The first rule of being a writer

I sometimes speak at writers' conferences--something I really enjoy doing--and one of the topics I often cover is time management for writers. My first book was about time management, and I've always felt it was an important topic because ultimately time management is really life management. It's not about color-coding your files; it's about deciding what's important, making a commitment to it, and dumping the low-value tasks that don't move you toward your goal.

For would-be writers, I think the first rule is to identify yourself as a writer. When you meet someone new and he or she asks you what you do, answer boldly, "I'm a writer." If you say, "I'm an office manager (or a salesperson or whatever), but I dabble in writing a little," you'll always put the other identity first. Something will always come up to get in the way of your writing. Get your writing identity up front. "I'm a writer who masquerades as an office manager." If writing is your dream, claim it and create the reality.

And don't be abashed by the next question, which is "Published?" If you haven't been, your answer should be, "Not yet."

And then go out and learn as much as you can, read as much as you can, and write as much as you can. You'll never see a byline or your name on a book if you don't try, and you won't try if you don't think of yourself as a writer first.

So You Want to Write a Book

Years ago, I heard a Very Famous Author, one of my favorites, speak at a conference. She said she was once at a Very Flossy Party, where she struck up a conversation with a Very Important Brain Surgeon. When he asked what she did, she said she was an author (by then, she'd written a bunch of best sellers). His response was, "Oh, I'm going to write a book someday, too, when I have time." She fired back, "I'm going to take up brain surgery when I have time."

I applauded her remark because I've heard the same thing so often. There is apparently a belief out there that anyone can write a book if he or she has time to do it. Well, the truth is that most people who write books don't have the time to do it (until they, too, become Very Famous Authors and don't have to clean their own houses anymore). They write for a couple of hours a day while they also take care of their children and go to their day jobs. They get up at ungodly times to write before they begin the morning commute. They write in their cars while they wait for the kids at lacrosse practice or scribble a few lines at the laundromat. They write during their lunch hours. They write on envelopes or in little notebooks.

Writing isn't a matter of having time and a perfect writing environment; it's a matter of having something to say and the discipline to get it down in whatever bits and pieces of time you have. And then spending months rewriting and polishing. And then having your book rejected. It's work, not a hobby. I often tell clients that writing a book is like digging a ditch with a teaspoon. It's exhausting, frustrating, and sometimes exhilarating.

It also takes a modicum of talent and the willingness to get out there and meet agents and editors and other writers and to learn something about both the art and business of publishing.

So when you meet a writer at a cocktail party, remember this: He probably can't do your job--but you probably can't do his either.

Can You Read This?

I'm still at it--trying to find corporate Web sites that speak English instead of flabspeak, that curious combination of buzzwords and euphemisms that confuses readers who might want to to know what it is the company actually does. Such sites are hard to find, and in my journeys I ran across one that I believe demonstrates exactly what a site shouldn't do. I won't tell you the name of the company, but here are a few gems from their attempt to communicate.

The company employs a client-proximity method, which I believe means they have a lot of offices in various countries, which makes it easy for them to be in touch with their clients.

It has a client-facing approach, which seems to mean that the company puts its clients' interests first. This word must be the replacement for client-centric, but it's not an improvement.

Ah, now we've hit the mother lode. The company is going to carry out some acquisitions that will ensure accretiveness to net profits. Now, let's see. Accretive means to grow by accretion, but if even Google can't find a definition for accretiveness, I have to believe it's a made-up boardroom word someone thought was as impressive as all get out. What it appears to mean is that the acquisitions will add small amounts to the bottom line, which I assume will make it healthier, but that's anybody's guess. This word is nothing but a waste of air, and plowing through all this verbiage is just too much work.

Another definition for accretion is an accumulation of dust and gas into larger bodies, such as planets. An accumulation of dust and gas? In this case, you bet.

Unlikely tutors

If you're a writer who consistently struggles to find the apt comparison or the surprising, yet just-right phrase, you need to hang out with kids more often. Children, who are free of the censor that sometimes plagues adult writers, can toss off just what you're looking for without even thinking about it.

I'm lucky enough to have grandchildren, so I have a built-in writers' workshop. And when the kids talk, I listen, and I often write it down. Here are a few I especially like.

Several years ago, I was driving the oldest grandboy, then 3, home from Vacation Bible School. In his hands he held two polished rocks that he rubbed together until they squeaked. "Listen," he said. "That's how frogs sound when they laugh." First of all, I was unaware of frog humor, and second, I'd never considered the sound they might make as they giggled among the lily pads. But he knew, and I was so glad he shared his knowledge with me.

Later that week, this same child told me that when Jesus died, he was buried in a petunia in a garden. "I think you mean in a tomb," I said. He looked at me earnestly and said, "Oh, no, Gigi, it was a petunia. That's what grows in gardens." I have to say, the image appeals to me.

My youngest grandson, who's 4, now has the title of resident wordsmith. Over the years, he's told me that:

• Crescent-shaped ice cubes are "moons of water."
  
• A tiny spit bubble is a "mouth tear."
  
• A mustache is, naturally, "a nose beard."
  
• Kix are "Cheerios with no holes."
  

And one of my particular favorites, when describing his mommy's eyebrows; "They're just like rainbows except they're black and they don't have any colors."

They see it. They say it. And sometimes it's brilliant. Grown-up writers could take a lesson.

The Doctor is In

People often ask me what a book doctor does. It can be a confusing term, since some "book doctors" repair or rebind books, and I wouldn't know where to start to do that. My line of work is to critique manuscripts that writers want to get ready for representation or publication. The hardest part of the job isn't the mechanics of pulling a manuscript apart; it's hurting writers' feelings.

One of my favorite books is Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird; in it, she warns writers to stay away from those who are cruel in their assessment of someone's work. And she's right. So I try not to be cruel, and I try to find what's good in any manuscript I receive. I remind writers that my opinion is just one of many. I'm only an editor; I leave all-knowingness to God. All critique is subjective. What I don't like another editor might love. I try to give an honest, kind reaction to the book's various strengths and weaknesses as I see them. Since I've had plenty of my own work rejected, I know how it feels. Pouring cold water on someone's hopes is not what I want to do.

Still, I'm sometimes surprised at what people will send for critique: Books that are full of grammatical errors, misspellings, typos, and other types of carelessness that tell me perhaps I care more about the book than the author does. So here's a little tip. If you're going to send a manuscript to anyone--editor, agent, or publisher--you be kind, too. Make sure that what you send is the best you can possibly make it at the time. That means taking care of the details as well as the big picture. It's hard for a reader to see that bigger picture when he or she is being bogged down by slipshod execution. Give it your best shot. And I will, too.

Buzz costs time and money

I've been reading the annual reports of public companies these days, and I'm thinking of creating an award for corporate communicators who can write an entire business document that doesn't contain the word leverage (as a verb) or solution (where no problem has been identified)--or the truly awful solution as a verb: "We'll solution that issue after lunch."



If American business isn't competing as well as it once was, one of the reasons may be that American business can't communicate as well as it once did. Oh, we're wired, all right, and we're in constant contact, but that means only that words are flowing. It doesn't mean we're communicating. We're so busy working the latest buzzwords into our conversation, we've forgotten that words are supposed to move ideas from one brain to another, not waste our brain power as we try to decipher what our colleague just said.



My new favorite is landed on, which appears to mean something we decided or agreed to: "This is the design we landed on."



Yes, I know language changes; ginormous has just been added to the lexicon, after all, but too often business buzzwords are nothing more than attempts to create an in-group--a linguistic cool kids' table. But if we're to compete successfully, we need to leave adolescence behind and work together. Dropping the buzzwords would be a good first step.