In 2009, I earned my MFA in creative writing from West Virginia University and had a baby — both in the same year and in that order, but a few months apart. Like many new MFA grads, I had a lot of questions. Was I going to get my MFA thesis published? (No.) Was I going to find a job? (Yes. Sort of. In my case, it was a series of cobbled together mostly unstable but often interesting academic jobs. At least for a while.) Eventually, jobwise at least, things became more stable. In 2011, I was teaching online at multiple schools and had a two-year-old son. I wanted to figure out how to take my wr ..read more

A few years ago, I was invited to participate in a public discussion followed by a workshop at a large, wealthy, suburban church. The panel was emceed by a major Minnesota Public Radio personality; the church flew in one panelist from Michigan. They publicized widely, fed us salmon and wine, and paid us generously. At the Sunday afternoon event, 20 people were scattered throughout the cavernous sanctuary. My workshop was attended by four congregants. In the classroom, I introduced spiritual memoir and we wrote for a bit before abandoning the formalities to chat. One woman, a quintessential Lut ..read more

My dad diagnosed me at the age of 10 with a brain that wouldn’t shut off. Hours after bedtime, I’d make my way to the living room, the fuzzy blue light from the television guiding my steps. Without a word, I’d join my dad on the couch, wrapping myself in a blanket and settling in to watch whatever late-night comedy show or war movie was playing. He had trouble sleeping, too. Falling asleep after my mother died was difficult. As soon as I closed my eyes, my thoughts would race, one after another in quick succession. I described it to my dad as a train speeding down a track while rapidly picking ..read more

Before my elementary-aged son’s diagnosis of dyslexia, I would coach him word by word, second by second, through a battleground of writing homework. This one about empathy: “What would you do if your friend got on the team instead of you?” We need ten sentences. Shrug. His gaze determinedly fixed anywhere but on his wide-ruled paper. “What,” I said, “Do you think he would want you to do?” “I’d get a giant nerf, hide behind the trees and get him.” He leapt from his seat, acted out the attack, which devolved into a tussle with our dog, Trout. “OK,” I plead, “Write that.” I’m concerned by the vio ..read more

For the past three years, I’ve been a developmental editor for memoirs and novels. A client-friend has taken to calling me her book’s “midwife.” I love that. I am not her book’s creator. My job is not to help her write the book I would write, but to meet her where she is and help her make her book the best version of what she intended. I am someone who has been there before, who can help her see what I see. I make the process a little easier, feel less lonesome and confounding. Like a midwife, I suppose, all the books I’ve ever sat with during the laboring hours can help me to see things. Like ..read more

Ideas rush through my mind like waves rushing to the shore carrying treasures waiting to be discovered by a perfect stranger. The ideas are shaped into words; the words strung together to form sentences; sentences build paragraphs until stories are crafted to find their place in the mysterious publishing world. A world that may swallow me whole or toss me around and beat me until I surrender, or learn to ride the waves. 8:00 A.M.: Alarm rings. Music blares through the iPhone speaker. Hit snooze. Ten more minutes of sleep Pull the blanket up and wiggle back into the warm spot. Fall asleep. Nine ..read more

Whenever I am unsure about where to go next with my writing, I remember to always look for the signs or even ask the Magic 8 Ball. I keep a Magic 8 Ball on my writing desk, so I remember not to take my writing too seriously. And I use it to look for signs about where to take my writing next. Signs come in the form of whispers or nudges and by way of happy accidents (serendipity) and coincidences (synchronicity). When I am having fun with my writing, I am productive and the writing flows. The moment I get too serious my writing feels stuck. Like I’m trying too hard.  I have been writing fo ..read more

After an intense, long weekend of writing workshops, we walked into a brew pub. I was so pumped up, I couldn’t sit down and went around the table bear-hugging each scientist. “How will we be able to tell if Andrea’s drunk?” one said. “She’ll start hugging everyone,” my writing partner, Allison Langer, said. We hadn’t ordered the first beer, but I was already drunk on a sense of purpose. We’d been hired by the Center for Ecosystem Science & Society at Northern Arizona University to teach their graduate students how to personalize their science writing. The center is run by Dr. Bruce Hu ..read more

Two years ago, I published my first essay. Since then, I’ve published nearly 30. If I can do it, so can you. There is no get-rich-quick formula. But, if I could sum up the process, it would be this: Work you’re a$$ off. (I am not glorifying overwork, but publishing is HARD.) This is a long game, so keep reading and pitching. Then read more and pitch more. Don’t give up. According to Katy Perry, “Baby, you’re a firework.” Getting into your dream pub takes patience, hard work and tenacity. Here are 9 steps I recommend. 1. Read ferociously. I cannot emphasize this enough: read. Read public ..read more

Dear Notebook, You are the depository of my dreams. Thank you for standing by me day after day, no harsh comments, no back talk. You take my words, and my artwork too. Sometimes I make just a scribble. Sometimes I draw a line and call it a day. There is no comment, no judgment and no frowns, only a blank page with blue lines. I consider you my friend. You have stood by me through it all: my aspirations, my dreams, even my joy, guilt and sorrow, my frustrations and my hopes. I write to you when I’m lonely, when I can’t say the words aloud even to myself, when no one seems to understand me, when ..read more