by Ben Obler

In poker, when I call half the pot with a straight draw and middle pair, against one other player, in late table position, I know where I stand. I know it’s the right decision. However it shakes out, I will regret nothing. But in writing, when I put my protagonist, Gus, in the aisle of a home improvement store for the scene when he gets the call from Priscilla, how can I gauge this choice? As he eyes the mole/vole repellent package midconversation, finding the cruelty unexpectedly tantalizing, can I be assured there’s not a better symbol in the lumber aisle? Or lighting, or plumbing? Maybe Gus should be kinder. Maybe he shouldn’t be talking to Priscilla at all! Uncertainties stack up in a hurry, as numerous as cards in a deck.

by Linda White

Publicist: Here’s a novel that was published last March. I know it’s October now, but this is a very interesting story. It’s about a couple who . . .

Editor: Oh, yeah, well, um, sorry, but you know, I’ve got about a thousand books that came after that one, and they kind of need some attention. Is the author doing anything currently?

Publicist: There’s a signing at the mall next month.

Editor: Next month? Hmm. Well, you know, I like to give my reviewers a little more time than that. Sorry. Try me earlier next time.

Yes. Try the editor earlier—every time. Oh, and it’s likely you will never have this exchange; the editor is just too darn busy. He doesn’t have time to be this charitable.

by Martin Cozza

You are lucky. You get to take off work and write for two months, thanks to a grant and to your spouse, who’s off for the summer and can watch the kids all day. You’ve started a novel, and it’s going pretty well. You rent a writers’ studio at the Loft, since you have to get out of the house. And you can ride your bike to the Loft—no parking worries. You have time! You have space! You have a project to work on! You are lucky! Yes!

by Eugénie de Rosier

It was a grand task to take up the humanitarian challenge of Peace Corps work for 27 months in Southeast Asia. Whew! It was great to come home in May 2008, but not so fine to be faced with the chore of a job search in our slumped economy. Nonetheless, I started a disciplined and organized effort in June.

Seventeen months later, in December 2009, I was still without full-time employment and had been wrestling with writing fiction full time. I’d made a commitment to writing twice and did so for two weeks each time. Downbeat newspaper articles or national labor statistics affected me and I returned to networking. Not seeking paid employment was scary.

by Francine Marie Tolf

Philip Gerard’s observation about a book’s structure feels spot on to me—the average reader doesn’t notice flawed structure until a book falters. As a writer of memoir, I know how vital good structure is. It keeps me in control of my material instead of the other way around. But before starting a book, I have a choice: do I plunge into my story and let structure develop organically, or do I map out a plan?

The preference seems to be to plunge in. “As far as I’m concerned, the less you know about where you’re headed, the better . . . Take your time, listen more to your heart than your head, and let your writing shape itself into what it wants to be.” Elizabeth Berg’s advice (from her book on writing, Escaping into the Open) is echoed by creative writing instructors across America. It’s advice I find immensely attractive, an approach to writing that values the act itself and removes a lot of intimidation.

by Bev Bachel

“I know we haven’t spoken in years, but I’m about to make a big career move and would really like to pick your brain. Lunch?”

“Okay, I think this draft of my résumé should do it. Could you take one more look and tell me what you think?”

“Hi, I’m friends with your friend _______. Would you be willing to put me in touch with your publisher?”

I get several requests like this each week. Perhaps you do as well. If you’re like me, you go out of your way to help. After all, that’s what being a good friend and colleague is all about.

by Alexandra Franzen

CEO of You, Inc.

Whether you’re a freelance journalist, a contracted copywriter, an aspiring novelist, or the editor of a post-punk graphic art zine, you are a brand.

That’s right—a brand. Just like Sony, Nike, Apple, and Wells Fargo. Do your grieving and get over it. It’s time to take your rightful position as CEO of You, Inc.

by Linda White

I am a publicist. When I tell people this, about 90 percent of the time their eyes light up and I’m sure they are thinking, “Glamorous!” Oh, yes—author dinners, book tours, and attending BookExpo America in New York City. These events certainly can be glamorous . . . but for the rest of the year, it’s mostly time spent on the phone and writing e-mails. It’s not as glamorous as you might think.

by Mary Carroll Moore

Books often start with a simple yearning to explore new territory: fascinating topics, characters who won’t leave you alone, a good story. Writing at this level is sheer fun. It’s a great way to find out what you believe and who you are, to listen to yourself on paper and make sense of what you hear.

Writing a book is one of the most far-reaching journeys a person can take. But because your book doesn’t always provide road signs, often you don’t know if you are getting anywhere at all. It’s easy to get lost along the way. You may have experienced the excitement of starting a book. You may have also experienced the frustration of stalling out midway through a manuscript because you didn’t know where to go next.