| Dear Writers,
Below is a reprint of one of my most popular Mentoring Messages. I hope it helps to inspire you!
The Hardest Thing for a Writer To Do
Like many writers, I came to writing after years in a different career. I’d spent two happy decades as an actor on stage and screen, so the switch to writing – that is, committing to many silent days at my desk – was difficult to explain to the people in my life.
It was hard enough to have faith in myself, because I certainly didn’t feel like a writer yet. Insecure, I shied away from telling friends what I was doing. Not the smartest move because, unsurprisingly, when I was never available to go for lunch, they didn’t get it.
I did tell my mother, but she didn’t get it either. Although she would never dream of calling my brothers at their offices just to chat (they were “working”) she would call me. Of course I wanted to chat with her, but I also needed to be at the keyboard (yes, working) because when you’re creating a book, it’s essential to have a long runway of uninterrupted time.
My teenage daughter, being a teen, definitely didn’t get it. That long runway was often shortened by pleas of “Can you help me find a dress?” or “Can you drive me to Kelley’s?”
Then I heard of a writer who’d put up a sign outside her office door that said, “UNLESS SOMEONE’S BLEEDING, DO NOT DISTURB.”
It was a light bulb moment. Can I do that?
I could. I did.
It worked. Not instantly, but gradually my family caught on. They left me alone to write.
One day, finishing a quick lunch in the kitchen, I had a thought about making scalloped potatoes for dinner, so I put four potatoes on the counter. But then I suddenly had an idea about how to improve the 16th-century battle scene I’d been writing in which my hero is wounded. So I hurried to my desk to dive back into the scene.
Five hours later, there was a faint tapping at my office door. My husband poked his head in and said quietly, “Everyone’s intact, no blood. I just wanted to ask, were you planning to do anything with those potatoes?”
I peered at him from the haze of cannon fire and shrieks on the bloodied battlefield. “Potatoes?” I mumbled.
“No worries,” he hastened to assure me, “I’ve got dinner covered.” And he softly closed the door.
He’d got it. And that battle scene turned out to be a damn good chapter.
Never apologize for taking your writing seriously. It may feel strange at first for your family and friends, but they’ll start to respect it. They may grumble a bit, but they’ll get it.
Happy writing!
Barbara Kyle |
