And we’ll sway in the moon the way we did when we were younger… (Reflections on life, writing, and my relationship with Duran Duran, and a birthday message for John Taylor)

The following post contains passages from a birthday message I posted on my blog two years ago. 

When I stop to think about the long-term, committed relationships in my life outside of family, I never could have predicted that one of the longest, most committed of them has been with a pop icon. OK, so with the exception of a couple of replied tweets in the last two years, it’s mostly been one-sided. Some might argue that as a result, the word “relationship” doesn’t qualify. But I disagree. In fact, my twenty-nine year relationship with Duran Duran—and bassist John Taylor—has been one of the constants in my life. Writing and chocolate are among the others.

John Taylor was always the band member who got the most screams, sold the most posters and pin-ups, and won the coveted button real estate on our denim jackets and pocketbook straps. I had a lot of competition when it came to winning John’s heart, but I had always claimed to have an advantage: I got the music. After all, I was the youngest in a family of musicians. My first words very well may have been “yellow submarine.” I could hear and sing two-part harmony by myself. I knew what a drum fill was, and understood technical terms like “reverb.” I knew what a Linn drum was. I even knew that John played an Aria Pro II bass guitar, that he played a Rickenbacker bass in the “Planet Earth” video, and how those both differed from, say, a Fender bass. I knew the difference between a demo and a master. I knew how long it took to mix a single song (and that the meal of choice after an all-night mixing session was beer and eggs).

Surely, at 15, I was going to wow him with this knowledge. But I never got the chance.

At that time, the age gap seemed so wide, so impossible to close. My first foray into fiction were the secret stories I used to write in which my best friend and I magically aged seven years, magically materialized in the right place at the right time (a.k.a., meeting the band and being whisked away with them to some tropical island), our hair and faces and bodies magically transformed to sexy and irresistible rather than adolescently awkward (and, in my case, overweight). Of course, they would all fall in love with me, but John would be the lucky one. Because John would win my heart. Better still, I would win his.

I wrote a collection of these stories—enough for an anthology—and what strikes me about them now is how much of a lifeboat they were for me. The mid-eighties were the most tumultuous time in my life. I had been raised in the age of the pending nuclear holocaust, but I hadn’t been prepared for the bomb blast that had been the end of my parents’ marriage, and the way my siblings and I all wandered aimlessly, trying to survive the fallout like in those post-nuke propaganda movies.

But Duran Duran was the band that famously announced they would be playing when the bomb went off, and they lived up to that. They gave me purpose and direction. They comforted me when I was in despair, stimulated me when I was numb, provided the exclamation point when I was happy. And they continue to do so. When I’m feeling good, I listen to Duran Duran to enhance the high. When I’m feeling down, I listen to them to cheer me up. And when I’m just living daily life, Duran Duran is the soundtrack to that life. And they still makes me wanna dance.

(I haven’t even mentioned what being at a live Duran Duran concert is like. That’s a whole other blog post.)

I’ve never shown anyone those stories. They’re pretty awful, writing-wise. Totally cringe-worthy. But that’s not the only reason why I’ve kept them under lock and key. To show them to someone else is to let them see too much of who I was desperate to be. There’s too much painful reality in that fiction. I’ve not even dared to peak at them in over twenty-five years. Yet I’ve never been able to bring myself to destroy them, either. Moreover, I’ve recently learned that I’m not the only one who indulged in this kind of fan fiction; a Facebook friend revealed that she and her friends used to do the same thing. A blog post by another fan shared similar stories. I’d had no idea there was a community of us, and I wondered if they wrote for the same reasons I did. The writing teacher in me couldn’t help but envision a present-day Duran Duran fan fiction-writing workshop in which, some thirty years later, we take our purple pens to our spiral notebooks again and write new stories. Why would we write them now? Do we even need to? What would they be about today?

For one thing, the age gap has closed. I don’t have to be older, thinner, prettier. I turned out OK. The gap has finally closed, and we have more in common than ever before.

For another thing, being whisked off to a tropical island with the guys is no longer a priority (although let’s face it: I wouldn’t fight any of ‘em off if that’s what they wanted to do).

It’s come to this: the adult me doesn’t dream about marrying JT as much as she does of sitting back and having a conversation with him, talking about the things that matter: love, family, writing, and, of course—always—music. I could talk about the music all day. Better yet, with the impending release of John Taylor’s memoir, we get to share the experience of being published authors. We get to be colleagues now rather than fan and star.

My stories today wouldn’t be so much about escaping to a happier place as much as it would be about nurturing the place I’m in right now, and making the relationship more mutual. John and the other bandmates may not know my name or my face or have read any of my novels, but that doesn’t mean I had nothing to give them over the years, or that they didn’t receive it. I paid forward the gifts they gave to me. I healed from the painful parts of my past. I grew into the person I am today. I fell in love with other people and places and songs and words.

They’ve influenced me as a writer, too. Perhaps the most obvious hint is that band’s song “Ordinary World” was the inspiration for my novel of the same name. And my readers can always find a cameo appearance by the band whether it’s a quote from a character, a faded photo in an old wallet, or, less recognizably, the album playing in the background as I type the words on the page. But really, their influence on me as a writer began with those secret stories—they were the first lies I told so that I could better cope with the truth.

Most importantly, the story I would write today seems less like fantasy fiction and more like a possibility, something that actually happened rather than wishing it so.

Perhaps the real magic is that I now look back on the eighties with fondness, with a sense of nostalgia for the John Hughes movies and the CHOOSE LIFE t-shirts and all that mousse, and I go there rather than back to that dark, lonely place I lived inside myself.

John Taylor turns 52 on June 20, 2012. He’s a happily married, loving father, musician, writer, and artist. He’s recovered from the eighties, too. He’s a vinyl record enthusiast, still a clothes horse, a reader, and a writer. He’s an author. And he’s good at what he does. And so, I wish him a happy birthday.

Happy birthday to one of my significant others. To my fellow author. To my ever-present companion. From your friend Elisa, with love.

imagine that!

Jim Henson was one of my heroes. His imagination was constantly in motion, and when I look back at my favorite Muppets skits and segments, I can't help but think he was playing more than working, as were all the Muppeteers.

Every innovator has this quality, this ability to play, tinker, tweak, and piece together words, shapes, objects, musical notes, colors, ideas, you name it. Speaking for myself, it's what makes being a fiction writer so much fun.

But if you take a moment to explore your favorite books, films, songs, inventions, etc., you'll find that they're all the result of "rearranging old ideas in new combinations." Jeff Bezos rearranged the idea of buying consumer goods. Steve Jobs rearranged the idea of the personal computer. Jim Henson rearranged the idea of puppetry. Vidal Sassoon rearranged the idea of haircutting. The Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band album rearranged the idea of recording music (as did Brian Wilson with Pet Sounds). Madonna rearranged the idea of musical performance. Georgia O'Keefe rearranged the idea of painting. Suzanne Collins rearranged the idea of "good vs. evil" in her Hunger Games trilogy

And so on. In other words, we're not creating something out of nothing. We're creating something using the cells of something else combined with new cells.

As writers, our imagination is perhaps our greatest strength, the instrument we rely on most to complete our task of writing. We are constantly searching for new ways to tell old stories -- boy meets girl, girl meets boy, rags to riches, riches to rags, the aforementioned good vs. evil -- and more. We explore new worlds, new people, new relationships by first examining old, familiar ones. We aim to put words together in ways we haven't before. We seek to surpass the cliche, ban the banal, transcend tradition. We go into the sandbox of our minds with a pail and shovel, and build sandcastles, mudpiles, and look for buried treasure.

We write the books we want to read.

The world around us is our lens. We observe, witness, filter, and interpret. Inspiration comes to us spontaneously, often when we're not looking for it, when we're staring out a window at nothing, or driving on the Long Island Expressway at night, or washing off the day in the shower. We read our favorite writers, listen to our favorite bands, watch our favorite shows and films, eat our favorite foods, look at our favorite paintings, wear our favorite clothes. And we open ourselves to new songs, new books, new shapes, new ways of doing things. Our imaginations feed us, but they demand to be fed as well. They also demand to be listened to.

Authors need imagination to be successful, whether writing fiction or nonfiction, poetry or plays, no matter the genre. But these days we can't limit our imagination solely to writing. We now need to imagine new and better ways of reaching readers, of promoting and selling our work. We need to imagine how to make a living as a full-time author, complete with benefits and retirement plans. We need to imagine new kinds of bookstores, libraries, reading and writing spaces.

And then we need a plan to make it so.

In The Law of Success, Napoleon Hill says that every business, industry, and profession needs the dreamer. "But, the dreamer must be, also, a doer; or else [s]he must form an alliance with someone who can and does translate dreams into reality." Moreover, "Your mind is capable of creating many new and useful combinations of old ideas, but the most important thing it can create is a definite chief aim [italics his] that will give you that which you most desire."

What do you most desire?

For more on imagination, I highly recommend Jonah Lehrer's book Imagine, which explores how imagination works in the brain. Oh, and watch the Muppets -- the originals, with Jim Henson and Frank Oz.

Compounded of Dust

I know "I'll Have What She's Having" has just come back from a lengthy hiatus, but given that I'm going on vacation for a couple of weeks, the blog will be off during that time as well. We'll resume the Writers and Success series next month.

In the meantime, I wanted to leave you with this announcement: I am so excited, proud, and honored to announce that my twin brother, Paul Lorello, has published his first novel, Compounded of Dust. Fans of Christopher Moore, Carl Hiaasen, Richard Matheson, and Neil Gaiman will find themselves in familiar territory. I've read this novel (and am reading it again!), and it is FANTASTIC, with prose as silky as fine chocolate, and a villain so diabolical he'll give you the shivers. (Ok, so I may be biased. Prove me wrong, I say with a smile and a wink.)


Here's the synopsis:

When Richard Garnier, thirty-four year old, tarot-loving milquetoast, wanders into Mothfield & Leech's Hardware Emporium and Thrift Store Annex, he has no idea that he will soon encounter blackmail, extortion, magic, murder, monsters, myths, and Mothfield—that would be Charles Mothfield, the dentally-challenged owner and proprietor of the eponymous shop. After Mothfield adds Richard's name to a list of clients stacked ever-so-neatly in his supernatural Ponzi pyramid of death, Richard finds the diabolical old coot will stop at nothing in order to perpetuate the evil that lies within, of all places, an antique icebox hidden in plain sight on the floor of the shop. Meanwhile, Richard Garnier's friends, his family—all are in danger of losing their lives, or worse, as Richard is to discover, their souls. 

Compounded of Dust is available on Kindle and Nook for the faboo price of $2.99. (Paperback edition coming soon.) You can also follow Paul on Twitter as well as on his blog, Curare Sundae.

Buy it. Read it. Love it. Share it. Post a review. "And may I say, Richard, that you've made an excellent choice."

Thanks, friends. See you in June.

initiative: doing more than you are asked, expected, or paid for

The first lesson in initiative I received came almost twenty years ago from my sister-in-law, who advised me to work as if I was making seventy dollars an hour rather than seven. This attitude resulted in being awarded with increased responsibility, promotions, bonuses, and raises.

The second happened when I was a graduate student and a teaching assistant. My objective was not to "get ahead," but to immerse myself in the culture of composition studies, to learn how writing programs worked, and to be the best teacher I could be. Thus, I offered to do work for which I was not paid, volunteered to present workshops at orientation meetings, facilitated and participated in faculty discussions, and more. The result was that I was invited to be part of committees (something not typical for TAs), given opportunities to attend conferences, and approached to take part in various pilot programs. In fact, my colleague and professor, Linus Travers, would introduce me to university administrators as "This is Elisa Lorello--she's on a faster tenure track than most of our already tenured professors."

Initiative is doing something without being told or paid to do it, and following through once it's done. Initiative can take you far in life.

Do not mistake initiative for being someone's doormat. It's good to gain the reputation of being someone who is reliable, perhaps being indispensable. It's good to be the go-to guy. But if you're being taken advantage of, then you'll gain a reputation of being someone who is a pushover, who can be bought for nothing. You also don't want to gain a reputation of someone who "will do anything just to get ahead." There's nothing wrong with ambition. But if you're taking all this initiative and not getting ahead, or getting ahead by stomping on others, then you need to re-evaluate your actions.

As an author, I exercised initiative when I made the decision to self-publish. I had just finished writing Ordinary World, the sequel to Faking It. I had also spent much of the year querying agents for Faking It, and ultimately it was rejected. How does one query for a sequel when the original was rejected? The more I learned about self-publishing and POD, the more I believed it to be a viable option for me. For one thing, agents said they didn't know how to market Faking It. I thought otherwise. They also weren't sure they could sell it. As a former employee of retail sales, I was very confident in my abilities to sell a product I believed in. And above all else, I believed in my novel. Although I didn't know who or where my readers were when I wrote the novel, I was confident that they existed and that I could find them. Ditto for Ordinary World.

And so, I took initiative.

Rather than send out another batch of queries and hope for an agent to say yes, I moved ahead with formatting my files, designing a cover, publishing, marketing, and selling my book. I learned as I went along, willing to ask others for help and unafraid to make mistakes along the way.

As you know, that worked out well.

As writers, taking initiative means we take charge of our careers--we make time to write rather than find time to write. We go about organizing our own writer's group if we can't find one that suits us. We set our publishing goals based on our definite chief aim, and then execute them with organized action without listening to others telling us we can't, we shouldn't, it's not a good time, do it this way, wait and see what happens, etc.

One of the best pieces of advice I received from another author was to "get aggressive." Essentially, that meant taking charge of my career as an author. Rather than wait to afford a publicist, I took charge of my publicity. Rather than wait for someone to invite me to do a reading, I approached others about doing readings. And so on. Getting aggressive doesn't mean being pushy or shoving my book in people's faces; rather, it means taking my success into my own hands.

So, what's the nemesis of initiative? Procrastination.

Have I overcome procrastination? Absolutely not. For example, every summer the goal "re-vamp website" goes on my To-Do list. And every summer it gets moved to the bottom of the list until summer is over and I complain that I have no time to look into it during the semester, or I'd rather be working on my books, etc.

Napoleon Hill has suggestions to eliminate procrastination as a bad habit and replace it with the habit of initiative:

a. Doing one definite thing each day, that ought to be done, without anyone telling you to do it.
b. Looking around until you find at least one thing that you can do each day, that you have not been in the habit of doing, and that will be of value to others, without expectation of pay.
c. Telling at least one other person, each day, of the value of practicing this habit of doing something that ought to be done without being told to do it.

I started to implement "c" in the classroom midway through the semester. And although I may not have mentioned it every single class, I certainly planted seeds. And incidentally, it made me more conscious of my own behavior as a teacher, made me take more initiative in and out of the classroom. Initiative can be a very motivating tool, for myself and for others. It's contagious. I love when authors told me they took the initiative to self-publish after learning about my success (and I followed Stacey Cochran's initiative, so it's like a chain). When I get on a roll of doing things without being told or expected or paid to do them, I feel a sense of empowerment and accomplishment. And I am almost always rewarded--if not in cash, then in knowledge, satisfaction, recognition, etc.

Keep in mind that all these principles I've been presenting and discussing these past few weeks -- the master mind, definite chief aim, self-confidence, and the habit of saving money -- all work in synergy. Above all else, when you know your definite chief aim, the rest begins to fall in line.

Try the above suggestions for one week, and see what happens. Start NOW. I'll do it too.

one penny at a time: the habit of saving money

It comes as a sweet (and by "sweet" I mean "cruel") coincidence that the third lesson of the Law of Success, the Habit of Saving Money, comes just as taxes have been filed. Let's just say that of all the lessons, this is the one I need to master. Hell, forget master. This is the one I need to pass. And I presume many of us are in the same boat.

The most fascinating part of reading this chapter (remember, this course was published in 1928), was seeing Hill's recommended savings:

"A family consisting of two persons, whose income is $100.00 a month, should manage to set aside at least $10 or $12 a month for the savings account. The cost of shelter, or rent, should not exceed $25 or $30 a month. Food costs should average about $25 to $30. Clothing should be kept within an expenditure or $15 to $20 a month. Recreation and incidentals should be kept down to about $8 to $10 a month."

Apparently there was no Whole Foods back in 1928. Or HMOs. Or gas that cost more than a latte. Or lattes that cost more than an ounce of crack (and delivering the same effect, presumably). Or smart phones, e-readers, cable tv, internet, or Apple. A college education wasn't the norm, nor was it the same cost as, say, a one-bedroom house.

I tried to re-do the math, taking 21st century expenditures into account. I tried to imagine what Hill would recommend. Not an easy task. Many of these things are vital to our existence. But somewhere along the way, the basic need of "clothing" turned into the basic need for "shoes-with-a-heel-that-could-impale-someone's-heart-if-used-as-a-weapon." The basic need for "food" turned into an option between healthier organic food that requires a personal loan every time you buy it, and cheap food so chemically concocted it will outlive the cockroaches during post-apocalypse. "Shelter" included HBO, Netflix, and a package deal with Cable Satan that went up by $50 bucks two weeks after signing.

Of course, there are the guys that tell you to "pay yourself first," to put your latte money into a piggybank and open an IRA at the end of the year, to get rid of all those extravagances and get back in touch with nature and public libraries and (gasp) talking to your loved ones in person, things that don't cost a dime but provide ample pleasure. And this is good advice. Even Hill's advice is both timely and simple: "First, quit the habit of buying on credit, and follow this by gradually paying off the debts you have already incurred." Put another way, "The main prerequisite is a willingness to subordinate the present to the future [italics mine], by eliminating unnecessary expenditures for luxuries."

But I wonder, is this really easier said than done? Is it a reality that what we earn simply can't cover what we need? Or have we become conditioned to believe that what we want and what we need are the same things?

Nevertheless, we've got to save one penny at a time. Not just from a personal perspective, but from a business perspective as well. As writers, we are self-employed. For those who self-publish, we are sole proprietors. We are in business. All business requires working capital. And, according to Hill, "the saving of even a small amount of money places one in a position where, oftentimes, this small sum may enable one to take advantage of business opportunities which lead directly and quite rapidly to financial independence." He's not wrong. An investment in a stock photo, an ISBN, and galley copies of books was the beginning of my self-publishing career. The mistake I made was that I dumped this on an already staggering credit card balance. Fortunately, the opportunity to self-publish became very profitable, but it was a long time before I was able to pay down that debt, and even then I made the mistake of not putting extra aside, both for my business and my savings. It's a tough lesson to learn, because with it comes a sense of embarrassment and shame, not to mention a fear of poverty, of losing everything you worked so hard to get.

But here's what we've got going for us. These lessons, these laws of success, are synergistic. They don't work apart from each other, but are finely woven together. The person who puts all these lessons into practice, makes them habits or principles to live by, will have the mindset to succeed in any financial condition. In other words, truly successful people can lose their fortunes and make them back again. Take Steve Jobs, for example. When Apple, the company he founded, ousted him, rather than curl up into a ball he founded a new company, Pixar. Ok, so Jobs wasn't exactly penniless when he did so. But I would be willing to bet my royalties that even if he was, he still would've made Pixar the company it is today. A definite chief aim, combined with self-confidence, a collaborative alliance with others, combined with the habit of savings and perseverance (and learning from one's mistakes, among other things), can ultimately succeed.

But we've got to start. We've got to make saving a habit, not an afterthought. We have to put it at the top of our list and not at the bottom. We've got to take it off the top of our paycheck, and not what's left over, if anything. We can start small. Pennies a day. 5% of our gross pay. 1% of our gross pay. We can give up one thing each month and put it towards our writing business.

Before we can apply organized effort to our definite chief aim (whatever that may be), we have to make the habit of saving our first definite chief aim, and put that into action. This is my greatest challenge. Whattya say we commit to it together.

self-confidence and the writer: a little affirmation goes a long way

It happens all the time: I see the finished masterpiece, beautifully bound and perfectly published, ready to be read by the masses. My idea, the vision in finished form, has appeared to me during a long walk, a hot shower, a stretch of highway driving. I jot the idea down quickly so as not to forget it. I pat my inner genius on the back. "Well done, Genius," I say. "Aw, shucks," she replies. "I'm just the messenger."

And then I sit down to write it.

Nothing.

The masterpiece? Turns out it was a mirage, and all I'm left with is a blank screen or page. And my genius takes off her mask to reveal a trickster who, in a voice not unlike The Simpsons bully Nelson, just points and says, "Ha ha!"

I'm faced with that moment that all writers face, the source of all writers block: the fear that I am not good enough. That I was never good enough. That what I am about to write is not, was not, never will be good enough.

This might be the greatest obstacle in any writer's success. Napoleon Hill's second lesson in his Law of Success course is Self-Confidence. He says this:

You will find that the one who advances believes in himself [italics Hill's] and herself [I add the feminine pronouns throughout]. You will find that s/he backs this belief with with such dynamic, aggressive action that s/he lets others know that s/he believes in (her)himself. You will also notice that this Self-confidence [capitalization Hill's] is contagious; it is impelling; it is persuasive; it attracts others.

You will also find that the one who does not advance shows clearly, by the look on her/his face, by the posture of her/his body, by the lack of briskness in her/his step, by the uncertainty with which s/he speaks, that s/he lacks Self-confidence. No one is going to pay much attention to the person who has no confidence in her/himself.

S/he does not attract others because her/his mind is a negative force that repels rather than attracts.

I remember years ago, during my very early days teaching composition, when I attended a workshop in which I felt so intimidated by the talent surrounding me, so stupid in their presence, that I kept my mouth shut throughout. Had a camera been on me, I'm sure I would've looked like a deer in the headlights. And I realized that my students probably picked up on this same energy, for this lack of confidence didn't start at the workshop. When I shared this with my mentor, he earnestly assured me that "you belong here" -- in the classroom, the workshop, and the academy. From that day forward, I changed my mindset. I belong here became my mantra. I know this stuff became my follow-up. And, coupled with my taking the initiative to learn as much as I could about teaching composition, the change was instantaneous. Within a year not only was I presenting at workshops (and soon after, conferences), but experienced instructors were astounded to learn that I'd only been teaching for just a few semesters. They would seek advice from me. They would implement my ideas.

A little affirmation goes a long way.

Yes, I had done my homework. I wasn't just faking my way through. But it was the mindset that fueled the initiative, and vice-versa.

This same mindset propelled me to publish Faking It one way or another. Why? Because I believed it was a good novel. I believed it was a well-told story, with good characters and good writing. And yet, when it came to querying agents, I lacked confidence in my ability to write a persuasive query letter, and I'm sure that had something to do with the rejections I received.

However, despite those rejections, I knew I could find an audience for my novel if an agent or traditional publisher couldn't. Or, even better, and audience would find it. Because when it came to networking, I was already confident.

As writers, then, we need to develop self confidence not only in our craft, but in our selling of our product and ourselves. Say it until you know it; loop it in your mind; record and listen to it while you sleep: I am good enough. My writing is good enough. I belong here. How do I know? Because I've written good stuff throughout my life. Because I've sold a lot of books. Because I understand the writing process, and I practice it daily. Because I find joy even amidst the struggle.

Because the trickster, not the genius, is the mirage.

Want writing to be your career? Then treat it as such!

Those who know me well know this: I suck at multi-tasking. Ditto for time management.

Needless to say, I don't get much writing done when the semester shifts into high gear and I'm engrossed in conferencing with students, grading papers, and other teaching-related tasks. As a friend once described it, teaching expends a lot of "psychic energy," and she wasn't talking about fortune tellers. Not just because of the time-consumption, but concentration. I have difficulty focusing on or handling more than one project at a time. Conversely, when I'm engrossed in a novel or under the gun of a writing deadline, my teaching suffers.

It was worse when I had three 4-credit sections, four days a week (50 minutes per session). How would I find time to write? I wondered. And then one day it hit me: I have to make time, not find it. Even if for 10 minutes per day.

But it wasn't just making time to write. I had to make an even greater commitment in that I had to treat writing as a job-- one that paid, came with responsibilities and consequences, a schedule, and accountability. More still, it was a business. If I really wanted to make a living solely as a writer (and it was becoming more evident that I did), then I was going to have to start owning that definite chief aim by giving it the respect it deserved.

And thus, I made the decision: for the time-being, I was going to have two full-time jobs--teaching, and writing.

I've occasionally used the metaphor of teaching as my spouse, and writing as my lover. And many times it did (does?) feel like I was cheating on my spouse, betraying my students, consuming me with guilt, because I couldn't deny that I wanted to spend more and more time with my lover. But teaching was still the main breadwinner. It paid my bills, gave me stability, health insurance and other benefits. How could I walk away from that security? I've lived without health insurance. It's not fun. I was afraid to go back to that. I was afraid to go back to a lot of spaghetti dinners and buying clothes at thrift stores. I was afraid to live like a grad student again.

But was I really happy in this marriage?

And thus, I made the plan: I would gradually tip the scales in the favor of writing. It took years to happen. First, I went to a 2-day schedule (100-minute sessions) per week. Then, following my ebook success, I took an even bigger risk and reduced my courseload (I was still able to retain my benefits). And then, finally, I decided to completely jump off the cliff: resign from my teaching position.

Scary? Hell, yeah. But it's time.

I realize I have an advantage to being single and childless. Given my suckage for multi-tasking and time management, I can't imagine how writers with children (especially moms) and jobs find the balance. How dare I tell them to make time for their writing! And yet, here I am, telling you. If you have a burning desire to make a career as a writer -- as an author -- then put it in motion. Make a plan. Tip the scales. Treat writing as the job that already pays the big bucks, and watch what happens.