Julie sits in my office, fidgeting with her notebook. She sighs, and it’s so exaggerated we both laugh. She seems ready to talk, so I lean forward at my desk. I’m listening. “I know the story I should write,” she says, almost conspiratorially. “It’s just not the story I want to write.”
Sentence x Sentence Dispatches from the Pursuit of Good Writing
My husband and two sons recently convinced me that we should watch The Last of Us, a hit HBO show about a zombie apocalypse caused by, of all things, fungus. And even better, it’s based on a video game. Seriously, guys? I’m always eager to show them that I’m not a killjoy, though, and we’d already run through every movie in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, so we began.
Somehow, it’s been almost 25 years since my undergraduate mentor, a beloved journalism professor, urged our nonfiction writing class out into the world to ask questions: If you go looking for a story, a story will happen. The phrase’s durability stems from its Zen-like acceptance of chance, of discovery. Stated: If you go, it’ll happen. Unstated: “It” might not be what you thought you were looking for.
After I bought my son his first set of good paintbrushes, the All-Knowing Algorithm spammed my social media with time-lapse videos of artists painting. As a writer, I can’t help it — I see metaphors for writing everywhere. I thought ... that's just like writing!
In eighth grade, I took an elective to prep for a yearly STEM competition. I was eager to build rubber-band-powered airplanes and roller coasters, but as we filed in on Day One, there were no materials or tools to be found. Instead, the teacher divided us into pairs. One of us had to describe an object, the other had to draw it.
I once helped a college applicant who wrote beautifully about a terrible place to swim. It was a stretch of bay marked by strong currents, stinging sea lice, and a pungent smell when the tide stole the water altogether.
I’ve always known how overwhelming the college application process can be, but this is the first time I’ve experienced it firsthand with my own child. I’m continually struck by the level of accompanying stress, but what I didn’t see coming? The stress I would feel as her parent.
My grandmother immigrated to the U.S. from Lebanon and, for years, worked as a seamstress in a uniform factory. By the time I was born, she lived alone in the three-bedroom duplex. Imagine my surprise, then, when I discovered an entire room dedicated to frivolities: a mannequin, a collection of yardsticks, and notebooks written in a cryptic hand.
The lights of the theater dimmed and all I could think was, "Is this really a good idea?" From a young age, I’d believed I was destined for a different kind of performance. But here I was, at age twenty-seven, backstage at Improv Boston, about to perform a sketch comedy show. Three years later, I would quit my electrical engineering job to pursue writing and teaching full time.
I asked her to draw a map. This is something I do sometimes when a student tells me they have nothing to write about. I have them draw their hometown or a place they know well. I have them sketch landmarks and points of interest. No detail is too small. At this early stage in the writing process, our work is to deal with self-doubt by gathering possibilities.
I recently wrote a message to our team in anticipation of our summer work with students who will be writing out of their life experiences for their college applications. I share my reflection here because it provides a look inside our coaching for those who are curious to know who we are, what we do, how we think, what we talk about.
At our new online home, we’re delighted to share how we look at writing and what it can mean for the writer. Our decade of coaching has deepened our belief in the enduring personal growth a writer experiences in the journey between the blank page and the final draft.