My 14 Favorite Books on Writing and Creativity

Sometimes I’d rather read about writing than actually write. Perhaps I secretly think I’ll glean enough from their advice and experience to produce a crop without the same effort? I pared this list down a bit (believe it or not), and while the majority are about writing, a few are for creatives, by creatives.

Do yourself a favor and dash over to Goodreads, Amazon or to the library and add these to your ever-expanding reading list.

The Artists Way, by Julia Cameron

One of my favorite things about this book are the quotes in the margins. Before I begin writing, I sometimes browse through for writing inspiration. I often think of her reference to “restock the pond” and “refill the well” when I feel creatively depleted. She says, “When we work at our art, we dip into the well of our experience and scoop out images. Because we do this, we need to learn how to put images back.” (p. 21)

The Art of Memoir, by Mary Karr

Mary Karr is hilarious. I heard her interviewed on several podcasts before I read a single book of hers and I confess I still haven’t actually read one of her memoirs. As I’ve been writing, I often think about how she said the reader needs to feel like they’ve zipped themselves into the author’s skin. (Kind of gross and Shel Silverstein-esq, but so helpful.) And I’m going to give away the ending because it makes me cry:

“None of us can ever know the value of our lives, or how our separate and silent scribbling may add to the amenity of the world, if only by how radically it changes us, one and by one.” (p. 218)

The Art of the Personal Essay, edited by Phillip Lopate

I had this anthology for an advanced writing class in college and LOVED it. It’s not a writing book, per se, but has examples of some of the best essays of all time by Annie Dillard, G.K. Chesterton, Virginia Woolf, James Baldwin and Adrienne Rich, among many others.

The Artful Edit: On the Practice of Editing Yourself, by Susan Bell

I first heard about this from Ann Kroeker on her incredibly helpful podcast for writers and quickly checked it out of the library. I’m struggling to write my first manuscript, so I wasn’t sure if I should be editing as I go along, or if I should wait until it is all completed to wade back through the mire to make sense out of it all. This book helped me figure out a strategy that works for me and provided some tools to edit both at the micro and macro level. My only tip would be to make sure you’ve read The Great Gatsby before reading this book because Bell uses that book as an example in many of the chapters.

Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott

I’ve listened to many hours of writers sharing about writing and their favorite books and this one is probably mentioned the most frequently. Lamott loves to share the story about her brother who procrastinated on a project about birds for school and had to finish it the night before. Their father told him, “Son, we’ll just take it bird by bird,” and that became Lamott’s mantra for writing–just take it “bird by bird.” Along with this, the second most quoted part of this book is the author’s permission to create SFD’s, or “s**ty first drafts.” I’ve taken much consolation in that.

Breath for the Bones, by Luci Shaw

Less technical and more spiritual, this book spiritualizes the work of the Christian artist. My favorite parts are when she talks about the Holy Spirit as her muse and mentions walking around at attention, with her antennae combing the air. I once heard a writer say every book is a conversation with another book, and I feel like this book is in conversation with Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water and Barabara Brown Taylor’s An Altar in the World. It’s probably one of my favorites in this list.

Letters to a Young Poet, by Rainer Maria Rilke

The main reason I list this book here is because it is so often quoted that I think every artist needs to at least say they have read it. Here’s the infamous quote (though the rest is worth reading as well): ”

“Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.

This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple “I must,” then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse. Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose…”

Life Creative, by Wendy Speake and Kelli Stuart

I read this book in the perfect moment of my writing career, just as I was beginning to wonder if it was worth it or possible to be a mother to little ones AND try to be a writer. Life Creative is the type of empowering, inspiring and fire-lighting book that women need to remind them they are called to this important work of being creators.

On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Non-fiction, by William Zinsser

This was also assigned reading in one of my writing classes nearly 20 years ago and when I reread it last year, I could see why. Zinsser’s voice is usually in my head as I edit: “Clutter is the enemy” (p. 15), “Do I need it at all? Probably I don’t” (p. 79), and “Every successful piece of nonfiction should leave the reader with one provocative thought that he or she didn’t have before” (p. 52). Thank you, sir. If you need a refresher on the craft of writing, this should be your go-to book.

Several Short Sentences About Writing, by Verlyn Klinkenborg

Similar to On Writing Well, this book celebrates simple, concise work. The entire book is written as a list of sentences, so you can see his point about varying sentence length play out throughout the book. He writes,

“No subject is so good that it can redeem indifferent writing. But good writing can make almost any subject interesting.” (p. 129) This book is a perfect mix of creative inspiration and technical advice on the craft of writing. It’s a quick read, but every sentence packs a punch (sometimes clichés are just exactly what you want to say…).

Walking on Water, by Madeline L’Engle

This is my all-time-favorite book on creativity and spirituality. I wrote a whole post about it for SheLoves here and often quote her in my work. My favorite quote from the book is this:

“If the work comes to the artist and says, ‘Here I am, serve me,’ then the job of the artist, great or small, is to serve. The amount of the artist’s talent is not what it is about. Jean Rhys said to an interviewer in the Paris Review, ‘Listen to me. All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don’t matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake.” (p. 23) We feed the lake.

Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg

I remember seeing a quote by Natalie Goldberg and being intrigued. The quote was something like, “Writers get to live life twice.” So I put her book on hold in the library and devoured it in less than a week. Now, as I write, I often think about the composting I mentioned in my last post and the redemption of what feels like waste as we write. This is a fabulous companion to the other writing books on your shelf. I wish I had bought it, not just checked it out of the library.

The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard

I read this book long before I started a blog, submitted an article or even began calling myself a writer. And when I shyly stepped naked onto the screen, Dillard’s words empowered me:

“Why do you never find anything written about that idiosyncratic thought you advert to, about your fascination with something no one else understands? Because it is up to you. There is something you find interesting, for a reason hard to explain. It is hard to explain because you have never read it on any page; there you begin. You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment.” (p. 67-68 emphasis mine)

Writing Tools: 50 Essential Strategies for Every Writer, by Roy Peter Clark

This is also a very practical book for writers who may have been at it a while and need to hone their craft. It’s added to my personal editing checklist as I read back through my drafts and consider if I’m using active verbs, being too wordy, or losing my subject in long sentences. This book feels a bit like when I used to study theory and practice scales as a piano student–less sexy, but very necessary.

On my “To Read” List:

A Writer’s Diary, by Virgina Woolf

The Art of Nonfiction, by Ayn Rand

Creativity Rules, by Brenda Seelig

If You Want to Write, by Brenda Ueland

Light the Dark, edited by Joe Fassler

Rumors of Water, by L.L. Barkat

Writing About Your Life, by William Zinnser

What are your favorite books about writing and creativity? I’d love to hear!

***

Our theme for April is “Books and Writing,” and I hope to share my favorite books, podcasts and resources for new writers. Be sure to follow me on social media and sign up for my newsletter below so you can be alerted of new posts. Please get in touch at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting on this topic!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

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Writing & Creativity #writing #writerslife #amwriting #booksonwriting #bookreview

April 3, 2018April 3, 2018

Writing Garbage

Three years ago if you had told me I’d be calling myself a writer today, I would have chuckled and said, “Right. I wish.”

Natalie Goldberg talks about writing being like a compost heap. All those journal entries, letters, emails, short stories, articles, and blog posts mingle together in their juices and every once in a while a stunning tulip pushes her way up and out of the mush. I had about 30 years of composting—mostly pure garbage–before I ever published a word.

This month on the blog, the theme is books and writing. I’ll share some guest posts from writers who have called themselves professionals much longer than I have. I’ll also have a book or two (or three) to give away to readers who love books as much as I do. Be sure to follow along on social media and share with your book-nerd and writerly friends.

I signed a book contract this February, though it won’t be published until fall of 2019, so it still feels distant and surreal. I confess I suffer from major Imposter Syndrome most days (check out a couple great podcasts by Lead Stories about that).

But I’m writing the words and adding compost to the pile, trusting something holy, hopeful, and transcendent will emerge from the heap. Before I begin writing, I pray for those who read my book—that this wouldn’t just be about me, but that we’d be together in it all. I ask the Holy Spirit for inspiration, wisdom and winsome words.

But mostly I beg God for permission to write badly. At least at first.

Julia Cameron says it like this:

“Remember that in order to recover as an artist, you must be willing to be a bad artist. Give yourself permission to be a beginner. By being willing to be a bad artist, you have a chance to be an artist, and perhaps, over time, a very good one” (The Artist’s Way, p. 30)

I pray for freedom to run my fingers over the keyboard without obsessing, over-analyzing or self-criticizing, with the reckless abandon of my naked children dancing around the living room after a bath. I need that level of confidence, self-indulgence and blind courage.

Many writers have said you can’t edit a blank page, so I’m filling the page with words and then giving myself time to wade back through the sludge. I’m hoping to find some gems buried there.

This month is about writing and books mainly because writing is at the center of my story right now. I hope this theme will somehow intersect with wherever you are in life—even if you’re not a writer. Perhaps insert whatever thing God is calling you to do that causes you the greatest amount of self-doubt or quivering-in-your-boots and relate in that way.

Now that I’m a writer, I read the Bible with new lenses. As I read Ecclesiastes recently, certain passages suddenly glowed with new meaning. Wise Solomon writes,

“He who observes the wind will not sow, and he who regards the clouds will not reap.

As you do not know the way the spirit comes to the bones in the womb of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything.

In the morning sow your seed, and at evening withhold not your hand, for you do not know which will prosper, this or that, or whether both alike will be good.” (Eccl. 11:5-6 ESV)

Writing demands feisty faith.

Writing demands feisty faith.

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We till, plant, and sow, then God whispers miracles from mounds of trash. He infuses bones with spirit breath and tiny seeds hidden in the ground with life. Our job is to show up, trust the Light to do its part, and keep doing the work of tilling, planting and watering. Then we sit back on our heels, and do some waiting for the tulips to grow out of our years of faithful composting.

***

This month, I hope to cover some of the following topics, so you can treat this introduction like a table of contents for the month and check back here for updated links. I probably won’t have time to do all of this, but here are some topics I *want* to cover:

My Favorite Books on Writing
Redbud Writer’s Guild vs. Hope Writers
#WOCwithpens (And a White Evangelical Woman’s Place in the Interwebs)
Interviews with Authors
What Should I Write About?
Juggling Motherhood and that Other Thing You Love to Do
Favorite Podcasts about Writing
10 Reasons You Should Start Writing
How to Start a Blog (ok, so this could be like 10 posts…help?)
Book Reviews
Summary of My Favorite Sessions at the Festival of Faith & Writing
Editing Checklist (s)

***

Our theme for April is “Books and Writing,” and I will share my favorite books, podcasts and resources for new writers. Be sure to follow along on social media and sign up for my newsletter below so you can be alerted of new posts and free book give aways. Please get in touch at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting on this topic!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

**Includes Amazon affiliate links

Writing Garbage: Natalie Goldberg talks about writing being like a compost heap. All those journal entries, letters, emails, short stories, articles, and blog posts mingle together in their juices and every once in a while a stunning tulip pushes her way up and out of the mush.

September 12, 2017

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?

*Contains Amazon affiliate links

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

August 6, 2017

Why I Write (because don’t we sometimes need to remember?)

I haven’t written in five weeks. Julia Cameron would call this taking time to “restock the pond” or “refill the well.” But it has been out of necessity more than creative intention.

I painted our entire house. Alabaster White now coats the renovated popcorn ceilings and hides the dark wood trim. Sherwin Williams “Silver Strand” cools most of the walls of the house, lending a faint blue, green or grey tint depending on the lighting of the room. There is still more to do, but now that we are living here, we will have to shift furniture and barricade rooms to get it done in the evenings after the kids have gone to bed.

I also took a break from podcasts, instead painting to playlists collected from illegally downloaded music while I was living in China. But I also painted to childhood favorites like the Big Chill soundtrack including “My Girl” and “I Heard it Through the Grapevine,” as well as my Christian youth group culture beloved albums like “Enter the Worship Circle” and the album I listened to freshman year of college—Chris Rice’s “Deep Enough to Dream.”

Becoming more adept at cutting in with the angled paintbrush, I numbly eased into the music of all the women I have been. Escaping into those old identities was more comforting than obsessing over whether or not I was trading those old selves for the American Dream.

But now I have to shut off the music, put down the paint brush and get back to regular life.

I must get back to writing.

But the amount of time it takes to be a writer (not to mention a mother who writes) and live in that headspace begs the question: Why do I write at all? You may write for different reasons, but this is why I do it.

I write to think. I think best with a pen or pencil in my hand. I told a friend once that I am not a verbal processor, but need a pen to work out my thoughts. “So what is that called?” I asked her. “A writer,” she said.

I write to stay sane. (Seriously.) My journal is my personal counselor. If my husband and I reach an impasse in our communication, I’ll grab my journal and hole myself up to write it all out until I’ve figured out what I am feeling and why. I almost always reach clarity through doing this. I have saved thousands of dollars on therapy simply by journaling.

I write to remember and keep a record of my life. I have purposely not bought a fantastic camera because I want to transcribe my memories with words and not just pictures. I rode the bus in China and would experiment with different ways I could describe my experience to friends and family back home who would never have the opportunity to visit. Pictures seemed a less challenging puzzle.

I write to connect. I used to be a letter writer. I still schlep boxes of letters around with me to each place I’ve lived. Blogging, for me, sometimes feels like a polished letter to a friend. It is the state of my heart right now, in this place. But it can also feel one-sided–like standing in a lit room at night with the shades wide open. Others are seeing me from the outside, but I can’t see them. In this way, writing makes me feel exposed. Yet the days I feel most vulnerable as a writer are inevitably the days I get an email from a reader saying, “Thank you.” And “Me, too.”

I write because I am compelled. When I fell in love with my husband, love was a rapid river current that would have been impossible to escape. Writing feels much the same. Since the word “calling,” makes me squeamish, I hesitate to use that word, and yet it is something like that. I’m committed, but I also can’t imagine not writing. Being trapped without a way of getting my thoughts out seems like the worst kind of punishment. Writing is a need, not a want.

Writing is a need, not a want.

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And to spiritualize it all (because sometimes we need to do that, don’t we?), I write my life as an offering. I hope God will take my loaves and fish—the simplicity of my days—and use them to feed more than just myself. Writing demands faith because there is always the fear that I am just wasting my time and adding noise to the world. But God delights in creating banquets out of table scraps, abundance out of scarcity, and cool springs from parched land.

I trust that the God who makes tiny seeds grow from dirt can plant my word offerings in the world and cultivate beauty that wasn’t there before.

And so this week I return to work without pay, fame or fanfare. For all its impossible demands on my time and attention, not writing is a far worse torture.

If you are a writer, why do you write?

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March 6, 2016

SAHMs and the Need to Create

“When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.”

~Maria, The Sound of Music

Almost four years ago, at the age of 33, I walked away from my teaching career, independence, and most aspects of my identity as I knew it.

My husband and I had made the intentional choice for me to stay home with our new baby.

Before marriage at 32, my personal and professional resume of experiences, travels and adventures attested to the advantages of singleness. As a result of a generally happy singlehood, the mourning period for that time of life has been unexpectedly long and difficult, though our marriage has been a joyous one.

The first year of staying at home was probably the sweetest. I had begun to feel burned out as a teacher and wanted nothing more than to be with my precious son every second I could. Having been extremely single by the time of my 30th birthday, I had begun to wrestle with the possibility that I might never marry or have children. So every day of marriage, pregnancy and cradling my new baby truly felt like a gift that I never expected to have. I soaked in his smell, stroked his soft head and didn’t even mind being woken up in the middle of the night to feed him because it meant we got to spend more time together.

But around the time I got pregnant with our second, I began to feel fidgety. Unsettled. Dissatisfied. Giddiness was replaced with groaning. Delight with discontent.

The change was subtle, but the desire to use my education and past experiences to feel the rush of problem solving and growing in knowledge increased.

Leaving my past behind had left a void that I wasn’t sure how to fill with the limited time and energy I had after caring for my son on a 24-hour basis. And as a Jesus follower, a part of me also knew that I would never find my identity in those places anyway.

So I started a blog (which I never told a soul about). I learned to sew. I painted furniture. And in 2015 I finally followed the impulse I’ve had my entire life and began to write—for people to actually read.

And I’ve begun to notice a trend. Stay-at-home-moms are creating. In the void left by careers and education, we are given the gift of expanding into our potential as creators. From sheer observation alone, this is the time of life that stay-at-home parents are most likely to begin an Etsy shop, start a non-profit or business, write a blog, explore a new art form or become serious about a hobby. I used to belittle women who would spend hours on Pinterest for their children’s parties when a friend said to me, “Hey, we need to get our creativity out in some way!”

Trees and plants are routinely pruned not so they will be miserable, but for their own well-being and growth. And in the place of the cut branches, new ones are allowed to grow. So it is with those who sacrifice to stay at home with a child. Though we may feel naked and strange without our careers, God does not leave us shivering and bare. He brings us new growth. New foliage. New life.

Women are incredible. If needed, they can work three jobs and raise children to go to college all on their own. They can give birth in a field and keep on working. They can keep ten balls in the air at once and make it look easy. They can earn as much as men and climb the corporate ladder just as stealthily.

But women are also creators. They are given gifts and talents that begin to ooze out if they are not given permission to flow. And today, I give you permission. Sometimes to love well, we need to use the gifts God has given us whether they make money or not. Whether they seem to be making a “dent” on the kingdom or not. Whether they serve our families or not.

As long as our desire to create does not supersede our commitment to God and our families, I believe that God will use our gifts to honor Him in ways we cannot imagine.

So create, mama.

We have the special privilege of co-creating with God as we experiment with what has been lying latent in us for so long. And I believe our families will benefit from the shade and life-giving fruit as we stretch out our branches.

What new windows have opened for you since your transition to motherhood?