Advice for Writing a Book


[In the style of Verlyn Klinkenborg, one of my favorite authors on writing. I wrote this after writing and publishing my first book so I wouldn’t forget–just in case a next book wants to be written.]

1. Your book proposal is the blueprint of your book, but it will change.

2. Save at least 15 percent of your advance to use for marketing your book later.

3. Your final draft should bear little resemblance to your first draft. Tell (lie to) yourself: “It’s okay to write terribly. No one ever has to read this.”

4. You’ll be tempted to quote people smarter and more eloquent than you. Don’t let this become a crutch. Say it your way (and ignore all The Voices telling you why you can’t or shouldn’t do this work).

5. When you revise, print out your pages and mark them up. Highlight your verbs and nouns—are they vibrant, active, and concrete?

6. Schedule days (and maybe even weeks) to rest and let your manuscript sit, like dough rising.

7. Carve out space for solitude and listening. Go on long walks, runs, or bike rides alone. Pay attention.

8. Build up a support network years before you publish.

9. Count the cost of writing a book.

10. Print out your entire manuscript and bind it like a book. Do this after every major revision. Read your entire manuscript aloud several times over many months.

11. Use scissors to revise. Sometimes cutting, rearranging, and retyping the entire thing will help smooth out the wrinkles in your transitions.

12. Spend 80 percent of your social media real estate promoting others, 20 percent promoting yourself.

13. Save the stories you cut to use for articles and essays later.

14. Don’t apologize for writing, selling, or marketing your book. If you’re not excited about it, no one else will be.

15. Figure out how to use Scrivener. It will save you tons of time in the end.

16. Social media is not writing.

17. Platform building is not writing.

18. Reading books about writing is not writing.

19. Fans aren’t doing you a favor by buying your book. You did them a favor by writing it.

20. For inspiration, read books about writing or listen to podcasts about writing. (But remember: this is not writing.)

21. To tame anxiety, read poetry.

22. Be a generous writer, reader, reviewer, and fan of others.

23. Be yourself. Trust you have wisdom, words, or wit to add to the conversation.

24. A book launch doesn’t end the day the book releases. This is not a finish line, just another starting line.

25. Your book is not you. Let it go out into the world to be what it will be, then write what’s next.

26. Stay rooted in love.

Have you written a book before? What advice would you add?

Photo by Jonas Jacobsson on Unsplash

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The Promise of And in an Either-Or World Book Review of Surprised by Paradox

Surprised by Paradox: The Promise of And in an Either-Or World is an invitation to probe into the mysteries of faith in Jesus. If you’re looking for an ambitious book written by a wise woman, this book is for you. Michel’s writing is sharp, intelligent, and sincere. She doesn’t pull punches, but she does offer plenty of glimpses into her own humanity and struggles. Within her biblical exegesis, Michel quotes from theologians, philosophers, and historians such as Willard, Tertullian, Spurgeon, Tozer, Rutledge, Bonhoeffer, Chesterton, Athanasius, and Wright. Far from fluffy, this book is engaging, intellectual, and meaty. Michel gives literary legs to abstract ideas.

Divided into four major sections–incarnation, kingdom, grace, and lament–with questions for discussion and reflection at the end of each section, Michel confronts a quandary in each chapter that people often pose in the Christian faith. She considers questions such as: Should we live for heaven or live for earth? Should we be sacrificing more or enjoying more? How should Christians engage with politics? How is grace different from leniency? What’s the role of lament in the life of the Christian? What about suffering? In the introduction Michel says, “This is a book about faith in its lived-in condition—as it abides complexity rather than resists it.” The promise of “And” in an “Either-Or World.”

Michel is candid about her sexual struggles as a teenager and the tragic death of her brother. She also confronts many questions about politics, race, and some of the other divides that plague our churches. Michel acknowledges the elephant(s) in the room and urges us to describe our view. Surprised by Paradox invites us back into conversations with one another. Michel is a high-stakes writer who bravely peels back the curtains we use to guard ourselves and seems to say, “I’ll go first.”

This was the first book I read by Jen Pollock Michel. It’s hard to believe she has written three books in five years, because this one is so chockful of golden nuggets, I wonder how she had so many left over after writing the last two books. My one regret in reading is that I read it too swiftly. This book is best savored, sifted, and ruminated upon. It would make a fabulous book to discuss with a spouse, friend, or small group.

Michel ends her epilogue with an invitation to wonder. She writes, “let us have certainty when it’s available, let us have humility when it’s not.” This statement is the crux of her entire book, an invitation to ask the hard questions and welcome wonder and mystery to fill in the cracks when we can’t arrive at easy answers.

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You can buy Surprised by Paradox here. (If you read it, be sure to write a review on Amazon–this helps readers find good books!)

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My new book Invited: The Power of Hospitality in an Age of Loneliness is now available for pre-order! You can read about the book as well as some of the advance praise for the book by visiting this page.

Keep Showing Up {guest post}

By Marvia Davidson | Instagram

You will find by doing. Doing brings revelation and clarity. In the discovery of gifts, I have found it to be challenging to own the place of my full purpose as a creative spirit. You see, I don’t simply do one thing in my creative practices. I engage in many creative things, but I’ve learned to give myself grace to play, grow, and discover what art forms I enjoy.

When I think of the discovery of gifts, I think of exploration and permission.

Maybe these aren’t always easy for us to give ourselves, but they are a much needed part of the process of finding our creative voice, and it enhances the gifts we bring. Sometimes those insights lead to deeper revelation of who we are and what we’re here for, and they can be surprising too.

I find more of my creative voice by showing up and doing the work of discovery – the practice of trying out ideas and techniques. I do this most frequently in writing because I’ve enjoyed writing and sharing ideas for many years.

When it came to any kind of art, I didn’t think I could do it. It looked hard, tedious, and nearly impossible. I doubted I would be able to draw, to create, or paint. I’ll tell you a secret to overcoming my self doubt, and it may sound odd, but social media has been an underestimated source of creative, guiding inspiration for me. I don’t mean to sound woo.

I mean that an app like Instagram has become a mini art school for me, a way to see how art is expressed in myriad forms. It has become an abundant place to learn, search, explore, and share my art, Yes! I said my art because I now call myself and artist. It is art I did not know I could do, but finding other creatives on Instagram has been encouraging for me. I have witnessed people growing in their process, and the more they share the more I find possibility beating in my own heart.

I enjoy making mixed media art and hand lettering, specifically brush lettering. These two art forms were daunting to me because I would peruse specialized magazines, books, or websites of perfectly styled and photographed pieces, but Instagram is full of people who share their behind the scenes process and how they do what they do despite their imperfections.

All of a sudden, I wasn’t afraid to experiment with these new gifts. Along the way, I realized these two art forms could serve as a way for me to express my purpose, values, and desire to see people encouraged through the tough circumstances of life. I also learned to accept I am an artist in my own unique way, and it is okay for me to walk out what it means to be one.

Because my art practices require time and patience, they have been a wonderful way for me to fight back against imposter syndrome and self doubt.

The discovery of color, painting, and pens gliding across blank paper encouraged me to develop my skills, and I’ve been having fun ever since. I wanted sustainable practices which could also serve as a soul care practice, and they are. Like quilting, I find the process of painting and hand lettering to be therapeutic and meditative. In a way, they allow me to infuse my work with focused attention to the message I want to convey.

I believe when we accept the nuances of who we truly are, we become more ourselves and we learn to live abundantly. We learn to give ourselves and one another room to be. We find there is room for us at the table, and the only thing that might be holding us back is our own limiting belief.

Engaging fellow artisans reminds me how much community can matter when we’re trying something new. Sharing our struggles, mistakes, and failures gives us room to refine our creative voices and the processes we use. When I see another artist sharing this way, it empowers me to take more bold steps in my own art because I know that discovery comes through the process of doing.

The more I do the artsy things, the more I am settled in who I am and the creative expression of the Divine in me. The challenge no longer keeps me from growing. I choose to show up. Every time I do, I let loose and play, allowing my heart, mind, and body to express with colors and words on canvas or page.

I choose to invest in myself and the materials I need to express my creative soul. This is an act of self love. To give one’s self grace to discover one’s gifts, is to love one’s self well, and I believe this opens a door for us to learn to love others well too.

I encourage you to pause and reflect on those creative inklings tumbling around your heart, and follow the curiosity of their unfolding beauty.

About Marvia:

Marvia is a Texas writer/creative soul who enjoys writing, making art, laughing loudly, baking, dancing ridiculously because it’s fun, and smashing lies that keep people from living whole. Join her at marviadavidson.com. You can also follow her on Twitter and Instagram @MarviaDavidson and on Facebook at facebook.com/marviawrites.

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Our theme this month is “Create.” If you are a maker, artist, or creator and you would like to guest post, I still have a few spots left! Otherwise, check out the themes for the coming months here. The theme for July is “Hospitality Around the World.” And if you’re not interested in guest posting, follow me on social media (buttons on the top right) to be sure you don’t miss a post this month!

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How Writers Find Their Brave

Madeleine L’Engle should be the patron saint of Christian women writers. Any time I start doubting myself, I pull out Walking on Water and feel like I can stop hyperventilating and breathe again. This morning in Walking on Water I read:

“I believe that each work of art, whether it is a work of great genius or something very small, comes to the artists and says, ‘Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.’ And the artist either says, ‘My soul doth magnify the Lord,’ and willingly becomes the bearer of the work, or refuses; but the obedient response is not necessarily a conscious one, and not everyone has the humble, courageous obedience of Mary.” (p. 18)

“When the artist is truly the servant of the work, the work is better than the artist.” (p. 24)

“When the work takes over, then the artist is enabled to get out of the way, not to interfere. When the work takes over, then the artist listens.” (p. 24)

Serve the Work. Get out of the way. Listen.

Yes.

Annie Dillard says something similar in The Writing Life:

“At its best, the sensation of writing is that of any unmerited grace. It is handed to you, but only if you look for it.” (p. 75)

Most days I sit down and write paragraphs of pure junk. It flows so easily. Then I pick back through the rubble like a hurricane victim trying to salvage valuables from the storm. A friend of mine just shared an article with me about how we must first allow the madman to write. That’s what I’m doing these days. Lots of “shitty first drafts” written by my inner madman. (Thank you, Anne Lamott, for empowering us to write what comes first.)

I have a friend who wants to start writing. “How did you get the courage to start?” she asked.

I wrote because not writing was no longer an option. It was more painful not to write than to write. Like plugging a water faucet with your finger, the words were just too pent up. They demanded a release. In Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke says that we should only write if we must.

But I am still learning how to get out of the way and serve the work. It takes a certain faith to believe in the word magic. Elizabeth Gilbert has built her entire career on it, writing Big Magic and producing a podcast called Magic Lessons. It feels like voodoo. But Christian poet Luci Shaw instead names the Holy Spirit as her muse in Breath for the Bones.

Sometimes it helps to over-spiritualize things.

When I meet other writers, they ask me if I want to write a book. “Maybe eventually,” I’ve always said. I still feel like I’m in love with the love of writing, like I’m not ready to commit to this as a profession. It is an affair without the commitment and I don’t want to sacrifice the butterflies for the long-term, daily work of love that includes the non-sexy tasks of emptying the dishwasher and hanging the wet clothes on the line. But the time has come.

The Book is asking me to write it.

I was excited at first. But lately I’ve taken cues from my children and become a fantastic whiner. Just what my husband needs.

I made the mistake of going into Barnes and Noble. Thousands of beautiful books full of billions of words assaulted me. I couldn’t leave quickly enough. They seemed to all be harassing me, screaming, “We don’t need any more of these!”

But hanging on my husband’s neck in the kitchen after the kids had finally quieted down that night, I told him about the abuse I had suffered. I echoed the books’ words: “Why? Why does the world need another book?”

“Think about it like this,” he said. “The world doesn’t need another child, either. There are billions. And yet each one is precious—unique—and a necessary and beautiful contribution to the world. And people just keep birthing them.”

This from a man who consumes over 80 books a year and reads for a living. He has narrated a few horrible books in his lifetime. Surely he would save me from myself if I was way off track.

But he believes I can do it. I don’t think I would have even started writing without him as a coach, editor and cheerleader. God knew I wouldn’t venture out without at least one person in the world telling me I could do this.

So I released my inner madman this morning. He’s running all over the page. I’m listening. I lift my hands in terrified obedience–surrender, even.

Yes. I will serve the work.

Here we go.

 

If you are a writer, how do you find your brave?

 

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What do Annie Dillard, Madeleine L'Engle, Luci Shaw and Rilke have in common?

Confessions of a Chronic Church Hopper {for SheLoves}

Lately, evangelical Christianity has felt like too many dissonant musical notes strung together. I keep waiting for the resolution in the music. And I’m struggling to stay in the room.

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As a ten-year-old, I knelt by my bed to “ask Jesus into my heart.” Another fifth-grade friend had told me the day before while we pumped our gangly legs on the blue swing set in the backyard that she hoped she’d see me in heaven. If I wanted to be sure to go there, I needed to pray and ask Jesus into my heart. “Do you want to do it right now?” she pleaded. Shaking my head, I told her I’d think about it. I did, and decided I would rather spend eternity in heaven than in hell. Easy-peasy.

In When We Were on Fire, Addie Zierman recounts her evangelical youth culture upbringing. I could have been reading my own memoir as I flew through the pages. To be a Christian teenager in the 90′s was WWJD, See You at the Pole, “dating Jesus,” Teen Mania, True Love Waits, going to the Christian concerts of Michael W. Smith, Steven Curtis Chapman, Newsboys, Petra and D.C. Talk. It was secret public school prayer meetings, youth group mission trips and camps, Christian T-shirts and worship to six kids strumming guitars in the public park.

It meant doing communion with chips and juice on a sidewalk behind the science building before school and slipping homemade gospel tracts into every student’s locker. And it was having your heart smashed by boys who said God told them to break up with you. But life was a battle and we were going to win (so we couldn’t be held back by petty things like love and romance.)

I sometimes miss those days when Holy Spirit fire flooded my veins. When I wanted to live “sold out and radical” for Jesus and “soar, soar, soar” for Him. I miss crying to worship songs and shouting out victory praise choruses, stretching my arms to the sky. I miss knowing without a doubt that God had a radical life planned for me.

The fire didn’t dissipate right away. Instead, after burning hot and wild, it sank to coals, glowing with a more steady heat. But the poker of Life couldn’t leave it alone. Jobs, relationships, disappointments, shame and questions jabbed, poked and prodded once steadily burning coals.

Over the years, I have often heard this illustration about church attendance: You need to stay in community; otherwise you will be like an ember taken out of the fire. Alone in the cold, your flame will eventually extinguish.

I fear that is happening to me now. I have become an expert church hopper. We visited 13 churches in the past two years after moving from Chicago to Colorado. We really have tried to make many of them work, jumping into small groups, church potlucks, newcomer’s luncheons and homeless outreaches. But after so many months, I am ready to admit that perhaps it is not the church that’s deficient. Maybe it’s me …

Continue reading the rest of the post at SheLoves

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