story down on paper, and your desire to improve.  

You can learn grammar, punctuation, structure, and anything else through books, the Internet, critique groups, and so forth. In other words, you don’t need the degree. That said, there are good reasons to pursue a writing degree (for example, if you want to teach at the college level in the US, you’ll more than likely need an MFA, at the very least). But a degree is not the be-all, end-all for writing a book, short story, or ad copy.  

Myth #9. You must read in order to be a good writer. This is tricky, because I do believe all good writers are avid readers. The two go hand-in-hand. But being an avid reader alone won’t make you a good writer. You need to take what you’ve learned from reading and write, rewrite, write, and rewrite some more. This, over time, is what it takes to become a competent writer.

Bottom line: get writing.

The post 9 Writing Myths That Haunt Beginners appeared first on Robyn Bradley.

I realize that for many people it’s one of their least favorite months, but I find it so hopeful. New year. Days getting noticeably longer. Every now and then a mild day delivers the promise of spring.

It’s also a great time to get cozy and read and write and watch good TV. My own version of Hygge.

Here’s what I’ve been reading and watching as of late…

WATCHING

Manchester by the Sea. I saw this film with my mom the day after Christmas. I didn’t love it. I’m in the minority, since the film just garnered a bunch of Oscar nominations. Casey Affleck gave a solid performance. Oscar worthy? Yeah, I guess. The story itself felt predictable to me, and given all the hype, I think I was expecting something a little more unexpected and perhaps a bit more heartbreaking. I DID think the ending was well done. It felt quite realistic, and I’m glad Kenneth Lonergan, the screenwriter and director, decided to go for real over neat and tidy. A big complaint, however: the score. Wow. I can’t remember the last time I’ve watched a movie where I was so distracted by the score. It felt forced and overly loud as if it were trying to get me to FEEL. Anyhow. Not my top pick.

The Crown on Netflix. Halfway through and I’m enjoying it so far. The Crown is about the ascension of young Elizabeth to the throne. When I first saw the trailer and caught sight of the actor playing Winston Churchill, I was like, “Who is that? He seems so familiar, yet not.” It was John Lithgow, completely transformed. If you liked Downton Abbey, I suspect you’ll like this Netflix original series.

Select episodes of The West Wing. I watched The West Wing for the first time last year. It’s still so relevant. *sigh*

READING:

American Heiress: The Wild Saga of the Kidnapping, Crimes and Trial of Patty Hearst by Jeffrey Toobin. I knew very little about the Hearst kidnapping or the times in general (I was just a pup in 1974). This book is illuminating on both fronts. Toobin is a solid storyteller as well. Nitpick: certain words should be used only once in a book (e.g. whipsawed, peripatetic, perfidy — several of these are used within a few pages, and even a few paragraphs, of their first mention). All are great words, but let’s mix it up a bit. I blame the editor for this, not Toobin. An editor’s job is to save the writer from himself or herself.

In progress: My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout. Strout wrote Olive Kitteridge, one of my all-time favorite books. The narrator of this book…the voice reminds me of a grown-up version of the little prince from The Little Prince (even though the narrator in Lucy Barton is female). That’s the best way I can describe it. I think I might need to read it again, much like I had to do with The Little Prince, since I believe there’s much subtle wisdom that I know I’m missing on this first read-through. I need to read Strout’s other works as well.

Up Next? Either Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Just Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain or The Brief  Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz.

The post What I’ve Been Reading and Watching appeared first on Robyn Bradley.

I get this way sometimes. I’m a reader, but I wouldn’t use the word “voracious.” I go through periods of voraciousness, but then I have quieter periods as well.

In the writing world, especially, there’s a ton of pressure (and it’s real) to always be reading. I get it. Reading with a critical eye can help improve a writer’s craft—to a certain extent.

But writers need to write. They need to write regularly. They need to get comfortable with revising. They need to develop a ruthlessness about their own work. None of these things comes from reading.

So while reading is one item in the writer’s toolbox, it’s not the only thing. Nor is it the most important, in my opinion. I know many voracious readers who struggle conveying their thoughts clearly on the page. But it’s also true that I do NOT know any good writers who don’t read at least somewhat regularly.

It’s a balancing act, for sure, especially when there are other storytelling mediums (media?) that can serve as teaching tools as well. We’re living in a Golden Age of television (that started with The Sopranos). Writers CAN learn many aspects of craft and storytelling from watching TV, although your snootiest writers would likely say otherwise.

I don’t apologize for watching TV. I think visually, so great TV is a great playground for me. I’m pretty much exclusive to Netflix these days. Binging does affect what I’m able to take in and process, so I will binge and then go back after some time and re-watch shows with a critical eye. I’ve done this with The Sopranos, The Wire, Breaking Bad, The West Wing, The Newsroom, Dexter, and probably others I’ve forgotten. I’ll often watch pilot episodes a half dozen times, since pilots (when done well) effectively and efficiently set up the narrative and characters.

Anyhow, back to my point.

Despite everything I just said above, I still feel self-conscious when I get to the end of the year having read only 10-20 books and some of my colleagues have read 60, 70, even 80 books.

I do think I could—and should—read more. I definitely waste a lot of time doing stupid stuff (ruminating is a biggie), so my goal for 2017 is to shift my mindset when I get anxious and ruminating-y and do something else. Not just reading, either. Getting out and about. But definitely reading more.

So first up is this book: American Heiress by Jeffery Toobin.

It’s for a book club I’ll be crashing later this month. I probably wouldn’t have picked up this book on my own. Going in, I was only mildly interested in Patty Hearst. But the book IS good—and not just because of the sensational story that it was (and still is), but also because it’s providing me with a sense of time in history that I’ve paid little attention to. I was born in 1973, so while I was alive during these events, I obviously don’t remember them…or even have a sense of the time.

In terms of the book (I’m about half way through it), my biggest nit so far is Toobin’s vocabulary. He’s obviously a smart guy (regular writer for The New Yorker, after all), and he loves impressive words (which are probably normal words to him, and probably normal for the average New Yorker reader). I have no problem with this. I’ve acknowledged over the years that I have a weak vocabulary. No shame in that, since I’m aware and am constantly trying to improve. I’m friendly with my online and paper dictionary and love learning new words.

That said, certain words should be used only once in a book (e.g. whipsawed, peripatetic, perfidy—several of these are used within a few pages, and even a few paragraphs, of their first mention). All are great words, but let’s mix it up a bit.

I don’t blame Toobin as much I blame his editor. A good editor should save a writer from himself or herself. I suspect Toobin wrote most of these words. But the editor should have flagged the second and third mentions, especially when such great synonyms exist. For example, perfidy and treachery. They mean the same thing, and they’re both good words.

After this book, I might read The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz. It’s been sitting on my shelf forever.

What are you reading?

The post What I’m Reading appeared first on Robyn Bradley.

When does something become a tradition? I went to the beach on Christmas last year (remember how warm it was?) AND this year. I’m calling it: Christmas Beach Day is my official holiday tradition now.

Today, I saw a horse frolicking in the surf. A woman laughed hysterically on a seaside bench while talking on the phone. A guy walking his dog stopped as I was gazing out over the water and asked if I was looking for seals.

The post How I Spent Christmas Day appeared first on Robyn Bradley.

OMG SOUNDS SO BAD AND POSSIBLY CONTAGIOUS.

Relax. Not so bad. And definitely not contagious.

A taphophile is a lover of cemeteries (from the Greek “táphos,” which means “tomb” and from the English “phile,” which means “loving” or “friendly” or “friend”). Also known as a tombstone tourist, cemetery enthusiast, and gravestone hunter.

I’ve always loved cemeteries. They’re peaceful. They’re rich in history. And spending time with the dead makes it much easier to spend time with the living. That last part might just be my own quirk of nature. But taphophiles are a real thing. There are many of us.

I love walking around cemeteries (the older, the better), looking at the names, thinking about their stories, wondering how they lived their lives. I have no idea if there’s an afterlife, and I’ll confess that when I’m walking around, I’m always looking for evidence of paranormal activity. But I haven’t encountered anything so far: nothing but a deep sense of peace. Which is certainly good enough.

Recently, I visited the oldest landscaped cemetery in the US, which happens to be in my own backyard practically: Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Mass.

Consecrated in 1831, this cemetery changed America’s approach to grieving, commemoration, even death. The cemetery boasts 175 acres, 60,000 monuments spanning three centuries, and 9,400 trees and shrubs. Almost 100,000 people are buried there, and it’s an “active” cemetery, meaning space is still available.

There are some well known folks buried here, including Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., Henry Cabot Lodge, Mary Baker Eddy, and Winslow Homer. I spent a couple hours there on a Saturday morning and will need to go back. My goal for this visit was to get a lay of the land and simply explore rather than hunt for specific graves.

There is SO much to see, like the Sphinx, which honors the preservation of the Union and the end of slavery.

And the Washington Tower. I realized after I left that I didn’t get a shot of the tower itself, but the picture below shows it (lower left-hand corner).

AND I CLIMBED ALL 99 STEPS IN 80+ DEGREE HEAT. Worth it. You have a great view of the Boston skyline. Below is a shot of the ground from the top.

So many interesting things to look at…

Just some random angels…

There are many bodies of water, reflection pools, and the like. This is Willow Pond. I can only imagine (for now) autumn’s splendor. I’ll be returning in October for sure.

Speaking of which. I call this one “Harbinger.”

Adventures with Sparky and me continue. Where will I go next? Subscribe to my blog to keep up with that along with news about my writing and books. #sparkyandme

The post Taphophile Mania: Mount Auburn Cemetery appeared first on Robyn Bradley.

Here was my response: 

HA.

I’m a firm believer that a piece of writing is never “done.” (This isn’t an original thought, either.)

I believe it was Oscar Wilde who said, “I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.”

If that sounds familiar—if you’re debating comma placement—you’re probably “done.” At least for now. Getting an objective third party—someone who doesn’t know you, and someone who DOES know poetry—to review your work and provide feedback is probably a good next step.

(Edited to add: this would apply to fiction and nonfiction as well.)

The post Writing Tips: When Should You Stop Revising? appeared first on Robyn Bradley.