Pep Talk from Holly McGhee
Dear Wrimos,
Of everything I have ever learned as a literary agent and
as a writer, there is one lesson that I think is more important than any
other: you must write for your life.
And so this is for those of you who have always known that
you wanted to be a writer, and for those of you who write every day.
It’s for those of you who have yet to put a single word on paper, too.
It’s for those of you who are lonely, hopeless, and depressed, and to
those of you who have never suffered a day in your life.
This is what I know:
Sometimes if you haven’t touched your laptop in a while,
you begin to fear it. You’re afraid to start typing and you’re afraid
not to start typing. Writing becomes a stranger—and without realizing
it, you’ve closed the door on your closest friend, your imagination.
You’ve got to honor your imagination, for it is your ally.
The good news is that the simple act of getting words down
again instantly un-sticks you! Writing moves your thoughts and feelings
through you and out into the world, and the doors of possibility and
wonder open before you again. Just like magic, you are free.
I learned this the hard way.
There was a time in my life, not too long ago, of utter
darkness. We had moved from New York City to the suburbs so that our
children could have a backyard to play in. It was a catastrophic move
for me. I craved the anonymity and solitude of the city, but found
myself surrounded by neighbors—I didn’t know how to be in this new
world. I did not fit in. I felt trapped. After some time, I didn’t see
the world in color anymore either, only grey, and after more time, I
didn’t want to get up in the morning.
And then a character, Dessert Schneider, came charging into
my life. I didn’t know that my white knight, the one who would save my
life, would appear to me in the form of a conniving, confident, bossy
third grader who demanded I write her story. I opened the door a
crack—and then eventually I opened the door all the way, and I wrote her
novel, in her voice—my fingers were on fire. I didn’t know it at the
time, but I was writing for my life—I was writing my way out of the
darkness and into the light—into believing in myself again,
reacquainting myself with my imagination.
The world is at your fingertips, literally. Just as you
need to breathe, just as you need sunlight, just as you need water—if
you’re a word person, you need to write. Sometimes you may know where
you are going, and other times you may be embarking on the long road to
possibly nowhere—it doesn’t matter—you’re getting the words out.
Writing fuels your imagination, which makes you want to
write more. And your imagination is always loyal, and it will save your
life if necessary, as it did for me. Your imagination is there in the
loneliest of times, and in the joyful times, too.
Write for your life.
Holly
