I was recently working as a volunteer in our little neighborhood library, and a patron struck up a conversation which came around to my occupation. She was evidently a voracious reader, which I think explains her interest and curiosity about my life as a writer. Since we were both book lovers and surrounded by books, we quickly found rapport. Which may explain why, rather minimalizing and changing the subject as I usually do, I sought to earnestly answer her queries. When I revealed that I’d been at it for over a decade, that I was working on what is essentially my fifth full manuscript, and that I was still—as yet—unpublished, her eyes widened. “You’re very patient,” she said. “That’s admirable in this day and age.”

I don’t like action scenes. There, I said it. Feels good to get that off of my chest.

I’m referring to the ones in books. I mean, I just caught the last episode of Game of Thrones on HBO, and WHOA! Now that was some awesome action. So I suppose action scenes in movies and TV are often exceptions to my rule. And even in books it can depend on how you define “action.” I’m not talking about commonplace actions, like driving to the store or folding laundry—though those can be dreary, too. I’m talking about fight scenes, battle scenes, chase scenes, etcetera. I feel like I should like ‘em, but I usually don’t. Heck, even an Indiana Jones-like tunnel-to-cliff-to-river-rapids “who’s-got-the-stolen-sacred-relic?” type scene can tempt me to start skimming. And the older I get, the more I skim ‘em.

As I write this, I’m fresh off of a second viewing of Wonder Woman. The movie has remained on my mind quite a bit. Even I’m surprised by how much, and I write epics that feature Amazon-like warrior women.

Let me start by declaring my belief that I am destined to write. I also believe that my stories are destined. How can they not be, if I was destined to tell them?

I wanted to say that right at the top. If reading it made you roll your eyes, I thought I’d offer the chance to choose to pass on this post. Because even if I believe in destiny, I’m no fatalist. I still firmly believe in freedom of choice.

per·se·vere, /pərsəˈvir/ verb – To continue in a course of action even in the face of difficulty or with little or no prospect of success.

As writers we’ve all heard about the need for perseverance in our quest for success, right? Which I’m sure for many conjures images of writing away, day after day. Or perhaps it conveys doggedly submitting one’s work again and again, enduring rejection after rejection. Those are the two ways I used to think of it. Just keep going and eventually you’ll get there.

“Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another will help lighten the burdens of the world. Anything. You have no idea what the simplest word, the tiniest generosity can set in motion.”—Clarissa Pinkola Estes, from her essay, We Were Made For These Times (quoted throughout the post.)

Do you ever feel paralyzed at the outset of revising a manuscript? I usually do. For me, it’s due to the sense of scope. I mean, there’s so much to be done, right? It can feel overwhelming.

These are turbulent times. Aren’t they? I mean, we have but to scroll through our favorite social media feeds, or peruse our favorite blogs to feel it. It’s a bit odd, though. Violent crime is at a decades-long low, unemployment is below the post-WW2 average, and by most measures the economic recovery continues. Heck, even gas and milk are relatively cheap.

I recently had a dream set in my story-world. This is not unusual. I dream about my characters and story situations often, particularly while I’m immersed in a draft. But this dream was strange. My dreaming self gave the dream-story a title: The First Blade-Wielder. And a narrator told me (the dreamer/audience member), in the voice of my work, about the origin of one of my warrior sects. The scenes played out as they were described, mostly without dialogue—sort of like a cinematic flashback sequence. The events are from hundreds of years before any of my stories actually take place.

Have you ever reencountered a writing lesson or precept that you knew but had begun to overlook? And when it hits, you say to yourself, “Uh-oh, let that one slip through my fingers.”

Ha! Gotcha, didn’t I? Bet you thought this post was going to be about using profanity in your fiction. Sorry, not this time. There have already been a couple of memorable posts on profanity here on WU. Although I do have an amusing anecdote about the F-bomb and WU, having to do with how WU founder and editor Therese Walsh and I first came in contact. It was a good indication that we would become fast friends. But I’ll save it for another day.

“Don’t you ever just, like, want it out there already?”

This question was asked of me by my brother-in-law at a recent family gathering. Over the past couple of years, and his series of inquiries into the current state of my writing journey, I’ve endeavored to explain to him that most novel-length stories are rewritten and revised, often over a period of many years, before they are ready for publication. I appreciate his interest, and he’s evidently begun to grasp what it entails, but I suspect he still thinks I’m hedging.

I suppose my first confession resides right there in the title of this essay: I’m a beachcomber. No, I’m not one of those old guys you see at public beaches with a metal detector, a leathery tan, and high-waist trunks, searching for coins and lost jewelry. And even though I do my beachcombing most days during the warm months, I’m not obsessive about it. A bit superstitious perhaps, as you’ll see in a moment. But not obsessive.

Do you ever get the post-project blues? I’m only now starting to see the pattern. It begins with the euphoric rush of typing the words “The End.” I float for several days, elated by a sort of nostalgia born of what felt so right about the finished project. The high often opens the idea spigot, releasing the next project’s story flow.

I just finished doing something that I’m certain has nudged me a step closer to writerly competence. As I mull its effect, I find myself wondering how many others consider its value. You may have guessed by the title that I’m talking about reading and critiquing a fellow writer’s work in progress.

“As a reader you recognize that feeling when you’re lost in a book, right? You know the one – when whatever’s going on around you seems less real than what you’re reading and all you want to do is keep going deeper into the story… Well, if you’re writing that book it’s real for you too.” ~Sara Sheridan

“To suspect your own mortality is to know the beginning of terror; To learn irrefutably that you are mortal is to know the end of terror.” ~Frank Herbert

I’m a cheerful man. Honest. Well, generally I am cheerful. I certainly don’t consider myself morbid. I wanted to say these things up front because some of you may not agree when you realize where this essay is going. Death is a part of life, right? And it’s surely been a part of my writing journey. I suspect it plays at least a small role in every artist’s journey as well, so I thought I’d explore a part of writing most of us rarely talk about.

It’s A Bungalow? Are you familiar with the Arts and Crafts Movement? For many “Arts and Crafts” refers to a reproduction Morris chair in their den. For others it might evoke Frank Lloyd Wright’s prairie style or an antique Stickley dining set. Each of these is born of the A&C movement, but none of them alone does much to define it.

I don’t know why it always surprises me. I’ve been here before. And I was warned before my first time. Those ahead of me on their writerly journeys said it again and again: “The waiting is hell.” And yet I find I have to relearn it. Every time.

My first post for Writer Unboxed appeared here a bit over a year ago. It was titled, Community—What’s In It For Me, and it was one of the first essays I’d ever written. In the article, I make the case that individual voices gain power through community. I wrote: “If each of us is a lone pebble dropped into a pond, we create one series of circular ripples. But a handful (or tribe-full) of flung pebbles striking at once creates a series of circles, some greater than others, overlapping and far-reaching. Together we can really stir things up.”