Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach

“The best advice I can give you to help you grow as a writer is to experience life.”

We came to hear about queries and proposals. We wanted to learn how this speaker organized submissions and kept track of contact information.

But at this breakout session at this writers’ conference, she insisted:

“I know you think your writing career is all about composing articles and books, but you have to be able to say something. Both fiction and nonfiction writers need material, so get out there and live life—take risks!”

To illustrate, she shared her own story about trying to waterski for the first time as an adult. Despite feeling intimidated, she took the plunge. The experience provided her with vivid sensations and emotions to write about, enriching her work with concrete details.

Her story prompted me to recall my own adventure. Earlier that same summer, I’d been invited to waterski, as well. Although I ended up with a spectacular wipeout, the memory of that risky experience stayed with me. I could see from my own life that she was right—I took the risk and lived to tell the tale, and it became material for my writing.

Creatives need to say yes to new experiences, even when they feel risky. Whether it’s traveling to a new locale, picking up a new hobby, or simply walking in the woods, these experiences fuel our creativity.

Julia Cameron encourages creatives to step out of their usual environments to gather fresh inspiration from museums, yarn shops, antique emporiums, and international grocery stores. These “Artist Dates,” as she calls them, are foundational to living a creative life.

To boost creativity, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi suggests we “try to be surprised by something every day” (347, Creativity). This can be as simple as noticing an unusual car (for example, I spotted a Tesla Cybertruck today) or trying a new dish (pupusas are delicious). 

These small, everyday surprises add up, providing fresh material for our writing.

Our writing deepens as we combine new experiences with our unique perspectives. The more we explore, the more we bring to our projects. 

Each risk, each new experience, and each surprise enriches our voice and adds depth to our work. We produce original material, surprising the reader as well as ourselves.

By embracing the world around us, we not only enhance our writing but also grow as individuals.

Step out, explore, take risks, and let life inspire your next great piece. Next time you sit down to write, your work will take on your fresh voice and new life—you’ll have new things to say and new ways to say them.

When I was a child just beginning to speak, my parents drove late into the evening to the rural property they bought. As they drove up the gravel driveway, the sky spread out above us with stars glittering like a million diamonds spread out on a jeweler’s vast black velvet display.

Across the fields, a million lightning bugs hovered in the tall grass, their gleaming bodies flickering on and off.

I pointed at the sky. “’Tars!”

Then I pointed at the field. “Baby ’tars!”

Perhaps I was destined to become a poet from early on, but my confidence in landing on that perfect metaphor virtually disappeared over the years.

As a young adult, when I was writing books and blog posts, I rarely integrated metaphors into my writing, and it showed. My work was straightforward. Plainspoken. 

While there’s nothing wrong with clear writing—in fact, that’s the foundation of nonfiction according to Ayn Rand (clarity first, then jazziness, she says1)—it lacked punch and pizzazz. My writing didn’t lift off the page and sink into the imagination or heart of the reader. It lacked that magical moment where an idea or image clicks and sticks with the reader. 

And I knew mastering metaphors was essential to great writing. I did write poetry in college, admiring lines like Emily Dickinson’s:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –2

Shakespeare’s: 

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;3

And Wordsworth’s: “I wandered lonely as a cloud.”4

Robert Frost said, in an interview in The Atlantic, “If you remember only one thing I’ve said, remember that an idea is a feat of association, and the height of it is a good metaphor. If you have never made a good metaphor, then you don’t know what it’s all about.”5

I resolved to make a good metaphor. I practiced.

My early efforts were hardly as magical as the child connecting stars to lightning bugs. Instead, they were more like a child pointing to a horse and awkwardly pronouncing, “Dog!” 

My metaphor practice felt clunkily childish instead of enchantingly childlike, but I had to make clunky comparisons to train my brain to find the oddly ideal ones that would surprise readers. 

In a Paris Review interview, William Gass said:

I love metaphor the way some people love junk food. I think metaphorically, feel metaphorically, see metaphorically. And if anything in writing comes easily, comes unbidded, often unwanted, it is metaphor. Like follows as as night the day. Now most of these metaphors are bad and have to be thrown away. Who saves used Kleenex?6

The process of making metaphors and practicing at it will result in some stinkers. The bad ones, like used Kleenex, need not find their way into your work. Toss ’em. That’s what I’ve done.

Most of my comparisons fall flat, but I’ve found it’s worth experimenting with mediocre metaphors in hopes of landing on ideal metaphors because when we nail it—when we find the language that connects—the reader remembers, relates, reads on, and possibly repeats what we say.

I kept writing dumb metaphors until I found better, more creative, comparisons.

Poets, like Gass said, “think metaphorically, feel metaphorically, see metaphorically.” We don’t have to be poets to play with metaphor, but we can follow their lead, studying their technique, admiring the rhythm of how they see and put it into words, like they’re fly fishing, casting their line, the rod in motion, repeating the flow until the rod bends, line taut. 

Our first time casting, we may end up with our lines tangled in the weeds lining the stream, but we’re out there, learning the process, finding the flow. It’ll come, in time, with practice.

A smarter idea than bumbling around on our own would be to collect samples of metaphors that stick. I should have started earlier, to learn from mentor texts, from authors who know how to wield their pen like a wand to create metaphor magic.

In the first chapter of The Writing Life, Annie Dillard tries on a stream of writing-related metaphors: “When you write,” she says, “you lay out a line of words. The line of words is…”

Was she laying out her lines of words searching for the right comparison? Or is our line of words any one of those—or all of those—at any given moment?

She looked at the line of words from so many angles, creating so many ways to think about our writing.

Defined, a metaphor is a figure of speech where a word or phrase is applied to an object or action that it doesn’t literally denote, suggesting a comparison. Ideally, the comparison conveys deeper meaning and creates vivid imagery.

Similes are similar, using “like” or “as” to make comparisons. Metaphors, however, assert that something is something else. For instance, “time is a thief” suggests that time steals moments from our lives, giving us a deeper understanding of its fleeting nature.

In this way, metaphors are a bridge, providing an instant connection between two disparate places offering deeper insight to the reader who crosses over from one to the other. 

When I was at the Spring 2024 Festival of Faith & Writing, Anthony Doerr, author of All the Light We Cannot See and Cloud Cuckoo Land, delivered the final keynote. In it, he spotlighted the power of metaphor to bring ideas, scenes, and images to life. He reinforced this bridge metaphor by pointing to its etymology.

“The etymology of ‘metaphor’ is ‘meta’ (across) and ‘pherein’ (bearing/conveying/carrying over)…A metaphor arrives and carries you across to the other side.”10

Metaphors carry us from one way of seeing the world to a new way of seeing the world. They have the power to transform our perception of the ordinary, revealing hidden layers of meaning and emotion. 

To help us see metaphors building their bizarre bridges, Doerr drew first from Virginia Woolf’s short story “The New Dress.”

In “The New Dress,” Woolf delves into the psyche of her protagonist, Mabel, who’s been invited to tea:

We are all like flies trying to crawl over the edge of the saucer, Mabel thought, and repeated the phrase as if she were crossing herself, as if she were trying to find some spell to annul this pain, to make this agony endurable.11

Mabel repeated that phrase of this idea of flies crawling over this saucer, and Doerr did, too, repeating the key image, nearly incredulous that this specific, vivid, odd metaphor works: 

Ladies at a tea party are like flies? Flies trapped in a saucer, trying to crawl over the edge?

I can’t remember all the details Doerr covered in his wild, fast-paced message, but I managed to preserve this in my notes: “She’s trapped in the imagery. She’s wrapped round and round in the social and economic class.”12

This is the power of metaphors in literature—they can turn abstract emotions into concrete images, making the reader feel the character’s experience, enter it, and grasp it instantly as they cross the bridge from one idea to another: women at a tea party, like flies trying to crawl over the edge of a saucer.

Metaphors may be magic, but clichés are metaphors gone bad. Or, more simply, overused.

The first time someone said, “It’s a piece of cake!” to describe a difficult task that was easy to pull off, they likely charmed the listener to compare a task with a piece of cake. 

Once upon a time, a gracious friend must have referred to an old situation that was forgiven and forgotten, and said, reassuringly, “That’s water under the bridge.” That first time, the other person must have visualized the hurt floating away and felt relief.

But over time, as these expressions were repeated countless times—maybe over a hundred years in some cases—they’ve lost their impact and originality. Once-vibrant metaphors have become yawners, failing to pack a punch because they’re overused. 

That’s why editors are quick to flag clichés, pushing writers to find fresh comparisons that can surprise and engage readers. 

Steer clear of clichés, and practice building better bridges. Craft evocative and emotionally resonant metaphors instead of stale clichés that whiz past unnoticed.

Think about a character in your current project or a personal story if you write nonfiction.

What’s the main struggle or emotion? 

Now, find an object, animal, or phenomenon that shares a deeper connection with that struggle or emotion. 

Link the two to form the metaphor.

How can you weave the metaphor into your narrative to enrich the reader’s understanding?

Here’s an example:

The main struggle or emotion: A writer struggling with writer’s block.

Object, animal, or phenomenon: A locked door.

The metaphor: Writer’s block is a locked door.

Metaphor woven into the narrative: “Writer’s block is like standing at a locked door with no key, jiggling the handle, unable to access the creativity on the other side. Worse, if we manage to pick the lock, open the door, and peer inside, we discover the inspiration we expected on the other side still isn’t there…only an empty room.”

Technically speaking, that sample is in simile format (I used “like”), so a short revision as a pure metaphor could be more like this: “Writer’s block is a locked door, keeping ideas and inspiration just out of reach no matter how much I jiggle the handle or pound on the wood.”

Or…

The main struggle or emotion: A writer struggling with writer’s block.

Object, animal, or phenomenon: A foggy window.

The metaphor: Writer’s block is a foggy window.

Metaphor woven into the narrative: “Writer’s block is like staring out a foggy window, ideas blurred and obscured, leaving the writer struggling to articulate them with clarity.”

With this sample, I also slipped into simile (I used “like” again). Here’s a true metaphor version: “Writer’s block is a foggy window, blurring and obscuring the scenes and stories I long to see, process, and express to the world.”

Experiment with metaphors, even if your early attempts are no better than used Kleenex. Your brain will begin finding connections more often and more naturally in life and in other people’s writing.

Collect the ones that model the magic of metaphor, so you see how it’s done and done well. The way metaphor connects one idea or image to another connects your words to your readers, as well.

“Get to work,” Annie Dillard writes, “Your work is to keep cranking the flywheel that turns the gears that spin the belt in the engine of belief that keeps you and your desk in midair.”13

Metaphors. They’re magic.

I made a last-minute decision heading to the most recent writer’s conference I attended. I’d planned to take my classy, professional, sleek gray backpack that I’d purchased to replace the original purple one I mentioned in an earlier episode. 

As I loaded it, I realized that to stay fortified, I needed to carry snacks and lunch each day—maybe even dinner—and it wouldn’t all squeeze into the professional-looking slim gray bag. I needed a bigger backpack. I dug around in my closet and found an older, different, ridiculously large purple backpack that I use for long trips. 

It wasn’t professional-looking at all, but my lunches would fit just right, so I showed up at this much anticipated writing festival with a purple backpack after all, and podcast listeners attending the conference would stop me. 

They’d heard the episode about planning and packing for a writing event. They’d shout, “The purple backpack!” and I’d say, “You’re a listener!” and we’d have a great time talking about writing. 

So that’s my first of 15 tips, some of which are super practical, like this one…

Test your bag to ensure it’s big enough to hold all the things you plan to carry with you each day plus whatever swag you collect along the way…even if you’re not going to look as professional as you’d like.

And don’t worry if your bag is a bit odd. People really do recognize you in a crowd if you have a memorable bag, purple or otherwise.

Someone shared this pro tip with me years ago: When you go up to the registration table, you’ll get a name tag attached to a lanyard. Pull out five or six business cards and tuck them behind your conference-designed name tag in the plastic holder clipped to the lanyard, facing out. 

If you haven’t already, plan which sessions you want to attend and mark those in your conference binder.

I choose sessions featuring industry experts I want to learn from or people I admire. This could be authors or publishing house representatives like a marketing executive or an acquisitions editor.

Circle the sessions you think are ideal for you. 

But…

Making a plan but staying flexible can help you feel less rigid, more open to serendipity. Or as Laura Fabrycky suggested I share with you, “Stay open to interruptions and sheer surprises.”

One morning at a recent conference, I planned to attend poet Christian Wiman’s session. In fact, I’d made tentative plans to meet up with a friend. I needed to allow a five- to ten-minute walk from the main gathering area.

As I was making tea, I got to talking with authors Summer Joy Gross and Lori Melton. Summer’s book was about to be released and we had not seen each other in person for several years. Then Lori and I connected at a conference years ago and we were enjoying these moments to catch up.

We were deep into the conversation when I looked at my watch and realized there was no way I would make it to see Chris Wiman—or I’d have to slip in late. 

Summer asked, “Are you going to the Madeleine L’Engle session?” 

“What do you mean the Madeleine L’Engle session?”

“Her granddaughter’s speaking about an unpublished book. It’s in this building in the Board Room.” Well, that I could make on time.

I had read the conference schedule, but somehow it didn’t sink in who Charlotte Jones Voiklis was, so I followed Summer and Lori to the session, texted my friend that I’d lost track of time, and ended up loving every minute. I’m glad I stayed open to “sheer surprises.”

Thankfully, the friend who attended Chris’s session said it was just what she needed.

Another time I went to the wrong room and ended up in a session other than the one I intended. But it, too, provided me with just what I needed. 

We can make our plans, but it’s okay to alter those plans—especially if we choose an opportunity that presents itself that leads to rewarding interactions and unexpected outcomes. Even mishaps and miscalculations can yield surprising results—the “wrong” room may turn out to be the “right” room.

Writers can be dreadfully shy. Challenge yourself to say hello to the person next to you in each session. That person may be as nervous as you are, but this is a big reason to attend these events—to meet people.

Who knows? Maybe they’ll become famous later. You might meet a writing friend or connect with someone who becomes an endorser of a book you’ll release in a couple of years. Be brave and say hello.

If you chat for a few minutes and it seems appropriate, hand that person a business card and invite them to stay in touch.

When you’re in a session, listen closely, take excellent notes. If you’re new to publishing, write down terminology that’s new to you so you can look it up later.

As you’re listening, think to yourself, If there’s a Q&A…

What one specific question will I ask?

This question should be based on what they just said, demonstrating you were listening intently—that you truly care about what they were saying—and you’d like them to elaborate on something, or clarify a point.

Make this question short, specific, and different enough that it’s not an obvious question that anyone might ask.

And make sure you really want to know the answer.

Write down your question.

Usually at the end of a talk, the audience gets to ask questions. 

Depending on the size of the room, the organizer might pass around a microphone, or audience members walk up to a microphone on a stand and wait in line to ask their questions. If the room is small, audience members might just raise their hands and speak up so everyone in the room can hear them. 

Good thing you’ll follow through with Tip #6 and write down your question, because you might get nervous and worry that you’re going to fumble. 

Let’s say they call on people in the crowd.

Raise your hand. 

When they call on you, stand up (this makes it easier for people to hear and see you).

If the organizers set out a mic on a stand, go to it. Wait in line.

When it’s your turn, state your full name. “Hi, I’m Ann Kroeker.” What this does is it puts a name with your face. Later, they may remember Ann Kroeker, the person who asked that question…and carried a purple backpack.

Don’t add a preamble or spend a lot of time thanking them. After you introduce yourself, simply smile and ask the question.

In some instances, there’s no Q&A but you might have an opportunity to go down to the front and interact with the speaker after the talk.

If they seem open to chatting with people, head down there with your question in hand. If others are milling around, shaking hands, asking questions, watch for your chance—don’t be too scared or shy.

Introduce yourself.

Ask the question. 

Have your business card at the ready in case they ask (which is easy enough if it’s in your plastic name tag holder, right?). 

If no one else is waiting and the speaker doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, you could, maybe, continue chatting because sometimes your question leads the conversation in a certain direction and they have a story to tell you or advice to give. 

Now you’re more than a random audience member. Now you’re one literary person chatting with another.

This is one of the many things that is magic about in-person events.

There may be many reasons you didn’t get to ask your question during the session.

Maybe they didn’t offer a Q&A. Or they did but you didn’t get a chance to ask your question before everyone else did. Or maybe the speaker rushed off to their next appointment. You may still have a chance.

Faculty are brought into these events to offer input, to give their talks, to encourage writers, to answer questions. Sometimes they’re sitting at a lunch table and they’re supposed to be there to meet and interact with attendees. 

As an attendee, find an open chair at the table. Introduce yourself, chat with them, and ask your question. 

Find yourself standing next to them at the coffee station? Introduce yourself and ask your question then.

If this person is a literary agent or an acquisitions editor, you may be tempted to pitch. 

Oh, friend, resist! 

Unless they ask what brought you to the event or what you’re working on, okay, then, by all means, share your hook. If they’re interested and ask for more, follow their lead.

But don’t haunt or hound any faculty (actually, don’t haunt or hound anyone, to be clear). 

Most conferences warn people, “Don’t follow agents into the restroom and talk to them outside a closed stall door.” Everyone laughs, but they say that because it happens. It really does.

Be patient. At many writing events, you’ll find an occasion to chat in a more appropriate location.

You might have multiple questions, and that’s great. If you have a lunch table chat, you might get to ask them all.

But some people are too nervous to ask even one question, and they might miss a chance to connect if they don’t write that out ahead of time. And limiting it to one keeps you from accidentally dominating that brief time of Q&A by asking too many questions.

Be yourself, be relaxed, be real. You’ll leave a good impression as a real human who obviously enjoyed what the speaker had to say. Why else would you ask such a specific, pertinent, and thoughtful question, right?

Asking it is a way to connect as humans who love literature, who love words, who love ideas and writing. It’s a way to compliment their work and thank them for being at the event without having to actually compliment or thank them. Simply asking the question does all of that.

You see that famous author and you want to introduce yourself and ask a question, but as soon as their talk is over, they head out the back way. 

Notice if they’re traveling with anyone. Do they have an assistant, friend, or family member with them? If that person seems approachable, sidle up and say hello. Introduce yourself. Ask innocuous questions about their work—the assistant’s work—and maybe you’ll learn something about their role that interests you.

And maybe while you’re chatting with them, you can say you had a question you hoped to ask. Is there a time during the conference when that speaker will be taking questions?

This person will know.

Who knows? Maybe they’ll put you in contact with that famous author for a few minutes later in the day or later in the event. If not, it’s always good to meet the assistants and friends, because they’re often the ones who can open doors for you later.

At the end of every day of the conference, you’re likely going to be exhausted from walking around all day, from taking all those notes, or from enjoying the social interaction if you’re an introvert. 

You may be excited by publishing potential or overwhelmed by all the flood of information. You may be discouraged, thinking you’re not ready. 

You may want to curl up in your hotel room to rest and rejuvenate for day two of the conference.

Then someone invites you to join them for dinner or to go out for drinks with a group of poets.

Decide in advance what you’re going to do—then try to gauge if you’ll stay open to those invitations or if you’ll kindly turn them down.

Attending writing events with a friend or friends adds layers of fun. You can swap ideas, go to different sessions, introduce each other to people you meet.

You’ll want to discuss how to handle energy levels. Some of your traveling companions may want to retire early; others might be ready to stay up late and party. Have the conversation sooner rather than later about who’s going to do what.

If you ride together, work out what to do if one of you gets an invitation and the others don’t. Will they need the same invitation—is that possible? Can they get to the hotel without you if you go out with other people? 

Discuss potential scenarios in advance to avoid frustration. Work with them on alternative transportation. If you’re the one depending on others, create contingency plans related to logistics.

Even if you don’t normally snap selfies, take some with speakers and other writers you meet. Get their contact information and permission to share on social media. 

If you swap business cards, take a quick peek. Is their photo on there? No? Scribble something on the card to remind yourself who they are and you can make the connection when you share it.

During or after the event, be sure to tag that person if you post it somewhere online. If you have a particularly nice photo you don’t share, that gives you a reason to email it to them.

You’ve practiced your pitch for weeks. You had a friend help you design a memorable One Sheet. Now you’re at the event and you can hardly concentrate because you’re so nervous, afraid it’s your one-and-only chance at a yes.

First, relax. That’ll help your pitch, and it’s not your one-and-only chance. You’ll be able to connect with agents in many different ways, even submitting through their online portal after you get home.

If you happen to interact with the person you’re pitching beforehand, don’t pitch them then. Simply tell them, “I’m your two o’clock tomorrow!” That brief interaction gives you a more comfortable starting point when you do meet, because the initial introduction is out of the way. 

Show up a little early at check-in (or whatever that event’s system is). 

When you’re able to join them at their table, walk up, smile. Let them kick things off. Chances are, they’ll ask you to tell them what you’re working on, and that’s your cue to share your hook.

When pitching, start with your hook and then pause for the agent or AE to ask questions. Be ready to summarize your book’s description and your platform, then avoid anything else overly memorized or practiced. Overall, you want this to be a normal conversation about the project and about yourself.

You want to connect with them as you chat, so hand them your One Sheet at the end, not the beginning. Unless they ask for it, of course. Think of it as something to leave behind rather than something to hand to them before you begin. Otherwise they’ll be tempted to look at it while you’re talking instead of interacting with you. They can look at the One Sheet later.

It’s tempting to think you’ll retain everything you learn, but as one session follows another, the information starts to blur and get lost.

At the end of the day, take a few minutes to process the day and jot down key ideas you want to carry with you into the next day and post-conference.

For example, did you learn about “platform” from one of the speakers? Write down any action steps they recommended so you can follow through with them when you get home. 

I recommend converting notes into simple lists of action points and quotable quotes—excerpts from speakers you might want to share on social media (when you’ll tag them and use the event hashtag for wider reach).  

Also, keep a list of people you want to follow up with after the event. Do you want to email them or mail them a letter? Make a note about what you want to do when you get home.

Follow everybody on social media that you met that day, because that’s a fun way to stay in touch right away and say hello. You could DM them a little greeting if you have a few minutes, saying how delighted you were to meet them.

If you don’t have much time or energy at the end of a day: Identify the one thing you’re going to implement from each session.

It’s easy to attend these things, get hit with the fire hose of information, and then do nothing with it. I want you to make the most of your investment of time and money. 

But first, when you arrive back home, toss some laundry in the machine and give yourself time to decompress. 

Then follow through with those end-of-day lists. Work through them or make a plan to work through them.

This is a good time to write letters, while your ideas and the recipients are fresh on your mind (and you have their addresses spread out when sorting business cards).

If you had a pitch session—no matter how you felt it went—send a note to the literary agent or AE, thanking them for their time and advice.

Did you make a new literary friend? Send them a note or email to say how glad you are to have made that connection. Don’t be afraid to propose an idea. For example, if you want to form a writing group with people you meet at the event, ask them if they’re interested.

In fact, write a note to each speaker you met who shared their contact information, every literary agent you pitched, every acquisitions editor you connected with. This is a great time to do so, because they’ll get it shortly after they get home, too.

Follow and interact with people on social media.

At the last event I attended, I noticed many people put all their photos together into a vertical video and posted it as an Instagram Reel or TikTok after the event. A few people posted in Stories. 

If you took selfies with others (see Tip #11), send them a copy via email and/or share on social media.

If you didn’t have time to journal during the writing event, document anything significant in a diary or journal, now that you’re home.

Did someone request your proposal? Excellent!

Based on what you learned from speakers and in pitch sessions, you may want to tweak your book proposal, One Sheet, or query. Then send it off! 

They’ll have many proposals to go through, so give them plenty of time to review, but congratulations.

If you realized a literary agent at the event seemed like a great fit but you didn’t get a chance to pitch, go ahead and reach out and let them know you were impressed with their session and you were sorry you couldn’t meet. 

Let them know you plan to follow the steps outlined on their website to query or submit your proposal, and they might be more likely to notice it when it shows up in their system or inbox.

You might also update your About page after getting ideas in one of the sessions you attend, so it looks good when people search your name or click through from your proposal. Maybe you’ll want to change the wording on your Home page or your newsletter signup form.

You learned a lot at the conference, but you won’t be able to take all the advice all at once. 

Create a punch list to work your way through over time. Improve, tweak, add, subtract.

Make your proposal and your online presence the strongest possible with your newfound knowledge and the advice you absorbed. 

At the event where I ended up in the session led by Madeleine L’Engle’s granddaughter—a session I hadn’t even selected—I reconnected with old friends and met some new friends. 

After the closing keynote, I drove the five hours home with a contented smile on my face, thrilled to have connected with word-lovers from all walks of life.

That’s what I hope for you too—I hope you leave any event you get to attend with a contented smile on your face, happy to connect with word-lovers from all walks of life, ready for your next steps. 

It’s truly a joy to spend time with writers. Now load up that backpack and have fun!

This post is one of three for writers heading to their next (or first) writing event (you can listen to them by clicking the player or subscribing to the “Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach” podcast, episodes 268, 269, and 270):

Are you getting ready to attend a writers’ conference?

Guess what? So am I! And I want to make the most of my time there, so let’s think through what will help with that.

You’re likely going for at least two reasons: to learn and to connect. You might also be going to pitch your project. Let’s prep, plan, and pack to get the most out of this upcoming event, so you’re even better prepared to learn, connect, and pitch.

And given that I work with a lot of published authors and speakers, it’s possible you’re one of the presenters. One day I might share detailed speaker recommendations, but for now I did weave in a few suggestions to make your faculty conference experience a little easier, too.

First, I should mention the Event Binder. This idea originated with Kathi Lipp on an episode of Writing at the Red House. Years ago I heard her describe what she includes in her “dossier,” as she calls it, and I’ve adopted and adapted the list to make it my own.

I load it up with all travel information (printed out, obviously) like reservations, and confirmations; contact names and emails; an envelope for receipts; a mileage tracker where I can log each outing; a printout of the schedule; and more. If I’m speaking, I print out copies of my messages in case technology fails.

That said, I do create redundancy by dropping the same information into a folder on my phone in an app like Google Drive or Notion. And I’ll save the key locations in my maps app so it’s a quick click and I’m on my way.

If you’d like a list of what I have in my Event Binder whether I’m an attendee or speaker, head to ​annkroeker.com/conferenceprep​ to get a checklist.

Hopefully you already read the session descriptions when choosing this conference and got a feel for the presenters and other faculty.

Now, in the days before the event, study the website to learn about the organizers and faculty. You never know who you’ll be sitting next to at lunch or crossing in the hallway—knowing the team and speakers means you’ll be able to connect more personally during any random interaction.

Find and follow key faculty on social media. Search YouTube and podcasts to find your favorite speakers. Listen to at least a few minutes of their interviews, presentations, or lectures. 

[Edited to add an excellent suggestion from writer Li Mitchell, who replied to my newsletter and suggested “joining presenters’ email newsletters (if they have them) and getting to know them through email before you attend their conference …because then when you met them in person, you would already have spoken through email.”]

When you do this, each speaker will lift off the pages of the conference materials and seem even more “real” when you hear them tell a personal story about family or childhood in a podcast interview. You’ll get to hear their voice. You’ll see mannerisms if you see them on video. If you have time before the event, you could read one of their books.

If you create an Event Binder, write questions to ask and details you learn next to their name and session description. If you need more space for key bits of information, grab a sticky note so you have more room to write. If the speaker says something that stands out—like a hobby, a school, or a trip you relate to in some way—write that down, too.

These little notes are handy—if you brush up on what you’ve written before their session and meet them afterwards, you’ve got a conversation starter (“I heard you love Belgium—my husband’s from Belgium, and I love it, too!”).

The more I learn in advance, the more excited I get about the conference. I hope you do, too.

Most events like attendees to use an event-specific hashtag on social media. In fact, they might tag you or share your posts when you share.

If you feel comfortable sharing ahead of time, highlight the event by tagging the organization or organizer and use the hashtag—before you go to the conference. It’ll get your post in that feed and you might meet people online and connect with friends and colleagues in advance who search it and plan to attend, as well. 

It’s a way to get buzz going ahead of time and build anticipation.

The last and obvious thing you and I need to do before the conference is…pack.

When I take my time to ensure I’ve brought the items that will help me make the most of this event, it’s easier to relax and enjoy myself.

Grab the binder, of course, if you make one.

For me, it slides in the main compartment of my day bag that I’ll be carrying around all day. For me, it’s a backpack. You’ll want to choose your bag.

If you’re physically able to carry a backpack and you don’t feel too…collegiate…toting it around on your back, I recommend it. 

A spacious backpack will hold a laptop (if you take one) and/or an iPad-type digital notebook, paper, pens, a small lunch (and floss, for after lunch), snacks, gum or mints, business cards, water bottle, umbrella, portable power bank to charge a drained phone, and other bits and baubles—whatever you like to carry with you from building to building, room to room. 

Obviously we’ll all have different items we like to have on hand. Those are ideas to get you started. And something like a backpack gives you lots of slots to stay organized.

Be sure to leave space for goodies, because you’ll acquire things while you’re there, like you might buy a book from the event book table, or freebies from exhibitors and sponsors, like free pens, water bottles, coasters, and the like. 

Whatever bag you end up bringing, leave space for swag.

One year I carried a ridiculous purple backpack. I stuck out and felt self-conscious, even unprofessional, but it’s what I had and it held what I needed. 

A dear friend and I were chatting after a session where she was speaking, and she noted my purple backpack. We joked about it. “Well,” I said, “it makes me easy to spot!”

She was leaving a day early and wanted to say goodbye to me, but in the sea of attendees criss-crossing the campus, she assumed it would be impossible to connect with me again. She felt sad about it.

Then, she saw a flash of purple.

I heard my name. “Ann! Ann Kroeker!” I looked up and saw her waving with both arms, and I raced over to give her a huge hug. “I saw the purple!” she exclaimed.

That purple backpack accompanied me to a lot of writing events. After that, I got over any sense of feeling unprofessional. 

In recent years—and I don’t know why—I eventually bought a new backpack. And it’s gray. So all these years later I still carry a backpack, but you’ll never find me in a crowd.

Now I’m going on and on about this backpack, and I’ve dragged you into the weeds, but I’ll end by saying this: don’t go out and purchase a backpack—gray, purple, or otherwise—just because I’m talking so much about it. By all means, use what you have and enjoy. You know what works for you.

And as much as I love a good backpack, I know not everyone is physically able to carry one. In fact, I had lower back pain years ago that made it impossible, so for those outings I would borrow a rolling briefcase from my mom, which saved the strain. 

If you purchase books by faculty, take those along and see if you can find a time for the authors to sign them. Don’t worry if you didn’t have time to purchase speakers’ books in advance, because you’ll probably be able to purchase them on-site to have them sign. 

And of course if you’re speaking, coordinate with the conference to have your books available for purchase and see if they’ve planned a signing.

Many conferences schedule author book signings for their speakers, and it’s always fun to enjoy that fleeting one-on-one moment with the writers you admire. And if you’re the speaker doing the signing, it’s wonderful to interact with people who are enjoying what you’ve written.

In a smaller setting with no official book signing, you might try to find an opportune moment. If you’re chatting with the author, they seem relaxed, and there’s not a line of other people waiting for their moment, ask (but give them an “out” to say no). I did this with the late Phyllis Tickle, and she gladly signed my copy of her memoir and the series of The Divine Hours I pulled out of my backpack.

I was glad I took them along.

Consider how you like to take notes.

I love typing up conference notes on my laptop, but sometimes I want to travel leaner so I grab my ancient iPad. It works, but the battery drains away fast. So it’s not the best option these days.

Even fully charged batteries of new devices will eventually drain and WiFi can slow down when hundreds of people log in at an event, so I always take paper and pen, as well, in case the machines fail. In fact, I add extra lined sheets of paper in my Event Binder.

It’s nice to have options, and analog always comes through. Plus, it’s quieter than tapping a keyboard during someone’s talk.

Some events offer critiques, where a publishing professional—such as a professor, agent, or editor—reviews your writing submission prior to the conference and meets with you to discuss its strengths and offer suggestions to improve the project.

If you signed up for this, you will have already sent a digital copy to them prior to the event so they could review it.

Check your email, though, in case they ask you to bring one or more physical copies of the document to the conference.

And prepare to take notes during the meeting. Will you use a laptop (that might be in the way), an ancient (or new) iPad, or paper and pen? Record their suggestions quickly, as individual sessions aren’t a leisurely coaching call. You’re only going to have a few minutes with them. Make the most of it and listen to what they say.

Prepare yourself emotionally for their input, no matter how harsh it may feel. Practice smiling and saying, “Thank you so much for your time and input! I’ve learned so much from you.”

If you signed up for a pitch session at your writers’ conference, you may want to create and print off copies of a One Sheet that summarizes your project.

Even if your pitch goes well and the agent or AE (acquisitions editor) likes it, they probably won’t ask for a hard copy of your proposal that they’ll have to lug around all day. Most interested agents or AEs will ask you to email it to them after the event, so take them up on it and don’t worry about loading down your bag with a bunch of hard copies of your proposal. But you might want to pack one, for that one agent who loves the project and wants the hard copy to review on the flight home. 

Nearly every agent or AE will accept a One Sheet because it is, after all, only one sheet of paper. In fact, some agents request them. I encourage people to create and take a One Sheet.

What’s a One Sheet? I’ll record an episode about One Sheets sometime, but for now check out the link below with more information (see the Resources).

You’ll want to be yourself and sound natural when you head into a pitch session, but you also want to make the most of that brief time slot and avoid rambling.

To ensure you can talk about your book with clarity and confidence, practice your two-sentence hook and your slightly longer elevator pitch. When your pitch feels conversational, and yet tight and clear, you’ll leave time to discuss it further and connect with the publishing professional. Stop after your descriptions to let them ask questions. Enjoy the conversation.

A few years ago I hosted literary agent Cynthia Ruchti, who led a simple training to model how you can develop a pitch that makes an impression. She offered inspiration to novelists, especially, and included tips for authors of nonfiction (see below).

As with a critique session, prepare yourself emotionally for the agent or AE input and response, no matter how disappointing it may feel. They might request your proposal or a partial (of your novel), or they may say it’s not a good fit.

Either way, practice smiling and saying, “Thank you so much for your time and input! I’ve learned so much from you.”

An optional conference item that may seem a bit antiquated is the good old reliable business card.

A member of my platform membership program attended an event where she couldn’t even carry a bag, so she ordered something called the Dot, a digital alternative to a physical business card. It worked well given her limitations. https://dotcards.net/ 

This kind of technology is common at Silicon Valley events, but literary people tend to be a little old school. If you have physical business cards, take along a stack. They’re fun to swap. 

If you’re a speaker at a writers’ conference, you’ll need to include extra items in your Event Binder, like a copy of your talk(s), all the places you’re expected to be with your own personal schedule, pitch sessions and names of people who signed up, speaker meal information, speaking contract, and other information.

I like to bring a flash drive with my slide deck in case my laptop doesn’t play nice with the event system. I also invested in various dongles and adapters to connect my computer to the screens in the room.

I even have a gadget to advance my slides, just in case the facility doesn’t have one. It keeps me from being tethered to my computer tapping the spacebar. It’s a little unnecessary and over-the-top, but my husband got one at a conference he attended years ago and gave it to me, since I speak and he doesn’t. 

You may also want to grab a clipboard and print out a sheet for people to sign up for your email list with a note granting permission for you to add them to your email service provider. You can go home, add them to your system, and send them notes, resources, and any handouts.

Despite this long list of suggestions, I’ve survived crazy seasons of life where I just had to throw everything in bags and hope for the best. I didn’t research a single speaker and still had a great time at the conference. I learned tons, made new friends, and connected with industry experts.

Make lists, prepare as best you can, then pack your bags and count down to your travel day.

If you’re planning to pitch, I wish you the very best.

As for me, I’ve got my binder in my backpack, and I’m ready to learn and connect! 

Have you attended a conference and have ideas to share that will help people prep, plan, and pack? Drop those in the comments!

This is how to Prep, Plan, and Pack to Get the Most out of Your Next (or First!) Writers’ Conference, part two in a short series.

Grab this fillable workbook to create your own Conference Event Binder (and other goodies) You’ll get:

Get your FREE Event Binder resource

Attending my first writers’ conference proved to be life-changing—or at least career-changing. In the years since, I’ve attended a wide range of writing events, and each one has in some way substantially contributed to my career.

Some deepened my knowledge, others expanded my professional network—most did both.

I can’t imagine where I’d be without them.

Could a writers’ conference be a life-changing/knowledge-deepening/network-expanding opportunity in your future, even this year? If yes, how do you determine the right conference for you?

This post is the first of a short series on how to get the most out of your next (or first!) writers’ conference, starting with how to choose your next (or first!) writers’ conference. 

In the early days of my writing career, I explored freelance writing. Thanks to a mentor, I learned how to pitch myself as a writer for companies looking to outsource things like company newsletters and I gained a few core clients.

That launched my professional writing business.

But as a creative writing major attracted to poetry and essay writing, I wanted to explore other types of writing and submit to magazines, for example, so I picked up everything I could from library books.

The books, while excellent, were not enough to answer all my questions or help focus my efforts. And the internet did not exist at that time. In time, I instinctively knew I needed to start connecting with writers and learn from them. 

In fact, I started to crave it.

Somehow I heard about an event in Chicago called Write to Publish. I registered and attended it as my very first writers’ conference.

Nervous and unsure what to expect, I showed up and sat through sessions, as speaker after speaker delivered talks that energized my creativity, while the speakers themselves embodied a life I wanted to pursue: that of a working writer building a body of work to be proud of.

Many first-time conference attendees feel so overwhelmed by the flood of information at events like these, they conclude they could never pull it off and give up, walking away from writing and publishing altogether.

I felt overwhelmed, yes, but mostly excited and empowered. It was exactly what I wanted; it was exactly what I needed.

By the end of the conference, I interacted with attendees who in time became colleagues. I met someone who became another writing mentor. Those conference connections formed the beginnings of my professional network.

If you attend a writing conference…

If you’re considering attending a conference or any kind of writing event for the first time, I hope you find it proves to be a pivotal step in your journey. You never know how a chance encounter in the hallway or a timid hello as you take your seat in the auditorium could be the start of a professional relationship or a literary friendship that changes your life.

As we dive into what a writers’ conference is and how to choose the right one for you, we have to face two small but fascinating issues. One, believe it or not, is punctuation; the other is labels.

Let’s start with punctuation.

You surely think this is overkill, but humor me for a minute.

Sometimes you’ll see an event called a writers’ conference, other times a writer’s conference. Occasionally you might spot a writers conference with no apostrophe. And then a few call their events writing conferences, avoiding the need for an apostrophe altogether.

In most industries, no one would care one bit about this level of detail. These conferences, however, are events catering to…writers, agents, and editors. So of course we notice the apostrophe (or lack thereof). And of course we start wondering how that tiny fleck of ink affects the attendees’ (or attendee’s) experience. 

Without wasting more time on the grammatical implications, I bring it up for practical reasons. Because when asking your writerly friends what conferences they recommend, apostrophe placement may not matter much, but in an online search each version could produce different results. 

 To turn up the perfect event for you, try using all the different search terms:

In your online searches, you also might change the word “conference” (singular) to “conferences” (plural). Conferences (plural) might turn up a list of events in a single article, which will save you time in your search.

If you search for the singular “conference,” your search results may deliver endless events to sift through one at a time…but it still might be an advantage, as you might find a new event that wasn’t around when a list of events was compiled into one article.

Most writers’ conferences feature speakers with sessions that educate authors about topics like industry expectations, genre-specific recommendations, author platform advice, tips for developing book proposals (especially for authors of nonfiction), queries, and other publishing advice. 

Conferences can also come in all different sizes, but most will offer keynotes, lectures, and breakout sessions. Some may include readings and workshops paced throughout a long weekend or some are a full week. 

Most writers’ conferences offer pitch sessions for writers who have completed non-fiction book proposals or for those who have complete manuscripts for their novels or memoirs.

Many conferences will have different tracks: one track might be for novelists, and the other might be for non-fiction authors. One might offer a track for unpublished authors and another for more advanced authors to discuss topics that new writers aren’t ready for. 

Knowing all of this can help you choose the best fit as you’re searching.

The other question is this naming or labeling. Gatherings for writers might go by different names. In addition to writers’ conferences, I’ve seen and attended:

Each designation suggests a different purpose and personality. When you realize how one tends to differ from another, you’ll be able to match your professional needs and goals with the right event. 

For example, you might want to write and talk about craft at a retreat led by a writer you admire, maybe in a beautiful setting. This event would feel dramatically different from a two-day conference hosting hundreds of authors that offers 15-minute agent pitch sessions and is held on a college campus or at a hotel. 

That’s why you’ll want to first be aware of what kind of writer you are and the writing you’re focusing on at this moment, then determine your purpose for attending a writing event.

This will include where you’re at in your professional and publishing journey. Then consider your current project and its stage of development. Today, I’m mostly covering the in-person conference experiences, but you may find similar benefits at something labeled something else.

Study the descriptions carefully, read the fine print regarding refunds and take into account that certain experiences may be much more expensive than others.

Knowing yourself and your writing goals and writing stage can help you determine your purpose for attending an event. It can help you decide if you’re better suited to an event for:

When you realize an event doesn’t offer speakers or sessions suitable for the kind of writer you are and the writing you’re pursuing, cross it off your list. It won’t be worth your time.

Next, consider what you need given where you’re at in your writing life and with a given project. 

Are you:

Given your current project’s status, you can decide which conference offerings will move it forward to its next milestone.

Even if you’re an unagented writer—that means a writer without a literary agent representing you—if you have a partially developed nonfiction book proposal, you may want to attend a writers’ conference to meet people and practice pitching. You might converse with an industry expert who offers ideas to strengthen your project!

Once you narrow the options to an event that seems right for you, you’ll have access to useful information provided by industry experts, and you’ll meet other writers, literary agents, and acquisitions editors who are in the same space as you.

Here are common benefits:

Learn and be inspired: If you’re new to writing and publishing or if you’re new again to it after a break, search for events that will provide you with foundational advice from trusted professionals lined up as faculty. The combination of motivating keynotes and educational breakout sessions could be just what you need.

Network: You’ll be mingling with other writers at these events. Some may be at the same stage as you, and others will be further ahead. You’ll chat at the coffee station during breaks between sessions. You might sit next to each other or stand in line together to meet a speaker at the end of a presentation. These may become future colleagues who endorse your book when it comes out or introduce you to an industry gatekeeper—they might be an industry gatekeeper!

Find an agent: If you have a completed manuscript or book proposal but you haven’t yet landed an agent through querying, look for events designed for your genre with literary agents and acquisitions editors from agencies and publishing houses that interest you. Be sure they offer pitch sessions and sign up the minute that option is available. Even if you don’t land a spot with your ideal agent, as I mentioned, you might bump into them naturally and have a chance to interact.

Even if you’re an introverted or dreadfully shy writer, don’t let that keep you from attending a writing event.

I’ll be encouraging you in another episode to make an effort to meet new literary acquaintances. Building a network of like-minded literary people is priceless. For now, know this: You might not meet your kindred spirit, but it’s highly likely you’ll meet someone you can at least follow on social media.

And you might get to know someone who can help you take the next step in your creative journey—you might encourage them, as well.

Conferences and other writing events aren’t cheap. In addition to the registration fee, you may need to ask for time off work, arrange for childcare, pay for travel, housing, and meals.

It adds up. And the writers who most benefit from conferences are rarely at a stage where they are compensated well for their writing, so it becomes a conundrum.

Small, Local Events: When my kids were young and our funds were limited, I looked for nearby one- or two-day events within driving distance. They often brought in two or three speakers and focused on a narrow aspect of the writing life. Those really helped me at that stage. Just because they’re small doesn’t mean they’re not offering valuable input.

Scholarships: Some events offer limited scholarships, so if you feel you qualify, reach out and ask the event organizers.

Grants: If you have enough time before the event, you could consider applying for a grant that aligns well with your writing project(s) and target reader.

Subsidized from Personal Budget: You might consider how other aspects of your life and work could subsidize this event. Be clear about what you hope to gain from attending—and how it fits into your long-term writing goals. That could be a way to view your investment in attending this event.

When I attended Write to Publish, I was building my freelance business. It probably took another year to start making substantial income, but in time I made enough to cover those initial costs. 

I wasn’t super savvy back then, but in retrospect I think I was viewing my writing as a small, startup business. The conference was an investment in my professional development, and I gained information and connections that contributed directly to my success.

In a remarkable turn of events, I’ll be on the faculty of the Write to Publish conference in Wheaton, Illinois (Chicago area), June 11–14, 2024. 

Yes, all these years later, I’ll be on site at the same event that changed the trajectory of my writing career. This time, I get to be there as a coach to support and serve Christian writers who want to be traditionally published. 

It’s humbling to come full circle, and I can’t wait to be there again.

If, after learning more about ​Write to Publish​, you feel it’s a good fit for you, use my affiliate code AK2024 at registration checkout to get $25 off. 

Make sure it’s a good fit—that’s part of the research. Again, Write to Publish is geared to Christian writers and traditional publishing. 

I have attended so many different types and styles of writing events over the years. I have loved every single one of them, whether they were in person or online, whether they were a one-day or a week-long event, whether it was a retreat or a conference.

Determine your criteria right now. What you need today might be different a few years from now when you’ll pick a different event. Dive in to research the options that suit you best.

Study the faculty, the session titles and descriptions, and how the days are structured. Do they have agent pitch sessions or not? Do you need that?

If you’re writing novels for the general market or you’re writing genre fiction, skip the Christian conferences clearly designed for authors of nonfiction. Avoid those that are focused on essayists submitting to literary journals, unless that’s what you want!

There’s no one perfect event, and no one event is going to have everything you need for all time. As I mentioned, I’ve attended many different types and styles of events over the years, and each one has given me a little something different to walk away with and apply to my writing journey. 

As you find one that feels like a good fit, don’t delay too long because some of them fill up. In fact, some might be full already—you can register or get the waitlist for your favorite. 

And look forward to connecting with people in the publishing industry who might be instrumental in getting you where you want to be as a writer in 2024 and beyond.

Once you choose your conference, keep an eye on the second article, about making the most of the conference itself (with tips for preparation and creative ideas to try while you’re there).

I stared at a blank screen. Why did I ever think I could pull this off?

Until that moment, I’d only written short projects. Articles, essays, poems. 

As I sat staring at the screen, questioning myself in about every way possible, I was supposed to be writing my first book—a manuscript of over 50,000 words.

Overwhelmed, I sat at the keyboard, frozen.

Sound familiar? Have you felt inspired to write a book you believe will truly help people—even transform them—but you’re not sure you have what it takes? 

Well, once upon a time, this writing coach was in the exact same place.

I was staring at the screen, inspired to write a book, but doubting myself: Do I have what it takes to write a book?

How does an essayist-poet-freelancer embark on the massive task of completing a 55,000-word manuscript?

That question felt unanswerable and I felt inadequate.

This prose-freezing self-doubt was a huge problem, however, because I’d signed a contract. I was obligated to write a book I didn’t think I could write.

For a year or so my friends had been urging me to move forward with writing a book after I kept sharing concepts with them in conversations over coffee or during play dates at the park. One after another, they would say, “You should write a book about that!”

I’d laugh it off. “Me? Write a book? Ha!” 

“But you’re a writer!” they’d insist.

“I’m a writer of short things. A book is too long, too huge.”

They’d shrug and we’d go back to wiping yogurt off our kids’ faces.

One day I was meeting with my mentor, a writer named Ruth (I had two writing mentors named Ruth—what are the odds!—and this was the Ruth who lived nearby). Nearby Ruth was the author of a book acquired by a publishing house based about three hours north of us. 

She offered to introduce me to the editorial team, so I could pitch the idea to them over lunch. She said she’d drive me up there herself! All I had to do was hop in the car, share the project with them, and hand out copies of a book proposal. 

It was all arranged.

What a great mentor, right?

I just needed to create the book proposal…which I didn’t have the faintest idea how to put together.

“I need a book proposal? Can’t I just describe the book?”

“They need the book proposal,” Ruth said. “That’s how they do it.”

It’s the same now as it was then, by the way. For nonfiction projects, an author produces a book proposal before landing a book contract with an agent or editor. (Learn more about the process and purpose by watching this webinar.)

Back then, I had no idea what a book proposal looked like. This was pre-Internet, so there were no samples to download or coaches to hire.

“You can look at mine,” Ruth offered. “You can see how it’s laid out and how I described my book. Then you can plug in your book’s details in the same places.”

Can you believe that? My mentor offered to let me see her own book proposal like it was no big deal.

But it was pivotal. Life-changing. Career-forming.

Hers was the first book proposal I ever saw. I pored over it, following the flow to craft my own. Her subheadings showed me the purpose of each section. Her content gave me ideas for how to phrase the business-y stuff about mine.

Weeks of work went into that document.

I wrote the overview, typed up a bio, and listed famous people I could ask for an endorsement (I didn’t personally know famous people, but at that point in my life I knew people who knew people, so I added names with an explanation of each friend-of-a-friend connection).

Then I got to the meat of the proposal: 

The Table of Contents.

The chapter summaries.

This took time, because I was essentially writing the book without writing the book, and if you recall, I’d never written a book before so I had no idea what I was doing.

But I knew what I wanted to say, more or less. Like I said, for a year or so I’d been talking with friends about these ideas.

I did my best, summarizing what I thought I should include in each of those chapters, arranging the ideas in an order that made sense. I invented a marketing plan. I wrote an introduction and a sample chapter.

Then I got in Ruth’s car and rode north with her to my meeting with the editorial team.

After introductions, Ruth left me at the sushi restaurant where I met with the team.

I pitched. I showed them the book proposal. I dripped soy sauce on the table and soaked it up with a napkin, laughing it off. (It was not only my first time pitching a book, it was also my first time eating sushi.)

To my surprise—despite the soy sauce spillage—they were interested. After I got home there was a lot of back-and-forth, but in time they offered me a contract to write that book.

That’s how I found myself sitting at the computer with a signed contract and a deadline…and a wave of self-doubt.

And after spiffing up the first chapter, which I’d already written for the proposal, I found myself staring at that blank screen.

“Ruth! What have I gotten myself into!” I practically cried when I updated her. “How can I write an entire book? It’s too much, it’s too long!”

Ruth calmed me down. “Hold on, Ann. Yes, you can write this book.”

“I can’t write that many words!”

“You don’t write them all at once,” she said. “You’ve got your Table of Contents, right?”

“Yes. In the book proposal.”

“You’ve summarized what you plan to put in those chapters, right?”

“Yes.”

“Treat each of those chapters like one of your longer articles, and write them one at a time.”

How about that! I flipped through the document and realized she was right.

I’d already outlined the entire book. My ideas were right there in the book proposal I so diligently pieced together. 

“I’ll try.”

Ruth smiled. “You can do it. I know you can do it.”

I could breathe again. She demystified the whole thing and framed the writing of a book around the kind of writing I already knew I could pull off.

I followed her plan to write one chapter at a time—like a long article—and move on to the next, piecing them together to make the book. 

I tend to be a little more of a “pantser” than a “plotter,” but I sat at the keyboard grateful for the book proposal because it forced me to create structure for this project before I sat down to do the work.

All I needed to do was follow the plan: the road map I’d already developed to take the reader from page one to the end. 

Turns out I had everything I needed.

We come to new projects with strengths from other parts of our writing lives—and from our lives as a whole.

Maggie Smith’s interview on the Write-Minded podcast emphasizes this reality: that even experienced writers approach each project as a new challenge.

She explains that her memoir, You Could Make This Place Beautiful, was “cobbled together.” She could see that having written poetry books didn’t really prepare her for writing a full-length memoir.

“How does one write 65,000 words,” she says, “because I honestly have no idea, as someone who writes poems that are typically less than 17 lines long and has never thought about word count. I had no idea how to sort of sustain.”1

Not that I’m comparing myself to Maggie Smith, but like me, she knew how to write short but had no experience with how to write long.

And she also didn’t see herself as a storyteller. “I’m not really a storyteller primarily in my poems, or at least I don’t think of myself that way. I think of myself more as an ‘image presenter’ or an ‘experience distiller’ or ‘crystallizer’ than a storyteller, so I thought, This is going to be interesting.”2

It seems she had the same “Do I have what it takes?” concern as you and I.

But unlike me, it sounds like she didn’t freeze or panic. Instead, she drew from her strengths—her gifts and experience as a published poet—to creatively piece together one of the most unusual and popular memoirs of 2023.

Her approach? She wrote vignettes one at a time independently from each other, out of chronological order and without an outline. The book “distills” and “crystallizes” her experiences and presents images, holding our attention. 

With help from an editor, she assembled the book by sorting these pieces to find themes, styles of writing, and various connections that flowed together.

By color-coding them she arranged them on her living room floor until she found what seemed balanced. “It was a craft project,” she jokes, which is how she puts together her books of poetry, following her intuition, looking for “the natural progression.”3

She trusted the writer she already was and the writing she’d already done to find a way into this writing that was new.

She played to her strengths and found her structure, her voice, her stories, and every word to make her book beautiful.

David McCullough has said, “Every book is a new journey. I never felt I was an expert on a subject as I embarked on a project.”4

Novelist Cassandra Clare says it’s true in fiction, too. “No matter how many books you’ve written, whenever you sit down to write a new book you always feel the same challenge — how do you shape this story into a book that people are going to love.”5

I interviewed Jennifer Dukes Lee about writing her guided journal Stuff I’d Only Tell God. She’d already written multiple trade nonfiction books, but never anything like this guided journal. It’s a book of questions, not answers.

But Jennifer leaned into who she was as a journalist, a blogger, and an author. She’s both a natural and trained question-asker. She was born curious; she was a journalist by trade. She already had what it would take to write this book that was in a totally different genre than her others.

I have been writing online in a pretty open way since 2009….and…I was a newspaper reporter. But in the same way that I was interrogating police chiefs and mayors and governors, I began to interrogate my own life in that way. So I feel like turnabout’s fair play.6

By turning her own question-asking training on herself, she developed questions she knew could work for anyone ready to pen an interesting, deep, thoughtful journal that opened them up to the things that matter most.

And she wrote a book unlike any she’d written before, because she had what it takes to pull it off, even when she wasn’t sure about that when she started the project.

Every book is new, so even if we’ve authored other books, we may find ourselves wondering, as Maggie Smith and Jennifer Dukes Lee did, if we have what it takes. Like Cassandra Clare, you may know how to write a book, but you don’t know how to write this book. 

Trust what you know and what you can research and learn. Draw from skills you developed the first time you wrote a book or from what you gained while writing other kinds of projects.

Tap into your personality, too, to find your way forward. 

With experience and personality, you have what it takes to write the book that’s on your heart.

Your book is your book, your experience is yours alone, and your personality is one-of-a-kind. Put all that together, and you have what it takes—you can get ideas by seeing how others write, but in the end, you’ll find it within.

As my deadline loomed, I no longer panicked because, with Ruth’s reassuring reminder, I saw how to write that book with the truths I’d gleaned in the voice I’d developed. 

Drawing from my work writing feature stories for the local paper, I ended up weaving in the wisdom of others, too, interviewing moms to include their stories, ideas, and insights.

I figured out how to write that book—and a few weeks before it was due to the editor, I finished the draft, and enlisted beta readers to offer their input. I incorporated changes for the final draft and sent it off.

Turns out I had what it takes.

I’ll bet you have what it takes, too.

I’ll go out on a limb and make one suggestion that I believe will help. Regardless of your style of writing, genre, category, subject matter or experience, creating and following a plan will save time and build confidence—even if you’re a “pantser” (that is, even if you write by the seat of your pants).

If you’ve written a book proposal, you’ve got the plan.

In your proposal, you’ve developed the ideas you want in the book and organized them into a Table of Contents. This takes time—you can use different tools to unearth and organize the things you want to say and the information your reader needs. Learn more HERE.

Turn to the chapter summaries (sometimes called the annotated Table of Contents) and follow those to start writing the book, idea by idea, word by word.

When your ideas are in place, thoughtfully built out to support our claims, we write everything—no matter how long or involved—word by word.

Anne Lamott’s brother panicked because he needed to turn in a report on birds and hadn’t even started it. She says her brother sat at the table with books and pens unopened and untouched, because he was unable to take action.

I know how he felt, because I sat frozen at the keyboard, overwhelmed at the thought of writing an entire book. He had to write an entire report on birds in one night; he must have wondered if he had what it takes. 

“Then my father sat down beside him,” Anne writes, “put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said, ‘Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.’”7

If you feel like you don’t have what it takes, it’s okay. Every new project leaves a writer feeling like that, but we know what to do. We make a plan, tap into our unique strengths, and then take it word by word. Just take it word by word.

Footnotes

“Never go to bed until you have a story to tell,” says Kevin Lynch, Creative Director at Oatly. I heard him interviewed on a podcast and stopped jogging to write down what he said about that daily story:

It could be a deep thing that you learned, it could be a movie that you saw, it could be a way you took home, it could be a conversation that you had…it could be anything.”1

Indeed, we can live a “storied life” without a celebrity-level lifestyle full of famous people and fabulous soirees. We’re living “story-worthy” moments each day—we simply need to notice them…and capture them.

Every day we have understated interactions and flashes of insight that create meaning. In fact, simpler, subtler, more relatable stories can captivate readers far better than wild escapades that don’t show any change.

These daily stories serve as fodder for our work, weaving into what we write as anecdotes, illustrations. Sometimes they serve as the narrative spine of a full-length project.

Thus, the more stories, the better—as Kevin Lynch observed in that interview, capturing a story each day gives us 365 stories every single year. 

To start your story collection today, try these three ways to ensure you have a story to tell by the time your head hits the pillow tonight:

In his TEDx Talk, on his podcast, in his book Storyworthy, and at his blog, storyteller Matthew Dicks invites every person, not just writers, to document their “most story-like moment from the day” for what he calls Homework for Life™. 

He takes five minutes at the end of each day and thinks back: What made this day different from all the rest?2

The idea is so simple. He writes a sentence or two—sometimes just a string of words—and later, when he has time to write it out in full, he’s got what he needs to bring back that memory from that day: the moment he chose to document. 

With his Homework for Life™, we note the small discoveries, the daily surprises, those meaningful moments we don’t want to lose. In other words, these daily stories don’t need to be earth-shattering events. They can be quiet, understated internal shifts.

He keeps his in a spreadsheet, making it easy to search keywords and find connections and themes from year to year.3

Begin this process, and you’ll be transformed by seeing how ephemeral interactions, observations, and moments are actually filled with meaning…that a day that seems like any other day is packed with specificity.

We are living stories every single day.

The next way to avoid going to bed until you have a story to tell is to create a story.

That’s what Kevin Lynch suggests: “If someone asks, ‘How was your day?’ and you don’t have a story to tell them, go create one.”4

He continues, “By doing so, it pushes you out of your comfort zone and kind of gets you used to doing a little more experimentation and being vulnerable and putting yourself in vulnerable places or situations.”5

What story could you create before bed? Could you…

Or maybe the story you plan to tell before going to bed isn’t something that happened on that day—maybe it’s a memory, and that’s what you’ll create?

If so, this next approach will be worth incorporating into your daily storytelling habit.

During the holidays, as an example, you may string some lights, stir up mugs of cocoa, and next thing you know you’re flooded with memories. Some might be magical childhood Christmas mornings; others might be hard years of loss. 

When you’re in the company of loved ones, and you’re chatting amidst familiar aromas and eating from heirloom dishes laden with classic family favorites, these memories resurface.

We can bat them away and live in the moment, or—because we’re writers and storytellers—we can share that memory as a story with those people who might enjoy the nostalgia. We can do that right on the spot.

Or we can jot down details and return to them later, crafting them into a story to slip into our projects.

You might recreate in vivid detail last year’s trip to a Christmas tree farm, or you may recall only  fuzzy mental snapshots of opening Christmas stockings when you were six years old. Either way, these are memories you want to grasp, to collect. 

These are packed with multisensory textures—colors, fabrics, foods, smells, sounds, and sights. For a moment pretend you’re a cinematographer filming your mind: 

Record enough details and you’ll be able to flesh it out later, when you’ve got time to write. 

As I said, the memories may be positive and uplifting, but some may bring up a twinge of pain or the weight of grief. Those can be crafted into unforgettable stories. They can demonstrate growth, resilience, hope, and healing. 

Writing out the story flowing from a hard memory can be cathartic and healing. However, if a memory stirs up trauma of any kind, exercise caution and absolutely avoid revisiting a traumatic event that’s going to trigger a response.

I hope you start collecting your stories in the way that makes the most sense on that day. 

When you commit to telling a story by the end of the day, your story collection expands and provides material for the rest of your life.

Again, as Kevin Lynch points out:

It gives you a raft of stories. You do that for a year and you probably have 300+ stories. As you’re kicking around concepts for an assignment or you’re in a presentation or you’re trying to connect with a potential client or what have you, you’ve got a lot of things to draw from.”5

As writers, we want a lot of stories to draw from. To build that “raft of stories” available for your creative work, wind down your day with at least one memorable moment.

You can tell the story about something that happens today, you can create a story and make it happen, or you can remember a story from your past.

Whatever approach you take, you can live a “storied life” starting now.

What’s your story?

When I was in college, practicing in public meant sitting under an oak tree on campus, flipping open my spiral-bound notebook, and scratching out a poem as students walked the path beside me. 

Creative writing classes gave me another way to practice in public, when my poems were workshopped by my peers.

As a young adult building a freelance writing career, I submitted my work to literary journals and magazines—that was about the only way I could practice in public. Those low-tech days limited how and where we could share our words. 

Today, the world has exploded with numerous ways to practice in public—I can share my work with you using tools I couldn’t have dreamed of when I sat under that oak tree on campus. Some of my content goes out through my coaching newsletter, my Substack newsletter called Story Hatchery, social media, and my website. 

At the click of a button, from the palms of our hands, we can instantly share our work with the world using:

Each time we hit “publish” or “post,” we’re practicing in public.

And each time we turn around and write another piece, we have more experience, more input, and more empowerment to become a better writer. 

Jeff Goins and others urge us to “practice in public,” because “there is no better way to improve than to put your work out there, sharing it for the whole world to see.”1

Of course there are good reasons to practice in private, but when we look up from the pages of our journal and share ideas with others through tools like newsletters and social media, we find readers. We build our platform. We experiment. 

Heavens, there are loads of benefits from practicing in public! Let’s dive in and see why it’s worth it to start…

If you write in private more than in public, you’re likely not achieving your goals. Marion Roach Smith argues that writing privately in response to a prompt wastes valuable time—time that could be dedicated to a work in progress. Writing with purpose and sharing it with the public, though, allows you to focus on creating meaningful content. Save time; write with intent, boldly practicing in public.

When writers learn new literary techniques, it’s fun to experiment with them in a low-stakes setting like LinkedIn or Instagram.

Practicing in public allows for rapid improvement. Similar to that oft-referenced experiment where pottery students rapidly refined their skills by making numerous pots (instead of laboring over a single pot), writers hone their techniques through continual practice and sharing—the more the better! 

By sharing your work, you experiment and receive immediate feedback. This iterative process allows you to adjust and improve, refining your craft over time.

Because you’re sharing more often, you find ways to express your ideas more efficiently, making you a faster writer, too. Try time-savers like this:

Strunk and White said it succinctly: “Omit needless words.”2 Character and word limits of newsletters and social media force us to omit needless words and “write tight.” By keeping our content concise and clear, we practice a core writing skill regularly in short form, then carry it into our long-form projects.

Writing and sharing publicly gets you in a consistent flow. As you formalize your public practice and set up a personal publishing schedule, you learn to meet deadlines, develop workflows, and enhance your overall productivity. The professional mindset builds trust in your abilities, which encourages continual growth and the confidence to pursue challenging topics.

Practicing in public allows writers to discover and refine their authentic voices. By experimenting with new words and different tones, styles, and perspectives, we craft a voice true to how we think and speak. This increases the chance we resonate with our intended audience.

If one post doesn’t sound quite like “you,” no worries! Post something else the next day. The opportunity to post often in these low-stakes spaces gives us freedom to find our voice.

Planning to write a book? Get those ideas out now, in short form, a little at a time, before they’re a book—get them out of your head and out into the world! 

In his book Perennial Seller, Ryan Holiday says, “A book should be an article before it’s a book, and a dinner conversation before it’s an article. See how things go before going all in.”3

It’s okay if it isn’t perfect yet. Put words to what’s floating around inside you and see how it flies. Test ideas intended for a future book by writing them first as an Instagram post, article, Opinion piece, or newsletter.

Did people read it and react or interact? Good! That speeds up the “feedback loop,” as they say, and serves as a great way to get input—to see if we’re striking a cord, resonating with readers. Because you practiced in public, you have the information you need to write a longer version, full of illustrations and inspiration.

Isn’t it better to write short and small first instead of devoting months to a full-length book…only to publish to crickets? Isn’t it more fun to see readers react with enthusiasm to the shorter versions of book ideas? Practice in public and you’ll find motivation to go all-in!

By consistently creating and sharing content, we realize the abundance of topics we care about. We can follow our curiosity to explore new thoughts and make new discoveries, sharing them with readers. Notice and share trends, lessons, insights, and wisdom with your audience. There’s no end to what you can write about, because your wild, glorious, creative life is brimming with so much to share every single day! 

Practicing in public means we consistently share with readers our heart, passion, questions; we continually offer valuable answers and solutions. Doing so builds our personal brand and identity by associating ideas with our name—we get known for the tone and topic, post after post. 

And you’ll naturally connect with others who write on similar topics. You can interact with them in the comments. Who knows? Maybe you’ll collaborate with them. So many things become possible when you show up often, even daily, practicing in public. Before long, you’re reaching readers in ways you never imagined.

Try publishing your own short-form work, so you don’t have to wait for anyone. You’re your own boss. This means you write without waiting for a gatekeeper to give you the green light. With this freedom, you’ll tap into joy and feel playful. 

Readers sense this. Have fun practicing in public and you’ll be yourself, which means the right people will be drawn to you. You’ll see your words impact them in real time. 

You can certainly submit to other publications, increasing visibility and building credibility through bylines. Go for it! That’s another excellent way to practice in public. It just takes more time than when we publish ourselves.

The more we share on various platforms, the better chance we have to connect with a wider audience, engage with diverse thinkers, and build a loyal readership base over time—all because we choose to practice not just in our private journals but also through avenues that push our ideas into the world.

So don’t be shy! Give it a try, because your writing improves and expands when you practice in public. 

Would you like someone to gift you a coaching session or coaching package with me? If so, send that friend or family member the link to annkroeker.com/coachinggift where they’ll see how they give you what you really want: a 1-to-1 session with your very own writing coach—and a flourishing writing life in 2024!

Dear Writer,

It’s easy to freeze up when we’re writing for the faceless masses or the random reader who happens upon our words.

What do we say to all those people? How can we speak with heart to a total stranger?

Next thing you know, we second-guess our ideas, our prose, our very selves. We fade to beige without saying what we really think, without being specific, without our signature wit and whimsy. 

What would that random person who doesn’t even know me think if I crack a joke?

We lose our creativity, our passion, our joy.

We freeze. We get stuck. 

We’re afraid to stand out, so we play it safe. We write dull, ordinary prose that could be penned by anyone at all, even ChatGPT.

One way to unlock creativity is to write a letter—a letter to your reader.

And not just any nameless, faceless reader but a specific person you actually know.

Dear Anthony…

Dear Paula…

Dear Lissa…

When you think of the kind of person you’re trying to reach with your words, does Lissa fit?

Good. 

Now, write her a letter about a question or struggle that she herself has voiced. 

Weave in ideas that can help. 

Encourage her with a vulnerable story.

Add a little pizzazz that only you can include—after all, she knows you. She’ll grin at your joke and “get” your allusion.

When you’re done, you can send her the note, if you want.

Or you can cross out Lissa’s name and replace it with the type of person you write for:

Dear Weary Homeschool Mom…

Dear New Gardener…

Dear Journaler…

If that feels awkward to publish, cross off the salutation altogether. 

Dear Anthony…

Dear Paula…

Dear Lissa…

I’ll bet you can find a great hook in your opening lines, and the letter-writing trick disarmed you enough to write fresh and real and personable.

From the writer’s perspective, writing a letter to your reader can remove that feeling of writing to the faceless masses and instead invite an easy tone and thoughts that convey empathy and intimacy.

J. Willis Westlake, author of an 1800s book about letter-writing, says:

In other [writing] productions there is the restraint induced by the feeling that a thousand eyes are peering over the writer’s shoulder and scrutinizing every word; while letters are written when the mind is as it were in dressing-gown and slippers — free, natural, active, perfectly at home, and with all the fountains of fancy, wit, and sentiment in full play.1

By tricking your mind into donning its dressing-gown and slippers, you can achieve that “free, natural, active, perfectly at home” tone, style, and voice. Your readers will love reading your “fancy, wit, and sentiment in full play.”

And it’s not just our style, tone, and voice that letters unleash; it’s also the content itself.

Westlake continues, “Though written, as all genuine letters are, for the private eye of one or two familiar friends, and without any thought of their publication, they nevertheless often form the most interesting and imperishable of an author’s productions.”2

In other words, these letters contain our “most interesting and imperishable” ideas. So why not write them as letters first?

This letter-writing format is labeled “epistolary” writing. And the epistolary approach is used more widely in published work than you might be thinking. For example, advice columns.

Advice columns like the classic “Dear Abby” and more recent “Dear Sugar” dished out empathetic responses that addressed specific needs that were sent in from readers.

The writer connected directly with the recipient who asked the initial question and with every reader who “listened in.”

Then there are nonfiction epistolary books, which invite us to peruse a letter exchange, and as we do, we feel we’re listening in on an intimate conversation. 

Recognize these letter collections?

You may have read epistolary novels that rely on this format to create “an intimate space between the characters and the readers,” as the Smithsonian Postal Museum writes. “[Because] letters are usually intended to be a closed communication, the readers are allowed to peer into the relationship created by the author.” ‌“Epistolary Novels as an Intimate Space.” Si.edu, 2023, postalmuseum.si.edu/research-articles/epistolary-fiction-themes/epistolary-novels-as-an-intimate-space. Accessed 23 Oct. 2023.

Here are a few novels in this format:

When I was a college student, I wrote to an author whose book gave me hope and instruction when I was struggling personally and creatively. I sent her a long, vulnerable, typewritten thank-you letter explaining how her book gave me inspiration, vision, and tools to pursue my creative life.

She wrote back!

In fact, her response was an exuberant typewritten letter even longer than mine. She included vulnerable details related to her own creative journey and urged me to move forward.

We continued to exchange letters over the years, and each one she sent answered questions and gave me advice for writing…and for living.

We almost published these exchanges as a book in the epistolary format—maintaining the format of letters. 

Had we published them, the “interesting and imperishable” ideas from my mentor—in the intimate form of our correspondence—would have remained. Readers could have listened in, as it were, to our interactions. They would have received her insights for themselves even though she typed them out first just for me.

So the letter-writing structure can be an interesting experiment if your recipient is open to letting your notes (and possibly their responses) be shared with the wider public.

Picture your reader—that specific person who comes to mind. The reader whose specific problem you understand.

Open an email if you need to trick yourself even further and put that person’s name in the recipient line.

Relax. Write to her in a conversational tone. Say what you’re truly thinking. Express empathy, tell a story, offer a couple of ideas.

By shrugging off the sense that you’re writing to “everyone” and instead addressing just one person, you’ll feel free to be creative. Your writing style will produce more authentic and engaging content.

Tweak or delete the salutation, copy the text into a newsletter, social media post, Substack, or blog post, and then…

Click publish.

I’ll bet that genuine, heartfelt note will sparkle with your true voice and resonate deeply with your readers.

Sincerely yours,

Ann

Let’s look at the pros and cons of using writing prompts to decide if we’re fostering creativity or frittering away time.

I remember the pleasure of writing about ladybugs for my high school freshman English class based on the prompt written on the board.1

And then there was the book I found a year or so at the library: Write to Discover Yourself. The author suggested we “portrait” the important people in our lives.2 I wrote pages and pages about my dad based on that prompt.

Prompts continued to play a big role in my creative writing journey when college professors supplied our class with poetry prompts.

Those prompts did exactly what they were designed for: they sparked creativity, teased out long-buried memories, and helped me spin creative storylines I would never have imagined on my own. Prompts have so effectively opened me up, I decided to gather a collection for others to use called 52 Creative Writing Prompts, to help get pens moving and ideas flowing. 

But am I doing a disservice? Are prompts mere distractions, diverting writers from purposeful, goal-oriented writing?

Some argue we need to stop using prompts and only write toward public-facing projects. Why waste time on writing prompts that fill notebooks and journal pages, when we’re struggling to find time for the writing we claim we want to do? Why write in response to a random prompt instead of composing the essay we want to submit, the book we want to draft, the article we want to pitch?

Let’s peek at arguments for both sides, the pros and cons of prompts, to see if we need to embrace or abandon them in our creative writing life. 

On the plus side we have benefits of creative writing prompts, such as how they:

Creative writing prompts inspire writers who struggle to generate any ideas at all by giving them an energizing starting point. Prompts also spark fresh ideas in writers who tend to return again and again to topics they’ve written about before. Prompts press writers to explore subject matter outside their comfort zone, breathing new life into their rotating collection of pet topics and pillar content. 

Prompts offer a lifeline to writers grappling with writer’s block—they invite a “stuck” writer to write freely for ten, 15, or 20 minutes without those words needing a destination or purpose other than to get the ink flowing.

Writing prompts intended as practice serve as low-stakes exercises, encouraging writers to play and experiment without the pressure of immediate evaluation by editors or readers. Prompts allow writers to refine their craft and explore techniques in the safety of their writing notebooks and journals. In time they may develop a more captivating style.

Freelancers who’ve been assigned a topic for a magazine or essayists who have entered themed writing contests benefit from writing from prompts. It’ll prepare them for assignments based on narrow parameters. 

When writers tap out a few words in response to a prompt before diving into their long-form/high-stakes project, they can enjoy a brief warm-up that loosens them up.

With prompts, writers delve into deeper personal experiences, memories, emotions, and themes without fear of judgment, leading to more honest and profound writing.

When intentionally selecting prompts that invite reflection—maybe even under the direction of a therapist—writers can experience transformation through personal growth and healing. It’s no surprise that when we spend time in personal writing such as journaling, we grow and mature as people, which in turn makes us better writers.

To be fair, we need to look at the cons of creative writing prompts and how they might hinder our writing.

Critics argue that writing prompts can lead to aimless scribbling on topics unrelated to our writing goals and projects—time we could have dedicated to a work-in-progress. Instead, it’s being swallowed up by an unrelated prompt. Marion Roach Smith wonders why we can’t try warming up by writing toward the main project itself. Her big argument: when you write from prompts “you’re frittering away your time” instead of writing “with intent” and “for real.”3

Savannah Cordova observes, “If you choose a prompt that’s too far out of your comfort zone (or one doesn’t really inspire you), it’s no surprise that the response will usually come out sounding forced.”4

Prompts are usually random—in fact, some websites offer random prompt generators. These offer no clear direction or purpose; they simply invite us to write a random scene. Lacking purpose, have we strayed from our goal of completing a project?

While some writing groups use prompts and offer input from the group, writing to prompts privately means we miss the opportunity of receiving input and feedback from real readers. In contrast, when we write for readers in public in a place like Substack, we can see our work resonate with others when they respond in the comments.

Are some writers using prompts to avoid their main project? Relying on prompts for this purpose could be a form of procrastination instead of hitting a word count goal on a more important and urgent project. “Admittedly, prompts can be valuable — as an exercise,” writes Jeff Goins. “But eventually, you don’t need another day at the gym. You need to sign up for the marathon and run. You need to go play a real game. You need to do something. Here’s what I find productive — far more than writing prompts (no offense to those who use them): Write something meaningful and share it.”5

It’s easy to see the appeal of creative writing prompts but important to consider the downsides and “dangers” of them, as well.

Words of caution from Marion Roach Smith and others remind me that while a solid prompt can open up the flow of words, it could also—if not used judiciously and with purpose—keep me from hitting my most important targets and deadlines.

But is it really either/or?

I could propose a controversial conclusion banning prompts from serious writing work. Yeah, sure. I might get more hits on social media or responses in online searches.

But studying the pros and cons of using creative writing prompts has led me to a less controversial and more integrated conclusion. And maybe those who argue against them would agree to a thoughtfully integrated approach as well.

Here’s what I’m thinking…

Prompts could be used when we’re working toward the deadline and find ourselves stuck or blocked. Yes, a real project might benefit from a prompt.

We can set a timer and write for 20 minutes from a prompt to get our words flowing—any words flowing. When the timer beeps, we return to the official project with fresh eyes. The timer limits prompt-writing and minimizes distraction and procrastination while the prompt refreshes the mind. We’re still completing the “official” writing—in fact, the time spent responding to the prompt might brighten the tone of the finished piece.

Prompts could be used to generate a narrow focus for a freelance pitch, landing on a creative slant or angle that gets a “yes” from an editor. In this case, prompts aren’t keeping us from our “real” work but are in fact used to inform and inspire our “real’ work. 

And behind the scenes, free from public scrutiny, we could use prompts for inner work that shapes us into more insightful and compassionate writers.

It would be hard to measure a prompt’s influence on a future manuscript, but the writer will have more to draw from because they used prompts to privately sort out life, pain, problems, and confusion.

That doesn’t seem like a time-waster to me. Those private writing sessions? They could stay in a journal or notebook or who knows? One day that unfiltered writing may liberate the writer to produce more vulnerable projects that transform readers. And maybe one day they actually pull from some of those private writing sessions. Some of the actual content may find its way into a powerful piece.

I agree that writers with limited writing time will want to choose prompts wisely, avoiding procrastination by funneling as much as possible into their work-in-progress.

But I do think prompts have a place in our writing life, our writing practice, and our writing process.

As for me, I’ll be using prompts…with purpose.

How about you? 

How have prompts served your creative work or distracted you from it?

Will you continue to use prompts? If so, how will you use them (and how often will you use them)?