Donald Miller's Blog, page 2

You Don’t Have to Make Your Bed to Write a Book

When it’s time to write, my mind quickly finds a reason not to sit down and face the terror of the blank page.

Normally, these distractions come in the form of odds and ends I convince myself must be taken care of before I sit down to do my work. These odds and ends are usually mundane and hardly more important than the work.

I chose the distraction of an unmade bed because it symbolizes something; it symbolizes that we may feel the need to have all our affairs in order before we can concentrate. But only recently, and after six books, I’m just going to call it what it is…

It’s an excuse.

A good book can be written in the same house as an unmade bed. Or a checkbook out of order, or even a relationship that needs tending to.

It’s not that those things can go without being dealt with forever, it’s just that if we are writers, preachers, teachers, doctors or even fathers and mothers, what matters most is the job set before us. Perhaps it’s time to call an excuse an excuse.

Here are some basic truths to remember when we’re tempted to put off our work:

1. The writing is more important than the unmade bed. But this doesn’t mean our beds will never be made. It just means they will be made after we complete our writing.

2. An unmade bed has no negative measurable impact in eternity. An unfinished book probably does.

3. We will feel much better, and be much less distracted dealing with mundane tasks, important as they may be for the quality of our lives, if our calling is tended to first.

It’s important then that we wake up and tackle our calling while the sun is still coming up.

Anything else is a trick.

You’ve only so much mental energy, and if you use the best of your capacities to tackle the tasks of your calling, your work will be better. And not only this, but by doing the mundane tasks while constantly worrying about the more important job left undone, we’re spending twice the mental energy than we would were we to tackle the more important priorities first.

So, let’s wake up, make a mental list of what’s most important, tackle it at the first available opportunity and spend the rest of our days tending to the maintenance tasks without the burden of the more important stuff weighing on our shoulders.

What’s the calling you’re neglecting? Can we promise, together, to learn to tackle them first?

One Way to Keep Jealousy from Stealing Your Joy

I experience jealousy toward others often. Deep down, I fear I experience it more often than the average person. I’m competitive and I want to be the best at the important stuff and I also want to be the best at stuff that doesn’t even matter, like Scattegories.

These days, I am most jealous of two things: girls who have perfectly symmetrical faces and people who are better writers than I am.

I have Instagram selfies to thank for the first.

And my latest ventures into writing to thank for the second.

I read Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist recently and her chapter about jealousy was so spot on for me. It made me feel better that someone else has also felt ridiculously consumed by being jealous like I have.

Photo Credit: Mikaela Hamilton

“This jealousy was like a house fire,” she writes. “something you absolutely cannot ignore and something that might send you to the emergency room. I could feel my eyes becoming small and beady and my soul shrinking down to a tiny wrinkled peach pit.”

That’s exactly what jealousy does that’s so terrible:

It shrinks your soul.

Jealousy is toxic, yet we allow it to bubble inside of us until it’s practically seeping from our pores. That sounds gross, but jealousy is really gross so I don’t know how else to describe it.

Jealousy is also a really brilliant ploy of Satan. What better way to destroy us than to turn us all against each other? What better way to stop someone’s growth and prevent his potential than to paralyze him by comparison to a colleague or a friend?

Jealousy stops you.

You’re plugging along, doing great and moving forward and then all of a sudden to your right is someone going just a little bit faster than you, someone who is just slightly prettier than you are or has a little more money than you do and just like that, you’ve lost sight of your goal, and your blinders are down.

You’re seething with jealousy.

Shauna Niequist talks about the power of confession when it comes to ridding yourself of jealous feelings. She describes how she sat on a couch with a couple of friends and told them who she was jealous of and why.

So I tried this the other day with my friend when we were at lunch. I told her about the perfect faces I hate on Instagram and the wonderful writers I hate on the internet and just saying it aloud made me feel slightly foolish and allowed me to see how jealousy is such a big waste of time, and how it was taking me away from my own writing and stealing joy from my work.

It helps me to see jealousy as my enemy.

You can sit around all day and try to not compare yourself. You can try to keep your blinders on and be grateful for what you have. But when you start to identify jealousy as something that’s attacking you personally, that’s when you start to fight against it more. And that’s when it starts to lose its power.

The Secret to Being Liked

I took the girls to see the Humane Society Cats again yesterday.

Each girl was immediately drawn to a particular kitten. I had a favorite too. I secretly named her Maleficent because she was dark and regal and full of dignity. Tish, Amma, and I quietly snuggled with our favorites for a while. Then I looked at Tish and said, “Why is that one your favorite? What do you like so much about that one?”

Tish looked down at her kitten and said, “I think because she likes me. She came over and wanted to play with me.”

Then Amma spoke up.

“Me too. I like mine because she likes me. She keeps staying close to me and looking up at me.”

Hm. I was surprised. I was expecting the girls to say: I like that she’s fluffy, I like that this one’s striped. I like that this one’s energetic.

But they didn’t say that at all. They just said: I like the one that likes me.

So I looked down at Maleficent and thought, “Huh. Same here.” I didn’t even notice that she was regal and dignified and warm until she came over and sat with me.

First, she liked me.

Then, I liked her.

I really, really think the secret to being loved is to love. And the secret to being interesting is to be interested. And the secret to having a friend is being a friend.

Why don’t we want to believe that? We insist that we need to be the smartest kitten or the most interesting kitten or the most successful kitten or the most beautiful kitten to get people’s attention.

But maybe we don’t.

Maybe we just have to show a little interest. Maybe the surest way to be liked by people is simply to like people.

But that’s a risk right? To openly like someone? To admit to someone: I like you. I’d like to spend time with you today. It’s to risk rejection. It’s vulnerability. It’s brave.

Be brave today. Like somebody.

The Significance of How You Tell Your Story

It was our eldest son’s 21st birthday, and our family had gathered for a celebration. Before dinner, we were sitting in the living room when Hunter pulled up his sleeve, proudly displaying a motorcycle tattoo on his forearm, a gift from his roommate (who I plan to give a pony!)

In a not-so-great moment of fatherhood, I blurted out, “Please tell me that is a henna tattoo.” It was not.

My displeasure was not well concealed.

But I attempted to be positive. “That certainly is a tattoo,” I tried. Nita, his mother who birthed him with clean, beautiful arms, didn’t do much better.

He explained, “I got it to remind me of my year in Uganda, riding to the school everyday on my motorcycle.”

And I thought, There are a lot of other things in Uganda you could get tattooed on your arm – an itsy, bitsy Ugandan flag, an image of a miniature Ugandan hummingbird, or a tiny letter “u ” for instance.

I’ll admit it.

I’m old school and don’t get the tattoo thing.

I know it’s quite popular. But all I can do is fast forward to old people with sagging skin, a once vibrant motorcycle now looking like it was hit by a semi, its tires having melted in the ensuing fireball!

Fast forward to a month later when our family went to a movie during the holidays. When we returned home, Hunter went upstairs while we began to make dinner.

Soon afterwards, he called for me.

I went up to his room where he sat on the floor, looking down, tears streaming down his face.

“I can’t take it.”

“What do you mean son?”

“I spent a year in Uganda with kids in a school who had very little, but they were thankful and happy. And the Ugandan people were grateful, satisfied with what they had, not entitled to what they lacked. While they had few possessions and experienced hardships, they lived with gratitude.”

He continued to explain.

“And then a couple of hours ago, I was standing in line with people who were complaining that the line was too long and the popcorn was too expensive! It’s crazy! Dad, it’s been so hard to be back here. I miss Uganda.”

We talked for a long while – about what he’d experienced, what he’d seen, and what he now knows. And about the ache that comes with transitions.

Later that night, I thought about the motorcycle on his arm, and how he looks at it every day. It reminds him of one of the most pivotal years of his life, of hopeful children, of dusty roads and the farm he planted, of grandmothers in villages and friends who worked alongside him.

It finally hit me.

The tattoo was his journal, a story etched on his arm. And when Hunter sees it, he remembers those days when he was changed, and when love was rich and deep.

I get it now.

People tell their story in different ways, but rarely with words.

Sometimes it’s how they carry themselves or the way they wear their hair. And sometimes it’s the scar on their wrist or a frown or a smile on their face.

The evidence is there.

It’s up to you and me to be attentive to the story they wear, and to invite them to tell it. It means being willing to watch for a story to emerge from unexpected places.

As for me, I probably won’t be getting a tattoo anytime soon. I’m too close to that age when tattoos get distorted and droopy. But I’m going to spring for Hunter’s next one. I want him to keep telling stories the way he wants to.

Of course, if he chose to use a leather-bound book and a nice pen instead, I would not object.

The Introvert’s Guide to Staying Alive

I feel it like a sickness. I’m tired. I’m irritable. I have trouble focusing and I get confused about priorities. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be working on. My head feels like a junk drawer.

What’s the problem?

The problem is I’m an introvert taking on an extrovert’s life.

It’s my own fault. I know this about myself. I simply need time alone in order to recharge, and when I don’t get it, I suffer the consequences. So does my work.

It sneaks up on me and by the time I feel it, it’s too late. I have to shut down.

So how do I stop the spiral?

Several years ago a life coach gave me a tip that has really helped me. He asked me to identify they ways that I rest. And all of them involve being completely alone.

I recharge by walking the dog by a nearby lake. I just walk and throw a tennis ball and daydream and my energy starts coming back. I also recharge by going to movies. By myself. I know it sounds odd, but it brings me back.

Taking drives, eating alone, reading the paper at a coffee shop, talking to nobody about anything.

That’s how I come back to life.

To an extrovert this must sound insane, but for me it’s either get alone or become the equivalent of a grumpy old man.

There are other strategies, too.

One is to not take meetings with people unless there’s a really good reason for it.

Friends want to get together for coffee? Can’t do it. I know it sounds rude, but there’s a name for people who want to get together for coffee with no established reason. They’re called extroverts. They get energy from just talking about whatever, while for an introvert, it’s the equivalent of hooking an IV up to their artery and draining their blood.

To be sure, introverts love people.

But to understand how an introvert works, imagine every time you find yourself in a conversation, you had to jog in place.

So while an extrovert is sitting and having coffee and talking and sharing their life, an introvert is jogging in place right there at the table.

They can do it for a while, but not all day every day.

I’ve often wondered which is better, to be an introvert or an extrovert.

And I’ve come to the conclusion that the benefits and liabilities cancel each other out.

Neither is better.

I’ve an extremely extroverted friend who rented a cabin to try to write a book. He couldn’t handle it. Not even for a single day. He ended up renting a house in LA with new roommates and going to parties and loving California and at the end of his time had made tons of new friends but never wrote the book.

All that to say, I don’t have very many new friends but I do have a few books. Hard to say which is better or worse. As much as I’d love to have new friends, they’d honestly drain me.

What Men Don’t Talk About Enough

Sometimes I worry about the guys. Men are every bit as human as we women are, but it feels like they get to open up about it less.

My husband Craig tells me that ninety percent of his conversations with other men are about weather, news, and sports.

I know this isn’t true for all guys.

But it feels true for many.

And I think it’s really dangerous to be part of a culture that insists you hide your vulnerable self all the time. I don’t think this hiding is good for men or their people or the world. Somebody’s gotta set the guys free.

Photo Credit: Mikaela Hamilton

And I think a lot of people agree, because often when I’m out speaking, someone will raise her hand and say, “Hey, Glennon, where’s the truth-telling and hope-spreading revolution for the guys? My husband needs it.”

That happens all the time.

And that is why I cried my way through reading Scary Close. When I finished this book, I was in a little bit of shock and so I left it on Craig’s side of the bed with a sticky note that said, “Is this book as freaking good as I think it is?”

And THE NEXT DAY, Craig walked into my office teary-eyed and said, “Yeah. It’s that freaking good.”

He’s not a huge reader, but he finished Scary Close in one day, and he’s on his third reading now.

So, anyway.

Just wanted you to know that some help is on the way. I’m really, really grateful for my friend Donald Miller and all the amazing people at Storyline. Craig is grateful, too.

Also, I just really like saying, “my friend, Donald Miller.” How you doin’ Donald Miller, old buddy, old pal? I hope my friend Donald Miller is having a good day today.

K, I’m done.

Well almost. I wanted to leave you with this quote from Craig when I asked what he loved about Scary Close:

I don’t know. I’m still soaking it in. But I think what Don just convinced me of is that all these thoughts I’ve been thinking, all these feelings I’ve had my whole life, all these fears I’ve been keeping to myself… they’re okay. They’re normal. I’m not nuts. Or maybe it just means that Don and I are both nuts. But I’ll take that. I’ll take it. I’m just so glad I’m not the only one. After I finished reading Scary Close, I just felt relief. Relief is the right word.

And if you haven’t read the book yet, you can get it here.

6 Commitments I’m Making For A Happier Life

Lately when I’ve been walking my dog I catch myself staring at the ground.

The sidewalks are a little uneven and there is potential for tripping, but it is a route I take almost every day, twice a day, so I’m fairly familiar where the trappings will be. Maybe it’s because my mind gets consumed with fears for the future or problems of the present or maybe it is just because I have lost perspective of the beauty around me.

I am subconsciously going through the motions of the walk and missing everything around me.

My walk takes me by craftsman homes that are over 100 years old.

The tress along the way may be even older. The brick church I pass was founded in 1875 and still has some of the original stained glass. Some of the leaves are just beginning to change and I hear the faint sound of planes overhead and a train whistle announcing the next arrival of commuters hustling to and from work while a light breeze keeps the heat bearable.

Friendly neighbors are outside ready to greet me with a smile and a wave as they water their lawn or walk their own dog.

It is a beautiful walk, but if I don’t force myself to look up, I miss so much of the beauty and uniqueness of the moment. I’m not participating or influencing my surroundings.

I am just getting through them.

The last two years of life I’ve spent a lot of time looking at the ground, hoping not to trip.

So much was changing so quickly. I was simply trying to get to the next step without losing my balance. It wasn’t all bad, but it was fairly necessary. Before these two years, my footing seemed solid enough that I was able to look up from time to time and enjoy everything around me instead of just powering through.

I knew who I was and where I was going.

I went by many names.

Professor, Spiritual Mentor, Church Volunteer, Singer, Funny Guy, Californian, Academic, Roommate, Dean, Boss, Leader, Entertainer, to name a few. I would say most of those don’t really apply to me anymore, or at least in the same way they used to.

I’ve experienced complete shifts in careers, location, churches, relationships, world views, health, salary and more.

So much of my identity was wrapped up in these things and it seems hard to figure out who I am.

I’m not a victim. I chose most of those changes. I actually like my life a lot better these days in so many ways. After all that change, I’m finally at a place where I don’t have to just look down and power through.

I can take time to not only look, but see.

I’ve been talking with a number of friends lately who have experienced similar shifts.

They have gone through a divorce.Their children have left home. They lost a job or their job changed significantly. Each of us has realized that in some ways we feel a little bit lost and are still staring at the ground.

The foundation upon which we built our identities are no longer there and the pride we felt from the status that those things brought is missing as well.

Because of this, we’ve stopped looking up, for fear of tripping.

I have the space and footing now to stop and look around.

Even though so much has changed, I’m still the same person. So I decided to take some time to think about and write out who I want to be. What it looks like to not just look down at my feet and power through, but explore the beauty I want to see in my life.

I’m still me and I’m ready for something more than a subconscious-walking-through-life.

Here is how I want to stop looking at my feet and experience the beauty that surrounds me. This is how I will look up.

I want to always let my curiosity trump my fear.

I don’t want to be reckless, but fear should never stop me from exploring picturesque places in the world, learning from people with different backgrounds and opinions than me, or making attempts at new things that take me out of my comfort zone. My curiosity should drive me to learn.

May I never stop learning.

Life is not about being fearless, but choosing to continue to curiously step forward, with wisdom, in the face of fear.

1. May I live from a place of wonder.

I want the site of fireflies to always make me embarrassingly giddy and I want the taste of good wine and cheese to cause me to pause and close my eyes just for a moment. I will literally applaud good pizza and I will never stop being in awe of the gift that is my life.

2. My love will never be stingy.

I want to honor my partner with words in private and public, in proximity and apart. There should never be a doubt of my feelings and I will be vulnerable and honest always. My kindness will outdo my desire for comfort when I am not in the mood to do things a different way than I am used to, because I know it will make my partner’s life easier and less stressful.

My love will not be stingy, but given without expectation.

He is my favorite.

3. My friends will always know I am their biggest cheerleader.

In the moments where I am tempted to feel jealousy, I will choose joy. Their success adds to my life, it doesn’t take anything away. I will love their children with high praise, engulfing hugs, and irresponsible gifts.

I will offer to help them move before they have to ask.

Generosity will be a lifestyle, not moments given out of excess that cost me nothing. I will be generous with my words. I will not only see the greatness in others, but call it out of them when they can’t see it in themselves.

4. I will have Grace.

Grace for myself and grace for others.

5. Health will be a great priority.

I want to think about what I’m eating instead of grabbing what is most convenient. The couch should not be the place I log my most hours. Not because I care so much how I look, but because I know I am better when I’m less tired and when Taco Bell is not my primary source of nutrition.

But, health will be deeper than my skin or my fat, it will include my relationships, my spirituality and my boundaries.

My lofty goals are servants to a better life for me and those around me, not arrogant ideals to achieve at the cost of wellbeing.

6. My work and my life will be marked by integrity.

My words will mean something because they are true and they can be trusted.

My values should cost me something or they are empty.

These are the ways I am starting to look up, to notice, and to walk differently. I may trip a time or two because I’m not staring cautiously at my feet, but I hope I always stumble forward and get up to move again. How are you going to look up today?

What If You Don’t Know What to Do With Your Life?

Leaning in and speaking slowly, my new friend was about to make a confession.

We were in a coffee shop talking about what life might look like after he finished school. After a brief discussion about mutual friends, he mentioned that he had recently attended a conference where inspiring speakers challenged people to take risks, follow their passions, make a difference, and change the world.

He left the event simultaneously inspired and condemned.

He was motivated to go for it. He just didn’t know what it was. You see, he admitted that he had no idea what his passion was. He had never been the guy with a burning desire to do something specific.

He wasn’t unwilling to risk failure in pursuit of a grand cause.

He just didn’t know what to do or where to go.

Digging into his story, I learned that after reading motivational books, talking to career coaches, and hearing conference speakers; he assumed that everyone should know what they really wanted to do—that deep down everyone should have a strategic plan or revolutionary idea waiting to be revealed.

No matter how hard he searched, his evaded detection.

The unintended consequence of all this encouragement left him with a sense that not knowing his passion was just another area of failure in his life.

After a fantastic education he was suppose to launch and he had no idea of what to do next.

My heart was heavy, listening to him process the next step into what he called, his “passionless unknown.” This pressure seemed so unnecessary. He said, “Honestly, I just wish someone would tell me what to do.”

Recent graduates are not the only ones who feel this way.

There are moms watching their youngest head off to school, parents getting use to the silence of an empty nest, and many dissatisfied with their careers but clueless about the alternatives. Others who are further along the path of life ask, “Now that I am retired, what I am suppose to do?”

For those with a clear passion or vision, I hope they have the tenacity to go for it. For the many people who wrestle with uncertainty, our conversation generated several ideas:

1. The next step doesn’t have to be the ultimate step.

Remove the pressure to do something grand or epic right away. Instead, move forward toward something that provides experience, earns a credential, or improves a skill. Even if the next step isn’t a straight line toward a passionate end, make a move.

An object in motion is easier to steer.

If a better path emerges later, make a course correction. Many great motivational stories start with a person finding herself or himself on the wrong path and then shifting into something that brings great joy. Sometimes God, thinking several steps ahead, moves us like chess pieces.

2. Cultivate interests.

Passions generally spring from our natural interests or facts we uncover along the way. We should consistently cultivate, refine, and develop our interests. We should learn new facts about the world and the challenges people face.

Consistently reading books, enjoying art, serving others, and trying new things can be a simple path to a future passion.

Traveling, classes, and hobbies are all first steps.

3. Don’t be in a hurry.

There are seasons of preparation, seasons of action, seasons of rest, and seasons of intensity. Wherever you are, be there. Be present in the “passionless unknown” and be ready for the next season, which might bring greater clarity.

The bottom line is that many epic stories of passionate transformation are told with greater clarity than they were actually lived.

My new friend didn’t discover his “passion” over the course of our coffee conversation.

We both learned that the courage necessary to pursue a passion may precede the knowledge of the passion itself. Not clearly knowing your life’s calling, passion, or trajectory should produce a sense of expectation, not anxiety.

A few months later my friend and I caught up with each other. He had a job. He said, “It isn’t my dream job, but it is a first step. I cannot wait to see what happens next.” His initial passionless confession had transformed into hopeful anticipation–and that is a good trade.

There Are Two Kinds of Struggle. Which Will You Choose?

Recently I had to say goodbye to a friend I love dearly.

I don’t make a habit of saying goodbye to friends. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve done that in my life. I’m loyal to my very core, so once you’re in my life, you’re pretty much in it for good. But things with this friend had escalated to a point where they were no longer sustainable.

She is an addict who is unwilling to confront her addiction, and worse than that, I’m an addict—addicted to pleasing people and “saving” and to cleaning up messes.

So for a time, she and I were the perfect fit.

Her with the messes, me with the needing to clean them.

The only problem was I was ready to change.

So we had a conversation where we both cried and she tried to understand. Of course, she couldn’t understand. She couldn’t understand how much I loved her. She couldn’t understand why on earth—if I loved her as much as I said I did—I would leave her to herself.

She made sweeping, dramatic promises to change—something she had done thousands of times before. I wanted to believe her.

But I had been around this merry-go-round before.

This was not my first spin cycle.

So, with barely enough confidence to get the words out, I told her I couldn’t do it.

I needed out.

And I spent the entire rest of the day crying and thinking about how painful this whole thing was, what a terrible struggle it was to watch someone you love so deeply self-destruct and how I wished it could be different. At one point—right on schedule for my little co-dependent heart—I began to question everything.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was being under-supportive. Maybe I was expecting too much.

So I called a friend to get some advice.

On the phone, my friend told me that I most definitely was not over-reacting or under-supporting and that I was doing exactly what I needed to do—that this was me doing my part.

She also said something that has really helped me to be at peace with my choice ever since I made it. She said:

There are two kinds of struggle in life.

The first kind of struggle was the one I was experiencing right then. She called it The Work. The Work is the painful process of growing and changing, the decision to do things differently than we’ve done them before. The Work is not easy—as was clear from the entire box of tissues lying crumpled in heaps all over my living room floor.

But The Work was a good, good struggle.

A really amazing, important, undeniably meaningful struggle.

The other kind of struggle, she said, was the struggle I had been in with this friend for as long as I had known her, not to mention the dozens of other relationships I had been in like this one. The promises to change. The soar of hope. The incredible gift of energy and time and compassion and grace… and the inevitable crash on the other side.

The other struggle was this terrifyingly familiar roller-coaster of a thing. She asked if I wanted to go on that ride one more time.

I couldn’t, I told her, crying.

Then you have chosen your struggle, she said.

On the one hand, this should be an easy decision… right?

But of course it’s not. As heartbreaking as that roller-coaster struggle is, it is also, at the same time, stupidly familiar. For those of us who have been on this ride, more than once, we know exactly what to expect. It’s safe. It’s “normal”. It’s all we know. No wonder we have been choosing that terribly unproductive kind of struggle for YEARS.

For our whole lives.

The struggle of The Work is no less terrifying or painful. In fact, maybe more terrifying, in a way, because it is so new to us.

But it is productive. It is meaningful. It is the only way forward.

None of us get through this life without struggle.

That is the terrible and also miraculous thing about the time we spend here on this planet. Struggle is inevitable. But the great news, I am coming to believe, is that we get to choose what kind of struggle we would like to have.

We can choose the same old struggle—our addictions, compulsions, old bad habits and patterns, relationships that aren’t good for us, people and jobs and situations that make us feel terrible about ourselves.

We can stay on that same old spin-cycle.

Or, we can choose a different struggle. A new struggle. Our own inner-work. A more terrifying but also more satisfying kind of inner-battle.




We can find a new way forward.

Three Tips for Casual Writers

Over the past five years, I’ve written more than 10 books and worked with close to a hundred writers to help them take steps toward their writing goals.

These days, I meet people all the time who asking themselves questions like, “am I a real writer?” and “what does it really mean to be a writer? and “is this even worth it?”.

This is what I tell them.

1. Don’t discount your validity as a writer because you don’t have a bunch of training.

The best writers I’ve known and worked with in my career are not the most highly trained. Not even close. In fact, sometimes the highly “trained” authors have an even harder time getting their authentic voice to come through on the page. They’re focused too much on poetic language and perfect grammar.

Like the guy who recites his entire resume to you on the first date. Trying too hard.

Not so attractive.

No, the best writers I’ve known in my life—the ones who are leaving a long-lasting imprint the souls of the people who are reading—are the writers who are willing to say things nobody else is willing to say, who are willing to play with words, play with ideas, to practice, to let their minds wander and guess and ask big questions.

Those are the best writers I’ve known.

So the fact that you don’t have some prestigious degree from some prestigious university doesn’t mean you aren’t a writer. Let that old idea go. There is only one prerequisite for being a writer: to write.

So what are you waiting for?

2. Forget being so disciplined with your writing.

Stop trying so hard to carve out an hour of uninterrupted time seven days a week in a peaceful setting to sit down to your computer and write something profound. Eventually, if you decide to make writing a profession, you may have to do this. But for now, think of your little inner artist like a timid child.

You’ll have to coax her to come out and play.

When you wake up in the morning and you had a weird dream the night before, grab a pen and just write it down.

Two sentences. Five words. Three minutes. Just play.

Don’t take it all so seriously.

When you’re driving and some random idea comes to you and you’re not sure how or if it will ever fit with anything else you’ve written, grab your phone and voice record it. Don’t worry about making it cohesive or making it fit. Just write it down.

Write down that weird mixture of words that comes upon you while you’re in the shower, or that thing your kid says that strikes you as quite profound for a 4-year-old. Write it all down. Write in tiny fits and bursts, and then, when you feel a surge of motivation to write something longer, capitalize on that.

Forget scheduling long swaths of time to write—for now. Try to nurture and cultivate your desire to write. Tell yourself it’s worth it. Flirt with it a little bit. Woo yourself to write. See if that’s more effective than beating your little writing self into disciplined writing-schedule submission.

3. Read as much as you write.

It always strikes me as odd when I meet people who would love to write books but say they don’t read books.

If you want to be a writer, you should be consuming books the way a runner consumes carbs. Seriously. This is your fuel, your lifeline, the food your mind will feed on to create your own work. Think of a baby—how many thousands of hours of language input come before he or she can ever have a coherent output.

This is you. You need so much input. Be excessive about this. Carry a book with you everywhere. Read all the time.

When I meet a writer who is “blocked” the first thing I tell them is to read more. Go to movies. Take a walk. Go do something luxurious or restful or fascinating. As Julia Cameron calls it, fill the well. When you send the bucket down and it comes up empty, the solution is not complicated.

The bucket is empty because the well is empty. Reading fills the well.

Ultimately, whether you become a “serious” writer or just do it casually, I hope you’ll keep writing. Research shows those who write regularly are more likely to have happy relationships, thriving careers and even to be physically healthy.

Hope that helps. Happy writing!