What You Did Last Week Instead of Write

Published: Tue, 07/09/24

Updated: Tue, 07/09/24

Dear writer,

Last Monday I plunked myself down with a pencil and an index card and made a list of things I'd done with my leisure time the previous week instead of write.

Among them: I read at least a dozen articles about fantasy baseball; watched hours' worth of British panel show reruns on YouTube (Would I Lie to You?; 8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown, and so on); played Wordle daily, along with several other word games; constantly refreshed my fantasy baseball app to see how my fantasy baseball players were doing in their non-fantasy baseball games.

I'm not going to say it's all wasted time. We need our diversions and distractions, the things we do for fun.

But... is there maybe some space in there to fit a little bit of writing?

Turns out, there is. I still played Wordle and fantasy baseball; still watched some fun British comedy. But I cut into all of it enough to revise an entire chapter of my novel and draft about one-third of the following chapter.

And maybe it was just that mere act of forcing a little bit of accountability on myself that spurred me on.

So if you're not writing as much as you'd like, let me ask you:

What did you do last week instead of write?

You might be surprised by the cumulative effect of what appears on that list.

Send me your results. I'll include a list of 'em in next week's email.

Best Opening Line

Earning more than 35% of the vote, which is kind of a landslide in a pool of seven candidates, our congrats go to Susan Jacobs on being voted the best first line!

Wendell's first murder was just a rehearsal is the opening of Susan's novel, Public Comment, which is currently out on submission to agents and indie publishers.

From Susan's query: "If Ellery Adams and Carl Hiaasen co-authored a novel weaving a small-town murder mystery with the funny/not funny surreality of our national politics, the result would be Public Comment."

(If you're an agent or run a press and might want to take a look, reply to this message and I'll put you and Susan in touch.)

Susan says these are the very first words she ever wrote for the book, and that the line has never changed. She notes, "Wendell comes to regard it as a 'perfect rehearsal.'" (Swap "rehearsal" with "phone call" and you're on the right track.)

As a prize, Susan gets her choice of flavor from Too Strong Coffee, which partners with the Justice Democrats, The Young Turks, and other organizations we're fond of.

Thanks so much not only to all the entrants in this contest but to those of you who took the time to vote. It was fun! We'll do more in the near future.

Excerpt: The Bird Caper

Praise continues to roll in for The Bird Caper, Book 1 of Victoria Pannell and Thorir Sigfusson's middle-grade series The Crow's Tales. The Wishing Shelf describes it as "a fast-paced, smartly plotted drama filled with twists, turns -- and lots of humor."

In the book, ten-year-old Brandon is crushed when his parents sell his childhood home; not only might he lose his nearby human friends, but he's worried his pet crow, Ralph, won't accompany the family to their new house across town.

In the following excerpt, Brandon spends a few final moments in his childhood bedroom while his sister, Amber, reluctantly helps make the place "broom clean":

The hardest thing is standing in my bedroom. It’s painful. This part of the house is an old friend to me. Somewhere I’ve grown for ten years. This is where I’ve dreamed and hoped for special things before falling asleep. I’ve looked out my window millions of nights and made wishes on stars. I practiced my new tricks when I was little to entertain the family, lay in bed anxiously waiting for important holidays and occasions, trying to fall asleep. I’ve laughed and cried here. And now I need to say goodbye. It will become a stranger’s bedroom. My eyes tear up, and my chest is heavy. When I feel like I might break down, I hear:

“GET OUT! I have to sweep.” Amber starts to bang the broom against my feet. “MOVE!”

I rush to grab the last bag and take it to Dad, then run to the backyard. My heart pounds. I know this is my last chance to run back there. I’ll never do it again. Near the tree stump, I catch my toe on one of the posts Dad cut from the coop and fall flat on the ground with my face in the cold, hard grass. I can taste it. I want to stay there and not move. Lying there, I think about the old days. Running in the yard and Ralph bringing me treasures like the soda top rings now scattered with peanut shells around the oak stump.

Dad comes to the backyard to check on me. “Are you okay?”

Pick up a copy today for the little MG reader in your life, and then keep an eye out for the forthcoming rerelease of Book 2, The Big Dream!

In the meantime, if you could use some fresh eyes on your writing or an assist toward landing and agent or publisher, check out WriteByNight's one-on-one writer's services and let's talk.

As always, thank you for reading.

David Duhr
Co-founder, WriteByNight

P.S. If you know someone who might benefit from today's message, please feel free to forward this email along. Go on, help a writer out.

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