THE CHAIR IS STILL THERE

By Clay Stafford

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Mostly working from home for the majority of my life, there was no boss to meet, no comptroller checking my clock-in for work, no meetings I had to be on time for, only me, waking up and stretching in bed, thinking of how I envisioned my day to play out.

Most days were and are filled with excitement. I knew what I was going to do. I loved what I did. I was blessed to be able to do it. Most mornings were filled with ambition and excitement, so I couldn’t wait to get to work and get started. But there were those dreaded mornings when I awoke, stared at the ceiling, and realized there was no fuel in the creative engine for the day. On those mornings, there was no urgency to get out of bed, no spark inspiring me to begin. There wasn’t even resistance. In the dim light of the morning sun coming through the cracks of the closed plantation shutters, there was simply a hollow quiet where momentum typically was and should have been. Those moments felt empty, nothing resembling the welcomed heaviness of life, just a distant void, as though everything that normally mattered had somehow, during the night while I was dreaming, slipped down the hallway to another bedroom and closed the door, sometimes even locking it behind it, climbing into the bed and pulling the covers over its head.

Those were days that felt like failures even before they began, and because I predetermined them while lying in bed, they usually turned out as I expected. I used to think I could only show up for my life when my inner world was in agreement, when want and purpose matched, when I knew why I was doing something, and when the effort made sense. I could only do things when I felt like it or when the meaning was clear. When that alignment was absent, I assumed the day was already lost and a wasted day of failure lay ahead. I felt it in my heart and even in my bones. I hadn’t yet learned that the real discipline of my life wasn’t built on feeling ready, but on returning.

It wasn’t until later in my life, when maybe maturity or practice, or even serendipitous events, proved me wrong, that I realized these mornings were simply a different kind of threshold, their own unique entry into a day that, at first glance, felt formless and uninspired. Somewhere along the way, I learned that discipline, what I needed to create the perfect day, was less about preplanning, force, or even intention, but more about presence.

I don’t know when my thinking started to shift. I certainly didn’t make it happen. I didn’t will it. It certainly wasn’t some trite self-help or productivity hack. It didn’t even arrive with some revelation. It came oddly and unplanned, as a habit. Whether I had the vision for the day or not, I got my coffee as usual, set up my desk, and sat down in my chair to work, even when I didn’t know what I wanted to work on or, if I did, even when I wasn’t inspired. Motivation didn’t earn me a spot at my desk. Routine did. On those days, I kept the bar low. I didn’t promise much to those hours except the assurance to my computer that I’ll be close by if needed. No plans were negotiated, no meaning defined, and rarely was any enthusiasm offered to the Muse as tribute. Sometimes on those days, I thought my purpose in life was to drink a cup of coffee, watch my birdfeeder, and ponder, in the world of evolution, what crazy lizard found itself jumping out of a tree and realizing it could fly, thus creating a new species of birds. In other words, with no plans or inspiration, I sat there because I didn’t know what else to do.

It surprised me at some point how little was required to sit there. It was freeing. Even on those hollow mornings, the chair was still there, waiting. I didn’t need conviction. I didn’t need direction. I didn’t need to believe that anything I was doing mattered. I only needed not to leave. I needed to sit with whatever drifted through my mind. The common thread behind it all was my chair, on productive days and on days of nothing. It was always sitting there, consistent, no matter where my head was. So, I returned to it, some days with more fervor than others, but always with a refusal to hand over control to the weather outside (I write outside on my porch) or even the weather, no matter how calm or turbulent, going on inside of me.

Those neutral days of nothingness were not heroic. They were days that neither lifted nor dragged, days that offered no motivational or dramatic reason or inspiration to move forward, but at the same time, no compelling reason not to be there. It seemed on those days that the world asked nothing of me other than attendance in that chair, across the lawn from the birdfeeder, pondering the processes of the past few million years.

When I think back on my own evolution now, what strikes me is not how much time I wasted sitting there, but rather how honest those hours were. Out of boredom, I did begin to tinker, but without the need or motivation to impress, accelerate, or aim beyond the moment, I moved straight to the essentials as they popped into my head. It was all rather casual. There was no adornment, no performance, no word count, no chasing of superiority. Just small, impulsive, inner-driven activities, whether rain or shine, just some sort of private continuity with days more productive, but with no invisible audience or ego applauding, but at the same time nothing left undone. When inspired, sitting in the chair, I did what I felt inspired to do, letting direction come from the nothingness.

Over time, something shifted. Those neutral (I wouldn’t call them wasted) days, those unremarkable returns to the chair each morning, began to alter the way I understood myself in the same way that I could envision lizards growing wings millions of years ago. I don’t think I ever patted myself on my back for my consistency of sitting in a chair (that hardly seems a heroic act), but I did begin to trust it as an inkling of something I couldn’t put my finger on began to take form in my consciousness, in my being. Showing up and sitting down, I began to sense that I did not need to feel aligned with my work or even with myself to remain connected. Just drink coffee and watch the birds, and occasionally look at my computer screen. I didn’t need the weather, inside or out, to give me permission. Before I stepped into the day, I needed to go to my chair and sit. And, surprise to me, somewhere along the way, my fingers would find their way to the keyboard, and I would start to type. Somewhere by the end of the day, I would pause and look back on all that I had accomplished, even though I had had no preplanned direction.

Trust accumulated in ways I couldn’t have articulated then, but it did soften the drama around the difficulty of being aimless. It quieted the argument between desire and duty. It reframed commitment as identity rather than effort. I began to see that most of what endures in life is built not on bursts of certainty but on the steady, unimpressive, evolutionary cadence of return.

The curious, but also understandable, thing is that the work of my life didn’t constantly improve in those days, but my relationship with my work, and even myself, did. Sitting down in my chair became less conditional, less dependent on mood or inspiration, or the unpredictable tides of self-belief or raw motivation. Sitting down in my chair became, instead, something like a morning welcome, a companionship, coming with the predictability and comfort of knowing that the sun will rise each day and I will sit: steady, imperfect, patient.

Looking back, I never found the dramatic clarity I once believed I needed to move forward. I saw something quieter. I discovered that life continues, like birds in flight, even when eagerness does not. I found that meaning doesn’t always come hand in hand with willingness. I discovered that neutrality is fertile in its own way. We don’t need a parade; we only need a chair.

I once thought that discipline was a loud, cinematic declaration, something founded in great ambition or proven with relentless, knock-the-walls-down drive, but the truth, for me, instead lived in a place outside on the back porch, an ordinary chair, waiting without fanfare, and asking for nothing other than my presence. “Come as you are,” it called. “If nothing else,” it said in its Southern way, “just sit a spell.”

Perhaps the unexpected lesson for me is this: the parts of life that endure are not always those born from passion, certainty, or predetermination while lying in the bed in the morning and staring at the ceiling with the morning light coming in through the shutters, but instead it is from the steady, unremarkable decision to get my coffee, in my routine, and sit in my chair long enough for meaning to find its way back. The chair is always waiting.

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Clay Stafford is a bestselling writer, filmmaker, and founder of the Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference, Killer Nashville Magazine, and the Killer Nashville University streaming service. Subscribe to his newsletter at https://claystafford.com/.

Making Your Plan

By Dale T. Phillips

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“The moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Begin it now.”

Sometimes attributed to Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (though it may be someone else’s)

Since success is far more likely when you have a good plan and follow it, you’ll want to work on this critical part a bit. Realize that the plan will likely change along the way, and that’s okay, as various life events and opportunities arise, especially if you have schedules, which you should. The plan needs to be recorded in some format: I use basic office software spreadsheets. Writing down things makes them real, and sets it more firmly in your mind. Charting your progress keeps you focused and motivated. Do what works for you, and make it easily accessible, because you’ll refer to this frequently, to keep following the plan. 

The plan isn’t hopes or simply dreams, it’s achievable goals that are within your power. You can certainly write down your dreams, or incorporate them as part of a Vision Board, but your plan is doable steps to success. Winning awards, selling 100 thousand copies, being on Oprah, these are outside of your control. What is within your control is easy: what you’ll produce, by when, and how you’ll get it out to the world, and what other steps you’ll take. All while you’re learning more and creating your business. Work by work, win by win, you set each foundation stone to build that house of success.

Series

Series are a great way to get more books out quicker, as you don’t have to rebuild the novel world each time. They’re more likely to get you repeat readers and build your fan base. One writer I know is a smart cookie who has all the keywords and ad campaigns down, knows some of how to market, but all five of his novels are in different genres with no connection. A reader finds one of his books they enjoy, but nothing else like it by the same author, so sales are one-offs. That’s why the books don’t sell, but he doesn’t do anything about it, except gripe about how they’re not selling. So he’s discouraged and wants to give up. People buy my entire mystery series, because when they find a fictional world they like, they enjoy returning to it again and again. Remember, there are many series which survived past the demise of their creator, because people enjoy those worlds, even when written by others. One reason why fanfic is so popular. 

Stories

If you can add stories and collections to your output, that gets you to success quicker. Each story publication is another showcase ad for you when it comes out, as well as a chance for more promotion (and some form of payment). They can be finished and published quicker than novels, and serve as good credit-building. They get you through the long haul between books, and keep you going, a refreshing change of pace from the long grind of a novel. If you get a story into an anthology or collection with other writers, there are good connections to make. Having a book of your stories is a good resume addition, and an inexpensive way for new readers to find you. More in the store! 

Start with making a goal of writing one story a month. At that pace, you’ve got enough in a year and a half to Indie publish a couple of collections. That lets you easily get into the publishing process, and puts some product up, apart from one novel or two. It helps to get the ball rolling. Momentum is nice to have. It’s good to keep a list of ideas and titles for future works, be they novels, stories, or whatever. If I need an idea for a targeted anthology story or get stuck on what to write, I look at the ideas and titles I’ve recorded to see if anything sparks me to begin on that. I always have material to write.

For the master plan, break it down into large segments. First, what you expect to have done by a year from the start date. You can do a lot in a year, more than you think. Second, what you’ll have done three years from now. That gives you enough time to put out some quality work that will get you noticed. Then a future date, by which you’ll have done enough to be successful. Say five to seven years, by which you’ll enough good novels written and published, and a lot of stories. More than many writers. 

Then detail each time segment in your plan, making milestones and goals. First year, first book. Say fifty thousand words, a short novel, only one thousand words a week. When you get to five thousand words, that’s a major milestone— your first ten percent! Hitting these milestones makes you feel like you’re really progressing, and keeps the momentum. As studies show, setting specific intentions greatly increase your chances of success.

Then the other details— how will the book be edited: critique group, beta readers, editor? Have you started on those parts yet? If not, set a period of time to research, and put that in the schedule. If you haven’t done it, it may be difficult to estimate, but it’s good to rough out some sort of time frame, even if preliminary. Remember, you can adjust the plan later as more information becomes available. Set a reasonable time for editing, especially if this is an early novel, which may require some restructuring and story work. One of the great aspects of the Indie world is that you don’t have to publish a book until it’s ready. There have been a number of occasions where I wanted a book done by a certain date, but it needed more work, so it got delayed. Don’t publish until it’s good, but don’t spend eternity on it, either. Get work out rather than let it sit for too many years unpublished. 

Publishing

Apart from editing, do you know how to publish? Print, ebook, audiobook? Do you have a cover artist and know how to format? Do you know what platforms you’ll distribute on? Do you have all your marketing materials planned out? Do you know the other aspects of what comes after? If not, set periods for research. Ebooks can be published quickly, as soon as they’re ready. Print needs more formatting, and time to order a proof copy to verify it looks like it’s supposed to. Audiobooks need to be produced, and take the longest time. Adjust plans accordingly, and if you don’t know, just put a guesstimate or TBD (To Be Determined) in the time frame for now.

Definitely set the schedule for learning, and not just the publishing knowledge you’ll need. Can you absorb a new craft book on writing every 3-4 months? That gives you a few every year, and helps you improve much quicker. Plan on a course, online or in-person event every year, on some aspect of your writing that needs improvement. For that, I recommend at least one live writer conference a year, where you can learn a great deal in a few days. Budget for it, because they’re invaluable in advancing your writing career and making connections with other writers and fans.

And that’s just the start. See what I mean about how most people don’t get that far? It’s daunting to think about all you have to know, in addition to the writing. It took me about two years to learn enough of what I needed to publish my own books and break out as full Indie. Then I just took off and didn’t look back, though I’m still always learning. It does get easier as time goes by, because once you’ve acquired certain knowledge, you don’t have to relearn it.

Getting There

By following a good plan, in three years, you can be set on your success path quite readily. You’ve got some good books published, maybe some other material as well, you have your marketing material all prepared, you know how to contact libraries and bookstores, you’ve learned a lot. You’ve learned how to take feedback and have some trusted advance readers who will help. You’ve got some reviews and been interviewed a few places. After you get many of the preliminaries out of the way, plan to step up your production. Since you need less research time, put it into making your books awesome. 

And the next few years after that should determine how well you’ll do. If you’re always moving forward, making plans and achieving goals, producing good work, you’ll be surprised at how much you can accomplish. 

My original plan was to get a good start on success with ten good novels, ten story collections, and one hundred published stories. 

And that’s just the beginning! 

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Dale T. Phillips has published novels, story collections, non-fiction, and over 80 short stories. Stephen King was Dale's college writing teacher, and since then, Dale has found time to appear on stage, television, radio, in an independent feature film, and compete on Jeopardy (losing in a spectacular fashion). He's a member of the Mystery Writers of America and the Sisters in Crime. 

Finding Your Niche as a Writer

By Linda Hughes

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It seems easy enough. You know what types of mysteries sell and make a lot of money, so you figure that’s what you’ll write. But then things start going wrong: It’s a struggle to finish a book, your beta readers are less than enthusiastic, agents reject your queries, or nobody buys your book.

Does that mean you’re a terrible writer? Maybe not. Here are some things to consider before you hang it up and schlep back to that former job you walked out on.

1: Are you certain about the requirements for the genre and subgenre you’ve chosen? They are very specific in most cases. For example, you might think you’re writing a cozy mystery but you have a character who likes to cuss. That’s not a cozy, which doesn’t allow blatant sex, violence, or profanity. Therefore, if you’re marketing it as a cozy mystery, readers and agents are disappointed. They aren’t getting what they want. That doesn’t mean you’re a lousy writer; it means you need to find the genre and subgenre that fit your writing and market to readers who want that type of story.

2: There are several subgenres for mysteries, which is the genre I’ll use as the example here. What they’re called depends on where you look, but let’s assume you want your book to be listed on Amazon. If you’re not sure about genres and subgenres, this helps:

• Go to Amazon, click on “Books,” don’t type anything in the search box but click on the magnifying glass. Scroll down to “Departments” and click “Mystery, Thriller & Suspense.” There you will find Amazon’s version of subgenres, which they call subcategories.

• Click again on the left hand column, on Mystery, for another drop down list, showing more Catagories.

• The most popular subcategories for Mysteries are Cozy, Hardboiled (no holds barred), Police Procedural (usually from a police detective’s point of view, the “POV”), Private Investigator (who can be a retired police detective), and Women Sleuths.

• Click on each subcategory. Books that are bestsellers in each one will pop up. Click on several books and examine them closely. Read the descriptions, look at the covers, and read the reviews. Which books in which subcategories are most like yours? That’s where your book belongs. You can also research the requirements for each genre and subgenre using Google or any search engine, but examining the actual books is a great starting point. Reading some of those books is even better.

• Here’s where it gets a bit confusing: When you set up your book in Amazon, you are allowed to list it under two categories or subcategories. But if you have an Amazon Author’s Account (highly recommended), you can email customer service and ask for eight more. The more slots it fits into, the more exposure your book gets. However, don’t use them all if they aren’t a genuine fit. Readers search for books by category, and will be mightily disappointed if they pay for a book that doesn’t meet their expectations. They’ll let you know about their dissatisfaction in reviews.

3: Most important is that you find the right subgenre fit and therefore market your book to the right readers.

4: However, after all that research, what if you still aren’t sure of the subgenre you prefer for writing mysteries? You could experiment with short stories or blog posts. Try different POVs. Practice. (I know, you just want to publish and make money. For most of us, it doesn’t work that way. We need to work on honing our craft.) As you write, be aware of which type of story you most enjoy working on. What you enjoy is going to produce your best book.

5: Don’t be afraid to be a genre-switcher or to write different books in different genres and subgenres. Again, if each book sticks to its category’s requirements and is marketed to the right audience, it has a better chance of success. That certainly has worked for Nora Roberts, known for her romance novels, who also writes mysteries under the pen name J. D. Robb. A pen name is optional, as today’s contemporary readers are quite accepting of genre-switching, as long as they know what they’re getting.

6: Lastly, consider the possibility that you need to learn more about how to write a good story that is marketable. There are countless resources available to help you learn about good writing and about managing the business of writing. The annual Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference is an excellent place to start. Whether you’re an aspiring or established writer, this gathering offers not only education and inspiration, but camaraderie, as well. It’s my favorite writers’ conference every year. Here’s the link: https://killernashville.com/killer-nashville-writers-conference/

Finding your niche as a writer means you’re willing to explore and ready to enjoy the craft of writing. As writers, we work hard – that’s true – but we also revel in the experience. So explore, learn, do the work, and write that great story that brings you joy. (And may it bring you a bundle of cash, too!)

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Linda Hughes is a #1 bestselling co-author and award-winning author of twenty books and three screenplays. She loves to genre-switch amongst mysteries, historical romantic suspense, and family saga. Her latest is a romantic novella, Lilac Island. Find her on Amazon at: https://www.amazon.com/Linda-Hughes/e/B000APKVGI