The other day I was working with someone who had written the first full draft of a short story, and I asked how they were feeling about it.

“Not great.”

I asked why.

“It feels…awkward. I don’t like how it sounds.”

They were clearly disappointed—possibly discouraged—and I waited a beat before I responded so we could let that feeling sink in for a minute. It’s important, I think, to let those responses reveal themselves. Like all emotions, if we ignore them or dismiss them, they have an opportunity to settle in and fester. They warp our perceptions.

When I did respond, I said that everybody feels that way about a first draft. It never looks or sounds or feels the way we imagined it. That’s what revision is for, I said. I reminded them that they had written a story from beginning to end—with a structure that worked. The story was well on its way.

Our conversation lightened up considerably after that.

See, our minds move too quickly and hold too many tiny pieces of information for us to capture all the nuance and detail that needs to go into a story (or a professional project, in fact). What we think is a complete picture when we begin is just a simple sketch; we’re grasping at details as they speed by. That’s what revision is for, to go back and dig in. When we revise, we see it differently and have a chance to shape what we’re creating.

Lately, when I need to remind myself what it feels like to be stumped between the image in my mind and the result that takes shape on a page, I do anything else but write. Last week I tried to draw coneflowers from memory and they looked like flowers out of a late 1960s sci fi movie, so I went back out to my yard and took photos and plan to try it again.

When I’m really stuck on a writing project, I make myself do anything else but write. I force my hands and brain to work in some other way. When I work with other people, I sometimes begin by having them write away from what they think they want to write. I let them get back to it eventually, but only after they’ve wandered off a bit to get a different perspective.

The plan isn’t always your friend. Sometimes it winnows down the idea so much that it’s like rolling a bowling ball into the gutter: It goes in one simple, straight line and never hits a single pin. On the other hand, a wild bowling ball has a chance of hitting something on the way down the lane, and occasionally it knocks a few pins down.

When you give yourself space, you give yourself more ways to succeed.

Coming up

1. Sunday July 20, and Sunday August 24 from 10am-12pm: I’m teaching a writing workshop at Propagate Studio, in Stewartsville, NJ called Play With Your Words on . Spots are still open in both sessions. If you’re in or near the Hunterdon/Warren County area, come write with us!
2. Generation Fearless, an amazing organization that serves to support, educate and empower first-generation women, is launching a project to create an anthology of personal essays this fall, to be published in spring of 2026. Community-building all the way through, from the first writing sessions to the public reading celebration when it’s published. I’ll be leading writing sessions both in-person and over zoom and I can’t wait. Check out the description of the project and see if it’s something that speaks to you! Or share it with others!

What I’m Reading

• A little too on the nose during this humid week, I’m reading Maggie O’Farrell’s Instructions for a Heatwave. (Waiting patiently for the film version of Hamnet.)
• I’m also listening to Ann Patchett’s Tom Lake, which also takes place in the summer. It’s narrated by Meryl Streep, and I’m so hypnotized by her voice that I’ve started wearing headphones while walking my dog because I can’t let it go.
• Have you read The Barn, by Wright Thompson? It’s a challenging book, not only because it’s centered around the murder of Emmett Till, but because takes its time setting up the full historical, social and financial context of that very complex place. You can read it and then (re)watch Sinners, because that amazing movie is set in the same place.
• Danzy Senna’s Colored Television was very funny and wildly uncomfortable. I squirmed while I laughed.
• To prepare for this anthology project, I’m also immersing myself in personal essays and craft essays. Reading list to come! Feel free to suggest titles in the comments.