​A few years ago, I stopped sharing stories with some of my family members.  Although they were well-intentioned, a couple of people in my life insist on critiquing my memory of stories from childhood.  Instead of listening to the story and appreciating what I remember of it, they instead dedicate their energy to listing off the 547 reasons that my memory stinks because I remember my step-dad’s truck as white instead of red.

After being interrupted and criticized on several occasions, I gave up trying.  Why would anyone want to share their memories with people who lack interest and curiosity?  No writer wants to sit in that corner.  Writing memoir pieces, whether they are individual pieces or collective pieces, is deeply challenging work for any writer.  The reflective aspect of memoir writing requires an inner strength to be able to identify memories worth preserving, self-evaluate events for their value, and compose those events into a logical format that others can relate to. 

Yet, any memoirist faces the criticism from multiple directions.  Many writers, in any genre, tend to hold out considerations on how their work will be received while holding up a protective barrier around their work from the world’s exterior criticism.  The balance is a challenge.  
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​To be able to write memoir, some writers need a bit of distance from the other people involved to be able to capture their authentic memories from their own viewpoint.  Getting enough mental space can be the first step; accepting that not everyone will agree with one version of the truth is another. 

What memoirists need is a code of affirmation to lean upon during those days when Aunt Maisie lists the 42 ways you got your facts mixed up, because obviously, her memory is much superior to everyone else’s recollections.

Memoirists need a bill of rights—a list of certain truths that support the intense work that memoir writing requires; memoirists need a solid, certain guarantee that no matter how many nails are bitten away during the hours spent dedicating personal recollections to paper, that the story will hold true.  We need a bill of rights, because writing about our lives is gut-wrenching work that musters bravery by the bucketful.  
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​Look at today’s memoirs.  What would have happened if the man, abused as a child, decided that his years of torture at his parents’ hands had no merit in the literary world so never bothered to write it?  What if the Civil Rights leaders from the 60s left their memories in the dust and left the rest of us to guess how they felt standing against an impossibly-powerful opponent?  What if the women of math and science chose to leave the past behind by pretending they were secretaries and not experts?  Every person has amazingly interesting stories to share.  No matter if a life was spent on the battlefield, in the wheat fields, or having a field day, our stories matter. 
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​The first thought that many memoirists grapple with is—what will happen when people read my story?  People’s past emotions of shame, guilt, and blame burst to the surface.  Sometimes writers worry how readers will react to a story or how a story may be taken by an unbiased public.  As writers, we tend to worry more than necessary, because readers overwhelmingly applaud the bravery it takes to document one’s personal stories.  
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Readers choose to read a memoir, whether a short narrative from a family member or a book-length piece, because they want to delve into the life of someone else.  By touching the lives of other people—farmers, politicians, and refugees, we learn more about the human experience.  Readers want to read the story of you—the story of hitchhiking in the rain, the story of wrecking a motorcycle in the mountains, and the story of walking away from endless days of punching the clock. 
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​Just because your sister, father, the next-door neighbor, or some schmoe from down the street remembers a story differently means nothing.  Your story is your story.  Your memory is under no obligation to match anyone else’s recollections of events.   
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​Sometimes a writer may assume that their personal stories aren’t interesting to other people and that people only want to read about the rich and famous.  Not true at all.  Readers crave connection and desire getting in touch with the depth and breadth of humanity by seeking out unique stories.  The tales of a farmer overcoming all odds in the age of industrial farming is a story with promise.  It contains the possibility for struggle, dedication, family love, and connection to the earth.  A memoir is more than a string of events, and therein lies its power; it is about the genuine experiences of people.  
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​Writing serves many purposes.  It is a pathway to pulling out the skeletons in the closet and sending them to live elsewhere; writing is a pathway to healing.  Writing helps writers organize their thoughts.  It helps writers make sense of the world, of the people around them, and of their lives.  Writing allows writers to play with ideas and wrestle with the challenges we all face—emotionally, physically, and mentally.  When we write memoir, we gain perspective on our own experiences.  We learn and grow from the experience of writing memoir. 
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​Your stories are valid and valuable.

People want to read your personal stories.

Be yourself.  People want to read about you.

Your memories do not need to match anyone else’s memories.

If a story is important to you, it will be worthy to your readers.

The writing of a memoir should benefit the writer as much the reader.

Good writing comes on its own schedule, so write when your stories are ready to be recorded.
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Some people feel uncomfortable writing about themselves.  The idea seems a bit egotistical that one person has a story so valuable that it needs to be captured, and the idea of sharing that story may feel even more uncomfortable.  Humans are judgmental creatures so many of us shy away from sharing the personal elements of our lives too freely. 
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It may feel that way for some people, but readers want that personal connection that comes from a personal story.  The personal story is where genuine, deeply-valuable writing can germinate.  Don’t believe it?  Imagine this.  What is you had a copy of your grandfather’s story of meeting your grandmother?  What if you had a copy of your great-aunt’s story of immigrating to escape hardship in her home country?  What is you had a copy of your cousin’s story of battling cancer before he succumbed?

You probably get the point.  Our personal stories do not have to be perfect, they do not have to be publishing-worthy, and they do not have to be prize-winning to be the most valuable stories in our lives.  If I had a copy of my grandfather’s story, no matter how many spelling errors it contained, it would be one of my most prized possessions.  Just the thought of having something he wrote that was deeply impacting for him would heighten its value; that is the effect a personal story should have.

Yes, when we write about ourselves, we may feel self-conscious, but the outcome product of a personal story and the powerful effect that story can have on our intended audience can have a considerable effect.  The potential of the personal story lies in its pathway to connect reader and writer together by revealing intimate details about the writer in a manner that elucidates the writer’s quality as a person. 

As with many pieces of writing, getting started can be the hardest part.  Brainstorming what to write about, the details to include, and the tone to employ tend to come freely, but that first line can allude the most competent writers.  

Rhetorical question

The rhetorical question can be one way to start a personal story.  The question without an answer tends to attract and involve readers from the first line, because it encourages the reader to engage a curious mindset by asking questions.  Consider these examples to see if this style may work for your piece.  

Why would my beloved brother Ethan push me off a cliff like that?  

What do slugs, snails, and puppy dog tails all have in common? 

Why would Disney encourage princess dresses when astronaut suits were much more comfortable? 

Beginning a personal story with a rhetorical question grabs your reader’s attention from the beginning of the story and puts them into the correct mindset for reading.  

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Surprising Statement

Beginning a story with a surprising statement can be a great way to capture the reader’s attention from the beginning.  It allows the writer to begin the story with a particular tone or viewpoint; humor and irony work well here.

89 million dogs in America and I ended up with the craziest of them all.

If you understand what 40% unemployment looks like, then you appreciate why I worked so hard to leave the city.

Nothing could interest her not the two-headed steer, the world’s largest ball of twine, or even the toilet seat art museum.  Who wouldn’t want to see that? 

When you begin a story with a surprising statement, you can employ data or statistics to make a point or engage a tone to support your story from the beginning. That serves multiple purposes: you capture your reader’s attention, make a statement, and establish tone within a single sentence. 

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6-Word Memoir

The 6-word memoir is a popular tool these days, because it forces writers to distill their message down to its essence.  Ernst Hemingway’s famous 6-word memoir says it all: Baby shoes for sale. Never worn.  Those six words show the reader who Hemingway was, what his attitude on life was, what he valued, and how he viewed himself.  The 6-word memoir can do the same thing for your personal story by giving you a tool to start the story with a bang that grabs your reader from the first line. 

Stopped drinking.  Found life so boring.

Garden all day. Knit all night.

Pushed the limits to reach greatness

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​In a personal story, it is OK to come right out and say what you mean.  Make your point.  Your reader is engaging in your story because they want to make a personal connection with you, they want to see your personality revealed, and they want to learn about life through the lens that you view it.  If you have a point to make: a life observation, an interesting anecdote, or a revelation of a unique personality trait then make your point directly.  Avoid masking your point behind figurative language for your reader to dig out of the story.  A personal story can be highly engaging if the purpose is put on display.  
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​One of the most wonderful aspects of the personal story is that it benefits both the reader and the writer.  The writer uses a reflective form of writing that has therapeutic value to communicate details about one’s life experience.  Research has demonstrated that writing about one’s life has therapeutic value for writers regardless of writing skill.  The reader benefits by making a personal connection to the writer, changing viewpoints by looking through another set of eyes, and expanding a sense of the human experience.  When we write and when we read personal stories, we all grow

Is a Jane Austen novel your cup of tea?  How about an Agatha Christie mystery with a fair number of twists and turns?  Perhaps an Ernst Hemingway short story gets you up in the morning?  What type of story is it that allows you to connect with the storytelling and reading processes? 

As we move through life, thoughts of the literary giants may tug at our heart strings, but at the end of the day, we most love the stories from people closest in our lives.  People rarely walk around telling stories of the literary greats; rather they tell stories of themselves and the people close to them. 

The kind of stories that we hold onto and repeat over and over include tales like: the story of how your parents met, the tale of how you fell into your career, the narrative of how you traveled the world with just your backpack, the stories of your children when they were young, and your thoughts on how you overcame the challenges life threw at you.  These are the kinds of stories that stick with us. 
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When you think about a beloved friend or family member, often the stories are what stand out.  Storytelling is a natural part of how human beings interact with each other, teach their young, and instill a sense of belonging and connection between family and friends.  We tell stories to explain ourselves, create affinity, and build groups, and we absorb stories for the same reasons.  We want to feel connected with those around us. 
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The greatest stories in people’s lives are usually the stories of a grandparent’s journey to a new country, a parent’s struggles through personal challenges, and a friend’s determination to collect rare objects.  Our stories build us up, connect us, and create us.  

On July 4, 2012, my step-dad passed after a year-long battle with liver disease.  A year later, I lost my childhood best friend to the same disease.  Losing the two of them within such a short time period sent me reeling emotionally.  My first and most lasting emotion was regret; I felt like I did not take enough time to communicate with them before they passed, even though I had seen my dad the day prior.

As I processed their losses, I was reminded of events that we shared together.  These memories ran through my mind like a film reel playing nonstop. 

I remembered that my dad watched golf and fishing shows on television.  Typically dads watched football or hockey or soccer, but mine watched golf and fishing, and in fact the television was on all the time regardless if anyone was watching it or not.  He woke up at 3am every morning and sat on the front porch drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes; I am pretty sure that my parent’s coffeepot was never turned off.  He loved our pets more than anything in the world.  My sister had a coffee cup made with a photo of him and the four cats sitting on the couch with the title Cat-Man-Do.  

The stories of my friend similarly ran through my head.  Our first concert was the Psychedelic Furs at Red Rocks in eighth grade.  The next year, we saw Duran Duran open for David Bowie at Mile High Stadium.  For that one, we waited all night for tickets in front of the ticket-selling office; it paid off because we got tickets in row 10.  Her mom dropped off sleeping bags for us to sleep on the concrete bench in front of the shop.  My love of music came from her.  She taught me how to apply mascara, how to combine colors in my outfits, and how to relieve stress through writing. 
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A year after my dad passed, I visited my aunt who told me stories of growing up with him in northern Indiana.  They took a sailboat called The Sunflower onto Lake Michigan as teenagers.  He got his head stuck in a wooden dining chair and the chair had to be hacked to bits by his blind grandmother to free him.  His mother went into labor with him and took a taxi to the hospital; he was very nearly born in the taxi. 

As I heard these stories, I clung to them.  I cherished them.  I started collecting them and holding onto them.  The stories became my lifeline to stay connected with my loved ones.  Even though they may be gone, I could hold their stories in my hands and read them over and over.  So, I began collecting their stories, and over time that process proved to be therapeutic in my grief process.  Yes, they were still gone, but I had a little piece of them to hold onto—our stories.  

There is a positive therapeutic value to storytelling.  When people share stories, they reach out across the void to keep that story alive.  Every culture has a tradition of storytelling, of passing stories from one generation to the next—whether that be oral stories shared through family members or historical tales shared in textbooks, people seek to keep their stories alive. 
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In the process of storytelling, we unburden our minds of the realities of life and organize them in a way that we can make sense of and present to others.  This process gives writers an opportunity to process the events which may have been confusing or full of conflict previously.  When we write, we preserve that which is most important—the memories that make us individuals. 

Though the narratives of the literary greats enlighten and inspire us, the stories from those closest to us are the ones that we hold closest to ourselves.  Those are the stories that we cling tom because those are the stories that speak to us.  They tell us who we are, how we connect, what we value, and how we make a difference in the world.  The greatest story ever told is your own story. 
 

Sometimes I wonder what happens in a writer’s planning that makes it so easy to fall off track.  No matter what our writing goals are, so many of us fall apart at some point down the path.  Essayists get stuck in brainstorming, novelists are overwhelmed with character development, and memoirists lose their mojo half way through a story.

One nasty setback can derail a writing project by weeks or more.  But, every element of life comes with the risk of failing: our professions grind us down, our kids forget to eat their veggies, and our waistlines expand with each slice of pizza.  So, why do we push through the everyday challenges of life but find it so much harder to stick to a writing routine?
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Having worked with writers as an instructor and coach for 20 years, I believe that a poor plan sloppily executed will sink any writer’s dreams.  OK, so if it takes a poor plan and sloppy application to ruin a writing practice, what exactly does that mean?  Take a look at a few of the ways that a writer, any writer, can derail their dreams. 

Avoid Reading

I genuinely cannot make sense of writers who do not read.  That is up there with chefs who do not eat, tailors who do not wear clothing, and skiers who do not like snow.  How does a writer not read and expect to be able to write?  I really do not understand.

Strangely this phenomena is fairly prevalent.  I meet writers who have something to say but are unwilling to read the messages shared by their contemporaries.  Due to the complications of modern life: pervasive technology, busy schedules, and lacking creative communities, some writers can hide under the idea that their messages are paramount in importance in the literary world.

There is no settled rule about what writers should read, but avoiding reading altogether is a certain step on the road to failure.  Failing to read separates a writer from the writing community.  Writers who fail to read fail to make an effort to connect with the greater community of writers, fail to observe what good writing looks like on the page, and fail to open themselves up to the growth process to be had from the writing process.  Writers who do not read will not write for long or successfully.  

Avoid Writers
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Books, films, and stereotypes have created a popular image of a writer as a tortured artist who types away in a grimy basement apartment into the dark hours.  We have bought into the idea that writers are socially anxious, awkward, and even anti-social creatures.  We tend to think of a writer as a lone wolf without a single friend to provide comfort and understanding. 

Nothing could be further from the truth.  Some writers take time away from the noise of life to attend a writer’s conference or to spend a couple of days working on a book project.  But overall, writers a highly social, caring creatures.  If writers did not care so much about the world, we would not write, because one of the reasons that we write is to make a difference. 

Writers who connect with other writers are not only better connected professionally, but they are better supported in their communities.  Writers who pound away in the dark room of loneliness are missing out on the opportunities of local workshops, writing mentorships, and courses that can help them develop their skills.  Writers who avoid other writers are missing out on one of the best methods of keeping the mojo flowing.  

Avoid Accountability

I’ll write when the feeling moves me. 

I’ll write when I get around to it. 

I’ll get to some writing later on. 

I don’t feel like writing today.  

Have these words ever escaped your lips by chance?  Regardless of what genre we choose, writing can be hard work, and for some people, when the work gets hard, they tend to avoid the task.  When we avoid that which is hard, we leave the paths that lead to our goals.  Writing a novel, a series of articles, or a letter to a friend can be incredibly hard work.  Writing is an activity that pulls from every energy source people have: the emotional, physical, mental, and philosophical.  It takes a lot of grit to write. 

Without accountability, would we show up to work on time, stop ourselves from eating a second slice of cake, or bother heading to the gym?  Perhaps not.  But we know that we could lose our jobs, gain a few pounds, or lose our health muscle mass if we do not follow through. 
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Writing is the same.  Writers need some kind of accountability.  Sure, there are some people out there who are doodling on napkins, jotting down stories during the commercials, and cranking out novels at breakneck speed, but most of us need at least a little nudge to stay on the path. 
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Create accountability by working with a writing partner and sharing with each other what you accomplish.  Join a local writing group, especially one that expects you to write in between meetings.  Attend writer’s workshops; these are available both in person and virtually.  Keep track of your daily word count and set goals around how much to write on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis.  

Avoid Taking Chances
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Ineffective writers stick close to their comfort zones.  They avoid trying new things, they push mentorship and challenge away, and they spend an amazing amount of time making excuses for not meeting their goals.  They do not take chances. 

A few years back, a friend of mine shared a novel idea.  I offered to be a writing partner so that we could encourage each other and gave her some ideas of how to use the writing process.  She then spent the next three years complaining about how I got her off track, and in those years, she made no progress on her novel.  

As writers, our craft makes life an ongoing challenge, because no matter what is happening in our lives, we still have the drive to put words to paper.  And considering that a novel can easily take a year or more to compose, sometimes we may feel like avoiding challenge may be the easier path. 
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Writers cannot know how well they write poetry if they do not take the chance to sign up for a poetry workshop.  They cannot consider their options with a memoir if they vehemently stick with short stories.  And they cannot improve their skill sets without considering working with a mentor or editor. 

We all get stuck in a rut now and then, and we are all challenged by the intricacies that the writing life has to offer.  But at the end of the day, we still want to write; the drive to write is what makes us writers.  So, if being a successful writer is of interest to you then, read, connect with other writers, hold yourself accountable, and take chances in your writing practice.  You do not know what you are made of until you push yourself.  

How many times have you set a writing goal but faltered along the way and given up?  For me, this has been a recurring theme in my writing career.  I start off strong then something happens, and before I know it, a week has gone by without any writing progress. 
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This scenario has played out every time that I have set a writing goal for myself, and perhaps it sounds familiar for you too.  Today, people’s lives are busier than ever, so it is not surprising that sticking to a goal is more complicated and challenging than ever. 

The way we read, study, write, work, parent, and interact today allows for more interruption, more distraction, and a lower sense of peaceful concentration than just a decade ago.  That sense of overwhelm and distraction can derail a project.

If you have read the writing guides by the greats like: Stephen King’s On Writing, Ray Bradbury’s Zen in the Art of Writing, or E.B. White’s Paris Review Interviews, then you know that many professionals recommend a daily writing practice—7 days a week 365 days a year.  When I first read On Writing, the thought of King’s writing schedule overwhelmed me. 

How is he able to write every single day?  Although I appreciate his dedication to the craft, I also have to recognize the differences in our lives.  I work 50ish hours a week at my job plus a commute; I have elementary-aged children to raise, a house to manage, and other creative pursuits (I crochet, and turn wood).  So, sure King is able to write 365 days a year, but in my life, there are too many tasks pushing their way into my schedule to allow for that. 

After reading several books and articles from the greats, and after failing at meeting my writing goals, I recognized that I needed to create my own path.  

I tend towards setting an enormous, usually impossible, goal at the beginning of the year (i.e., to write 5 books plus weekly blogging).  It never works out, but setting an impossible goal has been my habit for decades.  If I lived the life of a full-time writer, I probably could meet my goals, but I have other responsibilities.  Inevitably, a couple of weeks into my goal, I reevaluate the effectiveness of having a massive goal and start to revise.
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You know what is happening in your life, and your routine is unique to the obligations that you manage.  If you are a student, you have to juggle multiple courses and dozens of assignments simultaneously.  If you are a parent, you juggle children, a home, a job, and activities for everyone.  If you are retired, you have to consider your activities in a different way (some people take up parasailing in retirement and some watch their grandchildren 10 hours a day). 

In all likelihood, your life runs by the calendar.  Pull out the calendar you use (i.e., a pocket day timer, a wall calendar, a digital tool on your phone or internet).  Add all of your engagements onto the calendar: work, commuting, activities, date night, workouts, and as you add these items onto your calendar, organize them by time so that you can see visually.   

Your personal writing goal can be anything at all: to write an essay a week, to finish the great American novel by year’s end, or to collect 50 personal stories for your memoir.  Your writing goal should fit with your writing schedule.  Regardless of how much time you set aside, your goal can be accomplished; the only thing that changes is its completion date, but if the project is valuable to you, then you will persevere until the final draft is in hand. 
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The road to your goal will be littered with complications.   

In everyone’s lives, we deal with random problems, unanticipated setbacks, and inconvenient illnesses that threaten to derail our best laid plans.  Inevitably, as challenges creep into our lives, they test our resolve to continue with our goals.  Do we continue towards the goal after having a week-long flu?  Or do we feel defeated and give up? 

Taking on a viewpoint of flexibility can help in this area.  I have seen writers who create get-out-of-writing cards for themselves after setting their goals.  When a setback happens, they cash in their card and use it to buy a time out from their writing schedule.  For some, this can help create that flexible mindset they need to forgive themselves for unforeseen setbacks and move on. 

Another tool for managing setbacks is to acknowledge the quality work you have completed.  Some writers keep track of their word count on a daily or weekly basis.  By doing this, they can look back at their accomplishments and congratulate themselves when a setback happens.  This method tends to lessen the disappointment after a setback. 

Setbacks are opportunities to pick up the pieces and keep going.  They are chances to re-evaluate the goal and determine what parts of it are working and where change is needed. 

They encourage us to get better organized and plan more efficiently.  And they are a natural part of the process that we can use to our advantage to move forward on our projects. 
If you set a writing goal for yourself but have been unable to continue with that goal, get back in the game.  Reconnect with your goal by evaluating your schedule, the goal, and your mindset and persevere towards the end result of a completed project.  

Anyone who has ever gone on a diet, signed up for a gym membership without previous workout experience, or purchased a self-paced online course guaranteed to change one’s life knows how difficult it is to make a significant change in one’s life.

When we make changes, we rile up all of the demons who control our entrenched habits and behavioral norms.  Sure, I have followed a diet for a day or two, or maybe even a week, but like most everyone, my dieting experience has been spotty at best.  I fall into my old habits and therein the problem lies.

Writing, making art, or starting a creative venture is no different. 

When we choose to write, we choose to change ourselves for ourselves.  We decide to make ourselves a little bit better each day, we face the dark sides of our creative minds, and we take steps towards the true people we believe ourselves capable of becoming. 

And that is hard work. 

So, if it is difficult to change our habits and potentially invigorating but also challenging to start a writing practice, how does a person establish a personal writing practice? 

If you want to see the words on the page go from zero per day to hundreds per day, you have to put in the time.  Yes, that is stating the obvious, but the old adage that Writers Write is true.  A writer needs to set aside time that is dedicated solely to writing. 

OK, so that is clear, but how does one do that?  We are all overworked, exhausted, and stretched to our limits, but when we write, we relieve stress, we create, and we rejuvenate the maker inside of us who wants to play with words.  Time spent writing is not the same as time spent cleaning the bathroom or dragging the recycling to the curb.  Time spent writing is time spent peeling away the layers of smog, grime, and dust that life throws at us. 

To establish a successful personal writing practice, set aside time to write. 

This time might be divided by creative output or it may be divided by minutes.  For example, one writer may set aside enough time each day to write one paragraph, and once the paragraph is on the page that writer can choose to continue writing or move onto another activity.  Either way, a new paragraph is on the page that did not exist before.  Goal accomplished.

The other method is to set aside a period of time.  Many people find that setting aside 30 minutes either at the beginning of the day or the end of the day gets the writing done.  If you choose the morning, then wake up a half hour early to write.  The reason is that your morning routine is already established, so to make that early morning writing time productive, it needs to fit within the established norms of your morning.  If you try to force a 30 minute activity into your already-busy morning, it has no room to fit. 

Writing in the evening seems to work out well for almost everyone.  Writers do not necessarily need to stay up later in the evening to write, though you may need to forego watching TV or playing on the computer. 

Regardless if you choose to write a certain length of content or a certain amount of time, set aside time to write.  
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Do you need support getting your writing practice established?  This video includes easy-to-follow steps to go from a blank page to a completed story.  

https://youtu.be/3R9Nl9_Wkes

Accountability is absolutely vital to establishing a personal writing practice.  Without accountability, will sheer willpower keep you composing each day?  Unlikely. 
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If you ever tried to kick a bad habit—drinking too much caffeine or smoking cigarettes, for example—then you know how challenging it is to do something for yourself without accountability.  Many people say that they were unable to kick a bad habit or take on a good habit for themselves.  It was only when they had some form of accountability integrated into their plans that they became successful. 

So, if establishing a personal writing practice is about taking on a new, positive habit for oneself, how do we inspire motivation and success by adding accountability?  We can employ personal accountability or a partner accountability. 

Personal accountability might include taking steps like using a daily checklist to identify your daily writing goal and note when it has been completed.  Even in our technology-dependent age, I still make a hand-written to-do list each morning, number my tasks by which one I will complete first, and strikethrough when I complete each task.  The list makers and checklist enthusiasts of the world can apply those skills to accomplish their writing tasks.

Most everyone uses some kind of day-timer or calendar to keep track of events.  I have three Google calendars (one for work, one for family, and one for writing), and all three post notifications on my phone.  If it is not listed on my calendar, then it is unlikely to be completed on time.  The pop up reminders are helpful because if I am running behind schedule in my day, then I am reminded what I still need to accomplish.

After you establish personal accountability measures like a checklist, calendar, and reminders, consider creating a partner accountability system.  I have three writing partners—one I write with about three hours a week, one at an hour a week, and one we communicate about our writing progress via email. 

A writing partnership does not have to be formal, in-person, or highly structured.  A writing partnership can allow for partner accountability as two people communicate to keep each other on track with their writing.  That partnership might be a daily or weekly email where they communicate about their writing goals.  It could be a regular meeting time, in-person, via phone, or online.  

Writing is both a personal and a community activity.  People write while alone, but need to stay connected with the world around them to stay observant and hone their skills.  Connecting with a writing community can be a positive step towards establishing a personal writing practice that works. 

Over the years, I have joined several different writing communities, and each one operates in its own way.  One group of writers met weekly at a coffee shop and wrote in silence around a long table.  In the meetings I attended, only one other writer spoke to me at all. 

In other groups, we have engaged in active workshops and critiques of each writers’ pieces with a focus on helping each writer improve.  In another group, we spent some time writing quietly and time asking each other questions and soliciting advice about a particular section.  And in another, we rotate the facilitation duty and each bring in different activities to stimulate creativity. 

Every group has its own pace, tone, and purpose.  Writing with other writers increases one’s level of accountability, because once you attend a meeting, people get the idea that you will show up again.  Attending writing meetings does not work arriving emptyhanded.  Writers expect you to write, to make an effort, and to take steps forward.  They can be the kindest people and most supportive when it comes to gently pushing another writer towards a set goal. 

If this is your year, if you have a new writing goal in mind, and if you are ready to start writing, then start.  And when you fail to meet your goal, brush off the dust and take another step towards the goal.  
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Decide to write.

Set aside time to write.

Set a writing goal.

Set a writing schedule.

Use a checklist, calendar, or reminders.

Hold yourself accountable.

Join a community.  

Accept occasional setbacks and keep writing.
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Over the last year, I journaled, wrote about journaling, and researched journaling.  What began somewhere between a passing curiosity and the search for an open-ended personal writing format resulted in a wealth of information on an informative, effective practice.  Although simple, journaling has the power to heal.
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The practice is uncomplicated and widespread; most people have journaled at some point in their lives.  From the time that we could hold a pencil in hand, many people dotted down lists, drafted up ideas, and crafted creative stories and poetry—all of which were intended to share with an audience of one. 

The magic of journaling is that writers are free of all constraints since they write solely for themselves.  The journal writer does not have to worry about details like grammar, spelling, or correcting errors.  Never does a journal writer need to satisfy a reader’s expectations or an editor’s length requirements.  For most of us, our writing is controlled by someone else—a teacher, a supervisor, an editor, a reader, a professor, an employer, or someone who expects that our writing match their desires.

When we journal, we change the focus of writing.  We write for ourselves, to ourselves, and about the topics that press upon us most within the moment.  When we journal, we can be reflective, curious, creative, or emotional, and that level of freedom creates changes in us in both how we write and how the writing affects us throughout the journaling process.  


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A fair bit of research has been conducted over the last twenty years about journaling, especially its effects on people who are new to journaling for stress management.  The outcomes of a consistent journaling practice are encouraging: people’s stress reduce, people’s relationships improve, and people’s sense of self-worth increase. 
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Journaling is a valid, researched form of stress relief that has the power to improve the lives of any writer who takes up a pencil and starts journaling.  Multiple studies have demonstrated that journaling provides a stress management technique accessible to most everyone.

A young child of 6 or 7 years old may journal in images, collages, and individual words to express the complexities of learning within the complicated world around them.  Teenagers may journal by writing song lyrics, poetry, or short stories to work through the challenging emotions and relationships.  Adults may journal about everything from professional difficulties to relationship questions to creative ideas. 

Writers can use journaling to fulfill every purpose we have—to get organized, to get inspired, to be heard, to be genuine, to work through complicated thoughts, and to put overly-complicated emotions to rest.  


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​Many people live in a world that is moving too fast.  When the everyday life is out of one’s control, it can feel overwhelming, destructive, and stressful, but we can use mindfulness techniques to slow things down and regain control over the everyday.
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Mindfulness is a state of mind of being aware of one’s situation or condition.  It describes activities and techniques that that are used to achieve a state of such awareness. 

Journaling can be used and is used to achieve mindfulness.  When life is out of control, stressful, and downright miserable, then taking time to journal can create just the mental break we need.  When we journal, we slow down time to focus on small things: individual questions, challenging situations, and ideas waiting to be explored. 

When journaling, we can write about the books we read, the ideas we create, the situations we regret, and the relationships we promote.  In a stressful world, journaling becomes a form of self-care where the writer can focus on the details of life—dissect them, concentrate on them, and delve into them rather than be overwhelmed by them.  

If anyone ever said that journal writing must be reflective personal writing only, they were mistaken.  One of the amazing aspects of journal writing is its flexibility.  As we journal, it is completely reasonable that one section is dedicated to reflections on the past, another section is dedicated to current books being read, and another section is dedicated to creative writing.
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What we do with our journaling time changes from month to month, and for some people it changes day to day.  When the creative mood strikes, the journal is a perfect place to work out creative ideas—jot down ideas, compose stories, and draw sketches of works in progress.  A list, a brainstorm, and a doodle are all creative expressions that move inventive thoughts and ideas from the mind to the page. 

When we journal, we take a step towards having more control, a gentle style of control over ourselves—over our thoughts, emotions, concerns, and considerations.  By journaling regularly, we can move from a space of allowing the world to overwhelm us to a space where the world is our amusing plaything. 

If you do not journal currently, consider starting a journaling practice.  Write about your thoughts, write about the book you are reading, write about the events of the past that still bother you then rewrite them with a better outcome so that you take back your control.  Through journaling, we can find a sense of calm, a feeling of lessened anxiety, and an overall improved confidence to manage the wild world around us.  

Sometimes in the writing field, people are shuffled down two paths of thought: using writing as a means to making money and using writing as a means to making an academic career.  The internet can attest to hundreds of programs, gurus, and professional coaches who promise that individual writers can become the next JK Rowling or Dan Brown by writing, marketing, and selling.  Writing becomes the means to an end, and that end is advertised as a big house and fast car.  Down the other path, writing is a forensic tool to dissecting literature, historical events, and human interaction.  Academics hone their writing skills to compete in the world of publish or perish, the land where those who win are those who make discoveries on cutting-edge topics and stay ahead of the pack of fellow academics by writing as quickly as possible.   
During my time as a writer, I have walked both of these paths.  I have written, published, and marketed with the hopes that one of my books would be of such high interest that ten thousand readers would buy a copy and share it with their friends as a must read.  The path from writing to making money is wrapped up in the drive that Americans have with materialism as both of a foundation for a wealthy life but also a personal affirmation of value.  When we make money, we have a sense of being valued, and writers can get caught up in the drive to connect writing and making money.  
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Although writing for money and academic publishing have their merits, both of these paths give a false promise of personal satisfaction.  People who are driven to write, regardless of their talent or academic achievements, gain pleasure through the act of writing.  The writing itself is therapeutic, relaxing, and supports our need to make sense of the world.  

Writing—the act of organizing words onto the page is an activity that fulfills more than money or notoriety can.  The reason is that when we write for money or fame, we are writing for extrinsic factors.  We are writing because we expect acknowledgment to come from outside of ourselves.  We are hoping for dollars, for spoken appreciation, or for acknowledgment in a professional field, but those forms of recognition are short-lived and leave us with a sense of wanting more.  Writing for others does not heal, so we continue to seek rather than feel fulfilled.
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By changing our mindset, we can connect to a therapeutic process in writing.  When we write without an intended audience, we write for ourselves, and this can change the dynamic of why we write and how we write.  When we write for ourselves, we cut away the exterior masks that we normally keep firmly in place to operate in the social world.  But when we write for ourselves, we can be totally honest and open.  When we write for ourselves, we can be genuine and truthful in our intentions, and this expanded truth allows us to open up mental and emotional pathways that serve us as writers.  

​Through journaling, diary entries, personal reflections, and personal essays, writers seek to connect and develop the self through writing.  The process of writing can help us make sense of the world, sort through our complex thoughts and emotions, and create patterns out of chaos.  Many writers compose solely for their own purposes, and they are sometimes the most balanced writers as they are accessing a writing format that provides them with an outlet for making sense of life’s complexities.  This is the process of writing to heal.  

There are activities like journaling and diary writing that are open-ended, and many writers enjoy an open format style for personal writing.  If that works for you, try to write more in that area. 

One of the most effective formats is to write one’s own story.  This style of personal writing may feel a little uncomfortable at the beginning but has real, lasting, and even measurable lasting impact.  Many writers admit having at least some self-doubt, uncertainty, or question in their lives.  Whether those thoughts and feelings come from having a bumpy path through childhood, a partner who questions one’s true value, or a cultural experience that includes shame, blame, or regret over past deeds, writers can sometimes question what we want from life. 
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When we write and rewrite our personal stories, we engage in writing that is truly therapeutic because it has the power to make changes in us as individuals.  Composing your own story as a personal writing exercise might seem a little odd at the beginning, but once you give it a try, you will likely find the exercise to work wonders for your writing practice.  

​Consider these questions when writing without an audience to jumpstart your personal writing practice:
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A backstory focused on phrases: What are the phrases you hear yourself saying regularly?  How do these phrases affect you?  What different phrases can you use as replacements? Write that story.

A current story focused on needs: What is it that you need or want?  What would your life look like, feel like, and operate like if you have that thing right now?  Write that story.

A future story focused on desired events: What events would you like to happen?  What experiences would you like to be a part of? Write that story.

Humans are naturally attuned to storytelling.  When we have a situation that comes up, we create a story around it, and sometimes those stories create negative pathways that limit our productivity later in life.  Rewriting our stories reconnects us with our purposes and goals and gives us a writing task that serves our intrinsic needs for our own purposes.  Instead of writing for money or publishing, we can write for personal gain. 

If you are able to answer a couple of the questions above, then start writing along those ideas with the goal of moving towards writing one’s story.  Perhaps a phrase you have used is, “I can’t remember anything.”  This is one that I’ve used myself and has impacted me.  It affects me in that I’m making an excuse for being occasionally forgetful.  So, when I forget my phone at home or leave my scarf behind, I might tell myself, “I can’t remember anything.”  I need to get rid of that phrase before it does more damage. 

A possible replacement might be, “I am accomplishing a lot.”  Sure, I might forget my phone or leave my scarf behind but instead of creating a reason that I am forgetful, I can acknowledge the more accurate truth that I am a busy person trying to accomplish a lot of tasks in a day, and sometimes details fall through the cracks.  Instead of telling myself, “I can’t remember anything,” I am going to change that to, “I am accomplishing a lot.”  

​In my journal, my next step is to rewrite my story.  When engaging in this type of writing activity, it is perfectly OK to rewrite the past, the present, or the future—all of it.  So, I might write the story of forgetting my phone at home and replace the negative phrase with the more positive one.  This activity allows me to reframe my story in a positive light and acknowledge me for what I do accomplish, which is to complete a significant number of tasks in a single day. 

As well, I can write my present or future story just as easily.  By projecting my intended outcomes and purposes into my present or future story, I harness the power of the narrative to rewrite what I am doing, why I am doing it, and the outcomes that I experience because of my actions. 

This style of personal writing has the power to create both immediate and lasting impact on any writer.  Regardless if you have a high IQ and academic degrees or a high-power profession with significant income and professional fame or if you are a more average person who values friends and family, personal writing can create an immediate impact.  It allows writers to reframe the events of the past, correct the viewpoint of the present, and design a future that fits your true intentions and desired outcomes.  
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If you read Stephen King’s On Writing or Ray Bradbury’s Zen in the Art of Writing, then you have run across the recommendation that writers spend time reading and writing every single day.  Both King and Bradbury suggest that one of the keys to building a successful writing career is to practice, practice, and practice some more. 

I do understand the viewpoint, and if I lived under different circumstances, their suggestion of daily writing might work out for me.  Personally, I have engaged in a daily writing practice for short periods of time but never longer than a year at a time.  In my own writing practice, I go through phases of having a lot to communicate, when the words come faster than I can type.  Then there are the dry time when I feel like the writing is forced because the ideas dried up. 

A couple of months ago, I was preparing to start a new job, the kids were in fight club mode, and I had a zillion tasks to complete each day.  I kept trying to write, trying to put just a few words on the page each day, but the whole process was forced and empty.  Really, all that I accomplished was going through the motions. 

Perhaps Bradbury and King never experienced this scenario, though I tend to doubt it.  My guess is that they created their daily expectation because that practice genuinely worked best for them as individuals.  For every writer, we put pen to paper for reasons other than to complete a piece of literature.  We write to make sense of the world, to put words to our emotions or thoughts, to collect our thoughts, to communicate what cannot be said aloud, and for a thousand other reasons.  Writing’s purpose is not limited to the production of literary products.  
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For me, there is a time when there is nothing to write.  I think of this as the inhale period and the act of writing as the exhale period.  When I am writing, I am exhaling, because I am releasing that which I have held inside, processed, and rearranged for sharing.  But this inhalation time period is necessary too. 
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Every year, I take a few months off of writing.  That downtime provides me the opportunity to inhale, to build, and to store up the energy to write again.  When not writing, I find that I need to bring in as much depth, breadth, and detail as I possibly can.  Typically during these down times, I increase my reading significantly, and I will increase watching quality programs too.  A friend of mine does an amazing job of finding the artistic films, so I reach out to her for suggested titles.  I read books, I watch films, and I have conversations.  When I am not writing, I need to observe, to take in what the world has to offer, to hear the voices of other writers, and to digest narratives, philosophy, history, and mythology.  

That down time from writing magically reengages my inner drive to write.  Slowly, ideas will come to me.  At the grocery store, I’ll think of a few lines of dialogue that would be great for a character.  While I’m walking to dog, a plot structure will come to mind that may work for a story.  And while I’m chopping vegetables for soup, I’ll think of the 30 different ways a knife can be used—cutting kite string, gutting a fish, jimmy-wriggling a car window, forcing open a lock, etc. 

Once that creativity begins flowing, I am ready to begin writing again.  Typically, I don’t start writing immediately, because it takes a few weeks for the buildup of creative energy to drive me forward into a state where I insist that I must write.  Just like falling in love.  At the beginning, we can stay away from a beau for an extended period of time, but after the connection has grown, we have no choice but to eat, sleep, and drink in the presence of our beloved.  Connection becomes consistency which creates a foundation for productivity. 
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The best first step to restart a writing routine is to start a writer’s journal.  The writer’s journal is a catch-all collection plate for anything and everything having to do with creativity, observations, ideas, and notes. 
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In my current writer’s journal, I have sketches of a garden plot, a list of short story ideas all related to the theme of waking up (common in dystopic novels), a brainstorm for 4 Norse goddesses—Sif, Frigga, Hel, and Sjofn including their attributes and symbols, and a bucket list of things to accomplish in the next year. 

The writer’s journal may not seem like it would support getting into a writing habit, but for me it makes a huge difference.  There, I am able to write anything that I want to, from ransom letters to treasure maps to grocery lists to drawings of cabin plans, it is all valid.  A sketch of a garden plot may not seem like it would be connected to a piece of fiction, but if I were to write a scene that included a character walking through a horticulturalist’s back yard, my description will be richer and more accurate because of the time I spent working on a garden plot for my own yard. 

Any activity that a writer engages in that is creative, whether that be playing music, gardening, arranging flowers, drawing or painting, sculpting with clay, it all adds to the creative material that a writer can manipulate to share in pieces of writing. 

The same is true for inflow.  The kinds of activities that a writer chooses to engage in, whether they are reading, watching films, attending poetry readings, walking or hiking, attending educational events like lectures or courses, or viewing art shows and hearing plays, all add to the content the writer can use to create new material. 

If writing 365 days a year works for you as a writer, go for it.  If you are the type of writer who writes in bursts then needs a break before returning to a writing routine, then taking non-writing time to take in information may be a better recipe for success.  When you return to your writing, consider bringing your content to the pages of a writer’s journal to jump start your new writing routine. 
 

Many professional writers recommend using a writer’s journal as a tool to encourage a daily writing practice.  Writers who write on a daily basis, even if for just ten minutes a day, tend to be more productive overall.  When people write every day, they don’t spend time sitting at the desk wondering What should I write? 
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Instead, the writer’s journal allows for continuous brainstorming, planning, processing, experimenting, and writing to occur.  There are no rules to a writer’s journal, so people can be as creative as inspired and can jump all around the writing process and across writing styles.  The most important part about the writer’s journal is that it is an outlet for anything and everything creative.  

If you do not have a writer’s journal, buy yourself a paper journal—yes, paper.  While you are at it, pick up the pens, colored pencils, and other art supplies that you like best.  Personally, I like ball point pens because they are easy for writing, and I like colored art pencils for doodling and drawing.  When I am stuck in thought and not ready to put words on the page, I will oftentimes doodle with colored pencils. 

Using a writer’s journal works well as part of a ritual.  Just as you pour a hot coffee first thing in the morning or you take time to read for a few minutes before starting your work shift, so your writer’s journal should be given its own ritual.  Set aside a specific time of day that you will write.  Ten to fifteen minutes should be enough each day.  I use my writer’s journal first thing in the morning while drinking my coffee.  Every day, I write something different, but the time and place stay the same—first thing at the kitchen table. 
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OK, so I’m sitting at the table, coffee in hand, and I’ve got a paper journal with some fancy pencils.  Now what?  Start writing.  Start drawing.  Start doodling.  Start making lists.  Start filling up those pages with creative stuff.  Create a plan for your upcoming spring garden.  Make a list of the six novels you are dying to write.  Write a journal entry of the politicians who make you insanely irritated.  Pen a letter of appreciation to your hero.  When the words are still brewing in your mind, draw, doodle, color, and fill in the edges of your pages with images.  

Just as keeping a personal journal is therapeutic for the average person, so the writer’s journal is beneficial for the artist.  Putting words on the page, even if they aren’t related to a story—is an accomplishment.  Writer’s journal become the collection baskets of artistic trinkets—bits of stories, outlines of characters, thoughts for articles, drawings to illuminate the blending of pink and orange, and assemblages of anecdotes.  Any of these could be used later on in a story, book, or artistic piece.

When I was little, I remember my parents saying that we would “burn off our energy” at the park.  We never did of course, because kids at play create energy; they don’t burn it.  The writer’s journal works the same way.  Writers create more creative energy, brainstorm more ideas, and participate more deeply with the creative process; they don’t lose it by engaging with it.  

The two styles of journal are similar in many ways.  Both can be used on a daily basis with positive effect for the writer.  Both bring out the best in us because we can dump both our low emotions and memories onto the pages to be safely stored, and we can develop our positive, uplifting thoughts to improve our overall moods.

The personal journal is a tool for anyone.  It has no limitations for age, ethnicity, or economic status.  A personal journal requires no special training or background or education to participate.  Anyone can journal for self-care and personal development, and anyone can benefit from it. 

The writer’s journal is a tool for the creative.  It helps the creative person—artist, writer, maker—to collect ideas, practice techniques, try out different thoughts, and shut out the noisy world to spend some time dedicated to one’s creative practice.  It is the place where writers can collect the shells, pencil stubs, marbles, and dried flower petals into a single space. 
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Regardless of what kind of writing you do—personal reflection, short stories, novels, first-person essays, or academic research, the writer’s journal can be a practice that supports your writing process and improves your writing production.  As with anything else, it will have a varied effect on different people, but it can relieve stress, increase creativity, and inspire a state of mindfulness or meditative relaxation. 

Get yourself a paper journal—yes, paper.  Pick up the pens, pencils, or art supplies that you like best, and set a time and place to start your writer’s journal.