Writing Between the Raindrops
No matter where in the world I am
For years I have been hearing some version of the same question from writers:
How am I supposed to keep going when my actual life is already so full?
Not “busy” in a cute way. Not theoretically full. Actually full. Work. Caregiving. Appointments. Money. Bodies. Families. Grief. Logistics. The general avalanche of being a person. (Hi! It’s me, hi.)
This is one of the reasons I build my classes the way I do.
A few times a year I teach an intro class called Creating a Sustainable Writing Practice. In that class, we talk about how hard it is to write with all the noise of adulting swirling around. We do a few exercises to prove that we are already writing. We read “Short Assignments,” by Anne Lamott, from her famous book Bird by Bird. And we write affirmations to exorcise the demons that tell us we are too old, too inexperienced, too much, too us.
For people with pages, there is my upcoming memoir/personal writing class. In that class, we work with the pages writers already have. Not the fantasy version of the book. Not the perfect future draft. The pages in front of us now: messy, alive, and full of promise.
The class starts next week, and it’s going to be small, which I genuinely love. A small class means room for real attention: openings, structure, momentum, revision, and the bigger questions that come up when we write from lived experience.
I also have some writing news of my own: my essay “The Other Daughter” will be included in Relative Strangers, edited by B.K. (Kate) Jackson. It will will be published on June 23. Pre-orders are available at the link.
I’m really honored to be part of this collection of essays about adoption and the NPE experience by 28 writers. The anthology addresses “the myriad emotions that arise in the wake of these discoveries and encounters, demonstrating that what we don’t know can hurt us, that secrets are toxic, and that truth can bring healing, redemption, and, sometimes, estrangement. Woven through is a universal question: What does it mean to be family?”
These two things feel connected to me.
I am proof that we can work slowly, in between the raindrops, and still get pieces published regularly. I travel constantly for work and with my children for skating competitions, so no, I do not write every day. But I have found a way to be on the road often and still be present for my job, my teaching, my family (and my birds!) and also be a productive writer.
Not perfectly. Not glamorously. Not with a scented candle and never with a clean desk. But steadily.
If you have memoir or personal essay pages and want help shaping them into something more coherent, urgent, and alive, I’d love to have you in class.
Details and registration are here.
And if you’re wondering whether the class is a fit, you can always reply and ask me. But don’t take my word for it — check my testimonials page and reviews from incredible writers who have worked with me like Summer Koester.