So here you are, Time finally looking happily your way, stretching out next to you with his hands tucked lazy behind his head. And you watch as he turns his face up to the sky, eyes closed to the warm sun, and asks what you’ll do with all of his present attention. You’re so baffled that he’s come, so amazed that you actually have the time to do something that all you can do is sit next to him in wonder.

Those of us who have been creating for any amount of time have read the books and know the ropes on how to maximize our environments for creativity. If you want to create something new, don’t check your incoming while you’re trying to do it. (shut off email, Facebook, twitter and the like.) Don’t try to be an editor and a creator at the same time. Refuse to be your own interruption. Fight the resistance. Quiet the inner critics. Write like a mad woman.

But what about when you do all these things, you’ve set the environment up just right, and still you are met with an impenetrable wall of discouragement? Yesterday I was sure my creative days were over and any chance of me ever having anything worth saying again was not only lost but killed flat dead on the ground, limp and lifeless and puny. You know how that goes. When you long for time to write or create, you have exactly 47 billion things to say. And then when the time finally comes, you sit and push out all distractions and you got…nothing. Again, it isn’t that I didn’t have any work to do. I have plenty. But my galleys for book number two won’t arrive until next week and a few other things I have going are at a stopping place for now.

There is so much talk of productivity, of focus and make your art! and don’t waste time! There is pressure, and not a small dose of it, to take the time you have been given and make the most of it. Or find the time you don’t have and beat it into submission. I have done this. I know how to boss time around. I know how to do the work.

But maybe it isn’t a bad thing to let yourself lay back on the wide green earth with Time by your side, stare up at the same bright sky, and let yourself be. There is every temptation to strangle him into productivity and make him work for you since you have so much of him right there. But some days he doesn’t bend easily. You might do well to relax and give up the fight. And to reconsider what make the most of it means anyway.

When the critic speaks — dismissing our art, narrowing eyes at our carefully thought-through choices, misunderstanding our intent — he reminds us of all the reasons we were afraid to move in the first place. And for a bit, we are paralyzed by the fear of ever moving again. One wrong move, and they could start pointing.

It isn’t a thicker skin that I need. Don’t paint me word pictures of wet-backed ducks, water rolling off feathers. Don’t  give me a lecture on sticks and stones. The words of the critic sting. And I want them to sting because the sting means I am alive, human, frail. I used to wish I were made stronger, tougher, more naturally resilient. But the critical voice is teaching me my humanness, and that is not a bad thing.

In fact (oh, the hilariousness of this!) the more I confess my frail humanity, the louder I hear the sound of another voice rising up in me, one that has some weight behind it. It is the voice of Hope, and I know it’s Jesus but sometimes I make Hope a girl because she just feels feminine to me. And she speaks with courage and a bit of a laugh. Because when those things we most fear will happen actually happen, we have a unique window of opportunity to take inventory of the battle field in the aftermath. And we look around, blink our eyes, listen to the quiet and think to ourselves, I am not dead. That did not kill me after all.

How could it? If I say I’m a believer (and I am) and if I believe the Bible is true (and I do), then I have already died to that old life, the one that gropes and clings to assurance and acceptance the world has to offer. And so if I have died with Christ and been raised to life in Him, how can I die again at the hands of the critic? What have I to fear if death is no longer a risk?

The critic carries gifts he never meant to bring, motivation he has no awareness of. The voice of the critic forces us to face our biggest fears, and in so doing, listen for the voice of God. If we dare to believe Him, if we dare to believe His dying and rising back up apply even in this, we can then be oddly, ironically, deliriously free.

“And since we died with Christ, we know we will also live with him. We are sure of this because Christ was raised from the dead, and he will never die again. Death no longer has any power over him.”

Romans 6:8-9, NLT

But I do and I wish I could talk myself out of it. The interview has been over for a full 15 minutes and I consider this blessed life I’m so thankful for but didn’t quite plan on, exactly. There’s no such thing as just a writer. You need to be a communicator in all aspects of the word – writing, speaking, sweat-less interviews. It makes me dizzy sometimes.

I’m not cut out for this. And even as I say it, as I say it, I hear the Lord whisper, No, you are not cut out. You have been placed in. He really said that, sure as the way I stumbled and uh’d my way through that interview. He reminded me I have been placed into Him. No, not cut out.

I am connected, sure, safe. If I’m looking to be cut out for something, confident on my own terms, standing on my own platform, unwilling to die? Life can be scary and tasks, daunting. God takes great delight in finding us in places where we don’t feel cut out to succeed. And that is where he sends his invitation of remembrance – that shaky, sweaty mess is a reminder that I am desperate to depend on a source other than myself. Success takes on a different shape there. It looks a lot like rest and feels a lot like freedom.

Have you found yourself in a role you don’t feel cut out for lately?

Might I tread lightly into uncomfortable waters for a moment? Am I wrong to say that sometimes when a blogger announces they have an agent and are writing a book for a publisher and everything, am I wrong to say that sometimes it can bring a heavy cloud of discouragement? Because even though everyone knows that one person’s success doesn’t decrease anyone else’s chances, sometimes it feels that way.

And so we sit in a corner of scarcity, fearing our ideas will never be read, heard, seen, or appreciated. Three years ago when I was busy working on a book proposal, I was sure any real person in publishing would laugh at my ideas all the way back to their big city book office. Sometimes it was difficult to hear the success stories because I worried there were secrets I didn’t know. I worried my ideas were ridiculous, my writing was mediocre, and my desire to write would always only be a desire. Nothing more.

If publishing is something you are serious about, if writing has always been your thing, please don’t allow discouragement to derail you in your journey towards publication. Might I offer you some encouragement today in the form of words from a friend and writing mentor?

Mary DeMuth has written a fabulous 300 page book called The 11 Secrets of Getting Published. And she should know. She wrote in obscurity for ten years with no book and no recognition. Now, she’s the author of 12 books and counting. This girl knows some secrets. One of the things I love about Mary is that she is relatable, touch-able, personable and honest. (Okay that’s four things). She is a successful author who has translated her work into tips and keys for the rest of us. And then she put them all in an ebook for us to refer to as much as we want. There are no secrets with her.

11 people who need The 11 Secrets of Getting Published:

• a man or woman who wants to learn more about publishing or writing in general
• anyone who wants to clean up their writing, hone their skills, and better learn the craft
• anyone who needs encouragement on her journey towards publication
• a writer who wants to write a book proposal and wants someone to tell them what to do
• an author who is published and wants advice on marketing, career, and purpose
• a fearful writer who worries about both failure and success
• a non-fiction writer who wants tips and perspective
• a fiction writer who needs direction and motivation
• a writer who wants to learn more about the difference between self-publishing and traditional publishing
• a blogger who is curious about publishing and what it might mean
• anyone who has always wanted a writing mentor

“Did you know that George Clooney appeared in The Golden Girls’ episode, “To Catch a Neighbor” in 1987? He was one of the two police officers who stayed in the women’s home as protection. And now what’s he up to? Anything he wants. But George had to work. He had to pretend he was a young police man on The Golden Girls. He paid his dues.”

Mary DeMuth, 11 Secrets

The 11 Secrets of Getting Published is only $4.99. For the cost of a venti frappuccino you can have Mary’s hard earned wisdom and advice at your fingertips. And it won’t give you a stomachache or cellulite. You can have it delivered to your Kindle, Nook, or email as a simple PDF. Today, Mary is giving away 10 copies to 10 commenters on this post! Simply leave your answer to this question to enter:

If you could write about anything in the whole wide world, what would it be? Magical fiction? A blog about cooking? A rich and full memoir? Short stories? A book about the love of God? A column in a magazine? Pay no attention to that voice of reason. Just answer honestly in the comments. Ten winners will be notified Friday September 29. Go.

But living the art doesn’t come out like riding on the back of a unicorn in gold-dipped shoes and galloping softly down a rainbow. It comes with grit. Exposure. Risk. Fear. Humility. And sometimes humiliation. Over the past two years, I have wished so many times that my passion was food. Oh, to write about tomato soup and eating around the table with family and making scones. I visit cooking blogs and make recipes and I feel safe and inspired. But those things don’t make me come alive from the inside out.

Shannan wrote a post yesterday about sitting around with new friends some years ago, answering light-hearted questions about favorite foods and pet peeves. Easy stuff. And then somebody asked what her biggest fear was and she quickly answered, “Being wrong.” Here’s what happened next:

“Everyone stopped talking, the game wasn’t fun anymore, and maybe the world stopped turning for a beat or two. I wanted to reach out and grab those two stupid words and stuff them right back in. I had spent my life being right. Admitting that I was afraid of being wrong was absolutely not right.

Why didn’t I just say “falling backwards off a steep cliff?” Why didn’t I say snakes? Speeding tickets? Slow drains? Camper toilets? … It’s funny how the truth takes new shape when it moves from your secret heart to the wide open air that you breathe. It becomes even bigger. It floats around and catches the light. It becomes a thing.”

Shannan, Flower Patch Farm Girl

It isn’t exactly parallel, but writing Grace for the Good Girl was one long why-didn’t-I-just-say-snakes experience. Why do I have to be passionate about something that is just so personal and exposing? Why do I feel compelled to splay my weaknesses in a book that is now sitting on bookstore shelves, bedside tables, car front seats, couch arms? Why can’t I just write about food? Animals? The weather?

I know the answer and I’m learning to receive it: talking about the grace of God makes me come alive. It’s deep and it’s serious and it’s sometimes heavy. It’s awkward to hold and it’s too long for an elevator pitch and it doesn’t look great in a tagline. It’s hard to market, difficult to summarize, cumbersome to share in the carpool line. But when I look into your eyes and I see you get it too, when we can talk about the secret things and the mystery of this hope of glory — it’s like someone turned on the music.

Have you ever wanted to change your art, to adopt some skill or gift that you think would be easier to live with? What makes it worth it?

***

The blog hop/tour/visitation/review/giveaway fun continues this week with one of my favorite bloggers, Shannan at Flower Patch Farm Girl and one of my favorite authors, Mary DeMuth. They both are giving away copies of the book this week and would love to have you stop by! Check out the blog tour schedule under Grace for the Good Girl in the navigation bar to learn more.

I do hope you can make it. We’ll have food plenty of book themed decor and lots of books for sale. But whether you can come or whether you cannot, I want to tell you thank you for your sweet support as this book has been released. The terrifying is mostly over, and I’m settling into content and thankful. I’m content that this book that has been rolling around in my heart and head and hands is finally out of mine and into yours. And I’m thankful to know you’ve been receiving it.

Haven’t been around here before? Watch the video. Read the first chapter. Buy the book. Have a cookie. (sorry. no link for that last one.)

“As a writer who loves to blog AND wants to pursue publication, how do you reconcile the whole concept of ‘don’t worry about the numbers’ when publishers only CARE about the numbers??? I mean, in the end, numbers=people. They aren’t just numbers. They represent the number of readers who are impacted by your message. For a publisher, they represent the number of people who will likely buy your new book. So, really…numbers DO matter.”

Sandy Cooper

I don’t know that publishers only care about the numbers. If that were true, I never would have gotten a contract. But agents and publishers do talk about platform. And platform is important. But it can be endlessly frustrating for a writer because it seems like you can’t have a book until you have a platform, and you can’t have a platform without a book. There is no formula, and I can’t tell you exactly why Revell took a chance on an unpublished blogger with a meager platform. But they did, and here is one thing I did that I think helped.

I focused on building a bench, not a platform. Several of the families who live in our cul-de-sac have been there for over 40 years. Their children are grown with children of their own, and I watch as these women walk slow to their mailbox, chat with one another in the street, and go back inside. They can’t stand there for long.

Last spring, we bought some benches to put in the grassy area of the cul-de-sac so we could sit and watch while the kids ride their bikes. But something else happened with those benches when we weren’t around.

One afternoon, I noticed two of my neighbors leave their house at the same time and shuffle towards the benches just before dinner. I went outside to check the mail and entered into the conversation with them for a while. They spoke of children and grandchildren, aging siblings and friends, the weather. They enjoyed the breeze and waved at the occasional passing car. They lingered. I made my way back to the kitchen to finish up dinner but kept my eye on them. They stayed out for nearly an hour. I’ve not seen them do that before. It isn’t that they didn’t want to be together, but before it wasn’t so easy. Now, they had a bench to sit on. And the bench made all the difference.

The bench didn’t give them something to talk about. It gave them a place to do it. People want to talk about things. They want to relate and live in community and converse and be together. Sometimes they just need a bench. They need a place to get the conversation started, a platform that allows them to linger and find one another.

A platform is a stage with the spotlight on you. A bench is a community with no spotlight at all. Build your bench.

I love how Sandy says numbers are people. And people do matter. People need benches, a place to relate and connect and identify with one another. When I wrote my book proposal, I didn’t have impressive numbers to show them. Instead, I focused on the reader, the girl who would come and sit on my bench if only they would help me show her where it was. Because you can build the most beautiful, relevant bench in North America but if no one knows it exists, they can’t come sit on it.

And so in addition to building a bench with quality content and a clear message, we need to have the confidence to talk about it. It’s not about me, it’s about you. It’s not about a massive audience, it’s about being a part of a community. It’s not about self-promotion, it’s about believing in your message enough to share it. Not because of you, but because of them.

What about you? Can you relate with Sandy and this sometimes frustrating dilemma of building a platform?

Publishing is business, and I know so very little about it. (Hello, this is my first book, and I am no expert. Nice to meet you). One thing I do know: If you want to share a message, you have to do the work. Maybe the work is a book. Or maybe it is just a few blog posts or a series on a blog or an ebook. You don’t have to know which you have when you start, but as you handle it and sit with it and simply do the next thing that makes sense, you will know. Here are some things to keep in mind if you have a blog but would like to pursue traditional publication.

Writing may be different from publishing. You may be a writer. Does that mean you are also supposed to pursue publication? Are all writers destined to be published? Should all writers try? Rachelle Gardner wrote a post about Writing vs. Publishing on her blog a few months ago and the comments are especially interesting. A common theme among writers is the desire to not only want to write, but to want to be read. I relate with that. But are we limiting ourselves when being read only means writing books?

Blog writing is not practice. Sometimes I get the feeling that bloggers write on blogs as practice for their books that don’t exist yet. But they don’t take it seriously. This is a bad idea. If you need to practice, do it in your private journal. Don’t operate from a corner of scarcity, hoarding your best work for a future book. Do the work now. Why wait?

Book writing is not glamorous. Examine your reasons for wanting to be published in the traditional way. This isn’t the place to gloss over your red flags, or to say you’ll figure it out when the time comes. Know your reasons, and know them well. Is it to see your name on the cover of a book? Is it for the affirmation? Is it because a book is the absolute best way to get your message out and there is no other medium by which you could do that?

I’m not here to talk you out of your reasons. As you know, all kinds of writing can be grueling, lonely,  and difficult. But when you write in such a way that forces you to get to the heart of your message, when you set out to create a large piece of work for public consumption, and when you have to do it on a deadline, you will cry, hate, go crazy, complain, fight, neglect things, and see yourself at your worst. And then, at the end of the day, you are the only one who can do it. Just you. You can’t delegate it, ration it, or boss it. It’s you and the book, and it won’t leave you alone until it’s done. And then when it’s done, it’s not yours anymore. You do all the work, and then you have to release it, this thing you have loved, shaped, hated, surrendered, taken back, hoarded, questioned, feared, rejoiced over, and made – you have to write it and then you have to release it into the hands of people who might love, hate, question, or dismiss it.

Your message needs to have long legs. When you publish a book, you’ll be sitting with this one message day after day, month after month, week after week, year after ever loving year. You have to love this message like you love yourself. You have to care for your reader with grace and compassion and endurance. You have to be willing to talk about this message in some form for the rest of your life. I’m not saying you will be talking about it forever, but you have to be willing to.

Know the real dream. You may have a dream to write a book, and that is a legitimate dream to be sure. But the truth is the fulfillment of that dream is partially out of your control. If you are a writer who has something to say, an even deeper dream than writing a book is to have people who need to hear what you have to say hear it. That’s really it. Your dream doesn’t have to change, but the method might.

The message is more important than the method. Your job is to cultivate a message. Once you embrace that you are a writer and begin writing the things that make you come alive, then you will become well versed in this area of your message. And you will want to share it in conversation, on a blog, through an ebook, a newsletter, a magazine article, a note to a friend. And here’s another thing. If it’s worth writing a book for, then it’s worth having a blog for, too. It’s also worth leading a small group at your church and having coffee with a friend and writing a blurb about it in a newsletter. Once you know your passion, you can mold it to fit anywhere.

This week, I’ve been sharing some thoughts from a talk I gave at the She Speaks Conference two weeks ago. Tomorrow we will finish up talking about writing. Are there any specific things we haven’t talked about that you have been wondering? Share them with us in the comments.

Today I continue to share snippets of a talk I gave at the She Speaks Conference two weeks ago. The talk was titled From Blog to Book: How I Got Published Without Being Famous. I’m not sharing it point by point because that’s just not how I roll.

“I write about all kinds of things, but I get the most visits when I write about running. Should I have a blog for runners?” She sat in the back and craned her neck to see the speakers up front.

From where I sat, I could barely see her. But I could hear the question behind the question. I turned my head back to the front of the room to the four women on barstools holding microphones. There were about 75 of us that day in October 2008. It was the first Blissdom Conference, an event for bloggers that has now grown to over 700. It’s been nearly 3 years, but I haven’t forgotten that woman.

She asked an important question, one writers have been asking for centuries, though not exactly in those terms. On some level, she was asking this: How can I make sure what I write matters? It didn’t seem like she really wanted to write about runners, but writing for runners seemed to mean she would at least be writing stuff that mattered to someone. And if what she said mattered to someone, then she would get visits. And it if she got visits, then she would keep writing whatever it was that got her visits. And so she wanted to know if she should have a blog for runners.

I don’t remember how the panel answered that question, exactly, but I will answer it now: no one can tell you what to write about. Don’t ask what’s selling. It kind of doesn’t matter. The market wants you, at your very best, showing up and doing what you do.

It doesn’t matter if you’re starting a blog to make money or writing a book proposal to submit to an editor or writing an ebook about how to write an ebook – the same rules apply for everyone. To be clear, these words are for those of us who want to write for an audience. If you just love to write because you love to write and it helps you live better, then by all means, write in whatever way you wish. But if you want us to care what you write about, then think about this:

Write about something. Anything. Just sit in a chair, set a timer, and make yourself write. There is only one guarantee in publishing, and that is you absolutely will not be published if you don’t write. Start somewhere. I recommend you do this privately. No one wants to read a blog post that starts out “I have no idea what to say, so I’m just gonna start writing.”

If you are a writer and you give yourself permission to just start writing, it is my  completely unscientific and undocumented opinion that seeds will come out all over your paper. You may not know what kind of plant they will be yet, but you know those seeds mean something to you. And they will sit there like tiny little shadows of things to come, and you will stare at them and think Now where did you come from? And somewhere inside, that voice will begin to speak.

Write from the voice.  You know the voice. It’s the one that begins to speak when you’re driving down the highway alone or just before you step out of the shower. It’s the one that speaks just as you lay your head down on the pillow, between the busy day and restful sleep. It is the voice that reminds you of your passion, your heart, your message. It may be the voice that tries to convince you to take some time and space to figure out what that passion actually is. You can’t put it in a sentence yet, but you know it’s there. You can’t ignore that voice.

Write what makes you come alive, not what you think will sell. You can spot the passionless artist from the first word that falls flat out of their mouth. You’re no fool. But neither are we. When you try to write things simply because you think it’s what people will want to read, we know. And we don’t want to read it. But if you are excited about something, chances are great that someone else will be excited about it too.

Write bad stuff. John Mayer said this last month to a group of students at Berklee College of Music: “I can’t stress how important it is to write bad songs.” Artists are afraid to write because they fear the writing will be awful. He says it may be awful now, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. Bad songs aren’t always bad songs, they’re just unfinished good songs. One good phrase is worth a thousand bad ones. But if you didn’t write the thousand, you wouldn’t have found the one. Finish. It.

Write with great faith, even if your idea is small. There is nothing more frustrating for a writer who knows she’s a writer to want to write but fears she has nothing to say. No message, no insight into the world, no direction. I felt this way for many, many, many years. I even stopped writing after I was married, thinking that part of my life was over. When I finally picked up a pen again, I did so in the form of this blog. It was January of 2006 and I had no idea what I was doing. I would only post when an idea showed up that seemed to have some redemptive quality. And even though it’s painful for me to go back and remember where I started from (the ridiculous ellipses! the tiny, tiny photos!), it’s necessary. Because even though I didn’t know exactly where I was headed five years ago, I wrote those little things that resonated with me.

Where are you in your writing journey? Are you still wrestling with calling yourself a writer? Are you a writer who doesn’t know her message? Do you have a story and a message but are afraid to share it?

Coming up next: But I want to write books, not blog posts!

This week I will be sharing some snippets of a talk I gave at the She Speaks Conference two weeks ago, as well as some thoughts inspired by the topic in general. The title of the talk was From Blog to Book: How I Got Published Without Being Famous. I welcome your comments, questions, and insight as we discuss blog writing, book writing, and publishing this week.

I showed up at my first writing conference alone and a wreck. I knew I had just paid a lot of money to attend a conference that I was about to walk out of, because I felt so terribly out-of-place. I had never had one thing published in my life, I didn’t even know the first thing about writing a magazine article, I didn’t know what a book proposal was, and I thought only actors and athletes needed agents. It was She Speaks the summer of 2008 and the conference was for writers, speakers, and women’s ministry leaders.  As I approached the registration desk,  the kind woman sitting there asked me, “Are you a writer or a speaker?” I paused, looked around a little, and finally leaned in close and whispered Writer. I can’t even begin to tell you how ridiculous I felt.

I grabbed my registration folder and thought for sure the She Speaks police would come find me, point, laugh, and kick me out as in imposter. I literally had to sit down to gather my breath and let my face return to its normal shade. Because I had the same question that I believe many of you have: Am I allowed to call myself a writer?

What does it take to assume that title? Must you have a writing degree? Does it take a published article or a book before you can call yourself that? What about a blog or a newsletter? What about if you enjoy writing in a private journal? Can you call yourself a writer even then?

Let me ask you this – what does it take to call yourself a runner? Do you have to win an Olympic medal before you can assume that title? Or at least qualify for the Olympics? What if you are on the track team in school? Or maybe a running club? What about if you just run on the treadmill or in your neighborhood, are you a runner then?

Some people say you can only call yourself a runner if you run a certain number of miles a year. Others say if you run on purpose for a reason other than because you are late, then you’re a runner. How about this. In order to call yourself a runner, you have to run. I don’t know how much and I don’t care where, but if you value that title of “runner” then you will probably not throw it around carelessly. And if you’re afraid to call yourself a runner even though you run, then you probably are one.

Is it the same way with writing? Why is it so hard for us to embrace this writer identity? Why did my face turn red when I said it for the first time? Why did I feel like a girl playing in her mom’s high heels? I have a few ideas why:

You have great respect for the title. You have likely grown up a reader, and so to you, C.S. Lewis is a writer. Madeleine L’Engle is a writer. J.K. Rowling and Jane Austen and Harper Lee are writers. And so to call yourself a writer feels like you are clumping yourself with the greats, and you wouldn’t want anyone to think you think you’re like them. Because you know you aren’t. You love the title so much that it nearly feels like calling yourself beautiful or humble or talented – it’s uncomfortable, and it seems more legitimate if someone else bestows that title upon you rather than you, yourself.

You worry what it might mean. If you’re a writer, then does that raise the expectation for your work? Does that mean you should pursue publication? What if you never get published in the traditional way? Does that mean you are a failure because writers are supposed to publish things?

It’s hard to define. We like to put boxes around things so we can point to them and categorize them and understand them. It’s why personality tests are so interesting, because we like to learn about ourselves. We like to label our quirks, understand our weaknesses and showcase our strengths. Where is the test I can take to find out if I’m a writer or not?

There isn’t one. Because if I asked you if I’m a writer, you would probably say yes. If I asked a someone who has a Ph.D in comparative literature from Yale, they would most likely say no. It depends on who you ask. So either ask the right person, or stop asking altogether. The fact is, there isn’t just one kind of writer any more than there is just one kind of mother or teacher or artist. Not all writers write for money. Not all writers write books. Not all writers have an audience. Not all writers write blogs. Not all bloggers care to call themselves writers. Not all author’s of books do, either. There are less rules than you think.

For me, it was important to be able to see this part of myself and embrace it before I could move forward with any amount of confidence. Do you love to write? Have you always loved to write? Do you write even when no one is looking? Do you respect the title of writer? Why not just own it? If that feels too presumptuous, try it on for a week. Take yourself seriously. Approach your work as an artist. See if it makes a difference.

And while you do, bear in mind that you are more than the sum of your words. As we continue to talk about some of these things this week, it’s important to remember that you have a Maker who defines you in terms bigger and wider than writer or author or wordsmith. Ask him who you are first. You’ll be delighted with the answer.

Coming up tomorrow: What should I write about?