Elora Nicole Ramirez's Blog, page 9

True Sentences.

They say to write well, you just need to write one true sentence. 

Actually, let's be real for a moment. Hemingway said that. They just like to repeat him — a lot.

I've been thinking about his statement lately. Probably because I've been trying to find my way back to this space. My one true sentence eluded me for weeks, and then months. I wanted to write, and I did. I'm currently in the midst of sharing some behind-the-scenes-decision making in my Letters from the Creative Underground, and I started writing on my memoir again after an epiphany of direction.

But that didn't explain why I couldn't write here. And really, I'm not quite sure I'll even be able to get out what I need to say. Right now, my one true sentence sounds like a groan in the back of my throat.

So here's the truth: a few years ago I stepped off a train. I did it willingly and with intention. It was not the train meant for me — not then. I needed another one. I knew this intuitively, and so I left. I gathered my things and said my goodbyes and jumped off at the nearest station. 

And now I don't know how to get back on.

.::.

We sat around a table with buckets full of sharpies and boxes full of colored pencils. One of us was coloring. One of us had her computer open. I was the one looking over her shoulder, reading the descriptions.

"That one," I pointed. The description had her written all over it. My eyes would dart to the other descriptions and I would avoid reading them fully, focusing on her.

"You think?" she asked, writing it down in her notebook. 

I would nod, and give my reasoning, the pit in my stomach growing by the minute. It was a familiar feeling by now — one I welcomed like a friend. 

Hello, Missed Opportunity. I didn't think you'd stop by today. 

"I wish you were going!" she said, pointing to another one, the one I was actively avoiding. "I mean....look!" Her eyes grew wide and she'd turn to me, smiling.

I could only grimace and shrug my shoulders. 

"I know. Trust me. I'm more than a little jealous." Then I would smile. "But this is going to be amazing for you. I can't wait to hear about it. I'll just live vicariously through tweets." 

And so I did. I am. And every single moment I am remembering the last time. 

The call came late, around 10pm. For some reason, Russ and I were already in bed. Maybe watching TV? 

"Oh my goodness, Elora. It was amazing. I can't believe you didn't go." 

A brief pause. The tilt of my stomach.

"I know. I should have been there. But we're moving and well....you know."

She laughs. 

"Yeah. I know." (She didn't) "It's okay though." (It wasn't.)

Two months later, I would know how unokay it was, really. And five months later — well five months later the proverbial shit didn't just hit the fan, it got smeared on all of the walls and carpet.

So now, now when things are circling back and there's a cemented feeling of truth and rightness in me being here all over again, I have to admit that I feel a little dizzy and a lot out of place.

Time is weird like that. You make a decision, and it will always come back to you. The truth can serve as a beacon, but it can also brand you. It's heated like that — it leaves a mark. And so in any moment you are both here and there. You are in the decisions you made last decade and you are in this moment of declaration. 

Another true sentence: sometimes, I feel like there is not enough room for this type of flexibility within creativity. Perhaps it's just me. I have the tendency to get so disillusioned that I not only walk away for a spell, I cut it out of my life completely. This is what happened a few years ago. 

I got so tired of the pointed fingers and yelling and what are you going to say about THAT COMMENT?! that I just kind of awkward moonwalked out of the room. 

"See ya never, Christian blogosphere. I'll be over here in the corner with my art journal and scandalous fiction."

So what happens when the sacred starts to blend with your art again? What happens when every creative chord being plucked internally points to spiritual formation and wrestling with the grittiness of faith? 

I can tell you what happens. You stop writing. You stop writing because when you jumped off that train everything about this reality became a foreign land. It's a language I can feel and know, but one I am so hesitant in speaking because it's changed. The verbs don't sound like verbs anymore. The dialect has a different tone. The syntax feels strange on my tongue.

I do not know how to form those sentences anymore. I do not know how to go back when everything I know is pushing me forward.

And maybe that's the entire point. Maybe there needs to be a space where you can push and pull and move and breathe and change your mind and come back again knowing that everything changes, but our core does not. 

Maybe the language feels foreign because I am changing — all of my years and stories pressing into my bones and creating something all together different. Something that will feel familiar to this dusty soul feeling a little left for wear.

A train whistles in the distance. I gather my things, now thick with the dirt of experience and doubt made right again, and smile. 

Maybe the land isn't so foreign after all. 

Letters From the Creative Underground

Writing is more than articulation, it's allowing yourself the space to hear the truth that you have something to share. Letters from the Creative Underground is the fuel you need to remember the truth: you are a writer. You have a story. 

And we desperately need to hear it. 

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Why I Raised the Price of My Indie Novels

When it released, Secrets Don't Keep was only 99c. 

It wasn't going to be forever. It was my promotion for the first few weeks after the book released. I posted about it on my Facebook page, and more than one reader responded with shock. 

"Less than a dollar?! Your books are worth so much more than a dollar!" 

I knew this was true. But I also knew the over-saturation of the industry. I knew that in order for my book to get any traction, it just needed to be read. And in order to be read, at that point, it needed to be almost free.

I also lowered the price of my other two novels — Every Shattered Thing and Somewhere Between Water and Sky. So for a few months, you could go and purchase my entire library, books that covered three years of my career as an author, for under three bucks.

In 2015, I made 800 dollars from royalties from my books. That's an average of 65 dollars a month. Because I know my sales, I also can say that getting a payment from KDP that's more than fifty dollars is rare. So that money? A majority of it comes from a free promotion I had for Every Shattered Thing and the release of Secrets Don't Keep.

Here's the thing — I very much do not expect to get rich off of my novels. This is not why I write. However....I'm beginning to take ownership of what my writing is worth. 

When a creative entrepreneur starts talking about prices for whatever she is wanting to offer, you better believe people will be making sure she charges what she's worth. 

Yet as authors, we're encouraged to give our stuff away for free....to build trust. 

"Take my first book! But give me your email address. I want to bore you with requests for reviews."

I'm just not sure that's how I can navigate this space with authenticity. I'm all for teasers. I'll let anyone read a chapter or two to see if they're interested in my novel. I know not everyone will love it — and that's okay. 

But why give everything you've created away for free? I know why: at least, according to the "professionals" — you're giving it away because you expect something in return (a review). Or you're giving it away so you can grow your email list (ew). Or you're giving it away so you can do all of it at once — as well as drop these souls into a sales funnel where they're receiving about twenty emails a week convincing them to sign up for your latest course on how to sale (x) amount of copies of your book! 

Can I be honest here and say this is bullshit?

It took me three years to get Every Shattered Thing out into the world. Combined, these three books took about four and a half years of my creative life. When I'm writing, I'm spending every waking moment completely overwhelmed by these characters. I live and breathe that shed in Stephanie's backyard. I wrote the poems etched into the foundation of the beach house. I dreamed up #elderwild in between bursts of research and brainstorming. With every ounce of who I am as an artist, I believe in these stories.

I realized a few weeks ago I needed to start acting like it. When more and more people start putting up short stories and novellas for $2.99, and when you can purchase a book that you finish in 30 minutes for less than a dollar, it's time to rethink how I approach my own pricing.

Here's the truth, if you want it: For a long while, one of my core desires was radical generosity. I gave everything away. A lot of it really did light me up and help me see the goodness in holding everything with an open hand.

But then people started expecting me to give stuff away for free. I realized, if I didn't offer something, then no one would want to get anything. They'd become so accustomed to me giving my art away that when I started to charge, they ran.

I didn't price my books at 99 cents because I was being generous and wanted as many people as possible to afford my books. I priced my books at 99 cents because I was too tired to play the game. I was too tired to fight the over-saturation. I was too tired to believe my words meant anything compared to another author on any other day. 

Now I know, deep in my core, these books are worth so much more. 

Letters From the Creative Underground

Writing is more than articulation, it's allowing yourself the space to hear the truth that you have something to share. Letters from the Creative Underground is the fuel you need to remember the truth: you are a writer. You have a story. 

And we desperately need to hear it. 

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Nine Things You May Not Know About Secrets Don't Keep

Originally, Secrets Don't Keep was going to be a book about high school cheerleaders. I may still write that book, but this one turned into something completely different. This happens often with my books while I'm writing. I'll have a foundation for the plot, but something will just feel as if it's missing. When everything came together, I realized including the high school cheerleading plot point wouldn't work as well as I originally hoped. Which is fine because — there's another book idea. ::wink:: I was at a dinner with friends when someone mentioned “secret society” and everything just clicked. I knew I had the missing piece. I went home that evening and wrote the first scene with Kera and Dex in the school library. Plot wasn't the only thing that shifted with this book. The setting also changed. Grove originally was in Atlanta, Georgia. When I was researching, I knew it needed to be somewhere else. I considered Providence, Rhonde Island. But, I have another book that will be set in the northeast, so I opted for Asheville — a place I’ve visited once and loved. As soon as I started doing more research I knew it was the right locale.My husband read the manuscript as I was writing it. It was the first time I had him reading alongside me writing. Nothing made me want to write the best book possible then knowing he would be reading it. He loves the book as much as I do, and that of course makes me love him even more. He is probably the biggest reason I finished because of his “WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?!” questions. This book wouldn't have been the same without his help coming up with cuisine that would actually be served at La Boheme's gatherings. I seriously thought this book would be a standalone. My betas changed my mind. Kera and Dex's story is far from over.I got Season’s name from a Cosmopolitan magazine ad.I was almost finished with the book when I heard an Invisibilia podcast on quantum entanglement that blew my mind and forced me to reconsider the ending I originally planned.A piece of advice you’ll often hear is to keep your book free of pop culture references that could date it within a certain time period. HOWEVER. I think this is a bunch of nonsense and love filling my stories with as many references as possible. That being said, one of my favorite scenes is where I drop BOTH a Harry Potter and a Fast and the Furious reference. I’m not even ashamed. (#ripPaulWalker)

The Question That Drives My Life

The alarm was set for 12: 45am.

I'm not sure how long it went off until I reached for the phone on my nightstand, groggy eyed and confused. Neruda, our chihuahua, stumbled off of his perch and blinked sleepily before snorting and settling in deeper in the covers against Russ. Trulee got excited and thought we were going to have a midnight excursion out in the park. She pranced around as I got dressed before finally giving up and running back into our room where there was warmth and snuggling.

It was a year ago. Earlier in the night, I picked up a red-eye shift for my new side hustle with Postmates. I wasn't entirely sure I could make it until 4am, but after a nap and a few stretches, I thought maybe it would be at least adventurous. I made some yerba mate, downed a glass of water, and sat in my writing chair until the tea kicked in and I felt like I could drive.

I knew the route I would take. MOPAC to 183 to Lamar and then Guadalupe. As I inched past Buffalo Exchange and Torchy's and Kerby Lane, my suspicions were proven correct: in a college town, all you need to do to find the current of life is to drive toward campus. And so I did. Packed dining rooms, sidewalks crawling with laughing and wide awake 20-somethings, whooping and hollering and carrying on as if it were stupid early on a Friday morning and they had yet to fall asleep.

My order came in sometime after 3am. I grabbed the necessary items and tapped the GPS pointing me down south. I was delivering to an apartment complex off S. Congress. If you've seen a movie with Austin as its backdrop, you've seen this road. As I dropped off the food and hurried to my car and waved at early morning (late night?) conversationalists setting up posts on their porches, I began to notice something: the inherent buzz of silence every city envelops when bars begin to shut down and dance halls close their doors. And then I thought of earlier that evening, sitting behind my computer and chatting with some of my favorite people.

My friend Lakin was talking to us about how desires — and ultimately questions — drive our lives. For her, the question is who are you? She wants you to know your identity — and to root down into who you're meant to be in this skin and bones.

I was thinking about this while driving home, wondering about what question drives me. I thought of those I'd come in contact with that evening: the various drive-thru attendants, the sleepy voice on the other end of the phone needing a midnight snack, the figure on the other side of a gate waiting for his delivery, the laughter from porches ricocheting off nearby concrete, the couple in the car next to me, the lone driver sharing S. Congress with me — and my question, the one that fuels me and keeps me going, rose up to greet me.

I want to know your story. But more than that, really. Because anyone can sit down and share some coffee and spill what happened to us when we were 5 and 10 and 17 and 23.

I want to know the story burning in your bones and just waiting for permission to stretch its wings. I want to know the story of how words began to settle into your soul and never let you rest. I want to know your story. You are not just the story you tell others. You are not just the tiny piece of worry that wrinkles your eyes normally turned up into the fringes of a grin. I want to know the whole of you, because there is where I believe we find our depth.

I am not just Elora, story coach and author and part time personal shopper. I am Elora, lover of story and aesthetics and lavender. I want to name my daughter Harper Gold. I have way too many story ideas to capture. I'm beginning to love blueberries and the way greens taste in a smoothie. I love to dance. I used to love to sing and am trying to find that piece again. I find comfort in dried-gesso on my fingertips and am fiercely loyal to those who find a way to break through all of the boundaries I place between me and others. I'm hopelessly in love with my husband. I cry a lot and when I don't, I know I'm running too hard. I want to travel but I crave home when I'm away. I'm a mystic, and I look for magic in my every day life because I believe it exists. I love Beyonce and Justin Timberlake and Debussy and AWOLNATION and Florence and the Machine and George Gershwin. Pragmatism depresses me but a dose of reality is good for my dreamy-feet that can't stay on the ground. I am all of these things and more. And what weaves these pieces together is my story. The one I've lived and the one I've yet to tell.

I pulled into the driveway around 4:30 in the morning. I kicked off my boots and cuddled with my pups and slid underneath the covers, heart racing with inspiration and life. And as I drifted off to sleep, there was a smile on my face. Because one of the most beautiful things about this question is that as a writer, I'm constantly reminded of the threads that join us together through story. What is your story? As a human, as an artist, as a romantic, cynic, analyst, dreamer? The answer to this question is the currency that will keep us connected, reminding one another that a living, breathing human waits on the other side.

Weekly Letter from the Creative Underground

Writing is more than articulation, it's allowing yourself the space to hear the truth that you have something to share. Letters from the Creative Underground is the fuel you need to remember the truth: you are a writer. You have a story. 

And we desperately need to hear it. 

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Why Your Creativity is Hiding in the Shadows

Create whatever causes a revolution in your heart. The rest will take care of itself — Elizabeth Gilbert

I've been letting other people tell my story. 

I realized this last week while journaling. I'll have something to say, and I'll be just about to start talking about it, and then someone will pop off and say their piece and suddenly...I don't want to speak anymore.

It's not insidious. I don't think these people do it on purpose. In fact, there's legitimately only one scenario where I know for a fact it was a speak before Elora gets her chance type of motive, and I can count on one hand the amount of you-know-what that I give about that whole cluster.

No, this is mostly a confidence issue. This is mostly me looking at what others have shared and somehow deciding their story is enough. 

But it's not. Because it's not my story.

And just because they choose to process their side first, that doesn't automatically negate my own perspective. 

.::.

A few weeks ago, I received a message on Facebook accusing me of copying someone's brand. This person posted on a Facebook page about her latest idea for reaching a specific target group, and I missed the niche in between the lines of her explanation. So a few weeks later, when I shared Write Your Worth, a brand I'm building with Alicia Caine, she immediately assumed I took her idea and molded it for my own benefit. 

Even though Alicia and I have been brainstorming since June. 
Even though we built the eCourse and launched it before she even posted her idea. 
Even though our audience is already well-developed and hyper-focused.

I laughed when she suggested we not proceed. Her reasoning? When she learned I was a story coach, she decided not to work with writers, out of respect to my brand. My exact response: "don't even place that type of manipulation on me. If you want to work with writers, you work with writers. There are plenty of us out there and I guarantee there will be more...but that doesn't mean we don't need you in whatever capacity you're meant to work. There's more than enough room at this table."

Same idea. Different people. Two separate (but needed) brands.

I was quick to shut her down, letting her know her worries were unfounded and she still needed to proceed where her own inspiration led her.

But. 

Boy do I get that inherent fear that pushed her to message me.

.::.

In Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert talks about the organic matter of ideas. Mostly, that when an idea's time has come, there is multiple discovery. 

“When the nineteenth century Hungarian mathematician János Bolyai invented non-Euclidean geometry, his father urged him to publish his findings immediately, before someone else landed on the same idea, saying, ‘When the time is ripe for certain things, they appear at different places, in the manner of violets coming to light in early spring.’”

— Elizabeth Gilbert (page 62)

I can relate. Maybe you can, too? Once I had a brilliant idea for a novel, twisting the stereotype into something I've never seen before....until the very next day I saw a preview for a new movie with the exact same plot. 

Another time I started planning an idea for an offering with Awake the Bones, only to be re-routed by a full time job. In January, another brand launched their offering — an exact version of what I imagined back in March. 

And this is just with creativity. This isn't just you know...talking about what's going on in my life.

What I'm figuring out is that the quickest way to silence myself is to let the progress of others prevent my own.

It's the sneakiest sort of comparison. 

Oh well she's already shared the story so....I guess I don't need to write about it. 
Since there's a movie I can't write a book about it. 
People will think I'm copying if I launch with that idea I had last spring....

Slide the tape open, break it apart, slap it on my mouth. 

I'm so sick of it. 

It's the worst kind of censorship, knowing that you are a willing participant because you're doing it to yourself. Even after I realized what was happening last week, it still took me a solid seven days to write about it. I've decided in 2016, one of the ways I can become a student of my own creativity is to follow the inspiration. 

So the book idea I had before, I can still use it. Except, instead of it being the entire plot, I'm going to use it to create depth of characters and story line.  
And the offering I planned on sharing? I'm still going to do it. But it's going to be created with my unique giftings and core genius, and not how others envisioned it for their dream clients. 

Nothing is as dangerous as a single story. We've seen the TED talk. Yet as creatives, we're so quick to disqualify ourselves. We step into the shadows as soon as someone else decides to stretch their muscles and venture into the spotlight. 

"We'll let them do the dirty work," we think. And as a result, the world misses out on our very real, very needed story that only we can tell. 

Here's the thing: no one else has the mixture of creativity and experiences and ideas that you have — even if what they share is similar, it's still not labeled as YOU. Don't let them share what's meant to come from you. Don't believe the lie that you're safe in the shadows. 

It's time that story, that idea, that piece of creativity came into the light.

Elora Reads: Favorite Books of 2015

You can read last year's post, my favorite books of 2014, here.

Let's just start off with the obvious: I didn't read nearly as much this year. Actually, scratch that — I didn't read nearly as much the second half of this year. Something about waking up every morning to be at work by 8am doused the late-night reading I'd grown to love. It's alright, though. There are still some good reads on this list, and if you come across one you're not familiar with, HURRY UP AND BUY IT ALREADY so you can read it. 

NONFICTION :: 

When the Heart Waits, Sue Monk Kidd

You know those books you keep on your list forever and never get around to reading because other books feel more important? That was this one. And yet, I read it in a day. Never have I ever experienced the synchronicity that I felt while reading this book. I know, that's kind of vague, but Kidd's story of spiritual formation moved me in a way I wasn't anticipating.

The Artisan Soul, Erwin McManus

I read this with the Coterie back in the spring and felt as if McManus' words were somehow righting things in my creativity that had gotten topsy turvy. If it weren't for the book club, I would have rushed through the book, anxious for the next chapter. Instead, I let the words sit, reading them slowly. It was the only way to read and yet I know I missed some nuggets. This will be one I revisit in a few months just to let everything sink in completely. It's that good.

Wild in the Hollow, Amber Haines

Amber's words, dripping with poetry, cut to the marrow. There aren't enough words yet to articulate what this book did for me. I've been reading Amber's words for seven years and they always find a way to reach in and comfort while reminding me of my wild roots. This book was no exception. 

Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert

I can't tell you how many times I had to put this book down and take a few breaths because I felt like Gilbert had crawled up into my brain-space and started talking about me. Biggest takeaway from this book? Ideas are living, breathing things. 

FICTION :: 

The Bright Effect, Autumn Doughton and Erica Cope

I have no doubt: this is the best of Doughton and Cope. Their collaboration with this story captures so much: local color (seriously — they nailed the Carolina lexicon), dynamic characters, and a storyline that has you flipping the pages as fast as you can just so you can grieve the inevitable ending. There's so much within these pages, but you just need to trust the reviews and dive in heart first — you won't regret it. I came to the last page craving more from Bash and Amelia and once again so thankful for indie authors who put everything and more into their writing, creating an incredible manuscript that rivals any bestseller out there.

Ready Player One, Ernest Cline

Y'all. This book was so outta left field for me. I made a point this year to read books I normally wouldn't read, and this one topped the list plus turned into a favorite I never saw coming. I listened to this on Audible (totally recommend — Wil Wheaton narrates!) and the story came alive for me. I couldn't stop listening. I loved the world Cline created and am so curious about the rumors I hear about a movie. 

I'll Give You the Sun, Jandy Nelson

This was another book I started on Audible and then, because of the pure poetry behind some of Nelson's phrases, I promptly went and bought the hardback. I should have known. Back when I went to see Ransom Riggs at BookPeople, he was reading this while Nelson was writing and stunned by her phrasing. (Let's just pause and consider the literary trifecta that is Ransom Riggs, Tahereh Mafi, and Jandy Nelson....)

If you read my favorite books for 2014, you know Jandy Nelson is a repeat. FOR GOOD REASON. I have no words for this book. I just want to craft stories that move people like this moved me.

So how about you? What books stood out to you this year? Also, coming soon: my top ten books every writer needs. I've been wanting to write this post for years, y'all. 

How to Get over the Guilt of Not Writing

Today, I've been thinking about writing.

Probably because I've spent most of the day reflecting on 2015 and remembering that this time last year, I was in the middle of writing-euphoria with Secrets Don't Keep. I didn't finish the book until late January, but December held the bulk of my writing — late nights, early mornings, fingers wrestling with the keys because the words were coming faster than I could type.

I miss that alchemy of words-on-page.

Maybe you feel the same? I've spoken to more than a few people recently who miss the feeling writing gives them. The catalyst is different: a new job, a new schedule, fear of success or fear of failure — it doesn't really matter. Once you stop writing, it's almost impossible to begin again.

At least, it feels impossible.

I think it's easy for the Guilt of Not Writing to take over every single creative outlet you experience. For me, if I'm not writing, at least I can be art journaling or painting or reading — filling the well, so to speak. But even then, it's not enough. The thought of yeah, but I should be writing....colors every single thing you do until one day you just chuck the whole thing out and say forget it. It's too hard. I can't do it. 

If there's one thing I've learned in writing, it's this: all it takes to experience the effervescence of creating something out of nothing is to pick up the pen and begin. 

But it's too hard, you repeat.

You're right. It is hard. If it were easy, more people would have finished their books by now. But listen: it's only hard because you haven't started. I call it alchemy for a reason — once I begin, once I set intention on spilling words every single day, once I say no to the things I know will take away from my creativity, the story flows.

Wasting time is easy. 
Doing what we love, what we're built for, is what takes work. 

All you have to do is say yes.

Why I'm Not Sharing My Word for 2016

Five years ago, I drove down the highway with butterflies in my stomach. A few days prior, my husband and I decided to start the process for adoption. This knowledge was the source of the millions of tiny wings brushing up against my insides. It felt something like hope. 

I whispered a prayer — a small, insignificant question. 

Give me something to hang on to during this process....

And jubilee landed square in my gut. A single word, weighty with its implications. I didn't fully know what it meant, but I knew it was something I needed to remember. A few months later I would read a blog post by a friend explaining how to choose a word of the year. That's when I knew I already had my word. We purchased a domain and started blogging through the adoption process, dubbing 2011 as our year of jubilee. If I'm honest, I thought it was almost cute having jubilee as my word. That changed quickly. Two weeks into the year, my world fell apart as I began to face the story I ignored for far too long. Suddenly, jubilee felt more like a reckoning.

Jubilee gave way to abide. This word found me in another blog post. I knew jubilee was not done with me yet. Having turned me inside out and right again, that word sunk deep into my soul and wasn't going anywhere. So I learned how to stay, even in the pain. I christened the year with a tattoo, an anatomical heart donned with a crown and two sparrows. 

If I could stay in the pain of needles piercing my skin, I could stay in the pain of healing the messy bits through therapy.

Then there was risk. This word came to me like so many things that year — appearing out of nowhere. Fresh from a placement that went south, we were tender about the adoption. This word carried me through the struggle of believing in hope and seeing myself as a mother. That spring, I embraced the word heart first when we were placed with another birth mom. We prepped everything, and I allowed the mama-heart inside to come to life only to see everything shatter beneath us when the birth mom decided to keep her baby.

And so came soft. nspired by the poem Wild Geese, I was going to take a year to find what this soft animal of a body truly loves. I did, too. I learned how to speak, how to stand up for myself. I woke the lioness inside (hello, Leo) and came home to myself in so many ways. At the end of the year, my word for 2015 came to me in a dream. 

W ild. 

And it has been. I finished my third novel, broke up with my agent, embraced my core desired feelings, wrote curriculum for five workshops, developed The Coterie, wrote an eCourse over text with my partner Alicia, started a memoir, went back to work full time, got a promotion within six weeks, and navigated the turbulent waters of friendship and relationships.

So in the fall when I still hadn't received a word for 2016, I wondered if I was missing something. I started paying attention to words like root and ground — they were becoming a theme of sorts for my life, and I thought maybe there was something in my consistent need to be reminded to root myself deep.

I carried these words around for a bit, letting them roll around on my tongue for a while to see how they felt. And they were close — but not my words. So one morning, while sitting at a light, I just asked.

What's my word? 

She came to me immediately, landing like a feather on my heart but carrying the weight of so many hopes and dreams. I always have a visceral reaction to the word when it comes — it's how I know. But never before have I started sobbing, which is what happened. I texted my best friend first. 

"Please tell me I don't have to do this..."

Her response, something between a four-letter word and an apology, solidified it for me. 

I fought the word for weeks, feeling clammy and a cemented gut when someone mentioned it in passing. But then I got a message on Facebook from a friend who knew nothing about the word, and I couldn't deny it any longer.

This was my word, and something was happening.

That night I called a friend who keeps my heart safe and she started crying when I told her about the message, agreeing with me about the confirmation. I told her I didn't know how I would share this one, how it felt too personal, and she mentioned, "you know...sometimes, a story must be experienced before it can be told."

It clicked then — all of it. This word is meant for me. Maybe someday, there will be a story attached to it. For now, it's something for me to embrace by living it.

Seven Ways to Increase Your Novel's Word Count

When I cross 5000 words in a book I'm writing, I start to pay attention.

This is always my first milestone. For a moment, I celebrate. I smile and close my eyes and take a deep breath. Around 5000 words is when the story becomes real. Even though I've done it countless times before, word 5000 is always the test. The characters feel alive to me. I understand their quirks a little more. I get the pull of their flaws and hang ups. And I'm suddenly aware of everything around me and how it relates to this story I'm creating. 

In those first moments, every word feels like a victory. And word 5000 is usually one of my breaking points. I've started seven books. I've finished four of them. I'm working on one right now. It never fails. Around the 5000th word, there's a pause.

You'll experience many fevers over the course of writing books, but the initial one is a doozy. You'll get giddy and confident. You'll start telling people, "I'm writing a book!" But then word 5000 hits and you're simultaneously relieved you have that many thoughts and scared out of your mind that you just finished a short story, a really short story. Not a book. 

Do not stop at word 5001.

Do not stop at word 19865. Or even 46735. Keep going until this story you know you're meant to write is finished.

Perfection will come another day. Critique can wait. For now, just let the words flow. Let the characters come to life before your very eyes.

Some things that help me: 

And then outlines — you might have heard me talk about these before because I love them so much. And then outlines help you create a foundation for where you're going in a story. So, an and then outline for SECRETS DON'T KEEP would look like

Kera and Dex have thai food
and then they get into an argument
and then Kera leaves and goes to the tunnels
and then she runs into Sebastian
and then she finds the tape
and then Logan shows up

So you see that it's not very detailed, but when I'm writing, each of these moments can turn into a scene. Most times, this turns out to be a lucrative activity because I'm brainstorming about possible scenarios. And, while I'm writing, these moments have helped crystallize the direction so I'm more likely to fill in the gaps with even more detail and action. 
  Anti-social app  — I love this tool for so many reasons but mainly because it keeps me quiet and focused and OFF of social media. Once you download, you choose the time and your computer instantly disables distractions. I typically use Anti Social because it still gives me access to the internet (and research) but you can also disable your internet with their app FREEDOM. Seriously y'all — any time I do writing sprints, I rely on this tool right here. Perfect for those shots of writing time we all crave but never seem to get because of notifications and the shiny bright lights of Facebook.
 I write in silence, but edit with music fit for my story. So, this suggestion would be taking time to build a playlist specific for your plot. Make it good. If your book turned into a movie, what would the soundtrack look like for a particular scene? One of my favorite activities that always gets me inspired. Seriously. As soon as I heard Beyoncé's 7-11 last year I knew it was going to be in Secrets Don't Keep. And of course, not only was it in the book, I created an entire scene around it. 
 Or, you can listen to Awake the Bones Vol. 2, an exclusive playlist built just for you and your words.
 If you get stuck, schedule a coaching session. Sometimes, we just need to verbally process and get to the core of WHY we're stuck, you know? I get it. When I'm writing, I've bent the ear of many in my process to get a scene just. right. Don't be afraid to use this link. :) 
 Break the rules and go back to reread what you've written. I KNOW. This is a huge faux pas in writing. But who cares? Going back and rereading what I've written has revealed plot holes and inconsistencies I wasn't aware of initially. It's helped me developed characters. It's put flesh around the bare bones of a scene I struggled with on a day I wasn't inspired. Go back. Reread. You might be surprised what you find.
 During your reread, implement some self editing tools. Read out loud to hear the pacing. Switch the font to notice things you didn't before. Print out the book so you can get tactile. Get curious about your book and I promise new things will pop up you never considered for the plot.

Want more reading? Check out She's Novel or Writerology for more tips. I love these ladies and their creativity. 

Writing Through the Messy Bits

Earlier this week, I opened up my memoir for the first time since June. 

It was because of a coaching call. I was working with someone in the middle of her memoir, and I wanted to remember. Memoir writing is a completely different beast. You wrestle daily with the fear of content and try your best to believe whatever you’re sharing is going to be a story others would want to read. 

In my mind, I hadn’t written in months because of my job. The last day checked off on my whiteboard, right next to 10k words, is June 2. And maybe my job is part of it. Maybe there are some areas in which I can tweak my schedule in order to give my words priority. 

But now I know the truth.

I didn’t stop writing because of a schedule or because I “got too busy” — I stopped writing because the story got too hard. 

The last scene of my memoir is the moment my best friend and I pulled over on the highway because we saw a plane in the sky and we thought it was falling. It was September 12, 2001 and my entire world felt like it was topsy-turvy. The last sentence I wrote was about how it would be more than a few years before my world felt right again.

What comes next is heartbreak. What comes next is the moment the story I so carefully constructed about my past fell to pieces out from under me. What comes next is the meat of my memoir — the reason I’m writing this book. The reason I was writing this book. 

In Rising Strong, Brené Brown talks about owning your story — all of the messy bits. She calls this reckoning and in this moment, the one where I put up my memoir and set is aside out of fear, I didn’t want to reckon with the story I knew I was meant to tell. 

We do this often, don’t we? We hide behind the stories that look pretty. We share the pictures on Instagram we know will bring likes. We opt for the blog posts that will bring a smile rather than a tear. But by ignoring those pieces of who we are, we’re purposefully living fragmented stories. 

I don’t want to do this anymore. 

I want to come to the table with my full self: flaws and quirks and tangles. I know there’s room for every story - including my own. I know the benefit of working out the messy middle and pushing through the resistance. 

But it’s time I act on it. 

Maybe you relate? Maybe you’ve been hiding behind the fear instead of creating. Maybe you’re finding it hard to believe anyone will listen to your story. Maybe you’re tired of fighting the artistic block you’re felt for so long. 

Until you acknowledge your story as important, until you’re wiling to listen and make peace with every tangle, you can’t expect it to ever come out the way you want. Bear witness to the story inside first, take ownership of the way art moves and breathes within you. 

Then, just begin.