I have a book on how to be a writer. It's my favouite book on the subject and I have quite a few. The woman lives in California and she writes easily, giving practical advice that when I took it a few years ago, seemed to work. I say this in a loose sort of sense, given that it's not like I was on a book tour today, I confess, I was picking beans at Nana's house and then cooking beans and mostly refereeing and failing miserable at personal goal of Not Yelling.
The advice was interesting. Things like, decide what a writer dresses like (in your own mind), and dress like that. For instance, if you think a writer wears black turtlenecks, wear black turtlenecks. Write every day. Send little notes to people, in the mail.
I followed all this advice, lived and breathed and listened and did, and lo and behold, I became a writer. I wrote a book, and had it torn apart and criticized and mailed it off and offered it up. Didn't go far, but I went further than many and I was (and am) so proud of that. I wrote every day, all the time. And if I wasn't writing I was writing in my head. I had a glass of wine while I cooked supper every night. I wrote for a living, even though it didn't pay well (I think one job I had was about 9 cents a word...who knew they even still paid in cents?!).
So I'm doing it again. I'm going to do the things that make me a writer and then of course it will follow. Of course it will.
I bought a new Moleskine, except white this time. Very pretty. I organized some clutter, get that shit out of the way. And with only a few (very) baby steps taken I caught myself writing in my head today. (*writing in head is thinking thoughts in sentences as though they were going to be written down. very satisfying when wanted, very annoying when middle of night and happening instead of sleep).