One-Sided Conversations with Self-Help Authors

On writing groups, ten tangents, and the Sunday Afternoon Beach Rhythm. Plus, what I'm eating and reading in February.

Hey friend,

I have a bone to pick with Greg McKeown’s book Essentialism. Don’t get me wrong, I have wild enthusiasm for new schemes and a weak grasp on time. I need Greg’s ideas. He talks about the need for space in your life to consider all options, to play, in order to parse out the good from the essential. I was flipping pages like, yes Greg, preach! But then he gave an example of the LinkedIn CEO whose solution to not having time to think was to book in four 30 minute slots everyday to just think. 

I am a mother of small children, working part-time, cobbling together ministry and creative pursuits on the side, who was reading a business book for people in leadership. I am clearly not the target audience. I get it. But I sighed and slammed the book shut. Where am I going to get two hours a day to just think Greg?! I have a three-year-old and a six-year-old. I’m pregnant. Any scraps of time I have to myself I am sleeping! 

So I went to hang out with Anne Lamott’s book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. She said, “Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, it will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.” And I was like, yes Anne, preach! But then Anne started giving me the same attitude, “Most of writing is listening,” and “You need to make space to listen.” I thought you got me Anne. I thought you were on my side. 

Nora Ephron talked about how she carried on one-sided conversations with cookbook authors in her head. I conduct imaginary conversations with self-help authors like Reverend Lovejoy’s wife in The Simpsons, “Won’t somebody please think of the children?!” I wanted to argue that parenting is the reason I don’t have time to think. But after my irritation simmered down, I started to wonder, What if they’re not being ridiculous?  Parenting does not take all of my time. What if I was ruthless? What can I cut that would give me time to think? 

One of the best things I’ve done for my writing is join a writing group. Thankfully for me, it is all online. We chat over Voxer and submit one draft a month through Slack. Anything I have published has been significantly improved with their honest editing because clear, sparkling writing is hard. 

The first draft of any essay is the equivalent of upending a junk drawer on the kitchen table filled with charging cords, pens, coins, and broken things. My brain pings from idea to idea, making connections no one else sees. The draft is a jumble of loosely linked images, stories, and metaphors. It makes a rough kind of sense to me. 

But then I pop my draft into Slack. In over a year of writing with these women, I’ve noticed a pattern to their feedback. The comments most often go something like this: 

“I don’t think you need this.”

“I would consolidate this.”

“I would stick with one metaphor.”

“The links between these ideas aren’t clear.”

“Pick one theme.”

Then the next stage of writing comes: culling my ten tangents into one coherent whole. I do not like the whittling stage as much as the junk drawer phase of writing. I have a lot of enthusiasm for new ideas and seeing how things connect. I am not naturally talented at whittling. But I desperately want to grow as a writer, so I do it. 

I read all the comments and then put the essay aside for a while. I need space to think. I am desperate for silence. My brain needs to mull over what I’m really trying to say, and what is a tangent. It’s hard. This most often happens in the background while I am washing dishes, hanging laundry on the line, or walking the kids to school. But there is a constant hum of distraction interfering with my ability to let my mind wander. 

I wrote last month about deleting email and the internet browser off my phone (I’m not moving into a bunker next. Promise). But another silver lining of this scheme?

My slot-machine style phone feels boring. I can’t scroll voice texts. There are only so many times I can check the weather or my bank account. 

My mind unspools, threads swirl on the floor. I find space in the dinner dishes, no frenetic beat in my ears. I find space in my car with no podcast talking, talking, talking. Walking home from school, no talking in my ear. 

I start to leave my phone at home for longer stretches. 

The Sunday Afternoon Beach Rhythm™ is saving my life right now. We established the routine when I realised my life was too busy, but I was waiting for all of the cuts I made to kick in. 

On Sundays we go to church in the morning. We come home and eat lunch, the boys watch cartoons or play, my husband potters in the garden or the shed, and I read and/or take a nap. Around 4pm, we pack the kids into the car and drive half an hour to the beach. We walk on the sand, swim, and climb the rocks. Later, we rinse sand off the boys under a cool, open-air shower, and wrestle damp bodies into pyjamas.

We pick up wood-fired, sourdough pizzas. Margarita with basil and mozzarella for the boys, and a buffalo mozzarella and prosciutto for the adults. I wind down the windows to clear the steam fogging up the car from the boxes, dole out folded pieces of pizza, and try to avoid stringy cheese on the seats. The boys wipe their faces on their sleeves and fall asleep with tousled wet hair and thongs dangling off their feet. I lean my head on the window, lolling like a Labrador, and think about my Sabbath. 

I am surprised to find space sitting on the edge of the ocean, the vast lapping at my toes, my phone in a box at home. 

Relief floods the spaces I crammed with cacophony. 

It turns out there was something I could cut. 

I’m Loving

I know I normally share books, articles, and food, but I used to dance West Coast Swing and this is SO FUN. For context, this is a Jack and Jill contest - so random partner and random song - they are making this up on the spot!

Magazines were supposed to die in the digital age. Love this. Sometimes I daydream about writing a magazine, like Ruth Reichl in Save Me The Plums.

Anti-algorithmic art? Yes, please.

Is your writing broken or are you bored? Preach! The only thing I do with any consistency is get bored. So this is wildly encouraging.

A Liturgy for When a Parent is Exhausted felt like it was written for me. I’m eighteen weeks pregnant now, and still on a strict daily nap schedule (for myself).

This felt like a reminder to breathe.

I’m only a few weeks into The Bible Recap with Tara Leigh Cobble. I’m doing it through the YouVersion app. I was suspicious of a recap, thinking it might be fluffy and bible light. But it is great. It’s a chronological bible reading plan with a short recap podcast (5-10 mins). It’s 100% not fluffy, and I love the focus on looking for the attributes of God in the text. I’ve been listening to it either when I’m driving to work or doing the morning dishes. Audio is where it is at leading up to postpartum season.

I’m playing this song on repeat. It’s basically God’s response to Job set to song.

This marinated vegetable pasta salad is AMAZING. It is so good, I made it twice in a week (the second time to share at a BBQ, but still). I substituted the lemon juice for white wine vinegar, and the parsley for basil. Delicious. I also added capers and green olives.

In case you missed it

Issue 9 of Part-Time Poets is out in the wild. I think this might be our best yet. I’m probably biased. Mine is This is Why I’m Old (This Is Why, This Is Why I’m Old).

Thanks for reading! Tell me in the comments:

1. How do you carve out time to think?

2. Do you have any weekly rhythms that help you rest?

3. What are you reading right now?

4. What are you cooking?