How beginning a new novel is a lot like decorating for the holidays

By Julie

Last week, after hemming and hawing and procrastinating for weeks and weeks, my family and I made our annual appointment to buy a (formerly) live Christmas tree and decorate it Saturday afternoon. The appointment was necessary – I have teenagers.

After hemming and hawing and procrastinating for months and months, I make an appointment with myself to start a new novel. NaNoWriMo seems like as good a time as any.

Friday evening, after not really being in the mood this year, I was finally feeling a little festive. But in typical Kibler fashion, we puttered around an extra hour Saturday. Finally, we started out with little enthusiasm for the task ahead.

By the end of October, I'm finally feeling a little enthusiasm for my new story after spending too long revising my old one. Still, I putter around, not writing my first words until November second.

It might surprise you that in our group of three females and one male, the females agreed on the first tree we propped up, while my husband wandered around a bit, saying, "Are you sure this one isn't better?" and "I think this one is straighter." But, nope, we girls are usually pretty good at making a speedy Christmas tree decision.

The subject is easy to identify. I've been thinking about it for months. Others say, "Why don't you write about this?" Or "That would make a good story." But I know the one. We writers are usually pretty good at identifying our next story topics.

We dragged the tree on top of the old SUV we keep for exactly that purpose (well, okay, it's also paid off!) and tied it down. Though they never let me do much of the tying. I like to practice my lasso skills, and the others get bored while I miss nearly every throw over the top of the vehicle.

I create a beautiful, clean new file, nail down a working title and tentative outline, and spend far too much time selecting character names and songs for my writing soundtrack.

All this seemed very idyllic. Such a happy family occasion! We will get home and get this done before we know it! And have fun, too!

All this new writing is kind of like a honeymoon! The words fly onto the page so fast! My fingers can hardly keep up with my brain!

Then the fun began.

Let the fun begin.

We got the tree home, argued over who held the thing up and who got to cut off the net. Who put on the lights and who untangled the beads. Whether that strand went here or there, and whether to wind it around or up and down. Whether the sixteen-year-old was really helping by sleeping on the couch, or whether it was even too much to ask the twelve-year-old to let her sister help her. I tried to stand back, to allow the kids to learn the art of tree decoration by trial and error instead of by Mom's Exact Plan.

The characters start preening for attention. "Pick me! Pick me!" one says, begging to tell all her back story at once, while the quiet one in the corner is obviously hiding something big. I can't get some of them to open up at all. I try to stand back, allow the characters to mold themselves, to find their own paths in my story instead of forcing them into my preformed direction.

I wondered if it was all worth it. Whether, in the interest of family harmony, we should have given up on Christmas this year.

I wonder if it's all worth it. In the interest of sanity, should I forget my dream of being an author and find a day job?

After an hour or so, we were about ready to call the cops to solve our domestic squabble, but then something began to creep in, to take us by surprise.

After a few weeks, I'm about ready to call a therapist, ask what kind of crazy I am for thinking I'm capable of writing a story anyone in their right mind would read—much less pay to read. But then something begins to take me by surprise.

We got to the good part. Unwrapped the ornaments, laughed at the awful school pictures on the handmade ones, oo-ed and ah-ed over the delicate heirlooms, shed a few tears over the ones that wouldn't make it many more years unless we bronze them. We hung the stocking holders and the stockings sewn by my mother and grandmother. Cheered up drab corners with the freestanding decorations and rediscovered ones we'd forgotten.

I'm getting to the good part. Unwrapping my characters' secrets, giggling at the ones who shock me with their humor in the midst of depressing predicaments, dropping my jaw at the serendipity I'm seeing in the scenes I wrote earlier that perfectly set up later ones I didn't even see coming, shedding my own tears when my characters grieve. Embellishing the scenes with all the senses. Prettying up drab dialogue with a clever turn of phrase. Rediscovering layers I've almost forgotten to include.

Before long, the house was filled with a different kind of oxygen. It was a little brighter, a little cozier, a little more ... peaceful.

Before long, my manuscript is filled with something new. It's a little more dynamic, a little more promising. A little more ... alive.

For a few hours, life seemed just right.

For a few weeks, the story seems just right.

Of course, this doesn't take into account how we had to do it THREE times. Yes, the stand was cracked. The water leaked. We had to buy a new stand, take off the most delicate ornaments, and transfer the tree. Then, the next morning, the tree was leaning at a scary angle. The new stand didn't work and the tree wasn't sucking up water, so we bought a new new stand. Took the ornaments off. Propped the tree on the vee of a ladder. Sawed off more trunk. Moved the tree. But the last time seemed to stick.

Of course, this doesn't take into account that by the time I'm ready to query my novel, I'll have done ninety-nine revisions. The glaring plot hole. The entire point of view I have to remove. The chapters I have to rearrange. The whole new dimension of conflict I add so the story doesn't fall flat on its face. But eventually, it's a wrap.

Oh, yeah, and the dog ate a hand-sized hole in the tree skirt my mom sewed by hand fifteen years ago.

Oh, yeah, and the hook I think is so unique? Something eerily similar will inevitably show up on Deal Lunch before I write The End.

But still, it's our home, our unique decorations, and our one-of-a-kind method of getting it done. And it began to look a lot like Christmas. Finally.

Still, it's my story, my unique spin, and my one-of-a-kind way of putting the words to paper. It's beginning to look a lot like a novel. Finally.

Happy Holidays and Happy Novel Writing!

NaNoWriMo, the month that was and is no longer

By Julie

Like the leaves from the tree in the photo on your left, November is gone. December is upon us, and for several of us at What Women Write, that means a huge sigh of relief.

At the beginning of the month, Pamela wrote of how as a group, we'd decided to make some writing goals in honor of National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, as it's affectionately called. Or NaNo, as it's sometimes not so affectionately called when the weariness sets in.

We thought we'd do a wrap up and weigh in now that it's over.

You heard from Kim last week.

Kim talked about her writing process and how a marathon to write a massive, untamed number of words over the course of a month would have completely messed with not only her mind, but her fictional account of her great-grandfather's life. Nonetheless, we also saw how the group dynamic she experienced at our retreat contributed to a productive month for her, even in the midst of sick children AND animals plus holiday travel.

You also heard from Joan.

She started out with good intentions of completing thirty thousand words on her work in progress, but quickly found that it wouldn't work to do it that way, and a new story wiggled into her brain and didn't let go. In a little more than two weeks, she managed to write more than fifteen thousand words on a brand new idea, one she hadn't spent time brainstorming or outlining at all. Then, she decided it was time to lay the pen aside for the holiday weekend and spend time in the real world, not always easy for us introverted writer types. Word on the street is she had a lot of fun.

Susan says:

I wrote about 7,000 words, and focused on my NaNo goal for about, hmmm, 24 hours. Then life got in the way. In addition, since I wasn't starting a new project and wasn't really following the rules of the challenge, I felt a little freer in creating my own rules, which meant a slightly more structured, but still chaotic, writing life. Overall, November was a very good writing month for me, especially because of our writing retreat – I left rejuvenated about my work and what I was trying to put to paper.

As far as NaNo or NaNot? I'm not on either side of the fence. I can see great advantages if your full-time work is writing, but I can also see how upending your apple cart by attempting to completely change your style can be a detriment. I just say, stay focused and push forward at whatever pace works for you. To those who completed 30,000 to 50,000 words last month? Wonderful job! Keep writing!

And our fearless leader, Pamela, who reserved our retreat space, organized the food, made room assignments, loaded most of us up and chauffeured us, and overall made it a great writing weekend, says:

I didn't really do NaNo in the true sense of the movement. I did take a renewed look at my WIP, set about embracing the story and got better organized with it. All that is a round-about way of saying that I didn't accomplish much in November. :) Though I did take another look at polishing a completed project (along with Joan), and that edit will be completed by week's end. Plus, I managed to keep up with my job. So, hard to complain.

As for me, Julie, my own original goal was to add fifty thousand words to my work in progress, a kind of modified NaNo goal, as the "rules" call for a brand new project.

Two years ago, I set a goal of adding forty thousand words to "finish" a manuscript. Imagine my surprise when I made that goal, only to discover over the next several months that it took another thirty-five thousand or so to really finish it. But I would never have made it to "the end" had I not written the 40K, because those are words I mostly kept – much of the earlier stuff eventually got cut. I truly found the heart of my story that month.

This year, I figured I should up my goal and see where the challenge took me. It soon became clear, though, that 50K would exceed the pace that kept me sane and produced material I wasn't ashamed to read again. I wasn't embarrassed to revise my goal down to forty thousand, telling myself it was kind of like the offering goals they used to post in the country churches I attended at various times in my life – the "Praise the Lord" goal and the "Hallelujah" goal. Had I met the 50K hallelujah goal, I probably would have then proceeded to collapse on the floor for the entire month of December.

I'm happy to report, however, that I squeaked in with 40,253 words at 11:50 p.m. Monday night and am still quite alert.

It wasn't an easy month. Not by a long shot. My final writer identity crisis came in the very last weekend, after the turkey and dressing had been cleared away. My brave husband wouldn't let me give up. He spent time with me Saturday evening brainstorming the story I'm writing, helping me to see it is an important story with a universal message. I'd pretty much declared it worthless and insignificant after struggling to write day after day and being sick to death of it, and that bothered me more than I care to admit.

When I took Barbara (Samuel) O'Neal's Voice Two class a few years ago, it became clear how important it was to me to identify topics that go beyond entertainment and address subjects that challenge readers – ones that get people talking. I am so grateful to my husband for that pep talk and not letting me quit.

My plan now is to let those 40K words "set a while." They'll simmer and stew while I finish deep editing my last story and begin pestering agents with it again. My next goal is to add perhaps another ten thousand words or so to it this month and then maybe even try another marathon of sorts in January and February to complete a rough draft.

And now for a drum roll, please!

Big, huge accolades go to Elizabeth, our solitary "winner" in the true spirit of NaNoWriMo.

She signed up on the site, followed the rules to a T, and clocked in on time for her final count. After watching her work like a speed demon at our retreat, none of us were surprised to see this message to the group early Monday morning:

And . . . 50,928! I'm done!

Elizabeth went on to say:

I found a novel I really like after all, and now I'm far enough in to quit the ridiculous waffling I've been mired in since summer (or earlier) and so I'm going to finish this dang book, and if I don't get an agent with the queries I've got going, then I'll query this come spring or whenever it's done.

We couldn't be prouder of Elizabeth for putting her mind to this task and getting it done. Not only that, but her nine-year-old daughter met and exceeded her own NaNo for Kids goal and plans to continue and finish her story and self-publish it on Lulu.

The way I see it, with a little guesstimating, the members of What Women Write tallied up well over 115,000 new words this month, not to mention a wealth of new knowledge about how we write and how far we can push ourselves.

And that's no little feat.

What about you, readers? Anyone else care to share about their November goals and results? Please weigh in with a comment!

Hot off the presses: Debut Author Therese Walsh!

By Julie

Today we welcome Therese Walsh to What Women Write. It's a big day for Therese — release day for her debut novel, The Last Will of Moira Leahy! We're delighted to share in Therese's special day of celebration.

Therese is a cofounder of the blog WriterUnboxed.com. She lives in upstate New York, with her husband, two children, a cat and a bouncy Jack Russell named Kismet.

From Therese:
The Last Will of Moira Leahy is a women’s fiction novel that borrows liberally from other genres: mystery, psychological suspense, family saga, romance and mythical realism. It’s about a woman who lost her identical twin — and a large portion of herself — about a decade ago, but reconnects with her former life after purchasing an artifact from her past. Through interwoven narratives, we see Maeve Leahy as she was and what led to the tragedy with her sister, Moira; and we travel with her in the present day as she unravels the truth about the artifact — who's following her and leaving her notes. We see her transform as, little by little, layers of her past are peeled away and the course of her future is forever altered.

www: I've known Therese online for several years through Writer Unboxed, Barbara Samuel's forums, and other social networking sites, and I really couldn't be happier for her. I'm thrilled she agreed to have a conversation with me for What Women Write.

Welcome, Therese! I love your title. I also loved UNBOUNDED, your working title, but The Last Will of Moira Leahy grew on me. I have my own hypothesis, but how do you pronounce Moira Leahy? Moy-ruh Lay-hee? Mwah-ra Lee-hee? And precisely how nuts will you go if someone else mispronounces it, say, when introducing you at an author event?

Thanks for having me, Julie. Thanks, too, for your compliment on the title. Your first guess at pronunciation is correct! If the title is mispronounced, I promise not to go nuts — though I will have a keris nearby for many of these events, so maybe people will be very careful not to mispronounce?

www: Friends, you've been warned: Tread carefully and carry a bigger keris!

Therese, The Last Will of Moira Leahy is an unusual blend of genres. To help us place it on our mental bookshelves, what other books might you compare it to, classic or recent?

Oh, boy. If I’d had an answer to this, my query-writing process would’ve been a whole lot easier. Louise Erdrich wrote a book called The Painted Drum and used myth to help unfurl the narrative as I’ve done, but her novel is quite literary. My agent wrote this in her pitch to editors:

“Part psychological suspense, part love story, (The Last Will of Moira Leahy) will appeal to readers of Keith Donohue’s The Stolen Child and Jennifer Egan’s The Keep.”

I like to say that Last Will is women’s fiction that borrows liberally from other genres and leave people curious for more.

www: I'm curious! I've read the excerpt you made available on your Web site, and I'm buying my own copy today, as soon as I can get over to my local bookseller.

So, the main characters in Last Will are twins – one living and one her deceased twin sister. Why tell your story from the perspective of twins? How did you conduct your research into this aspect of the story and the special bond many sets of sisters, especially twins, seem to share?

When I first started to write Last Will, waaay back in 2002, Maeve did not have a twin. But one day, Moira was just there, explaining Maeve’s behaviors and trauma. When I scrapped version one of the manuscript and began version two in 2005 (and version three in ’06), I knew the story had to be structured around these two women. It took a while for me to realize I could tell Moira’s tale through detailed Out of Time sequences — not flashbacks, but an actual narrative from the past that wove in and out of Maeve’s present-day story, a la The English Patient.

There are so many terrific books available about twins, but the one I liked best was a small paperback by Susan Kohl called Twin Stories, for its rich first-hand accounts of twin phenomena.

www: I love when that happens — when you think you've got it all figured out, or you've given up on ever figuring it out, and then voila!, the characters lead you.

And speaking of characters, the Javanese keris plays a special role in Last Will. I'm venturing a guess: the keris could be considered a character on its own, much in the way setting becomes character in many stories (perhaps even in Last Will?).

You’re right, and the truth is that the keris dictated the course of this story more than any character.

www: How did you learn about the keris and why did you choose to include this unusual element in your story? Did its significance change or expand over time while you were writing Last Will?

Its role in the story absolutely expanded over time. I found the keris almost by fluke. When I first started writing adult fiction, I planned a simple love story — girl + guy + peach pie = happiness. The guy was an antiques dealer. I spent many happy hours going through eBay listings, looking for antiques. One of the items I found was an antique Javanese keris — a dagger with a wavy blade. It looked interesting, so I added it to my list. I wanted my first scene to take place in an auction house and wasn’t sure which item should draw my characters’ attention. I chose the keris from my list without much thought.

I gave my scene to a friend, who read it with interest, then asked if the keris would be important to the rest of the book. It sounded like a good idea. I dug in, did some research, and realized the keris was so much more than a pretty blade. Maeve Leahy, the main character, realizes the same throughout the course of the novel. Here’s an outtake from the book, a scene between Maeve and a friend who knows a lot about this particular item:

"Kerises may well be manufactured by machine nowadays,” Garrick said, “but it used to be that empus made them, layering metals to create perfect patterns by following something like a blueprint. Each design was supposed to bring the owner a specific gift — like wealth or inner strength. But sometimes the empu would allow the blade to be made however it wanted to be made. When that happened, it was said the gods had a hand in crafting the keris because they had plans for it. Your keris,” he said, “is fated.”

www: (You noticed the pretty blue font to complement the cover art, right?) I'm curious, though — even though the keris plays such a large role, the story takes place in Castine, Maine, and Rome, Italy, but not Java, correct? This fascinated me as I read prepublication pieces or posts you wrote for Writer Unboxed, but I was also slightly puzzled. Without too much spoiling, can you hint at whether there's a tie between Java and the other two locations?

Correct. Javanese culture is a big part of this book, through one character in particular. Readers will meet that character in time.

www: It took a lot of years for the published version of Last Will to come to fruition. Many of our readers and What Women Write bloggers have been laboring for years to get our stories into the hands of the right agents and editors, too — some certainly not as long as you did, and some, I suspect, even longer. I admire your "sticktuitiveness." In fact, if I chose one word to sum up what I know about Therese Walsh right now, it would be persistence.

Aww, thanks.

www: Therese, how did you cope? Was there a point when you felt you might give up, or did you even throw in the towel for a period, but then summon up a new reserve of energy to try again? How do you think the process affected your reaction when you finally received "the calls" from Elisabeth Weed, your agent — first, with her offer of representation, and second, with news of your sale?

I thought about giving up regularly after the first version of the story — the guy + girl + peach pie version — failed with agents. Not only did it fail with agents, but one agent suggested I’d written the story in the wrong genre and should be writing women’s fiction. I felt defeated and exhausted at the prospect of reworking the story, even though I knew that agent was right.

I took a prolonged break. The timeline is a little fuzzy, but 2004 was a big year for mulling over what I wanted to do next. I’d been working on a new project, but when Unbounded (now Last Will) failed, I lost enthusiasm for that new project — probably because the old project writhed in the “unfinished business” category of my mind. I did a lot of thinking, a lot of reading, a lot of craft work. I salvaged one critical scene from the old draft and started over again in 2005. Then I scrapped everything again in 2006 and started over for a third time.

Maybe I would’ve quit but my characters refused to leave me alone. You know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach, that disquiet you feel when you know something needs to be done and it’s important and you’re messing up? That’s how I felt whenever I wasn’t working on this project. When I was at least actively thinking about it, the anxiety eased. And so, little by little, I worked through the last draft.

When Elisabeth offered to represent this book, I was thrilled, hopeful. And maybe it was because the road had been so long, but when the deal came through — even though it was like someone holding up a big neon sign that said, “Congratulations, you’ve made it!” — it took a while for me to process it.

www: Thank you for being so frank. I think your words here may act as a balm and a beacon of hope for many of us. Never give up, right?

But now, something less serious. We've heard cover horror stories and witnessed some of those horrors limp painfully, unapologetically to print. BUT ... the cover for Last Will is without doubt one of the most breathtaking I've seen. I heard about your book months in advance. I've been anticipating it. But even if I hadn't, I believe this cover would produce an almost audible siren call for me in a bookstore. (Seriously! I love this cover that much. Am I gushing?)

Was this the first option your publisher offered? What was your reaction when you saw the gorgeous rendering of your story from an artist's viewpoint? How far away could they hear you scream? I'm pretty sure had it been mine, it would have been the scream heard around the world, but maybe you have a different take on it.

Thank you! I love my cover, too, and feel very lucky to have it. Here’s what’s cool: That scene I mentioned salvaging from version one of the story? That was the heart of the book for me, and that is what’s represented on the cover of the novel. I didn’t scream, but I felt choked up when I opened the PDF file. It was the first option offered, and obviously we were all thrilled with it.

www: And again, for our readers who are also aspiring writers, what do you believe is the singularly best thing you did for yourself along the way to becoming a published author?

Wow, this is a good and tough question. Why aren’t I asking this question at Writer Unboxed? (Makes a note.) I think the answer is networking, which for me involved reaching out to other writers for critique and establishing Writer Unboxed with Kathleen Bolton.

Yes, you can write in an isolated environment, but — especially for new authors — why would you want to? It’s true that not all critique will be helpful and some may even be harmful, but hearing how others digest your work can guide you along the path to publication if you’re listening with your gut as well as your head (and never your pride). And I could never fully list the ways Writer Unboxed has helped me along the way — the people I’ve met, the things I’ve learned. The blog is sometimes exhausting but it always gives back.

www: I can vouch for Writer Unboxed as an invaluable resource. It's been on my go-to list for nearly as long as I've been reading blogs. And by the way, Writer's Digest named it of the 101 Best Websites for Writers in 2007, 2008 and 2009. Current contributors include uber-agent Donald Maass and one of my other favorite authors, Barbara Samuel/O'Neal. Readers, check it out!

Therese, besides the obvious – your dream of publication coming true – what do you consider your greatest accomplishment?

I have two great kids who make me proud and make me laugh and make me glad to be alive every single day. But, sure, this book is right up there with my two best shining living accomplishments.

www: And who is Teri, as you're more commonly called, in the moments when you're not wearing the admittedly fabulous hat of Therese Walsh, debut author of The Last Will of Moira Leahy?

Who is Teri? Well, she likes laughing more than anything, even chocolate (I know! Gasp!). She thinks Richard Simmons’ guest appearance on Whose Line is it Anyway has to be one of the funniest things in the world, right up there with Chris Farley’s SNL skit as motivational speaker Matt Foley. She dances, badly, in the kitchen with her kids, cheers loudly at their swim meets and soccer games; and goes — occasionally — to her husband’s Irish-band gigs (but not too often lest she be pulled from the audience to sing the un-Irishy Homeward Bound or The Boxer with him). She likes dressing up in medieval clothing for her local choir’s Twelfth Night event and braiding her hair crazily for that night. She’s a bit of a foodie; she would drive long miles for fabulous feasting.

www: Hey, I think I'd like to hang out with that Teri in real life. (I'd go hear the band, too, by the way! Just sayin'.)

I have one final question: How are you going to celebrate book release day?

(THAT'S TODAY, BY THE WAY!) (!!)

I have a book talk/reading/signing planned for a nearby Barnes & Noble — very excited about that! After, a bunch of us are going to one of my favorite eateries so we can gobble bacon-wrapped BBQ shrimp and drink chocolate martinis. But after reading Adrienne Crezo’s story about chocolatinis via Twitter (@a_crezo), I know to be careful.

www: This interview has been beyond a blast, Therese. Thank you so much for visiting with us at What Women Write, and we wish you only the best.

Today, Therese Walsh, debut author. Next week, New York Times Bestselling Author Therese Walsh?

Wouldn't surprise me. Nope, not one bit.

Visit Therese at her Web site, where you may read an excerpt. (But I just dare you to visit this beautiful site and not immediately run out to buy this book!)

Writers=Deprived? Not so much

A recent comment left on agent Nathan Bransford’s blog suggested that true novelists are born out of deprivation. The person leaving this comment admitted he’s spent the past 20 years living in poverty so he could spend his “every waking moment either writing, reading, or thinking about fiction.”

Here’s my chance to refute this belief.

While there are successful novelists who view writing as a catharsis to their pain and certainly more than a few memoirists have profited from their horrible childhoods, to imply that the only true novelists are those who suffer is pretty narrow minded.

Yes, Stephen King spent years working horrific jobs before hitting it big with Carrie, but he continues to entertain us with his writing, and I doubt he’s lived in poverty in the past 30 years. Harvard-educated Dr. John Michael Crichton hardly lived a deprived existence before penning his novels. So, the sweeping generality that you must bleed in order to feel pain and then write about it is hooey.

Instead, I believe good writing can be achieved by drawing on your life experiences. I’ve never been homeless, addicted to anything stronger than tea, nor physically abused. But I have lived paycheck to paycheck, been divorced and had my heart broken.

I’ve skidded out of control on an ice-covered highway and gone airborne over a railroad track trying to make my curfew. My first real boyfriend was shot and killed in a hunting accident, and I watched my college friend make a difficult life-changing decision. While I’ve never lost a child, I have held a friend in my arms and cried along with her when she lost hers.

None of these life-altering moments have found their way into the stories I’ve written, but my perceptions of people and how they handle love and loss and tragedy certainly influence what I write.

As most writers do—forgive the sweeping assumption—I have a tendency to find perfect contentment behind the closed doors of my office and get swept away by the solitude of creating a world within my own. I choose the setting, the characters, their actions and reactions. It’s like giving birth without the excruciating pain.

But if I don’t step outside and connect with my environment, then I miss out. I miss watching the woman at the market who weighs my vegetables with careful hands while she talks to my daughter about riding on the tailgate of a rusted Ford through her grandpappy’s watermelon patch. How she never makes eye contact with me but seems captivated by my six-year-old who cradles a ripe melon in her arms. The woman’s muddy-brown eyes curtain with memories and I wonder if her long dark hair was once blond like my child’s.

So, forget being deprived. Instead, choose to be present.

If you write YA and it’s been a while since you were a young adult, then you’d better spend a lot of time around young adults, to observe their unique speech patterns and lingo and clothing and communication abilities. (I have two in my house and the home phone stays silent. Not at all like the household I grew up in, where four kids raced to the phone while it rang incessantly.)

If you write romance and you’ve never had your best friend steal your crush or loved someone who lived unaware of your longing, then you’d better have a broad group of friends who turn to you for advice and consolation when it happens to them.

If you write crime dramas, I’m assuming you’re either a cop, a detective, a private investigator, an investigative journalist or, well, a criminal.

I only expect you to live a minimal existence and wallow in a life of self-pity if you somehow choose to do so. I find nothing wrong with working a respectable 9-to-5 or part-time job—even if it has nothing to do with what you aspire to write about—while you write in the wee hours of the morning on your lunch hour and on weekends. I know lots of folks who do so.

Myself included.