Boo Walker's Drowning in Words

Who else is watching Rooster on HBO? How about the last season of Shrinking? We’re a bit behind with Shrinking, but it’s one of my favorite shows of all time—the perfect dramedy. As I was jumping into an episode of Rooster with Steve Carell last night, I realized that Bill Lawrence, the producer behind Shrinking, Scrubs, and Ted Lasso, is also responsible for this new show. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I adore a story that makes you laugh and cry in equal measure. Dear storyteller, just toy with my heart, and I’m all yours…Do you know Jack Antonoff and his band, Bleachers? I went to see them on a whim a couple of years ago here in Portland, and it was pure heaven. Jack’s one of the most successful and talented music producers in history, working with the likes of Taylor Swift and Lorde and Kendrick Lamar, but it’s in this band where he lets it all out. The guy’s a preacher on stage, and he turns the audience into a congregation. It was such an immersive experience, and I find myself comparing all concerts to it. They have a new album called Everyone for Ten Minutes coming out May 22nd, and it’s sure to be a killer. I don’t know that there are many people out there with more creativity running through them. Though it would probably be somewhat awkward, I’d kill to have dinner with him and pick his brain. Here’s a taste from their show on Howard. I had no idea I needed a queer vampire novel in my life, but I sure as hell did. It took me a while to take down V.E. Schwab’s new one, Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil, only because it’s a tome and I’m deep into a new project, but it’s WONDERFUL. And I thought her previous release, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, would never be topped. They’re certainly equal, at least. She’s a master, plain and simple. Makes me want to hang it up.And where have vampires been all my life? I don’t know if I’ve even read Anne Rice before, but I’m opening all my windows and doors and welcoming in all the fictional vampires now. Okay, dream dinner: Bill Lawrence, Jack Antonoff, and V.E. Schwab. Who’s in? How many of us are introverts? Could be weird…What should I read next in the vampire/fantasy/horror world? I’m a newbie.Don’t forget to come find me on Instagram. There is almost twenty-thousand people following me now. I can’t believe it! Yesterday, I shared my rediscovered love of dictating first drafts while on the treadmill. AI has made it remarkably easier. Now, you can drive by my house and wave at the lunatic in the window regaling himself with exciting new stories told in unbearably awful accents. My wife holds her phone up to the door to prove to her friends that she married a madman. What questions do you have for me? I’d love to answer them in my next reel. Okay, with a few weeks to go till I need to return my focus to Salvation Isle, I’m off to the races with a new Red Mountain story. We’ll see how far I get. It was beyond delightful to sneak back into Margot’s world yesterday to see what she’s up to. And Otis, oh my God. He never ceases to shock and awe me. Thanks to those who gave me ideas for the new story, and big congratulations to the winners of my raffle: Natosha, Miselle, and Neil.Next time, I’ll share a lost chapter from An Unfinished Story that I still wish had made it into the final publication. The protagonist, Whitaker Grant, will always be my favorites of my creations. For those of you who have been listening to my audio of these musings, you’ll get a real treat when I dramatize it. Much love,booDrowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

The short: for a chance to win merch and more, chime in with your ideas for a new Red Mountain novel!We’re just back from a lovely roadtrip to Charlottesville, a place that’s captured my heart over the years. On the way down, we got our first taste of New Haven, CT apizza at Sally’s Apizza. OMG, slightly burnt as is the style, a crispy bottom: total joy. Once we arrived in Charlottesville, the food continued to dazzle. What a sleeper culinary town. And we kayaked, fly-fished, went wine-tasting, and I even braved my terror of public pools by taking my son to a huge indoor water park. Back in Maine, I’m shimmering with renewed energy. Having wrapped up a draft of my work-in-progress, tentatively called Salvation Isle, I have time on my hands and was thinking that Red Mountain might be calling. Oh, how about titling it Red Mountain Calling? Hmmm.If you’re all caught up with my Red Mountain series set in Washington State wine country, you might remember everyone survived a fire in Red Mountain Burning; Otis and Joan were taking off in their Winnebago, the one that plays “La Cucaracha” when you blast the horn; Margot was married to Remi; and Brooks (single again) and Emilia were gearing up to take the reins as the new guard of Red Mountain.Here’s your chance to chime in before I let loose the hounds of my imagination and start plotting a fourth in the main series. In return for you chiming in, I will enter you into a raffle for a chance to win several prizes, including a T-shirt of your choice from my merch store, signed books, and your name used as a character. I’ll end the raffle next week and announce winners when I send out a new newsletter. The only requirement is that you insert your comments at the bottom of this article on Substack, meaning you open this up in a browser or the app and comment there. Replying to my email doesn’t count. Also, the more helpful and creative, the more entries you get. Trust me, I will take your ideas to heart!Here are thoughts to stir your own imagination (the same questions I’m asking myself this week):* What do you want to see happen? What new challenges await the mountain? Any ideas for new characters?* What’s the next obstacle for our fearless Margot, who has realized so many of her dreams since escaping her marriage and moving west with her son, Jasper? Sometimes, once we get everything we’d hoped for, external achievement and validation doesn’t always deliver happiness. How’s her married life? What’s up with Jasper?* Where is Otis now? Will he and Joan survive? My friend and astute beta reader Lauren C. pointed out that he still has some grieving to do over his sons. Will he ever return to the mountain?* Does Brooks deserve love? Can he handle the pressure of taking over Otis’s winery?* What’s new with Emilia? Is she thriving as she takes over her father’s winery, Lacoda? How’s her family? Does she still talk to Jasper? Dear God, how is Carmen? Up to trouble again?I’ll be talking about the recently announced lineup for the forthcoming Newport Jazz Festival (Mikella’s and my spirit place) in the coming missives, but it’s Eric Hilton who has been in my ears a lot lately. He’s one of the driving forces behind Thievery Corporation, a group from D.C. who play outernational downtempo chill and have been a major part of the Boo Walker soundtrack for decades. Eric’s latest album, A Sky So Close, is a stunner. Here’s the Apple link. For multiple reasons easily found online, I have shifted from Spotify and will no longer be sharing the links. Of course, it sounds even better on vinyl, and if you buy it straight from Eric, he gets the profit he deserves. I’ll leave you with a few shots from our Charlottesville adventure. What a place. That last one is of our son as we sipped chai while sitting cross-legged on the floor at the Twisted Branch Tea Bazaar, a place where you might be fooled into thinking you’re in the Himalayas. I looked over as Riggs people-watched through the window and thought the light was particularly arresting. I can’t wait to read your ideas for Red Mountain. Thanks for being here.Cheers!boo Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

I’m cutting it close here, scrambling to send you my latest craft essay before I disappear for a bit. We’re off on a road trip to Charlottesville, VA in the morning for some rafting, fly fishing, hiking, and a big ol’ fat reset after wrapping up a draft of my work-in-progress. Perhaps a Billy Strings concert, if we can land tickets. Anyone?Oh, I might carve out some time to let Otis and Margot and the gang from Red Mountain come out to play, see if they want more page time. More soon there…If you have any suggestions for road-trip entertainment, bring it! I’m looking for music, podcasts, or audio books. The Grateful Dead just released a new app called Play Dead that features a large chunk of their catalogue in freshly mastered perfection. You can bet I’ll be torturing my family for hours! Let’s jump into all things midpoint. These craft essays are not only for budding writers; they are for all of you word lovers who are interested in taking a look under the hood. I intended on keeping this one short, but what do you do. I have so much to say.(Remember you can always listen via the button above or on Apple or Spotify a day or so later.)You know that feeling you get after lunch, when your belly’s full, and you’ve been working all morning, and it’s all you can do to push through with the rest of your tasks through the afternoon? Cue the espresso shot! Thank you, Europe!The espresso shot is the midpoint.Imagine a cork board in your mind. Put a pushpin on the far left where your story begins; put a second one on the far right at the end. Now tie a piece of string from one to the other. See that sag in the middle? Guess where we’re going to put a third push pin. Yep! Hello, Sag, meet Midpoint.By the time the reader has reached the middle of your book, she has pushed through on the excitement of whatever had led her to the story in the first place. She’s flipped pages even if she was bored, as she’s committed to giving it a chance. But as she wanders into the midpoint, she may have lost momentum. She’s wondering if this book is worth finishing. Or if she should hop onto TikTok to watch a coyote howl to the music of a guy in his boxers playing banjo.That’s when she needs a jolt. Something to keep her from setting the book down.Liz Pelletier of Entangled Publishing brilliantly said in a speech at a NINC conference:Write as if you’re telling your spouse a story and trying to keep him from picking up the remote.How good is that? It’s especially apropos in this current world of short-attention spans and scrolling. Your spouse is at his weakest after lunch. See his hand moving toward the remote—or his phone—itching for a dopamine hit? How can you stop him?I’d stun him with a Taser. Is that legal? Can you imagine how effective it would be? And cathartic? Maybe there’s a better, less violent way, though.How about tazing him with a twist, a surprise, something he didn’t see coming. What if we inject a new piece of information that acts as a mic drop, an oh, shit! moment. There he was thinking he knew exactly where you were going with your story, but no, you were just getting started.I’m drowning you with analogies if only to point out that there are no hard and fast rules. It can be a word, a sentence, a scene, a moment, a chapter. Your reader doesn’t even need to be aware that they’ve hit such a point.I know when a writer understands the power of a midpoint and deploys it to good use. This day and age, let’s make it easy for the reader to push forward. Make it impossible for them to even get up to go to the restroom.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.I’ve talked about the challenges a writer has when they arrive at the midpoint. It’s not dissimilar to the feelings of a reader. You’ve been writing on the excitement of a new story. You saw so clearly what would happen in Act I and into the start of Act II, but now you’re tired and wondering if what you’ve written so far is even working? You’re faced with endless possibilities of where to go from here.So why not get really clear on the midpoint and a way forward? Give yourself a shot of literary espresso. Reload the gun. There are a few pieces that need to be addressed. If you’ve followed me for long enough, you already know where I might be going.Yes, we need to determine the midpoint, then load it into our rocket ship like fuel so that we’ll be shot to the end of the story, but we also need to recharge ourselves. Let’s address the latter first.The Physical ResetI mentioned that as I was wallowing in the middle flab of my story, I was firing blanks. As a writer on deadline, I’m no stranger to mashing keys—even if the words are landing like mushy slop on an inmate’s food tray. Sometimes, you do just have to move forward, swinging your keyboard machete till you get through the jungle.Other times, though, you need to step back. Having done this for so long, I’m not one who needs to motivate myself to write. I’m actually the opposite. I need to accept that rest and time away and reconnecting can be even more beneficial than hitting word count.As I was sifting through exhaustion after I’d exhaled the first half of my story onto the page, it occurred to me that I’d been locked in my dungeon for way too long, a slave to the morning routine of waking, coffee, then get to work. I was also getting bogged down by my monkey mind, so many voices expressing fears.The answer wasn’t hiding behind forcing words. It was in reconnecting my mind to my body and to the world around me.I took days off. I walked in nature, lay down on the ground in the woods. I sat on the rocks at the beach near our house and let the sound of the waves heal me. I meditated, ran body scans. I embraced the quiet. I read, watched movies and TV shows, played and listened to music, took pictures. Most importantly, I reconnected with my wife and son, reassuring them that I’m not just the roommate that never comes out of his office.I slowly came back to life. I realized that all my fears weren’t worthy of the light I was giving them. Life became fun again. And I reached a point where I couldn’t stand it any longer; I had to get back in front of my keyboard.Rolling Up Your SleevesOnce we’ve slowed life down to the right pace, I find that the midpoint is a time for a reset. As I’ll keep saying, you don’t need to hone in on a process. Each book should be different. With this one, I wrote the first half without an outline. I don’t always do that, but it sure was fun—and exactly what this story was demanding, but it became clear that it was time to organize. I took the time needed to consider everything that had happened so far and then asked a few key questions:What is the point of my story?What am I trying to say?Where is my character headed?If they have a goal(s), will he or she realize it?Will they keep growing or stay stagnant?What does the final scene look like?I talk about writing as the creator becoming a conduit and channeling this lovely energetic force that writes the story. But I have found that the midpoint is a wild horse that must be broken. It requires wrestling, it requires dealing with emotional baggage, and it often requires organization, meaning not being afraid to get dirty. You need to consider all the possibilities, take to task all the craft lessons you’ve learned.It’s a good time to do the hard thinking and consider every side plot and character and how they play a part. It could mean spending an entire day on a minor character and figuring out what role they have. Then doing that for another character. If there’s a story question lingering, something that you’ve been trying to avoid, you might need to spend a day doing that. There’s just no easy way.The good news is that all this planning makes for complexity as you draft your way to the end. I’m not trying to make an airline wine here. I want to weave in bits and bobs that the reader might not notice till they read the book for the second time. I want to sneak in sparks long before the fire burns.Drilling into the MidpointLast we talked about my protagonist Cara, I was seeking all sorts of ways to keep her from running, because that’s all she’s ever done since she was seventeen. As the writer, I have to torture her into submission. Break her legs. Throw every one of her worst nightmares at her. I’ve done a pretty good job so far.But as I arrived at the halfway mark of her story, I wanted to blow shit up. Drop a bigger bomb. Something that makes the reader’s jaw drop, makes them unable to put the book down.We’ve broken Cara’s legs, but she’s using her arms to crawl now. My Gods, she’s resourceful and determined. Fine, let’s chop her arms off too. (I know, I’ve taken this way too far, breaking into Johnny Got His Gun territory. If you know, you know.)I don’t want to reveal what I throw at Cara at the midpoint, but I remember the moment it came to me (more on that later). I’d put her through a harsh forty-thousand words of me thinking to myself, What could make it worse?, and I was starting to think that I was running out of ideas.But no, after rebooting my physical self, reattaching mind and body, I realized I was just getting started. All I had to do was keep answering that question. And I made sure my best answer came right about halfway.Each story requires its own sort of bomb drop. Whatever it takes to get your reader to sit up straighter and think:I really need to cook dinner, but…I was supposed to pick up my son twenty minutes ago, but…Biggest interview of my life in the morning, and I need to go to bed, but…Allow me to finish with a letter I penned to you on the exact day of my breakthrough. I’d been flirting with the idea that I was disconnected for a while, and I’d been playing with ways to break free, but it was this day that it all came together.Dear friends,There is light! And that’s saying a lot, because I’ve spelunked deep into the darkness lately.Prying myself away from my office yesterday, I set out determined to embrace a mental health day. I visited our nearby market and poked around idly and chatted with the employees. I whistled on the way back home. Living as opposed to rushing.I sharpened my knives, then made sauerkraut while listening to one of my favorite bands, Mammal Hands. Slow and methodical, no rush at all.I sat on the deck and let the sun heal me. I sought space between the lines, the quiet.The whole day, whenever I caught myself thinking of my story, I redirected my attention to the present.Last night, my family and I started Rental Family on Hulu. I was committed to fully giving myself to the movie, not half-watching while scrolling through my phone. I was soon swept away into a fictive dream. What a wonderful story, a unique premise, and superb acting. When something’s working, when all of the components unite to make something magical, it’s a joy to experience. I was so high on the movie, the way art can be such a miracle.Then it happened.My body and mind became one again. It was as if the past couple of days I was had the key in the ignition, twisting hard, listening to it grind, but the starter wasn’t firing. But then it caught, and I felt this surge of energy rush up through me.I was at once totally captured by the movie, but then ideas for my work-in-progress started shooting out of me. Though my family complained, I had to pause the movie to scribble things down.I could suddenly see where I was going with the rest of Cara’s story. Funnily enough, it had nothing to do with Rental Family. It’s that I had removed the dam keeping my flow at bay. I wasn’t trying at all, but the midpoint dropped in my lap, and then I could see how that revelation pulled back the string on a bow, that I was getting ready to send my character like an arrow to the end.Cara is awakening. That’s part of what I didn’t see. She’s making steps. Of course she is; we’re at the midpoint. But she’s not all the way there. There’s still a big chunk of story. It’s with this mini awakening, though, that she’s finding agency. She might not go the right way, but she’s determined to finally take action.Most importantly, I feel like a kid again, and I can’t wait to shuck my shoes and jump back into the sandbox.Love,booResilience is the key to being a writer. Period. This gig, it’s like climbing Everest every day. You have to give it your all. Having some coal to stoke the fire of your resilience will make things far easier.That coal is faith, my friends.No matter how ugly it gets at the midpoint, know that the end of the book is up ahead, looking back, waiting patiently for you to catch up.Now go on, word soldiers, and put that midpoint to work.Cheers!boo Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Let me first set the record straight. Another so-called author from Maine is attempting to steal my thunder, and I’m not having it. Shortly after professing my love for the Hulu show Paradise, a lesser-known novelist up here called Stephen King is jumping on the bandwagon, praising the show and saying it’s the closest thing on TV to Lost. This King guy, always nipping at my heels, trying to throw shade. Either way, if you need his stamp of approval, there you have it. Paradise is a scorcher of a show, brilliant, deep, and inventive. Are you listening to many Moroccan dosed psychedelic jazz collectives these days? No? Why not? I saw mention of Club d’Elf the other day and thought, Yeah, I’m gonna check them out. So glad I did. They’re Boston-based but otherworldly. A new album releases in a few days, but You Never Know from 2022 can get you started. With a cover like that, c’mon…. This song in particular, wow. That’ll stir up something from the depths.Have you caught the movie Is This Thing On yet? It’s also on Hulu right now. Laura Dern, Will Arnett, Bradley Cooper. Yeah, solid cast. Though darker, it has a Marvelous Mrs. Maisel sensibility that you might adore. And good to see Mr. Arnett on camera for once. Books, books, oh yeah, books. I’m halfway through a re-read of The Untethered Soul. I don’t know where I was mindset-wise last time I read it, maybe a bit overly confident that I’d gleaned all I needed to know about being the silent watcher of my thoughts from The Power of Now, but how wrong I was. You know how a book might not speak to you when you first crack the spine but a few years later it hits you hard? That’s where I am. The focus of my spiritual journey right now is about spending more time being, sensing, feeling, and far less thinking. Ask yourself: how much of your awake time do you spend thinking, letting your monkey mind steer your day? The answer might rattle something loose inside. I want to treat my thinking brain like a tool. Grab it when needed, then toss it back into the toolbox. More on my spiritual journey in a future missive. If you haven’t read the book, it’s seismic. I’m far ahead of schedule with my WIP and reached the end of the first draft the other day. All the monsters in my head are shaking theirs, thinking: how did we let the little bastard get another book by us? We deployed every evil tool at our disposal to stop him, and yet his resilience is mightier than the Dothraki khalasars…or even the hosts of Mordor. Ah, to type THE END, the official moment when you’ve brought a messy draft all the way to completion. There is not a much sweeter taste, amigos. It might be a hell of a mess, but I’m sure there’s some gold in there somewhere.I am writing this book with barely any consideration for what people will think. It’s so freeing to not worry about its outcome, the reception, the reviews, to simply hammer out onto the screen what I see take place in my head.Readers may loathe the protagonist. They might say I’ve gone too far into the darkness. They might say all the characters are too gray, too flawed. Who knows?I can only reply that this story existed long before I snatched it with my keyboard. I’m simply a journalist of my imagination. Also, I adore the occasional plunge into the darkness. It makes redemption far sweeter.Thank God for beta readers, agents, and editors, though, who can point out the spots that need to be washed away with the delete key.By the way, did you dare zoom in on that photo and try to read the last few paragraphs of my book? Shame!!!!Back soon to talk Red Mountain and more about the midpoint. I’ll leave you with an old embarrassing photo of me that should never be shared in the history of ever. I best publish this before my wife stops me!If you feel like it, leave a comment, let me know what you’re listening to, reading, watching. I’d like to get to know you better. Maybe even share a picture of you in long underwear playing the banjo. Then we’ll be even.Ciao,booDrowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Every once in a while, I write something that I know I shouldn’t share. But then I tell myself, that’s the stuff I must share. Philip Roth said to Ian McEwan, “Write as if your parents are dead.” What he means is: don’t censure yourself out of fear of what people might think. As all my friends and family have learned, I take that advice seriously. No, I’m not about to admit any felonies from my past—the statute of limitations isn’t quite up yet—but I am going to open up about how the midpoint of my work-in-progress drove me to impotence. Oh, you’re paying attention now, aren’t you? Welcome to my party. Of course, I mean literary impotence…(Remember, if you want total unedited, unfiltered boo, you can listen to these via the button above or, in a day or so, on Spotify or Apple.) A few quickies:* By God, go see Project Hail Mary! It’s stupendous, glorious, wondrous! And if you can, see it in Imax. The writer, Andy Weir, created a masterful book, and the movie couldn’t have done a better job, save the fact that they left out one of my fave lines: I commend your body to the stars. How dare they edit that out!!! Ugh.* Can I change your life? Listen to Matthew Halsall’s first album, Sending My Love. Totally accessible, yet fearless jazz from England. Here it is on Apple. My soul glows when this is spinning on our turntable.Before we jump into my essay, let me say that I’m breaking these longer craft essays up so as not to swallow your whole day. I hope that gives you a chance to digest them without drowning in words. Especially, you non-writers. Give these craft chats a chance. It’s still long; sorry, not sorry. Here we go…I was in trouble, and despite years of training telling me that it was simply another navigable hurdle standing in the way of victory, I thought this was it, the book where I ran out of gas. So much for trying to write without an outline. Stick a fork in me!I’d definitely been there before—every single project since the beginning. In fact, I have a reminder that surfaces on my calendar this time every year that basically says,Dear future Boo, I am writing to you from the midpoint of The Singing Trees, and I’m in a bad way. I’ve never been so down and lost. If you’re reading this, you survived. Hopefully, The Singing Trees didn’t tank your career. Trust me, it could never get any worse than right now. I’m at zero hope, zero faith. Know that this feeling always passes and that you will find a way to the end of the project, and you will feel whole again, even proud of what you’ve accomplished!I wish I could go back and tell past Boo that The Singing Trees would go on to sell hundreds of thousands of copies. I also wish past Boo’s message was enough to make things easier.How I long for a day when I don’t run into trouble at the midpoint because it’s awful. And let me not be misunderstood here. It’s really fucking awful and complicated, and bless your heart if you’re one of those writers who jogs through the midpoint without resistance. If I wasn’t such a nice guy, I’d cast a hex on you.We’ll explore the who, what, and why of the midpoint soon, but for now, let’s define it as the 50%-ish mark of your novel, where the story hopefully locks into a higher gear and starts racing toward the end. It’s also the burial ground of many an unfinished project, and a rite of passage for the brave few who will one day hold a finished book in their hand.Funnily enough—and it is admittedly absurd—I didn’t even realize that I was caught up in resistance to the midpoint for an agonizing week. I should have, as I’m no stranger to the pain, but I’d forgotten—or, more likely, suppressed—the nightmarish memories.Seasoned pro that I am, humbly offering writerly advice, I had paused, done some prep work, and told myself I was ready to bust through. In fact, after writing without an outline thus far, I’d taken the time to sketch out a series of story beats that would take me to the end. All that was required was a couple of thousand words every day. The midpoint would soon be in my rearview mirror.Pardon my analogy, but I can’t not share it. It turned out that writing during those days was like having sex without an erection. There I was, mashing keys with limp digits, with a flaccid degree of hope, my creativity impotent, telling myself that all I had to do was get some words down.Get something on the page, Boo Walker! Anything. Oh, fuck it, you want anything? #$%GHIOJ:IO(UHJfdsjhjfdhijuhfd!! There you go, have fun with that. Feed your family with that story, you constipated sack of wordmuck.My rabid monkey mind and the fact that I was shooting blanks aside, I knew I was right to keep putting something on the page, because you can’t edit white space, and you sure as hell won’t ever type “The End” if you’re stuck in the middle.Those moments are when I’ve got nothing left but resilience. One day I’ll be on my deathbed, plugged into machines, saying my last goodbyes, and grasping for a keyboard to get my words in for the day.Sounds extreme, doesn’t it? I suppose it is, but it works. My career is built on pushing past endless obstacles and rejection with unwavering, blind, and quite possibly naive resolve. I’m getting those words in, hell or high water, whether I’m slamming into the wall, climbing it, circumventing it, or digging under it. I’ll even jump over the bastard. Hand me a pole vault!As you can imagine, it was a crummy time, and I wasn’t feeling good in my body at all. Whereas I should have been patting myself on the back for hitting my word count each day, I was beating myself up for failing to write anything inspiring, and even more so for always making it so difficult on myself. I bet Rebecca Makkai and Maggie Stiefvater don’t deal with such mental battles.Then…on top of everything going wrong, I ran into trouble with my software. Pay attention here, this isn’t a geeky software discussion. I’m going somewhere with this.Having reached the midpoint, I was ready to share the first half with a beta reader, which meant I needed to move my manuscript from Scrivener to Microsoft Word—an inevitable step in my annual process. There’s a feature called Compile in Scrivener built for this exact reason.As I recalled from last year, I’d had some trouble with compiling all the chapters into a single Word doc, so as I started to wrap my head around the process, I told myself I’d master it this time. After trying on my own to make it work, then spending hours researching on YouTube and consulting two or three different AI engines, I reached out to colleagues and friends and writer groups, begging for answers. It is no exaggeration to say I was absolutely losing my mind, pulling out chunks of hair. I could get close with the Compile parameters, but I couldn’t create a perfect conversion to Word. And I refused to stop short of perfect.My friend, the great writer Barbara O’Neal, responded to my plea and shared that she absolutely adored Scrivener and that all I had to do was simply copy and paste the whole document. I replied, Yes, I understand, but that’s really just a Band-Aid. I want to figure out how the Compile feature works. Otherwise, what’s the point? I can’t believe Scrivener hasn’t made this any easier over the years. What jerks!It drove me mad that Barbara was so casual about it. I cynically thought in my head, Oh, good for you, Barbara. It’s so easy for you, this writing gig. Must be nice!In agony now, I decided that Scrivener was dead to me. It was time to find a replacement, and while I was at it, revamp my process. We neurodivergent people love to explore new avenues. I spent three days researching and test driving other options with unhinged determination.Meanwhile, by the way, I was getting nowhere with my work-in-progress.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Then one of the AIs, with unbelievable audacity, suggested my frustration could simply be a symptom of a larger problem, that perhaps I was struggling with a particular part of my book.It took me another couple of days and some R-rated rants to process this suggestion, but I eventually got around to asking the internet what the most challenging part of writing a book was. Guess what. The common answer was the midpoint.What an idiot I was to be swept away on a software research tangent. Anything to resist figuring my way past the midpoint. I won’t even spend word count sharing the other ways I was procrastinating, but there were many. In fact, writing this essay could almost be considered avoidance, but I wanted to use it as a cathartic exercise. A way to formally process how a rage toward Scrivener had been my way of avoiding the blues of the midpoint. Then I thought that it would be nice to share it with you, because maybe I’m not alone in facing challenges—writerly or otherwise—or, in this case, involuntarily dissociating from them. Surely we’re not all Maggie, Rebecca, and Barbara. Curse them and their ease with words!!!! (Just kidding. I remove the curse, friends.) But still, I low-key resent all of you. I should formally admit that Barbara was right about simply copying and pasting; sometimes the easy way is the right way.You can see what a writer is up against, and I’m a working novelist who’s been doing this a long time. It’s still not easy! I don’t think I’m alone? Am I alone? Oh, God, maybe.Of course, awareness is only one step toward a solution. I’m addressing you now from a place of having just reached the end of my first draft, so we can safely say that I defeated the monster, and I’m eager to share some tricks.Before I get into the nitty-gritty of the midpoint, what it is, why it matters, why it presents difficulty, and most importantly, how we can get past it, let me be clear: you must take the midpoint seriously. You need to know it’s coming, that it might be hiding in ambush. It might even attack you passively, silently, like a software virus—you don’t know you’ve been hacked till it’s too late.If you’re trying to slip by the midpoint unnoticed, like a prisoner avoiding the watchtower on her way to escape, then you’re missing the point. Ha, you’re missing the midpoint! It’s the ultimate reset, the story beat when you surprise the reader by dropping them into a dunk tank. It’s when you reload the gun, the moment in your space flight when you jettison your empty fuel tanks and ignite the second-stage engines for the push into orbit.To me, such a massive story beat requires each of the voices in my head (true self, ego, inner child, dopamine chaser, OCD planner, ADHD space cadet, watchtower guy, smooth jazz lover, etc.) to convene in the war room for an all-hands meeting so that we can make sure we’re ready for the final approach.Let’s take a break. Thanks for playing. I’ll be back soon with more midpoint thoughts, including tactics to make it sing.I hope you have a glorious week.Your friends,boo and the choir that makes up his monkey mindDrowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Dear noble book people of grand renown, I’m currently in a marital dispute, and if she’s not careful, I’m going to drag Star Jones in from Divorce Court. Let me back up…I had the great fortune of spending the morning brainstorming plot twists with my mother-in-law and wife, and WE (notice the pronoun) came up with something that’s going to make your jaw smack the earth. Seriously, I’m beyond elated to bring this Maine coast story to life.And then here comes my wife, my sweet, loving wife, saying it was her idea. She tried to pull the same nonsense regarding that clever curveball at the end of The Secrets of Good People. Okay, fine, it was her idea. So was the shocker today, but I’m still leaning on the we of this thing. It was my brilliance that stirred her imagination to life. Behind every good woman is a good man—I think that’s how that goes. Actually, before moving to psychotherapy, she’d started the path toward the FBI, as she has mad skills in understanding bad guys and dark minds. She sees things that I simply can’t. Mikella’s name belongs on the covers of all my books, as she is constantly bringing out the best in them—and me. So long as my name is on top, I’m good with that. Might as well make the font for mine a little bigger. No, bigger than that. Yeah, there we go. Truth be told, she can’t stand the spotlight and is going to crucify me when she reads this later on. If you see me scurrying down Shore Road in Cape Elizabeth, Maine tonight, please offer me shelter and bread. No matter what the cover looks like, I’m days away from typing “The End” on my work-in-progress, which will now include my wife’s shocking twist. And I’m way ahead of schedule. Perhaps that will leave me space to sneak in a side project, maybe something Red Mountain related…Moving on, I’ve been a bit manic with my camera passion over the years, twice now giving up and selling all my gear, saying I was spread too thin, deciding that telling stories and playing music was enough. Without fail, though, I regret abandoning the hobby shortly after. After revisiting some shots I took in the aughts with great longing, I’m back on a Fuji fixed lens and hoping you’ll allow me to share some new work soon. For the record, I’m no pro, just a guy who loves hacking away at various mediums. I’m also dabbling with the art of drawing, though it’s nothing more than clumsy doodling.Do any of you have any passions that keep reeling you back in, almost like an ex that you can’t shake from your heart? Please tell me I’m not the only one.Below are some of my faves that I took twenty-plus years ago, travel shots that evoke such grand memories for me. I hope you enjoy.Thanks for humoring me. In other news:* I’m obsessed with Paradise on Hulu. Second season wraps next week. It satisfies all my end-of-the-world cravings and is far more enjoyable than watching the news.* I’m a couple of hundred pages into VE Schwab’s new one, Bury My Bones in the Midnight Soil. I keep pausing to ponder her phrasing; what a master. But I can’t read it before I go to bed. Learned that the hard way. There be vampires!* My new fave artist/writer/creator right now: Maggie Stiefvater. My son and I just started The Raven Boys, which is more YA. Her latest in adult fiction, The Listeners, is on deck for me. And I’m loving her Substack. She is so tapped in, at once writing (at an extremely high level), making music, painting, and even tending to her fainting goats in Virginia. Thanks for reading. Don’t forget: you can listen to these too, via the button above.Be back soon with some craft talk…and hopefully a report that I’ve reached the end of my first draft.Cheerio!booDrowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Dear ones, you lit soldiers and word bunnies, As I’ve mentioned, I had the pleasure of obtaining an advance reader copy of Emily St. John Mandel’s forthcoming novel, Exit Party, and it was everything I’d hoped, a nine-course meal of lit heaven that’s left me gobsmacked and fat and happy. And now it’s time for me to pass it on to one of you lucky humans. [NOW CLOSED] To enter the random selection, open this article in a browser or the Substack app and leave a comment regarding what is beautiful or wonderful in your life right now. Extra points for those who stir my soul. I’ll close the process on Friday, March 20th, then drop the book in the mail the next day. In a sec, I’ll talk more about her latest masterpiece, but first, housekeeping and some other bits and bobs…* Remember you can access the audio of these newsletters via the link above or via my podcast on Apple and Spotify. It’s my way of expanding on the topics in a totally unfiltered, unedited way—basically me grabbing the microphone after I write you here.* If you’re not following me via your fave social channel, such as Instagram, Facebook, or TikTok, you’re missing out on Boo at his most ridiculous in short video reels. Lately, I’ve been sharing the “best of” negative reviews left for my novels. Now onto other things…* The Oscars were fun last night. Though I loved Sinners, One Battle After Another was yet another Leo film that stole my heart, so I was glad it won. But the most important thing I got from watching was Conan informing us that they were working on a sequel to F1, called Caps Lock. I could feel writers all over the world chuckling at that one.* You might remember I talked about Banksy recently, as my fam visited a Banksy exhibit in Barcelona. With uncanny timing, Reuters has blown the mystery wide open in a wonderful piece of reporting. But only read it if you’re ready to know the truth. I suppose part of me is sad that the hunt is over. * The drummer of one of my favorite bands, Go Go Penguin, left after creative disputes and has joined forces with another wonderful British contemporary jazz group called Mammal Hands. Their new album is a whopper—soul deep, sometimes sizzling, sometimes subtle, always utterly satisfying. Check it out on Spotify, Apple, or Bandcamp. If you want to understand Boo Walker, crank this album up through headphones, and you’ll see right through to my essence. Same goes for creating a station off of either of the above mentioned bands. That whole British jazz contemporary world, including Portico Quartet and the trumpet maestro Matthew Hallsall, is enough to prove that there’s magic and wonder all around us, that we’re not alone.Speaking of, Emily St. John Mandel has done it again with Exit Party. She’s putting together quite the oeuvre, and I’m a super fan. As you know by now, I can’t get enough literary speculative/post-apoc/dystopian fiction, which seems more like non-fiction every day. There’s that plus a bit of traveling between dimensions, but as always, it’s her vision and characters that carry us through. Her writing is smart, to the point, and the worlds she creates are staggeringly original.The good news is you don’t have to wait till September 15th to bear witness to her genius. You can either win the aforementioned raffle or jump into one of her other works. I suppose Station Eleven is the knockout punch, but Sea of Tranquility and The Glass Hotel are heavyweights too. What’s fun is they’re loosely tied together, which only makes for a richer reading experience.I best jump back into my work-in-progress. I’m about to bust through 60k words, and I see all the way to the end. This one’s going to disrupt the Boo status quo a bit, and that’s exactly what needs to happen. Cheerio, chaps and chapettes and anyone in between!boo Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Good day, my dear friends,My Substack is an evolving beast, and as you know by now, I’m writing for both you the reader of Boo Walker novels, and also anyone interested in the art of creation. So many writing mentors have helped me along the way, and it fills my heart to pass that kindness along. To that end, I’m trying to find the right balance. I especially hope those of you who DO NOT have a desire to write a book give my craft essays a shot. I keep thinking of them as companion pieces to my novels, almost like when you turn on the commentary while watching a movie you enjoy.But if you have zero interest in the craft and just want to keep up with me and my book, TV, and movie recommendations, the On the Craft designation in the subject line will provide warning, so that you can move on with your day. Though I don’t want to set a hard rule, I’ll likely switch back and forth each week.As a reminder, you can listen to the audio version of this article, where I riff and expand and doodle a bit more, by clicking the button above or via podcast feeds on Spotify or Apple.For those brave enough to leap into my mind, I hope you enjoy the following essay on how I tap into my characters—my version of character acting. As always, I don’t hold back. It’s funny how my craft discussions always turn into psychotherapy sessions.Let’s go!We hear actors talk about immersing themselves into a character, often using techniques rooted in the methods of the great character actor and director Konstantin Stanislavski. But why don’t we talk more about the topic as writers? Aren’t we also playing roles?When I write, I want to feel the hurt, the joy, the loneliness of my characters. When something terrible happens to them, I want it to wreck me. When they succeed, I want to thrust my fist into the air in victory.It’s like a split screen, this experience. I am aware of Boo, the author. I can feel my fingers moving, hear the keys, smell my coffee, but I’m also in the fictional dimension.The experience of writing from such a deep point of view is absolutely delightful, a thrill ride if there ever was one. I’m Neo plugged into the Matrix.My wife and son know to enter my office at their own risk. What they see if they sneak in is a guy who is only half there, his physical body leaning toward the screen, music blasting through his headphones, his fingers hammering at the keys, his mouth mumbling, perhaps speaking dialogue, changing accents. Mad-scientist vibes. And when the part of me that’s still in the room catches sight of them out of the corner of my eye, it’s a whole thing. I scream and leap out of my chair. Maybe defensively swing at the air as if I’m being attacked.Who doesn’t want to fall that deep into the story? I want to laugh, to drool, to mumble, to shiver. Whenever tears are streaming down my face while I’m writing, I know I’m doing something right. Many of you know exactly what I’m talking about.And you can bet that the words you deliver to the page while under such a trance carry with them a dense energy. Sure, I’ll need to edit every line later, often when I’m not as immersed. As I get to the polishing stage, I am operating mostly from an analytical place, back from Hyde to Jekyll. But I have far more to work with if what I initially put down came from deep immersion.As a reader, I know when a writer is there, in the scene, fighting it out alongside his character, and I adore the experience. It’s from this place where the rules don’t matter, where the author is having such an out-of-body experience that his brain waves are moving at a totally different rhythm than an hour before.Ray Bradbury said,“I’ve had a sign over my typewriter for 25 years now which reads Don’t think. You must never think at the typewriter, you must feel, and then your intellect is always buried in that feeling anyway. You collect up a lot of data, you do a lot of thinking away from your typewriter, but at the typewriter you should be living.”There are many of you out there who get by just fine playing a documentarian, writing out what you see taking place in your imagination. That’s great. Probably far less exhausting. Depending on the author and the situation, some content might be too painful to explore from any other position than as an observer. Other authors might simply adore the idea of being a journalist with a Press badge on their jacket, a camera around their waist, as they travel through the many worlds of their imagination to chase down the next lead. There’s an appeal to that too, isn’t there?Let me be clear: masterpieces can be written either way.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Lately, I want a more somatic experience, and I think that’s what Bradbury is getting at. Ever seen someone trip and fall? Didn’t you wince? How about watching someone bomb a public speech? Your reaction was quite visceral, wasn’t it? That’s what I’m talking about.How do we bring that to our writing desk?The first step is to leave all your baggage behind.Lee Strasberg, who brought Stanislavski’s message to Hollywood, said,“Tension is the actor’s enemy. It inhibits spontaneity, restricts emotional expression, and makes it almost impossible for an actor to fully inhabit their character.”By tension, he means all the baggage in your life that keeps you from getting into a creative place. Before we slip into our character’s skin, we must climb out of our own. Let go of fear. Of needing to write a masterpiece, of needing to pay bills. Let go of the fight you had earlier with your cousin Mildred. Let go of your rage over politics or current events. Or your dread over your forthcoming colonoscopy.To do so, think meditation. We have to slow our world down. The only task on your to-do list is to write from a place of pure presence, to be right here, right now in the story. Of course, we will spend our entire life trying to get closer to deep presence. I’ve certainly worked with my fair share of gurus and head docs to carve away at it.So we have to do the big work, the life’s work, addressing the wounds that plague us and comforting the damaged inner child inside. We have to come to peace with ourselves and our place in the world, slaying the tension.More immediately, as we prepare for a writing session, we need to shake off all the shit tugging at us, the monsters in our head, the urges to rush through so we can get to other tasks. Sure, sometimes, I have a ravenous desperation to jump into the story, and I’ll do just that, but sometimes, I sense resistance and have to take time to clear the air.I might be so distracted by reality that I need to go move my body, take a long walk. A jump in the frigid ocean. Or maybe play loud music that’s far more edgy, something that will rattle me and catapult me out of my head. I always keep my guitar and banjo handy as another way to welcome in the magic. Snacking and napping are other incredible options.No matter what the method, I do what it takes to give the practice of writing the reverence it deserves. We, my dear writer friends, are sitting down to break bread with our muse, to make magic with Spirit, to dance with God. Treat it like that, and you’ll reap the reward. So will your readers.Let’s back up, though. There are other preparatory steps we can take to fertilize our immersion soil.When I start a new project, I change the name on the Alexa device in my office to my protagonist. Right now, my wife has to reach out to “Cara” to get ahold of me from downstairs. When your spouse starts calling you by your character’s name, it gets real.We can find so many tiny ways to shift our mindset and help us become the character. I wrote a book a few years back that’s partially set in Winchester, England in the late 1800s, and I would do my best to mimic the accent. Not only at my desk but as I went about my daily life. “Hullo, old girl, spot of tea before the carriage arrives?” Can you imagine the amount of patience required by my wife—that ol’ gal—to put up with me?Ask yourself what you can apply specifically to your character. Another common angle is to write first-person entries into a journal. I love to do that for all the characters that matter in my story. You get a sense for what it’s like to be in their head. I’ll have entire conversations between characters while I’m putting up the dishes or taking a shower. Another no-brainer is that I always have a sense of what my character looks like. I keep an applicable picture I stole from the internet close by in my Scrivener files.Michael Chekhov, a protege of Stanislavski, suggested that an actor find a physical movement that represents the character. Think Heath Ledger’s lick when he played the Joker. If you have a character with a bad leg, what if you went outside and limped around the cul-de-sac for a while before you sat down at your desk?What if we applied even more of our senses and attached them to a character? Smell a rose every time you are about to leap into a particular character’s point of view. For a book I wrote years ago, I would strap on an eyepatch when it was his turn. I know, right? Ludicrous!We’re looking for entryways to access our character. Let’s say you have a cool cat protag who wears black leather, stilettos that could kill. Every sidewalk is a runway. Name a tune that plays in her head when she struts. How about Madonna’s “Vogue?” There’s your entry! Blast that tune before you write and tell me if your writing doesn’t land richer on the page.My favorite and perhaps most effective way to enter the fictional realm is by brainspotting. I can’t expound on the technique too much here, but I’ll give you a taste. While living in Spain, I connected with Ruth Chiles, who is one of the leading experts on brainspotting in the world. We’ve been working together for years now, and I’ve used brainspotting to clear personal baggage and to enhance my writing craft.I often describe it as a form of meditation, perhaps meditation on steroids. At risk of oversimplifying, you close your eyes, focus on a particular memory, thought, emotion, or even a spot in your body, say the area around your root chakra or your heart. Your eyes will naturally fix on a point in space related to your focus. Then you open your eyes, hold that gaze, and sit there and fall into pure awareness. That fixed eye position becomes a doorway, signaling the brain to access the related neural circuitry.For example, if you’re hunting a wound in your life, perhaps something yucky from your childhood, you brainspot that pain, own it, become it, welcome it. And eventually, either that day or after many more sessions, the tension and pain fade away.Ruth and I started playing with ways to help me drop deeper into POV. I close my eyes and focus on a character. What do they smell like? What do they believe? How does it feel to walk in their shoes? What is their deepest desire? Whatever captures their essence. Once I feel locked in, ten seconds or a minute or five minutes later, I’ll open my eyes and see where they were pointing. There’s my doorway. I’ll hold that gaze and morph into character. I’ll typically brainspot till the pressure has built and I can’t take it anymore, till my character and I are demanding to be set free onto the page. Then I twist toward my screen and start doing the Tango with the keyboard.I’ll even use this technique when I’m outlining or considering my work-in-progress from a wider perspective—as the author and not one of the characters. I’ll close my eyes and focus on the essence of the story, perhaps the theme, message, governing verb, or setting, and then I’ll open my eyes, find the brainspot, and simply stare, breathe, and be for a while. Eventually, something clicks, and I see more clearly. The decisions I make from that place are typically rock solid.If we truly immerse, we become our character. Our fingers are their fingers. I might even reach back and scrape the long hair I don’t have into a ponytail. I feel my energy filling their physical body. My legs are their legs. When we walk in a scene, we walk together. And I feel their feels. It’ll hurt sometimes. You’ll be zapped after some writing sessions. But you may also take a giant step closer toward your own destination, that best version of your storyteller self, a mere vessel of creativity.No matter how you get there, you improve with practice. With the project I just wrapped, I was bouncing back and forth between four character points of view. I first did the hard work to get to know each character, then began chipping away at the story.At first, the shift looked something like this: Boo does pushups, combs hair forward, brainspots, writes; Boo wraps a scarf around neck and dons Sherlock Holmes hat, writes; Boo puts on lipstick, lights a Virginia Slim, brainspots, writes; Boo sits with a horrific fictional memory for five minutes, deploys a shoulder tick, then writes. But my muscles strengthened, and I got to this wonderful place where I could jump from one character to the other like a quick-change artist. Blink and I’m Bianca, blink again, George.It goes without saying that all this requires resilience and skill. Work those imagination muscles. Role play every day. Have fun with it. Don’t let actors have all the glory.What are you doing to immerse yourself into character? What tricks did I miss? As always, I’m writing from the trenches, still learning every day.(This essay was originally shared via Writer Unboxed, where I am a regular contributor.)So long,booDrowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hello, you Monday warriors—you who were brave enough to drag yourselves out of bed today and face a new week, despite all the wild, absolutely crazy, shockingly jarring conditions of the world we inhabit.I’ve just wrapped up the proofreads for The English Bookstore in Bologna, which lands in August. I wish I had a time machine, because I want to get there, to know you have this baby in your hands. If you’re curious about the editing process with a publisher, here’s how it works. After giving my all to a book and being swallowed and kicked and tortured and mutilated by my first deadline, I spend two or three months going back and forth with a developmental editor, who analyzes the book from a wide purview and offers thoughts around tweaking characters, finding ways to amplify momentum, making the hits hit harder, and drawing more emotion out of my readers.I have a little break and wait for the copyedits, which address grammar and diction and general errors. The copyeditors always catch some timeline debacle that I have to wrap my head around, which is not easy after having stepped away from my book for a while. Actually, my hell is wrestling with timeline issues during copyedits.Then the proofreading round, which is a chance to catch typos, check my timeline again, and run any foreign language checks. I had some help from an Italian and a Japanese expert on this one, the latter of which schooled me on the various ways to make chawanmushi, which is a Japanese savory egg custard. Afterwards, there’s the cold read—the last line of defense. The cold reader uses their eagle eye to catch any last-minute issues before publication, and then it’s off to the printer and headed for your eyeballs and ears. Before I get into Theo, this is your final reminder to read or listen to Andy Weir’s Project Hail Mary before the movie comes out. The book was a stunner, and from what I understand, we’re going to love it on the big screen. I have completed Theo of Golden and am excited to share my thoughts. In a few words: you need to read it. As a novelist and creator who professes that all people want is gossip and carnage, I stand corrected with this one. It’s not that kind of book at all.In fact, if you’re in a rush and looking for something to tear you out of reality—that kind of page-turning dizziness that some books give you—this is not it. This is a book to savor. That being said, you don’t have to work too hard. It’s a wonderful story that pulls you in and gives you a character, Theo, who you will adore. Unless you’re broken inside, or soulless. I jumped on this train because I like to keep up with what’s soaring through the charts, and because so many people suggested that, in this day and age, we need a book like this. I see exactly what they mean. After almost every reading session, I walked away feeling more whole inside. I definitely shed tears. Also, I highly recommend the audio, as David Morse takes the story to an entirely new level.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Theo is the kind of character who we all want in our lives, someone who inspires us, teaches us. In fact, he reminds me of one of my mentors, a fellow named Jack, who spends his summers on Peaks Island. Both Theo and Jack have giant hearts and give and give and give, truly caring about those around them. They embody that wonderful idea that I t’s better to give than to receive, and in doing so, they make the world a better place. I certainly closed this book in the throes of an awakening, as if challenged to live bigger and brighter, with love leading the way. **Itty bitty spoiler ahead: What’s really funny is that Allen Levi, the author, broke a seemingly essential rule of storytelling. I can’t think of any other mainstream fiction off the top of my head that does this. He features a protagonist that has no arc. Typically, when we authors write, we’re looking to create a flawed protagonist who grows over the course of the story. In the case of Theo, he’s a totally static character. He’s enlightened from the first page to the last. I’m not even sure you could say he changes. Maybe he was ninety-nine percent enlightened and completed his journey while in pursuit of his goal to share Asher’s drawings. Why this technique works is that he affects change on everyone else. All of the supporting cast have arcs, thanks to Theo!So much of why this story is great is that Allen’s not writing from a place of overthinking story structure, he’s writing from his heart. He’s a debut author, but he’s been a traveling musician all his life, a storyteller at his core. Reading his novel is like listening to a guy up on stage with a guitar sharing an uplifting tale. Not that the book reads like a debut novel. He has a masterful way with words. I love his descriptions—not too much, just right. I adore the dialogue, and even more so the letters that Theo writes to the people he’s gifting paintings to. There’s a brilliant elegance, and it’s so clear to me that Allen is a wise man who’s been through a lot and knows how to share it in a way that affects his audience.There’s probably a specific time in everyone’s life—or in this coming year—when this book will be best for you. It found me in the quiet season, snow piling up outside, nowhere to go. It’s the kind of book you settle into by the fireplace, falling into its easy rhythm. It reads almost like a jazz ballad, the way it takes you away if you can slow yourself enough to catch the magic. It feels like the kind of book that authors are lucky to snag once in a lifetime—that book we were meant to write. Though very different on so many levels, I can’t help but think of a couple more that are like that. Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain. I haven’t read his other works, but I don’t think they’ve had the same impact. And I suspect some of that is because he had a lot of pressure to follow up with a big hit, but more importantly, because he was channeling something very deep when he wrote The Art of Racing in the Rain. He was quite possibly realizing his purpose.The other book I think about is The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. I’ve read several of her books, and she’s such a great writer, but The Nightingale, for me, was next level. I don’t know that I’ll ever forget that book.Theo of Golden falls into that category. It’ll be interesting to read his follow-up and see if he can make magic twice.The book won’t shock you. It won’t grab you. At least not like a thriller. What it will do is remind you of the power of story, and the power of people. Perhaps most importantly, it’ll remind you of the power that you have within yourself.Lastly, I did a little digging and learned that there was an actual coffee shop with ninety-two portraits on the wall, all by one of Allen’s friends, Garry Pound. If you’re curious, here’s the link to his work. Something tells me Garry is charging more than he was a year ago.So long, friends. Thanks for reading.booDrowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Allow me to paint the scene surrounding the breakfast buffet in our hotel in Barcelona. A woman licks her fingers, then reaches for the serrated knife to slice a baguette. Two couples at a nearby table speak and laugh at a volume that is beyond unacceptable—as if they’re performing and vying for all of our attention. A man near me returns to his table with a plate stacked eight inches high with cubes of cheese. Another group abandons their table leaving enough wasted food with which you could feed every unhoused person within three blocks. Several hungry patrons are pushing—actually pushing—to get to the cast-iron pan of sizzling bacon that’s been delivered. It was two weeks ago in Spain. We don't typically take breakfast at the hotel, but it was comped, so why not? The fellow diners clearly hail from all over the world and represent a lovely variety of race, language, religion, and homeland, which is, of course, the magic of visiting a big city.We coach Riggs on how we’d like to see variety on his plate: a rainbow of colors, fruit and eggs and greens. No more cereal and pastries! Then I collect my standards: tortilla Español, boquerones en vinagre, frijoles, lechuga. Not having eaten meat in more than fifteen years, I eye the paper-thin slices of Jamón ibérico like a former smoker watching someone slide a Camel out of a pack. And I breathe through the many buffet crimes committed before my eyes. A sniffling person wipes their nose, then seizes the tongs. A bearded guy wearing super short shorts, a Megadeth tank-top, and slippers, who looks like he hasn’t bathed or groomed in weeks, has decided that he doesn’t need serving utensils at all. I squirm as I watch his filthy fingers clamor for a slice of papaya. Then we’re all at the table, enjoying our meal, knocking back coffee, prepping for another 20k steps as we wander around this city that has absolutely captured our heart…and I’m working through the buffet sins I’ve witnessed.I have a strong tolerance, but something about today, maybe the jet lag or one too many cafe con leches, I’m a bit on edge. As I sit back to take a few more sips, I can barely hear myself think due to that loud table over there, and then a man about my age several feet away lets out an epic belch while he’s in the midst of stuffing his face with sausage. It sends me over the edge.Where is the decency? The respect for others? What happened to self-awareness? What swine!!! I nearly surge to my feet in protest, when I catch myself.I take a deep breath and totally reframe the situation. It was such a powerful moment that I, while in the elevator returning to my room, scribbled down the experience in the notes on my phone to share it with you later.The two loud couples: they’d been forcibly separated and hadn’t seen each other in thirty years. The woman licking her fingers, maybe that’s totally acceptable in her country. The Megadeth guy, well, perhaps he didn’t have parents like mine. The guy with the mound of cheese cubes, what if he never gets the pleasure of good cheese and was in full-blown dairy ecstasy? The people wasting food, what if they spent their entire life fighting for every morsel? The folks warring over bacon, well, I remember what bacon can do to people. And that guy next to me who burped without shame. What if it was a sign of respect to the chef in his country? Who knows? In the end, we’re all just star matter and bacteria anyway, right? And we were all there in Barcelona, travelers seeking new experiences and horizons, perhaps reconnecting with old friends or making new ones.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.After I whispered, “Boo, get over yourself and lighten up,” I put my attention on my heart—not the organ but my energetic heart, the glowing center in my chest—and I imagined shooting love out into the room, filling the space with patient, understanding, open-minded love. A smile lifted my lips, and then I saw all of them, even Megadeth Man, with pure love. My brothers and sisters, all of us fighting our own wars, all of us trying to bring a little light to life.That’s why I travel, friends. That’s why we drag our son around the world. We can’t know what others are going through, or what they believe, or what is acceptable in their culture. What we must do is open our minds and hearts and let them in—every one of them—because they are just like us, humans playing the hand we’re dealt. Not an hour later, we visited MOCO, a modern art museum in the El Born neighborhood, and there was an astounding Banksy exhibit. Don’t even get me started on the rabbit holes we went down later trying to figure out who Banksy is. I’d love it to be Robert Del Naja from the trip-hop group Massive Attack. He was first a street artist in Bristol, but Banksy is likely another street artist from Bristol called Robin Gunningham. Or maybe he’s actually a collective of several artists. Oh, how I’d like to write a novel exploring the possibilities. Anyway, they had some of his quotes printed on the walls, and this one seized me, as if it had been waiting for me long before the experience at breakfast. More than anything, I hope our son one day departs our nest with an open mind and open heart that are constant fountains spewing love. I hope he’s able to leave judgement behind, to hunt for beauty even when it’s hard, to find commonality even when it seems impossible. And I hope that when he looks at another person, thinking that they are wrong, that he can take a step back and realize that maybe he’s the one who is wrong one. Or, maybe they’re both right. The latter is what I’ve mulled over so much lately. The multiverse is wonderfully complex. What if there is room for all our beliefs? What if we’re all right? Or wrong?Thanks for reading. I’ll leave you with a shot of me in my happy place, totally jet-lagged and having just finished one of the best meals of my life at a place called Fat Veggies. Ciao!boo Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Howdy, howdy, word soldiers!I am packing for Spain, already dreaming of warm weather, sangria, grilled calçots, Cava, boquerones en vinagre, and endless tortilla Espanola, but please allow me to first share the final part of my Organizing the Madness essay, where I complete my thoughts on reaching the midpoint of a novel and setting eyes on getting to “The End.”Maybe next time, I’ll talk about two books that are pounding my heart right now: Allen Levi’s Theo of Golden and Emily St. John Mandel’s forthcoming Exit Party. By God, amigos, I LOVE BOOKS! Are they not the best? Please, tell me what you’re reading—if it’s great—by leaving a comment or responding via email.Anyway, let’s go…For you just joining us, I’d recommend you read Part 1 and 1.5 of Organizing the Madness before continuing. And as a reminder, you are in my head right now, seeing me bring a story to life. I am offering you a “making of”-style documentary that will hopefully give you readers—and writers—a glimpse under the hood.I must admit I felt a sense of urgency to complete the back end of this essay, so that I might get back to drafting my WIP. I do have a deadline and a family to feed. But after a nice walk in the snow, I realized that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. By exploring these thoughts on the page, I am writing; I am working.So get off my back, you pig-nosed voice in my head, you who try to wedge your way into my psyche and tell me that the only thing that counts as work is hitting my word count. Not so, dipshit! Every book has a different path to “The End”, and I’m no doubt on it now, knocking down tall weeds with my machete—er, keyboard. This is me being fluid. I can guarantee you that by finishing this essay I will have inched closer toward success. “Measure twice, cut once,” they say.One realization while I was writing Part I hit me hard. I was teasing out the idea that yes, I want to step back and examine what I’ve done before moving forward, but there’s more to it than that. A voice in my head is suggesting I not only recalibrate but also take a stab at a proper outline to light my way to the finish line. I have a stronger sense of where I’m going, so why wouldn’t I? It’ll give me a chance to add more complexity and also some clear, razor-sharp momentum. And it’ll save me time, which I’m big on.After writing out the scenes and pondering what’s happened so far in the mess of the first half of my work-in-progress, it’s time to visit a few topics that might not have been clear at the outset.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Thus far while drafting, I’ve learned that Cara’s WOUND was an occurrence that happened when she was seventeen while summering on Salvation Isle. It could be argued that the first blood was drawn by her mess of two parental figures far earlier in Cara’s life, but it’s what happens on the island that really messes her up and leads to a series of huge mistakes that will become festering secrets.Her FLAW, which is really a symptom of the wound, is that she is always trying to run away—from her past, her secrets, the hard conversations, even her current life. As I touched on last time, the GOVERNING VERB of the entire novel is running.I have a PREMISE: What if a wildfire pulled back the veil on a series of secrets that a woman had kept hidden for thirty years?My LOG LINE needs some work, so we’ll hit that in a minute. Same with her GOAL(s). Though I wasn’t sure what she wanted when I started hammering away, it’s become more obvious.I had no idea where my MIDPOINT was till I was staring at it in the face. It’s like how Justice Potter Stewart described the threshold test for pornography in the 1964 case of Jacobellis v. Ohio. “I know it when I see it.” The midpoint must dazzle, shock, ignite, refuel. As I hover over it now with my WIP, it feels like the second half of the story is an arrow and the midpoint is pulling back the bowstring, ready to send the whole thing off with renewed force. For Salvation Isle, the midpoint is the moment we realize the extent of her wounds. I want my reader’s jaw to smack the floor.I don’t know the ending yet, but I’m betting my THEME—or one of them—is something like: You can’t run forever. Or, the past will eventually catch up with you. Conversely, if she’s able to keep running by the end, if she hightails it from her family and her secrets, the theme might be: You can always outrun your demons if you don’t stop moving.But I’m thinking Cara’s in trouble. All her secrets must come to light. And she must pay the consequences, which promise to be severe. If we go that route, then we already know where we’re headed. The CLIMAX must be that Cara will finally stop running and come clean. That gives us a huge story beat to add to our cork board. Now we can work backward from that climax to fill even more spots.Of course, the RESOLUTION of the story must be the fallout of her secrets coming to life, filling out even more index cards.In addition to the obvious story beats that we can add toward the end, there are plenty of other scenes that need to be included, scenes that were given birth by an earlier scene that I tackled while drafting in a free fall. I hit plot points that required explanation…or left tremors.For example, I wrote a scene early on where Cara finally accepts that she and her family have nowhere else to go but Salvation Isle, and she knows then that she’ll soon have to see her ex-boyfriend, Davin, who was part of the horror that took place when she was seventeen. Even worse, she knows that Luke will actually meet Davin; they will soon shake hands. And she can’t imagine anything worse. You can bet those future scenes need to be in there. I could give you fifty more examples.Allow me to throw one more spice into the soup. Whilst doing a writing sprint a few weeks ago, (I am of British descent, so I’m allowed the occasional whilst), a phrase leapt from my unimpeded imagination that seized me by the throat. I wrote (from Cara’s POV):Never in my wildest imagination did I think Luke and Davin would come face to face. Two handsome men who once captured my heart, only to learn that this bird does not do cages well.I’ll likely edit the above till it bears no resemblance to its firstborn form, but that bit about cages…this bird does not do cages well. Thank you, deep brain and muse and mystic guide, for such a remarkable image. I wasn’t trying for that. It simply appeared whilst I was hammering away at the keys under the pressure of a twenty-five minute timer. This, by the way, is exactly why flying away unencumbered in first drafts pays. We get out of the way and tap into something far more powerful than ourselves.So. Cara doesn’t do cages well.Hating cages is additional color to the idea of running away. She hates being pinned down. So we keep her from running by not only breaking her legs and cutting off exits, but actively putting her in as many cages as we can conjure. And stealing the idea from Star Wars, having the walls of the cages close in on her.Can you see that we’re roping all the wild ponies, bringing some serious left-brained, analytical, accountant-type energy into the writer’s room? That’s part of the magic.Pete Townshend and Keith Moon of The Who are a wonderful example of how both our analytical and creative parts must work together to make art that matters. Pete was an infamous taskmaster, a highly organized go-getter who was constantly composing complex pieces, whereas Keith Moon, the savant drummer, was an agent of chaos, a wild stallion if there ever was one. It was best to simply steer Keith toward his stool and let him go wild. Together, they became a force of nature, an essential part of one of the greatest rock bands that will ever live.So Pete’s now in charge of Boo’s brain. Let’s see if he can make sense of Keith’s mess…————Now is a great time to talk about GOALS. As I’ve said before, writing a great book does not require having one measurable external goal. You can argue with me as much as you like, show me every craft book that disagrees, but then I’ll throw a hundred epic literary achievements at you that debunk the rule. I will indeed concede that a protagonist with one measurable goal might make writing the story easier, but since when was easy right?I do believe, however, that DESIRE is required. A character needs to want something (or multiple somethings)—even the vaguest of somethings, as it’s the obstacles standing in that way of the desire that creates CONFLICT. Even Hallmark has conflict! Inward and outer desire are canvases begging for obstructions.Fortunately for me on this project, Cara does have measurable external goals. It’s not as clear cut as Sherlock Holmes going after a murderer, but they are there.1. Cara wants to keep her secrets in the bag.2. Cara wants to get her daughter off to college before her marriage to Luke falls apart—or she loses her mind.3. The moment her daughter is gone, she wants to finally leave Luke and her work and go chase a new life, one that makes her feel young again.See how neatly the goals fit with the idea of running away? She’s running away from confessing secrets and from letting her daughter in on how much she’s struggling (though we all know that children are highly perceptive), and she’s prepping for her biggest escape yet, leaving her marriage and work and everything that’s currently caging her in.Are each of the goals measurable? Yes! I’ve had plenty of books that don’t come with such easily determined goals, but this one’s cut and dry-ish. And hell yes, she can have more than one goal. I do that all the time with characters, as do thousands of other writers that are far more capable than I. She also has internal goals, and let’s just state the vaguest of the vague now, just to upset a few people: she wants to be happy! Oh, and she wants to be fulfilled inside. What she doesn’t know, the wall she must climb, is that she needs to find peace with the terrible things she’s done.How do I fill out the rest of my book? With obstructions that apply exactly to those goals! That’s how we break her.Before I started drafting, I had a log line—that elevator pitch you need to have ready to drop when you happen upon Ridley Scott in a hotel in Paris and he asks you what you’re working on.Here’s what I had from way back when; let’s see if it needs tweaking.When the cushy life of a family of three implodes in California, they retreat to an island house in Maine that they inherited from an aunt, whose only stipulation was that they can’t sell it. Can the island and this house be their salvation?Not bad, actually. I’ve stayed in this lane, but it’s become clear that I’m telling Cara’s story. Luke and Lainey are soldiers in the fight to help Cara realize her true potential. What if I rewrote my log line specifically for Cara?When the life of an unmoored wife and mother implodes due to a devastating fire, she and her family retreat to an inherited island house in Maine, where she will be forced to stop running and dig up the bones of her past.Not bad! They really go together, don’t they? The first applies to the overall concept, which includes her family, then we drill down to what is happening to the point-of-view character.I’ll write the new log line on my white board, knowing that this is my Northstar.I’m eye-to-eye with one more choice that I’d like to share, and then I’m going to spare you and go sneak off and do the rest of my brainstorming in private. As I face the second half and flesh out my best effort of an outline, of which I’ll surely deviate, I must decide whether I should first take a stab at polishing the first chunk of lit dung, that first 45k words, or forge ahead.For most of my books, when I reach the midway point—or even before, I do like to run a comb through what I have so far, smoothing sentences, expanding on descriptions, deleting unnecessary chunks, adding details that I only learned later. A run through can help you reinforce what you’ve written, firming up the characters in your mind, solidifying the protagonist’s voice. And it can help get your runaway train back on the right track.Or I can keep plowing ahead. I prefer this option if I can stand it. It depends on how far off the tracks I’ve run. Or if I want to change it up. I suppose my rule of thumb is that I want to chase after “The End” till I have no choice but to return to the beginning and start into a second draft.I’ve no idea which way I’ll go right now, but it’ll come clear after a few days attempting to outline the second half, and more importantly, as I carve out some quiet time to let all the voices in my head get a word in.There you go. You’re all caught up with me and my WIP. See you soon.booDrowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Cheerio, fine humans,This is going to be Boo’s attempt at brevity. I’m back-ish from a hell of a sickness and neck-deep in my new story again. We leave in six days to Madrid, Barcelona, and Sitges, but I’ll make sure I get out the final part of my essay on organizing the madness before I go. I also share some new book recommendations soon.A. I have a podcast! It’s unedited, unprofessional, unfiltered, and I’m doing them in one take, so you’re getting true authentic Boo. The idea is that I read through these notes to you and expand whenever I feel like going off script. I’m also going back and adding audio to my previous Substack posts, so look out for those too. You can listen by hitting the play button above each note or subscribe to me via Spotify or Apple. B. I’m loving this Ray Bradbury quote, which came to me by way of Bob Lefsetz’s newsletter. “I’ve had a sign over my typewriter for 25 years now which reads ‘Don’t think.’ You must never think at the typewriter, you must feel, and then your intellect is always buried in that feeling anyway. You collect up a lot of data, you do a lot of thinking away from your typewriter, but at the typewriter you should be living.”I talk about this often, the idea that your best writing comes when you get out of your own way. When I sit down to write, I look at it as my way to break bread with the muse. I’ve done prep and research, but once it’s go time, I just want to turn on the spigot and see if magic happens. C. Having almost survived my fourth wintah in Maine—and this one has been a BEAST—I’ve put together a list of lessons I’ve learned. You might also find a gem of a picture of Mikella and me freezing our tushes off in Wiscasset, Maine. Do any of these lessons resonate?That’s it for now. See you in a few days.boo Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

WELCOME, welcome, especially to those of you I’ve dragged over from my previous email provider. The water’s far warmer here…and turquoise…no sharks. Before I chat about my new book and reveal the cover, a few notes on what you might expect from this new space:* See the audio option above, the gray box where it reads Listen to post? I intend on recording a SUPER informal, unedited podcast of sorts that allows me to read my messages aloud and ramble on a bit. Should it work, they’ll also push out to Apple and Spotify as podcast feeds. But you simply push play above for a listen.* You’ll see about four emails from me a month, though don’t hold me to that. I’ll try to stick to three different themes: (1) Boo’s News, which will cover all things apropos to my novels and me (2) The Shallow End, which covers book, film, and music recommendations and other things that are impacting me in the moment(3) Deep Dives, which will be my essays on writing craft or anywhere else my muse leads. Lately, I’ve been documenting how I bring a book to life. Even if you never wanted to learn how to write, I think you’ll dig the insight and find it a nice companion to my novels.* I hope you love Substack like I do . You can be involved as much as you like. Read my note in your inbox like usual and be done with it. Or download the app, chat with me, comment and engage with others. I can’t stand most social media. Substack is different. It’s a haven for world-class writing, covering topics from books to music to cooking. You wouldn't believe what other authors you’re going to find here. I finally feel like I’ve found a home.* You’ll notice a paid tier. Don’t feel obligated. Though some posts and the archive are behind the paywall, I share plenty for free. Think of it as a tip jar, a way to say, “Boo, put more time and energy here. I love and get a lot out of what you’re up to.”NOW, LET’S TALK NEW BOOK!I can’t remember a time in my career when I got back the first cover designs and thought, “That’s it! Perfect.” Till now. I knew the moment I saw this one that the team had wonderfully captured my new novel, The English Bookstore in Bologna, which is now up for pre-order on Amazon and Bookshop.org. Here’s the blurb:Tucked away on a cobblestone street in enchanting Bologna, Italy, is the only English bookstore in the city. It’s owned by prickly Sandy Cooke, who keeps love, and even romantic fiction, at a distance. Her employee, timid and hopelessly optimistic Moira, dreams of transforming the struggling shop into a vibrant community hub. Against the odds, one Bolognese summer, it becomes a haven for fellow expats at their own crossroads.Bianca is a psychotherapist escaping both a breakdown and withering reviews of her new self-help book. On her heels is her father, George, wrestling with retirement—and regrets. He’s had a few, but the light of his life has always been his daughter. Then there’s Harold, a young and awkward barista from Denver recovering from his first belly-flopping high dive into love. Maybe it’s time for reinvention.At the only English bookstore in Bologna, paths converge for five damaged souls who discover that healing doesn’t require much—just honest connection and an open heart.And here you go, the brand-new, not-even-uploaded-anywhere cover:What do you think, amigos? Sound and look like your cup of tea? You can reply in this email or comment in the app.See you next time,boo Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

We will have to wait a little longer to break Cara’s legs.If you read my last post, Organizing the Madness, Part I (I suggest you do so now if you haven’t), you’ll know that I’ve shed my plotting ways and pantsed my way to the midpoint of my WIP, but I’m now taking a step back and attempting make some sense of the mess I’ve made. I want to make sure I’m making it as difficult as possible on Cara, my protagonist, hence the breaking her legs comment.Next time, I’ll resume with the second part, but I had to take a surprise side trip to voice a more immediate concern and address some words of wisdom that were passed down from one of my favorite writers on Substack, Tamara. Yes, she’s so cool she has no last name—of which I’m wildly jealous.Other writers ask if I plot or run free. Do I follow a protocol, a process? Do I always have a logline? Do I strictly adhere to the hero’s journey structure? Do I stop at a certain point and edit what I’ve written or race to the end? If I may pass along any one lesson in all my rambling on craft, it’s that you should not follow an instruction manual. Yes, study the craft and diagnose stories till your mind breaks, but don’t you dare attempt to find a secret sauce that you can apply to every project. Doing so seems to be a way to make things easier, but that’s not what you want. I’m on my sixteenth novel, and this whole gig is as hard as ever—and I suspect that’s for the better.The only part that’s easier is that I now know there’s a way through. That if I keep pushing every day, I will get to the end. No matter how much of a mess it’s in, I will find a way to edit the manuscript into cohesion and will one day deliver it to readers. Resilience kills writer’s block and sets books in their rightful place on the shelf. Period. Knowing these facts helps.But the getting there, figuring out where to go with the plot, skillfully building suspense, the bringing of characters to life, the writing of sentences that dazzle, that’s as hard as it ever was.What I want to convey by this interlude is that you’re starting over every time, and you don’t want to hone your process till you’ve landed on the perfect recipe. You want to light your process on fire. Hell, do the opposite of what you’ve done before. Change it up, be liquid, and go with whatever’s happening in the moment.Here’s what I mean:This post was unplanned, but I was gifted some fresh thoughts on where I should go with my WIP. It’s by no means my usual MO to post about my process as a way to seek the answer, but that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve written out these essays for you—but also for me, as a way to joggle free the right words. It’s a new trick that’s been delightful. On top of that, I never thought someone would chime in and give me such incredible wisdom as Tamara has. But I so welcome it! I’m also making a giant pivot from pantser to plotter as I survey the battlefield of this project from the halfway point.Years ago, I read Team of Teams: New Rules of Engagement for a Complex World by General Stanley McChrystal, and his words have stuck with me all this time. He suggests that the key to being a great force in battle is adaptability. Yes, soldiers should take what they’ve learned by studying every important battle ever fought, but elite warriors should be able to move with the fluidity of a ballerina. They should be able to take in the uniqueness of the particular situation, studying what’s happening in real time, adapt, and then act quickly.The times are changing. What I did last book doesn’t necessarily apply to this one. The “your books are like children” cliche has been run into the ground, but seriously, are you going to raise your straight-As, never-breaks-a-rule go-getter the same way you raised your pot-smoking hellion of a teenager? Let’s hope not.I’ve been adapting from the start of this project. Early on, a voice from inside the story screamed at me that I needed to leave all the rules behind and just go, get to typing, move the fingers, see what happens. Don’t think, don’t plan. Do.Wait, isn’t that what Maverick teaches Miles Teller in the new Top Gun? [Goes to browser] Yep! Maverick tells Rooster (Goose’s son), “Don’t think, just do!”The same voice has told me lately, “That’s enough of that.” Maverick now says, “Step back, run a tactical assessment, triple confirm your orders, then make sure you have missile lock on your Russian MIG, and only then pull the trigger.” You see, I’m water. I’m not steering, not by a long shot. I’m simply listening—to Maverick, in this case. Who would have known?Continuing with the flow, I’d like to share Tamara’s comment to my previous essay and explore how it can help me pave the right path to find an ending for my WIP. She’s suddenly pushed Maverick out of the cockpit, and rightfully so. Even her replies and comments on Substack are worthy of their own platform. Here she goes:This is the moment most writers misdiagnose as fatigue when it’s actually structural intelligence kicking in. Résistance may be easily seen as a lack of energy. But it’s the psyche refusing to spend narrative capital blindly. Early drafting is appetite-driven. Midpoint work is ethics. You’re no longer asking what happens next, but what must happen to justify what’s already been said. That’s why it feels heavier. And yes, I reiterate, the office really is a psychological gymnasium, and you’ve just increased the weight. The slowdown means the story has found its governing verb (running), and now every scene has to either accelerate that motion or break it. Options multiply right before coherence hardens. That’s selection pressure.I admire here your instinct to inhale instead of panic-type. Even if writers have imagination, most novels die from over-exploration without consequence… curiosity without a spine. You’ve already located the spine: Cara’s flight reflex. Now the island doesn’t need to offer plot; it needs to remove exits. Community, weather, memory, witnesses, all forms of friction that make running expensive. You don’t need dragons or ghosts; you need social gravity. The torture devices that work the best are sustained exposures: situations where silence costs more than speech, where staying hidden hurts someone she loves, where confession stops being moral and becomes practical. That’s when play turns back into momentum. The muse doesn’t return, in fact she never left, but the story has finally told you what it demands in return.Yeah, you should read that a few times. She’s a sage, and I’m so honored that she would take the time to post her wisdom into my comments.Let’s get back to my damaged protagonist Cara and apply a couple of Tamara’s suggestions.—The governing verb is running. She’s so right about that. “Every scene has to either accelerate or break that motion.” If you’re lucky enough to find a word that captures your story early on, preferably a verb (you rule breakers can use whatever lexical category you like; an adjective?), then you have the keystone that will hold up the rest of the story, the mighty coatrack where you can hang every sentence.Cara is running. We get that now. How about her husband, Luke? And Lainey? Ah, the dusty gears are kicking into action. Luke has a sense that Cara has always held back truths, but he has no idea what they are. Same with Lainey. But what are the two of them running from—or to? We best know, if we’re going to bring them to the party. To that end, how about Cara’s aunt, who plays a major part in the story? And even the more minor characters. Won’t it be a stronger narrative if I, as the author, have a sense of their relationship to the governing verb?Not that I need to rub the reader’s face in it, but you can bet I’m going to spend a few days considering how running applies to every character that matters in the story. And as I chase the ending, let’s see how my deep brain weaves in those ties.If I plot out the rest of the story before I resume drafting—which I’m leaning toward, every scene beat that’s pinned to my cork board will drip with the velvety blood of the verb “running.” And if I simply start going again without an exact structure sorted out, I’ll still have my keystone in mind.—The island doesn’t need to offer plot; it needs to remove exits.We’re getting into the guts of it now. I mentioned that my plot could go almost anywhere, and that’s why I needed to recalibrate.Remember that scene in Star Wars: A New Hope where Luke and company are stuck in the trash compactor and the walls start closing in? What if I make Cara’s family, the island, and its inhabitants the aggressors, closing in around her?It pushes her to respond, doesn’t it? Her goal arises as she begins to squirm. For the rest of the novel, she’s trying to keep a lid on her secrets. And I, as the author, am trying to rip the lid off! I’m removing exits. That’s plot, the yin and yang.Here’s how I’m doing that so far:Cara and family lost their house in California to the fire. Even if they wanted to rebuild, the insurance payment was abysmal, and all contractors are overcharging for their work. The only option they have is to move into the island cottage Cara inherited from her aunt on Salvation Isle in Maine. Little do Luke and Lainey know, Cara experienced something horrifying on Salvation Isle when she was summering there as a seventeen-year-old; it’s the wound that led to a series of terrible mistakes. So Salvation Isle is the last place Cara wants to go. It would be great if they could sell the cottage, but her aunt prevented a sale of any kind in the will.Do you sense the walls tightening? It’s getting worse by the minute for her. Here are a few more:- Cara’s intent is to leave Luke, but not until after they get Lainey off to college in a year, as she wants to protect her daughter’s emotions. So Cara’s stuck on the island and in her marriage.- Someone on the island knows her secrets. The second part of the book will definitely explore how that vulnerability plays out.- Tamara mentions memory as a form of friction. That’s a great one. Cara’s memories keep bubbling up, and I’ve been showing them in flashbacks. But one crucial set of memories needs to start closing in on her, and it’s how much she and Luke used to love each other. As she starts to recall and hopefully feel their love again, the sustained exposure will begin to eat at her, and her need to confess her sins will grow stronger. She can’t keep lying—which is most often the exit she takes.As you’ll see, I’ll fuse more of these ideas into the final part of my essay on organizing the madness, but I want you to see what a vulnerable spot I’m in as I carve out next steps. The experience of the last fifteen novels only gets me so far. Only this story matters now, and the answer lies in setting your literary rabbit-ear antenna just right so that you can clear the static.Analyzing what I’ve written so far is helping. Writing out these thoughts for you is helping. Tamara is playing a part. And I’m hoping, in the course of the next few days, that I’ll have equipped myself with what’s needed to plow ahead.Can you see that it’s laughable to think you will arrive at a place as a writer or creator where it’s easy, where you can simply tap into the same process time and time again? The muse will laugh at you, and no one wants to be laughed at—especially by her.Isn’t it fun to blindly run toward the edge of the cliff and leap, fearless and faithful? You might have a plot in hand, you might not, but you’re listening, you’re open, your lightning rod stands tall. You are water, ready to flow wherever the source/She/the universe/He/Spirit guides you.Let’s end with Terence McKenna’s brilliant words:“Nature loves courage. You make the commitment and nature will respond to that commitment by removing impossible obstacles. Dream the impossible dream and the world will not grind you under, it will lift you up. This is the trick. This is what all these teachers and philosophers who really counted, who really touched the alchemical gold, this is what they understood. This is the shamanic dance in the waterfall. This is how magic is done. By hurling yourself into the abyss and discovering it’s a feather bed.”There is no shamanic dance if you’re caught holding a cookie cutter. I can guarandamntee you that.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

A. I just finished Orbital by Samantha Harvey last night, which won the Booker Prize in 2024. What a ride! It’s nearly plotless, more like a glimpse into the lives of six astronauts and cosmonauts during their residency aboard the international space station. I can’t imagine anyone will ever capture life aboard the station better than she has. If you’ve ever been curious, just go. It’s super short, consumable in one sitting, and every single sentence is a master class in writing. Here’s one of my fave lines: Somehow, Nell thinks, once you’ve been on a spacewalk, looking at space through a window is never the same. It’s like looking through bars at an animal you once ran with. An animal that could have devoured you yet chose instead to let you into the flank-quivering pulse of its exotic wildness.Yowzers.B. I’m wrapping up Anthony Horowitz’s The Word is Murder. It’s incredibly entertaining and clever on so many levels. My favorite element is that he’s written himself, Anthony Horowitz the author, into the story. He gets drawn into an investigation as a sidekick, Watson-type character to the main detective. I highly recommend this book. The narrator is dazzling, if you go that route. I’ll certainly continue the series. C. I adored the movie, The Materialists, with Pedro Pascal and Dakota Johnson. If you don’t know A24, they’re a production company with the mostess. In a world drowning in superhero movies, they are fighting the good fight and putting out films that matter.D. Bobby Weir is dead. There have not been many days in my life when I haven’t listened to or hummed or played the guitar with or at least thought about the Grateful Dead. They are so much a part of my life and have been alongside me while I write (and live) for thirty years. Mikella and I are riddled with sadness but so grateful that Bobby and the fellas left a tremendous and nearly endless catalog of incredible work to explore. The first thing we did upon hearing the news was set Workingman’s Dead on the turntable. Though their live work captures them best, I adore this album. Cheers!boo Links to books are through Bookshop.org. I may earn a small commission, which helps keep the lights on here at Drowning in Words (and supports local bookstores!).Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

I’m 37k words into my WIP, and it’s been a wild downhill slalom on the momentum of curiosity, but I can sense the slowdown, the resistance to keep typing.“Oh, dear boo, bless your heart, has writer’s block seized your throat? Did the muse go find a younger, more handsome novelist? Did your writerly curiosity die?”Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.“No, Master, you crooked-nosed porcupine, my curiosity is still intact. And I’m not blocked. The muse is right where she always is. I’m simply lingering in the beauty of the pause after a creative exhale.”(This is really what it’s like in my head.)Anyhow, moving on…My instincts are telling me I need to step back from drafting. I’m not writing On the Road here. As much as I want to be, I’m not the Jackson Pollock of the lit world; I can’t randomly keep throwing word paint onto the canvas forever.By the way, you know what’s fun about being here right now? I’m sharing a glimpse into my world in real time. In this moment, I don’t know where my story is going, and as I hammer out my thoughts below, I’m hoping to find a morsel of direction.Let’s establish a few things: I’m shooting to make this novel shorter than my usual 120k. Not that I’m lazy but because I want to see if I can hit closer to 90k and make my words matter more. Emily St. John Mandel is a master at overdelivering power and good sauce without overwriting. Check out her masterpiece Station Eleven; 333 pages and not a wasted word. I’m reading the 2024 Booker Prize winner, Orbital, and it’s a tiny little thing too, basically a novella, but dear Lord, it packs a punch.We’ll see if I can limit myself, as I get on a roll and it’s tough to halt. Ideally, my midpoint will be around 45k. Once I go back and feather out the details of what I have, I’ll be close to halfway. Which means I need to quickly smack the midpoint in the face (a topic for the future), then take some giant leaps toward the climax.I can sort of smell the end, like the scent of the ocean when you draw near, but that’s about it. The goal now is to breathe in the mess I’ve made so far, check my heading, recalibrate, then forge ahead with a stronger vision.(FYI, I’m trying to share my process and brainstorm without totally spoiling the plot and book for you, as I hope you’ll read it one day. Actually, I hope following me along the way will make the read even more enjoyable.)How do we know when it’s time for a deep breath during the drafting process? What does the resistance feel like?We write for a while unencumbered, and there’s this wonderful sense that we know what’s happening. Some of it is obvious in the first part of the book. We had a seed of a story, and then there are inevitable consequences, the this happens, then this must happen idea. But a moment will come when you dry up, when your fingers don’t know where to go, when you’re at a crossroads that must be taken seriously. Or else…Currently, my savage urge to bang my keyboard around has dimmed. Working on my story is feeling more like work than play. You should see my walk of shame up to the office in the morning. But why, boo? Writing is fun! Yes, it’s fun. But also terrifying and agonizing; it can be war sometimes. As the great sage Tamara suggested to me, my office is really a psychological gymnasium disguised as a study.Here’s what we’re working with:My work-in-progress is called Salvation Isle, but we’ll see if that sticks. Assuming I don’t lose my mind or get arrested, it should publish in the late summer of 2027. As a reminder, it’s a story about a woman named Cara who’s been plagued by her hidden past. She’s now in her mid-forties, married, a mother of a teenager, living in California, and struggling in all respects: riddled with guilt, bored with marriage and life, running from an ugly past. She might have kept hiding forever, but a fire takes their home and her community, and in the aftermath, she’s forced into a reckoning.It’s not that I don’t have options with my story; it’s that I have too many and don’t know which to choose.Fine, sometimes we have to explore with our writing, knowing we’ll be mashing the hell out of the delete key later. We have to test what it would be like to send our protagonist through different scenarios. Perhaps we need to go down a road for a few thousand words to see if the bell rings. But I don’t want to explore every potential option. Well, it could be fun, but my readers won’t ever see another novel of mine. It’ll be an endless choose-your-own-adventure that will never find its way to print. And I, my dear friends, will be looking for a real job. Boo no want real job.Remember, boo and all of you: it’s not that I’ve lost control and now in a tailspin toward doom. It’s more like I’ve exhaled a chunk of story onto the page, and it’s time to inhale again, before adding more. We’re simply riding our breath as we create.So here we go, let’s narrow down the choices.Cara has come alive in my novel. When I first started, I had a sense of her, mainly because I knew she’d screwed up multiple times when she was younger, and I knew she wasn’t happy with her marriage, but I didn’t quite know her like I do now.With most books, I’ll spend a month getting to know my character before I type even a word of a new manuscript. Not just a simple questionnaire interviewing my character, asking silly questions about their brand of toothpaste. I’ll do whatever it takes to get into the skin of my character, so that I know them as well as I know myself. I’m aware of what decisions they will make, what they’re thinking, who they trust, who they doubt, when they feel hungry, when they’re tired. I will close my eyes and feel myself in their body, the energy of their limbs in mine. I’m method acting at that point, and it’s a lovely place to be from the outset.But with this book, simply because I wanted to change it up, I’m following my instincts and letting my fingers fly with less coaching. With each bit of dialogue or internal thought, with each revelation of Cara’s past, I get to know her more.I can now close my eyes and see through hers. You might think I’m joking, but I’m not. I can feel what it’s like to gather her hair in a ponytail. I hurt when she hurts. Yesterday, I was writing a scene where something awful happens, and I was weeping as if I was actually there, suffering in the same way as Cara.Now that I do have a hold of her—and now that I’ve come to this natural pause in the creation of the story—it’s a nice place to stop and polish my spectacles.My WIP has somehow evolved from a dual-timeline to a triple- and now quadruple-timeline structure. (That’s right, I’m a moron who loves inflicting pain upon himself.) I have a strong sense of direction with three of the timelines. Not because I’ve outlined, but because they’ve revealed themselves in my imagination. The outcomes are nearly inevitable. But the main timeline, the one in the present, has come to a complete stop. Aside from the salty bouquet, it’s total darkness up ahead.After their house burns, Cara and her family move from California to an inherited cottage on an island called Salvation Isle in Maine. This is the guts of the story, their arrival as a broken family of three and how the island and their new community will guide them out of the darkness and usher them toward their elevated selves.At this point, near the middle, I could go anywhere with the plot, so long as they stay on the island. Their fixed location is just about my only guardrail, other than the obvious: I’m probably not going to bring a dragon into the story, or have a ghost appear.The first step is to write out what’s happened so far. In other words, pantsers, put your pants back on.One of my favorite features in Scrivener is the corkboard layout, which allows you to create and organize a series of digital index cards. I’ve used it for so many of my past books when I’m outlining. As you can imagine, it’s not unlike using actual index cards and writing scenes on them, then spreading them out on the floor.Since I’ve been pantsing, the corkboard has been blank, but that’s changed. I went through my ugly first draft and backfilled the outline using the index cards, including any helpful information, such as the date of the scene and a short summary.A common thread began to reveal itself in the last few weeks, but sketching out the plot delivered the idea to me like a severed head on a stake. Cara’s main flaw is that she keeps running away. All her life, she’s been running away. (Forget that it’s a cliché flaw; they all are.) What I have now is the throughline of the novel. I know what she’s supposed to learn by the end: she has to stop running and finally face her past. For poor Cara, it’s going to require multiple painful and perhaps even catastrophic confessions. And I now know that everything (or almost everything, as I do like to break rules) that happens to her should push her to the giant revelation that it’s time to come clean.Let’s dream up some scenarios now.But first: how enjoyable is this? We get to torture Cara and not go to jail! This is the best gig in the world. Not that I don’t like her, but she needs to grow up. Like any good literary sadist, we must know which torture devices—narrative torture devices? (Bwahahaha!)—to employ. And we do! Whatever it takes to make her stop running. I’m thinking we start with her legs.Sadly, we’ve run out of time. Let’s spend a week or two (till the next post) thinking of what awful things could happen to Cara and her family during their year on Salvation Isle. Steeple those fingers and pet your bald cat, you evil villain, you.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

I’ve spent the first part of my early morning enjoying the brilliance of Maggie O’Farrell through her lovely novel Hamnet, and it’s set aglow the warm places in my chest, and it’s from here that I want to send you my love and well wishes as we crawl or jog or leap into new beginnings. You won’t hear from me about how terrible it is out there right now. There’s enough of that going around. Sure, things could be better, but I have little time for anxiety and fear—certainly none for hatred. There’s too much good to chase, to be done, to be created, in what little time we have.It’s a wonderful time to be a creator—perhaps the best in history!—just as it is to be a fan, a supporter, a curator of creative output. The juices are flowing, amigos!!!! If you close your eyes and let go of your worries and all the noise and listen and feel—really feel, you might sense that river of creativity and beauty rushing through you. I feel so blessed to live in a world where Yo-Yo Ma and Bela Fleck and The Cure and Pat Metheny can exist with my new favorite band, Geese. Their album, Getting Killed, might not be for everyone (my wife can’t stand Geese), but it has devoured me this year. Cameron Winters is creating from the absolute core of the divine. And I’m so flipping excited that there are people on Substack with magic ears and a desperate love of music, like Jacqui Devaney and Marc Myers and Stephan Kunze, who lead me to new aural frontiers. They set the stage for my own creativity, as I write best when good music plays loudly through my headphones.I’m so fortunate to inhabit a world where I can choose to read Maggie O’Farrell, or Tamara, or Anthony Horowitz, or Kevin Kermes when I wake. Or Chris Whitaker, Jess Walters, Wally Lamb, V.E. Schwab, Claire North, EMILY ST. JOHN MANDEL!Frank Conroy’s Body & Soul came into my life this year, by way of a former high school teacher at St. Andrew’s-Sewanee called Tom Gladstone, who stoked my love for music and the written word when I was still trying to find my way as a lost seventeen year old who’d been booted out of another school for leaning a hair too far into vive la résistance. (Maybe I’ll tell you that story over a glass of gamay one day; you’ll have to come find me in Maine.) Though it was published long ago, Body & Soul will always stand at the top of the art I discovered in 2025. I’m not sure I’ll ever experience something else so profound. Every sentence dazzles.Another book that hit me hard was Dr. James Doty’s Mind Magic. It’s a tragedy that we lost him this year, but his message lives on. I’ll share with you one of my favorite lines from his book, the lesson that took him sixty-plus years to learn:Only when we believe we are enough in ourselves do we find the ability to contribute to life, but only in contributing to our world do we discover we are inherently enough. How is it even possible that humans can create epic movies like One Battle After Another and Jay Kelly? Especially in a time when it’s hard to get movies made. Don’t even get me started on Task from HBO. That show shattered me, tore me apart. I’m only now sleeping okay again. But I’m also still caught up in its spell, as Task was such a mind-bending feat of storytelling. Find me a television series that does a better job at building out each character and creating empathy. I can’t avoid mentioning Taylor Sheridan too. I love that we live in a time where he can keeping making whatever the hell he wants to. Oh, and let’s not forget the production company, A24, who has the Midas Touch when it comes to the camera. If you haven’t seen Past Lives yet, what are you still doing here? I’ll happily consume whatever they put on the screen. And Stranger Things! Give me, give me, give me! Soooo good!I am beyond grateful that I’m allowed to partake in this creative energy that exists right now. How is it that little ol’ boo walker from Spartanburg, South Carolina can be living this life, writing stories for a living, being supported by a wonderful agent and publisher who believe in him, a readership who will go almost anywhere with him, and friends and family who embrace even the worst parts of him, while taking it all in with the woman of his dreams and a child that fills every corner of every cell of his existence with hope and joy and love? I’m thankful that YOU are here, reading my words, partaking in all this lovely energy too. And I hope with all of me that you’re finding the light in the darkness, the glittery specks of awe that flash when we’re open to seeing them. If you’re not already there, I hope you’re on your way to finding exactly what it is you’re supposed to be doing here on this big bright blue ball.I’m getting closer. I’m shedding more and more of my ego. I’m creating art that is unfiltered, that’s soul deep, that is exactly and only and truly me, while at the same time, I’m determined to make all of it—my writing, my living—less about me, hoping that I might simply serve as a creative vessel, a mere literary garden hose pointed toward my screen. And my desire, as we step forward into the unknown of a new year, is that I may shine my light brighter, that I may open my heart wider, that I might create something new that makes a difference to someone out there, even if that’s simply to give them a brief respite from what hurts.If you have a moment, tell us about yourself in the comments section. It’s time to start building this community of artists and art lovers. Who are you? What are you trying to do? And what can I do for you in the coming year here on Substack? What topics can I cover? What fears of mine or yours can I explore? I’m eager to get started. But for now, I’m signing off from 2025 and going to put all I have into my family and our little extraordinary life.Peace and love and gratitude to you, boo Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

To break the rules, we must know the rules, but an even more crucial piece in gathering the troops for your rebellion is knowing your true self. It is our essence, our dimension-jumping higher being who transcends earthly constraints and human form that should be busting through creative barriers in hot pursuit of making authentic treasures. Creating good art is about trusting in the muse, isn’t it? And/or in God, and/or whomever/whatever guides you. For atheists, isn’t it about trusting the deep brain, the subconscious, that part which operates with far more efficiency than the lizard brain that we’re most often letting steer our lives. Yes, the left brain is essential to sculpting a novel, but you will create a more profound piece if you can push your ego out of the way and set loose your right brain, the part plugged into the outlet of the infinite.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.I was chatting with my friend Barbara O’Neal, who is a novelist I greatly admire, and she offered some wisdom that I have to share:“I have no idea where my books come from—they just present themselves and coyly flirt, and then I do my best to bring them over to this world with as little damage as possible, but I do know I ruin the perfectness of them the minute I begin to write.”Oh. My. Read that again. If you’re trying too hard to follow the rules—or to follow a recipe in order to create a bestseller, how in the hell are you going to usher something into this world that already exists in a perfect state? We’re not cowhands trying to break a horse here. We want that wild animal to stay wild on the page.What gets in the way of such magic?For me, it’s a battalion of fear that waits in the fog of morning on a battlefield that reeks of burning flesh, each enemy more terrifying than the next, the undead servants of Sauron, blood dripping from their axes, evil glowing in their eyes, all of them there to slaughter me with sharp blades of self-doubt, imposter syndrome, fear of failure, a need to matter.It’s hard not to identify with being a writer. Ask me who I am at a dinner party, and I might tell you that I’m a novelist. (Then I’ll be in my head for ten minutes wishing I’d answered differently.) Writing books is a giant part of what gets me out of bed; it’s my calling. To that end, I don’t want to fail. When I’m not centered, I dread the idea of messing up and writing one that my readers hate, that would make them give up on me. On top of that, I do this crazy and wonderful gig for a living. If I write one book that gets panned on Amazon and elsewhere, I’ll be okay. Ego-hurt, but fine. Two or three more misfires and I might be in trouble. I’ll end up considering a new career path or begging my brilliant wife to resurrect her Buddhist psychotherapy practice so I can sit around in sweats and slippers and make noise on the banjo. I’m ashamed to admit, though not afraid to admit (there’s a difference), that one of my biggest recurring daymares, kept alive by a wounded younger part of me, would be to announce that I’m hanging this writing thing up, that I was always just a hack and got lucky a few times, a few-hit wonder and impostor that isn’t worthy of a platform and a readership, that I have no business making art. That’s kind of sad, isn’t it? Maybe…but it’s through this fearful voice that I find a direct line of communication to that damaged younger me. How beautiful is that? I have direct access to my inner child, a doorway that’s always there in the chambers of my mind. I can pick little Boo up and hold him and listen to him with all of me, tell him I appreciate that he looks out for me, and then I can assure him that all is well, that his higher self has his back; that his job now is to be the Captain of Fun, the CEO of Playfulness in the kid’s club on the Boo Cruise. His responsibility is to constantly remind me that life is better when it’s a sandbox. (I really do have these conversations with him; he loves this new role to which he’s been assigned.) Aren’t all these worries getting in the way of my creative potential? Is fear the only obstacle stopping me from breaking more rules? Am I really letting my ego captain this ship? Don’t I want to leave it all out there, like I’m doing right now? Isn’t that the only way to offer true homage to the grand design? These are the challenges I face every year. What I’m excited to report is that I’m increasingly moving to a place where I don’t care as much; where the boy inside of me is starting food fights with run-on sentences and painting his face with his mom’s makeup; where I trust the energy that rises up from the earth, entering through my feet, and that same energy that shoots down from up above, piercing my third eye; and I know from the depths of me that what I create from this egoless, carefree, boundaryless, childlike, joyful place hits harder, bores deeper, and vibrates with more resonance.I’m far more than merely a novelist. Actually, I don’t need a label but let me try. What I want to say, if you ask me who I am, is:“I’m just little ol’ boo with a lowercase “b”, a mere speck of stardust, a being of love, of open-mindedness, a father and husband and friend and son, a member of my community and my world. I’m a creation of the great divine. And yes, I’m a creator! A creator who creates best when I’m behaving as nothing more than a vessel, a sieve, wholly undefined by my output. Any talent and skill I have lies in how I can sometimes let a power far greater than me jab at these keys. In the end, though, we’re all one beating heart, one interconnected organism, and I’m simply one of its cells.” Can you imagine the look on someone’s face at this dinner party? “I’m sorry I asked,” they might reply, gulping their martini. “I was just making conversation.” Or they might shed a few layers of themselves and open up their arms for a warm embrace: one speck of stardust stuck to another. So what if I write a book that doesn’t inflate my ego! I’m just hacking away at being human, and my book becoming the next giant hit won’t make me matter any more. And if it flops beyond my wildest nightmares, if critics shred me to pieces, if I have to go get a real job, I won’t matter any less. The only real matter is authenticity here. And starmatter, of course. You must face that which haunts you before you can truly let go and create something deeply meaningful, a piece that rises from the pit of your being. Without knowing your authentic self, without shedding the skins of disillusionment, without embracing the younger pieces of the you who is in need of your attention, you’ll break rules just to break them, to simply stoke the rebellious fires of your inner teenager—he who smoked Camel Lights under the bleachers—not to fuel the rocket ship that is the real you. I’m aligning my creative process with my life more and more. On the good days, when fear doesn’t grip my throat, I remember that there is a larger design at play. I don’t have to wake up and scramble to stay afloat. I am not defined by the last piece I published. I don’t have to know exactly where I’m going. I don’t need to be in control. Yes, having agency is paramount. I must rise in the morning and make choices that form the creative life I desire, but it needs to be of the one-hand-on-the-wheel sort, not the white-knuckle kind. Because we’re just passengers, dear humans. There are larger forces at play. There is a magnetism that we must feel into, that we must let guide us. If we comfort our wounded pieces and quiet the ego, we will find that our instincts are connected to that magnetism—or call it what you will! All religions, spiritual convictions, or lack thereof, are welcome here. We will find that one hand on the wheel will suffice because our car is actually self-driving.To that end, in tying this idea to creating, we must let our inner child throw paint at the wall, type sentences that we couldn’t bear to share. We must not let fear win. We have to know that these stories, these sentences—or sculptures or quilts, whatever your medium—are out there waiting to be discovered, and if you stretch out your rabbit ear antennas and point them the right way, then they’ll come pouring out in a fashion that will greatly appeal to your audience. These artistic gems sure as hell don’t care what rules you’re following.We were born storytellers, but then got blocked by the mess of our childhood. We must return to who we were in the first place, before rules got clamped around our wrists like handcuffs. What would we call them? Musecuffs? Yep, I better jet after that one. I’m out of quarters. Someone tripped on my plug, and it’s slipping from the outlet.What’s curious about all of my rambling is that this turned into so much more than a discussion on breaking writing rules, didn’t it? But we can’t separate living from writing; they need each other. It’s not only about reconsidering the guidelines that were set upon us for our particular medium, like whether you should stick to such firm advice as giving your characters “one measurable, external goal,” as I addressed ad nauseam in Part I of this essay. The marrow of this entire exploration is to suggest that you must break free from every damn thing that you were ever told you couldn’t do or be!Where are you in your journey? Do you know the rules? Are you clinging to them unhealthily? Then why? What’s stopping you from letting the bird or the beast out of its cage? That’s what I want from you. I want to see your wings flapping, to feel the burn of the fire that spews from your dragon mouth! Stick out your chest and roar till the windows of every house in your neighborhood shatter. Or, make your art silently. Send out a penetrating whisper that sneaks under every doorway, that slips between the bones of ribcages and settles into the hearts of your audience—not by brute force, but sneakily, wisely, quietly. Authentically. Once you’re in that place, I dare anyone to try to put you into a box, tell you what you need to be doing. Who are you, my friend? What are you doing here? What are you making today?As you can see, I’m not holding back. Are you?(You can read Part I of this essay here.)Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

I have been known to go off about my commitment to and need for preparation. As a working novelist chasing deadlines, I hate when I accidentally go down the wrong direction for too long. I wrote my first book, Lowcountry Punch, in first person, then switched to third, then back again. In the early drafts, the second half of the story took place in Bolivia. Deciding to keep it in Charleston, I trashed forty thousand words. You’re damn right I learned a lot, but that book also took me a few years. These days, I don’t have such a luxury.Or do I? Is that my fear talking? Am I taking myself too seriously? Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Now, if you’re just getting going with your first novel, digest my words knowing that I’ve been working toward breaking the rules for many years. I highly recommend you first study the art of telling stories. Read all you can find on the craft. And get curious about how the fiction you read works or fails.Traditionally speaking, the way a budding storyteller should go after it is to create a sympathetic character who has a goal that he or she will achieve by the end of the novel. There will be complications in achieving it, and that’s the plot. Another essential element is that the character will grow during the pursuit of this desire. Stick to that and you can have a healthy writing career. I’m a craft junkie. If there’s a book on writing, I’ve probably read it. That includes all screenwriting books too. For one, it’s so wonderful to see how other writers think. This is a lonely profession and reading books by other creators is like pulling up a stool at a bar full of them. I adore being a part of the conversation, finding my people, those drawn to words. I could talk about a semi-colon for an hour and be happy. Aside from reading to feel less alone, I want to improve my craft. Even after publishing close to two million words, I want to keep growing. I love finding new tricks, new apertures to peer through. I especially cling to books on structure, maybe too much. My left brain, the guy who wrestles with fear, loves to seize control of a novel.More than anything, I fight my obsessive rumination over the supposed importance of characters having measurable external goals. The vast majority of structure books harp on the idea. It’s far easier that way, for sure. If you’re reading a book about an underdog football team seeking a title, then it’s clear what their goal is, and the reader can measure exactly when and if they succeed. The payoff is easily satisfying for the reader, especially in this day and age of shorter attention spans. But what about the folks reading and writing in my upmarket genre? (Okay, fine, some call it book club or women’s fiction. I’m still trying to find the right term, but for now, I’m okay with upmarket or high-impact—as coined by Donald Maass.)My characters’ external goals often change throughout the novel. Or they might be balancing three or four that carry equal weight. Sometimes internal goals are the sole driver. I’ve wondered countless times over the years if that was okay, or if I was killing the momentum of my book. Why can’t I trust my instincts? What am I worried about?I don’t want my novels to lack page-turning propulsion. Whether they actually do is up to the audience, but I assure you that giving my readers paper cuts is high on my priority list. Am I making it harder on myself as a writer by ignoring such a basic law of storytelling? Yes, maybe. Is that okay? Absolutely! So many wonderful and successful novels are missing clear external goals. The proof’s in the pudding, baby. (Forgive the cliche, I couldn’t resist the low-hanging fruit. At least I’m self aware.) I read The Dutch House by Anne Patchett a few years ago, and it was during a time when I was especially caught up in mulling over the necessity of goals. It’s about a pair of siblings wrestling with their past as they move through their lives. Please read it and tell me if you can name anything other than the most vague of external desires, like: learn to move forward despite their past. How dare her!Broken Country by Clare Leslie Hall is currently a darling of the New York pub world, an international hit, and a Reese book-club pick. Again, there is no external goal. Yes, there are desires. The protag wants love. She’s balancing men. She wants the court case to go a certain way, but the character doesn’t have a clear goal that guides her movements through the book in the same manner that a spy in a thriller series is trying to thwart the latest bad guy by the end. My Friends by Fredrik Backman just won Goodreads novel of the year in the Fiction category. I challenge you to find a clear, measurable goal for the main characters. They’re damaged people growing with each other as things happen to them. It’s quite passive, actually. Okay, I suppose one of the goals is to reach the seaside town where Ted grew up, but it’s not a driver in the novel; it’s a way to create some movement while Backman explores the two characters’ psyches.What we have in all the cases above—the elements that make us want to read—are captivating writing, wonderful characterization, and continuous clever story questions that tease our curiosity. There are countless supporting examples, and the data proves to me that you don’t have to follow the rules. Especially once you learn them. How about Jackson Pollack. Look at his earlier work—before he started slinging paint onto canvas like a madman. He was showing off deep skills with Picasso-esque paintings. And then he kept pushing to liberate his voice.Write a book or three or ten by following what the great teachers suggest. Stick to one point of view, set one measurable external goal as the engine of the story, and make sure your sympathetic character gets it in the end. Most readers like for the character to realize their desire. As I get older, as a writer and reader, I enjoy when some of my characters fail, so long as there is still an arc.But then, dear artist, stop doing what your mommy told you. Let instincts drive you. Remember that we are nothing more than storytellers carrying on a tradition that existed long before the written word. The only rule, at least in my head, is to captivate the reader. If they’re on the edge of their seat, who cares if you’re following rules? I’m not sure if anything matters more than simply being true to you.For the record, seriously: abandon measurable external goals at your own risk. I have great luxury in that my readers give me a bit more slack (so far) in how I tell stories, in what they expect. I suppose they have more patience than the readers who only have time for a chapter or two a night as they’re climbing into bed. In that case, short chapters and one clear goal make reading in sleepy bursts far easier to follow.I use the external goal example because it’s been the one that haunts me the most, the one for which I continually seek a final answer. And I write this piece, not as a teacher who has mastered the art of writing, but as a soldier also in the word trenches being fired upon by the enemy. I’m still trying to figure it all out. What I keep returning to is that to realize your potential, you must let the rules go. I’m like a child testing the boundaries of the family property each year; I go a little farther with each book. In the project I just wrapped, which is set in Bologna and currently lacking a title, I have four main characters, all of whom carry equal weight in the story. Guess what. Three of the four don’t have a clear external goal. There are some vague goals, the “I want to be happy” kind. One character has no desire at all, other than to be left alone. But the story is working! I mean, let’s see if my readers enjoy it, but the experience of writing it was highly rewarding.It’s dangerous to learn what you can get away with. I have ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder), as diagnosed by my saintly wife, so I love doing the opposite of what I’m told. If I can get away with defiance, and if I can potentially elevate my creative game by leaning into resistance, then watch out! I’m on my sixteenth novel now, the Maine island one, and Cara doesn’t have a clear goal right now. She has a few desires (keeping the truth buried, getting her daughter through her senior year, and finding a way to reset her stalled life), but she’s not consistently moving toward a specific goal in every scene. And it’s working, I just know it. Okay, let’s move on. If I say the g-word one more time, I’m going to jab myself in the jugular with a pen. Here are other ways in which I’m letting my ODD run wild:* The Hero’s JourneyYou really do need to understand the ins and outs of the hero’s journey, as first presented to us by Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces. This structure is deep in my bones by now, and it’s going to leap from my fingers whether I like it or not. But what’s interesting is that if you study Campbell’s vision versus those of more contemporary takes, such as Save the Cat or Into the Woods, where the three- or five-act structure and specific beats are also explored, you’ll see how craft books have narrowed the recipe. We’re told we have to hit certain beats at exact percentage spots in our story. We’re told the setup needs to be before the catalyst. What we may have forgotten is that Campbell didn’t quarantine us in such a way. With my Maine island book, I started with Act II, so take that, book police. I jump into Act II in the first scene and then ease back into the setup and catalyst later. Who's going to stop me? Okay, if you bump into me in five years and I’ve hung up my career and now shoveling snow in Siberia, disregard all advice. It’s not even advice, really. This is me sharing my evolution—or devolution.* Author IntrusionI had editors early on who would steer me away from breaking the fourth wall, which is the invisible barrier that stands between the author and the reader.But I love author intrusions! I actually had a cameo in my own book in An Echo in Time. Yes, I pulled the reader from the story, but I don’t care. The reader got to enjoy a little wink from the author. And if Tarantino can do it, so can I. What about Anthony Horowitz in The Word is Murder? He’s written himself, the author and screenwriter, into the story as one of the main characters. But wait, he can do that! Um, yes he can, and it’s flipping awesome and creative…and he’s having fun!Nelson DeMille wasn’t afraid to break the wall. I first read Plum Island when I was seventeen, and by the time I reached the end, I knew I wanted to take a stab at writing a novel. His John Corey character will say something absolutely ridiculous, something to get a rise out of the reader, but then Nelson would write through Corey’s internal dialogue: “No, I didn’t say that. What I really said was:” That is classic wall breaking, but it worked to great effect. I would laugh out loud, thinking, yeah, Nelson, I love having your lovely personality as part of the ride. I’ll even slip into second person these days. I might write: You can’t imagine what it’s like to lose everything in your life, to watch it all burn. One of my more hardcore editors of yesteryear might suggest I write: One can’t imagine. The YOU pronoun, however, often feels more personal, kind of like I’m spinning a quick tale at the dinner table to friends. So sue me! Mr. Horowitz does that too, by the way. You try spending four months on your own, he writes in the aforementioned novel, from the perspective of the protagonist, who is himself! Ha!* Narrative DistanceAs a younger writer, in an effort to stoke suspense, I used to sneak in some foreshadowing, something like: He would only realize later how much that decision would impact the rest of his life, but my editors would smack my wrist and say, “You’re leaving deep third-person. Your protagonist can’t know that information. You can’t do that.”Oh, is that right? Maggie O’Ferrell, a writer of immense skill and talent, widens the lens from deep third to a limited omniscient point of view whenever she damn well pleases in Hamnet. A couple of examples: Unbeknown to him, he passed the maid, both his grandparents, and his older sister on his trip to the physician’s house.It will lie at her very core, for the rest of her life.Both full on breaks from deep third! She might be stoking suspense, offering historical context, or simply painting a broader vision of the scene than the protagonist would be privy to. It all works! Is she allowed to? Who cares? But yes! She’s Maggie O’Ferrell, a writer’s writer drowning in literary awards. Hamnet soared to the top of the charts. And they just released a movie. In other words, if she’s doing it, then it’s green lights for you too. While we’re at it, Mr. Horowitz does this too. You can bet I will no longer worry about forcing a fixed lens upon myself while weaving a tale—no matter who discourages it.* Strikethrough Here’s a potential lit crime I’m toying with now. In my book set in Bologna, I have a character named Harold, who's a real mess after being dumped. Foolishly, he decides that if he becomes an altered version of himself, he might get his girl back. (Harold is the one main character with a measurable external goal.) In pursuing it, he creates an alter ego, a handsome and confident Italian stud named Aroldo. To that end, he tries to forget that he was Harold, even calling himself Aroldo, forcing the change. I’ve never used the strikethrough device in a novel, but I so want to. I kept putting it in and my dev editor would remove it, but she might have thought it was a stylistic error. When my copyedits come back next month, it’s the one thing I intend to change—so long as my publishing team is okay with it. This is a close representation of the sentence:Harold Aroldo tore off his shirt in front of the mirror, raised his arms, curled his muscles, and said to himself, “Harold is dead.”What do you think? Can I get away with a strikethrough? For me, it comes from being deep into his point of view, a guy who catches himself calling him Harold but then zaps it. He’s not Harold, he’s Aroldo! But I’m also still on the fence. What a minor rule break, but a fun one, nonetheless. These all can add up to a wonderful experience for the reader. I’m letting my freak flag fly, folks! * Playing with TimeEmily St. John Mandel should be doing time for all the laws she breaks. She’ll kill off her protagonist at the midpoint, start all over with a new protagonist—maybe switch from third to first. She’ll even switch from third to first with the same character! She’ll break up the narrative with a chapter that reads more like an interview. And don’t tell her she can’t go omniscient for a moment.And I adore how she plays with time, spitting in the face of telling a linear story. It’s not: this happened, then this, then this, in chronological order. She’ll arrange scenes in a way that answers the questions you need at the time, without heeding to a clear timeline. The reader must do the work of stitching the scenes together.I couldn’t resist testing such waters in my WIP (work-in-progress). I start in June of 2027, then go back to March, then jump into November of 2002, then go to May of 2027, then to September of 2002, and so on. I promise I’m not trying to confuse the reader. I think using this format, for this particular story, actually serves the reader best. * Other random examples:- Allen Levi’s Theo of Golden breaks an epic rule! This book soared to the top of all the charts, and more importantly, hit people hard, filling them up and enriching their hearts. Guess what? The main character does not have an arc. He’s totally static, enlightened from day one. It’s the characters around him that grow. Find me a craft book that would allow this!- Amor Towles doesn’t use quotation marks. He’s not the first. I don’t know about you, but I was taught from early on that quotation marks should wrap around dialogue. But if Amor skips them, you can too. On that note, do you need periods, commas, exclamation marks? Where can you omit them? I’m drooling as I think about all the rules we could set ablaze!- James Frey, America’s most notorious novelist, gives zero fucks. He doesn’t always use quotation marks, loves to rub lazy words in the readers face, and certainly doesn’t follow comma rules. He’ll not only use the word very or ever, he’ll use it multiple times and not even put a comma in between them. My English teachers would explode! And yet, I absolutely love some of his writing. I could read one page of any of his work and know it’s him. That’s when you know you’ve found your voice. Like him or not, he’s sold over thirty-million copies, so someone does.On Writing SongsI also write songs, and if you study music and rely too much on theory, you might get stuck using only the allowed chords in a particular key when creating a new tune. You’re in the key of A, so the six chord, the F#, “should be” minor. The two chord is also “technically” minor. But what if you threw all that out? Imagine the first time a musician made the two chord major? Mind blown! Tie him to a stake and let him burn! I can tell you this: the great songwriters don’t care what you’re supposed to do. They’re letting their ear—and soul—lead the way.Getting OlderI’m getting older. I have less fucks to give. I won’t even apologize for my cursing; I’m a proud product of HBO. And I’ve thrown out all the rules with my WIP. Not only to satisfy my ODD, but because we as creators need to let shine more and more of our true selves, and that might mean removing the barricades.If only it were that easy, right? Next time, I’ll get more introspective and detail exactly how I’ve been working to break free on an emotional and spiritual level. Let’s be clear: like my new project, I’m also a work-in-progress. This journey is far from over. Stay tuned for next time; I won’t hold back. Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

What are we creatives doing here? I often ponder this question, as I examine the balance between writing/creating for ourselves and for our audience. Quentin Tarantino and Taylor Sheridan are exceptional creators because they do it their way, unapologetically, and make movies and TV shows they themselves want to watch. I’m sure Stephen King is the same way. All of their work glows with authenticity. Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.On the other hand, many artists create to market. What does that mean? You could almost think of these makers as being led by their left brains or by their accountants. They study trends, such as the soaring trajectory of romantasy, and write exactly what is popular at the moment, even if they aren’t feeling such a calling in their heart. Film producers, directors, and actors are especially guilty of following the money right now, as illustrated by the abundance of superhero flicks. Not that all of them are selling out. I’m sure they’re having fun on set, and they’re certainly providing entertainment to a large audience, like my son, who can’t get enough Marvel and DC.No judgment here. Jon Favreau and Emily Blunt, if you’re reading this, I love you. Big action movies are making all the dough while arthouse films, sadly, are dying slow deaths in theaters. If you want to tell stories for a living, you’ll have better luck lasting in your profession if you cater to demand. And maybe your destiny is to make lucrative art that will allow you to do good deeds with your cash. As the breadwinner of my family, I agree that we must let our accountant play a part. Otherwise, we’ll have to reset and find a new career. I can’t imagine what else I’d do! Tennis coach? Homicide detective? Your next Spiderman?I myself am compromising. I likely won’t surprise my audience with a dystopian-zombie novel next year, despite my desperate urge to write one. I may down the line, but it will be under a pen name to avoid jarring my upmarket fiction readers. On a subtler level, I’m aware my books with a female protagonist appeal more to my audience, so why wouldn’t I at least consider that fact when I’m deciding who will be the hero of my next story? I sometimes rein in my potty mouth (I didn’t on my forthcoming one—my apologies, Dad!), knowing that one too many F-words will turn some readers away. And I’m careful not to take sides with regard to religion or politics. (That’s not only because I don’t want to alienate people; I strongly adhere to an “all are welcome here” policy with my art.)So I’m indeed playing the game, but I draw a big line when it comes to how much I’m willing to sacrifice. You won’t ever hear me say, “Yeah, I’m not making what I want, but I’m laughing all the way to the bank.” Actually, I kind of wish I could take on that attitude, but I’m more the mindset that I will create what resonates with all of me and hopefully others will get it. There are far easier ways to make a buck than to force myself to write books that don’t spew from the depths of my essence. Ugh, it’s so freaking hard to be an artist, isn’t it?This is where we need to revisit what put us in the creative chair in the first place. I’m convinced we can’t only create for us if we’re to achieve our best. I suspect even Tarantino and Sheridan and King have their audience in mind and enjoy sharing their gift. You know King loves scaring the shit out of us. Yes, I cherish the act of writing, of falling into flow every day, and coming up for air at the end to marvel at this creation that I’ve made. It’s an addictive cycle that I repeat yearly. But I also love impacting readers.No, I’m not an ER nurse or a teacher. The world doesn’t necessarily need me. I’m just little ol’ me, little ol’ Boo Walker, an artist who wants to share his work with the world. Let’s ponder the idea of serving others as a life’s purpose and how it applies to novelists (and other artists). Service is a thread that runs through nearly every spiritual tradition—religious or not—and at its core is love. I’m far from perfect, but when I’m seeing clearly, love is what drives me, what guides me.I’m not saving lives or standing in front of a chalkboard gifting knowledge to the youth of the world in hopes of making it a better place. I’m merely giving readers a chance to leap into an imaginary world, but it’s still an offering. It’s me narrowing in on my potential and sharing my light into the world.Offering an escape to fellow humans is a beautiful reason to get out of bed, especially these days. How nice it is that we can give people a safe place to go. Well, sort of. There may be murder, but even in my darkest stories, you’ll find light.I push it one step further with my work. My specific charge is to give people an escape while also slipping in an injection of love, hope, and optimism. When I’m taking my last breaths or when I lie down in my chamber to be cryogenically frozen, I would like to look back and know that I made life a little easier for a few people. That’s all little ol’ me can ask for. I firmly believe this is my calling. Sorry, Ma, it’s not looking like I’ll be the one to defeat cancer.Back to striking the balance between writing for me and writing for my audience—and I’m strictly speaking for me now… (You have to find your balance, your truth.)I must write for me. I must create art that vibrates on my frequency, that screams “BOO WALKER!” As Oscar Wilde said, “Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” I must sit down and put words on the page without worrying about the reception it will receive a year later. I have to forget that my parents will read my book and share it with their friends, that if my book flops, my nuclear family might have to tighten our purse strings. To fulfill my purpose, I need to first let the outside world go, then climb into my literary drilling rig, bore a hole into the subsurface of my soul, and find the holy oil that will populate my sentences. That’s it!But…Since my mission involves my reader, I have to consider them while I’m drilling.Just as Pink Floyd offered a dazzling light show, I like to sculpt my story in a way to enhance the experience for my reader. Though I could talk about the details of the acoustic guitar in my hero’s hands for four pages, the reader doesn’t want to endure that. There are times when I delete sections that I adored writing and equally enjoy reading, but I know they won’t hit my readers the same way. Here comes my delete button. Kill those darlings, baby!More importantly, I want to be a puppeteer for my reader’s emotions. As I’m writing, and even more often when I’m editing later drafts, I love to consider what they are feeling. Have I created tension? Am I holding it too long? Have I pushed her to tears or do I need to push harder? Are they laughing? Is the joke too subtle, too obvious? Is the sentence too long? Despite it working technically, will it trip him up and pull him out of the story? Am I ending my chapter in a way that will make them want to push forward? Will they close the book with a bit more hope in their heart? Perhaps a desire to be a better person? Will they find pieces of my characters in themselves? Will they feel more connected to the world? Abraham Lincoln always delivered speeches by considering his audience. He understood what the specific group in front of him wanted or needed to hear. And he knew how to penetrate their ribcage and get at their heart. How fun is it to write in such a way!As we sculpt our mini-masterpieces, we must consider what a reader will take away from our words, how the roller coaster of emotions we put them through will affect them. If done correctly, perhaps we can mine into what hits us all, those deeply rooted pressure points that give rise to our war to be better humans. That’s the dance, amigos. What’s your why? You certainly don’t need mine, but I can’t help but think most artists want to heal themselves while also making the world a better place. Isn’t our purpose on this earth to shine our light a little brighter each day, to serve those around us? How are you going to do that?There’s a certain power you can tap into if you enter a creative session with the mindset that you’re going to go unfiltered into this world, shining your light unabashedly, being yourself like no one else can, so that—SO THAT—you may give your audience a brief respite from the world, and even a shot of love, or perhaps a new perspective, a glimmer of hope, a challenge to make amends with a friend, or themselves, a chance to see how someone else views the world. There’s a favorite quote of mine that I think belongs here, though you might have to do the work to tie it in. Dr. James Doty wrote in his wonderful book Mind Magic: Only when we believe we are enough in ourselves do we find the ability to contribute to life, but only in contributing to our world do we discover we are inherently enough. When you crack open your next blank page or canvas, or when you next grab your guitar to set out to write a song, run the idea up your spine that we are here to contribute and serve. You might just find a power that you never knew before.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

To be a novelist is to live in a world of external and self-imposed deadlines, whether you’re under the gun with a seven-figure contract like Taylor Jenkins Reid or stabbing out your first attempt on a commute to the city.Deadlines are the difference between a published work and one that hides half-finished under the bed. They are what get the job done, so you better find a way to love them.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Though I’m fifteen novels into this absurd passion, I won’t claim to be an expert novelist, but I am an expert on deadlines because I’ve been making a living under highly demanding conditions for ten years now, writing at least one lengthy book a year—sometimes two when my Icarus Complex kicks in.Allow me to share how my relationship with them has evolved, as you might learn something from my agony. Please let me save you heartache.In the year COVID arrived, I was working on a novel called The Singing Trees, which wound up being my most successful book to date, selling hundreds of thousands of copies. Getting there, however, was…not pretty.A few challenges stood in my way that year, in addition to what COVID had brought to all our lives. The Singing Trees was my sophomore effort for my new publisher, Lake Union. I’d nailed the previous book, An Unfinished Story, so I felt serious pressure to outdo it and prove that I was unstoppable. In addition, my wife, young son, and I were obtaining visas to move to Spain, and I was about to leave my day job to write full time.In other words, I’d better not screw up.The toughest part of The Singing Trees was attempting to tackle almost more than I could handle (my first historical fiction, first dual timeline, a female point of view, etc.) in a tight nine-month window. I narrowly made my first deadline, submitting the manuscript for a developmental edit by fellow Writer Unboxed contributor, the magnificent Tiffany Yates Martin. “I’m lost,” I said to her. “I know there are good pieces here, but the propulsive throughline is missing. Should I toss this thing out and go to med school?”She gave me multiple therapy sessions (dev editors are also psychotherapists) and ultimately, saved the day, helping me see what had been right in front of my face. Apropos the nearly impossible timeline in which I was supposed to rescue my heap of litdung, she tried to suggest I ask for an extension. I didn’t listen.Being new to the publisher, I didn’t want to be late. More importantly, I’d designed a beautifully liberating October day as the time I turned my book in, left my day job, and began again overseas. Therefore, I’d do whatever it took to stay on track.The pressure, coupled with my devotion, catapulted me into the heart of the story; the fictional world became my reality. I wasn’t sure if I was Boo or Annalisa, the protagonist in my WIP. I heard her voice in my head, felt her fingers when I typed. Thankfully, my supportive family cheered me on, let me hide in my office, and delivered meals like I was in prison. One day, in a caffeine-induced frenzy, I wrote eight-thousand words. That, my friends, is a big day, and no way could I have done it without a deadline.Let’s be clear, though. Yes, I was often able to tap deep into my creativity, and the book resonated with readers, but I had to wade through a swamp of fear to get there. What if my instincts under duress fail me? What if this novel doesn’t sell like the last? What if I don’t have what it takes to create at my best under deadline?Unaware that I could have made the process far easier on myself, I was over-caffeinated, detached from the real world, and fully embracing the tortured-artist cliché. As you can imagine, I wasn’t easy to live with and didn’t take care of my body or mind. COVID was happening all around me, but I was completely out of touch.And my arms started hurting. Like, no kidding, serious pain in my forearms when I typed. That scared the shit out of me, especially considering this was my new gig, the one that would pay our bills. If you follow me, you know I’d already lost my first career as a musician due to a hand issue, so I knew exactly the emotional toll. With a few weeks left to Liberation Day, I was barely sleeping, the story running through me at all hours, and I was popping Advil multiple times daily to cool the pain so that I could keep mashing keys.Guess what. I survived the deadline. Barely.But even as our plane to Europe climbed through the clouds, I knew I had to make big changes. That nightmare wasn’t sustainable. I couldn’t put myself or my family through that again. I couldn’t keep hitting pause on my real life every time a deadline appeared on the horizon.Spain was the first to rescue me. We Americans can be guilty of letting our work define us. Most Spaniards aren’t like that. They work to live, not the other way around. Hanging around new Spanish friends, and even the expats who’d adapted this more laidback mindset, I realized I was taking myself too seriously.Yes, writing means everything to me. I write because I have no choice. Art is my salvation. But dear God, Boo, there’s more to life than words! And your literary output doesn’t define you. You’ll be okay even if a typo, a passive sentence, an error, or a plot hole sneaks into a published book for all the world to see. Please, no! Or if your book doesn’t hit the top one hundred, or if everyone hates it. Even if I didn’t write a thing, or if I never had a bestseller, or never hit a deadline, I’d still be okay. The earth would keep spinning.Spain gave me the wonderful gift of not caring as much, allowing me to detach from the worry of missing a deadline—and the outcome of the book, in general. Writing had to be fun, or what was the point?Then a guru named Ruth Chiles entered my life. Spain softened me; Ruth transformed me. Now living in Valencia, I was in the early stages of working on A Spanish Sunrise, my third book for Lake Union, and I was determined to tackle, no, dance with it more gracefully. I shared the details of my often horrific experience, including the arm pain, and admitted I was terrified of losing this career that meant everything to me.Ruth helped me reframe the idea of deadlines. We acknowledged the intensity and intimidating nature of the word itself: DEADLINE. It implies that you will reach a point in your creative endeavor where you will die, where monsters wait to sever your head.Will deadlines actually kill you? No. What happens if you don’t hit one? You might beat yourself up. Your publisher might label you as a problem author. They might push back your pub date. But no author, to my knowledge, ever died by missing a deadline.Ruth suggested we use a racing analogy and call them pit stops instead of deadlines. You don’t perish when you take a pit stop. You’re simply stopping for fuel, new tires, and a few repairs. Often, a deadline means there are people waiting for you. They’re not monsters with swords who will berate you for your inadequacies. Like Tiffany, they’re professional editors, agents, publishers, and early readers who are invested in you and want your book to be better.My goodness, that concept was a revelation, and to this day, I still cling to it. I can’t wait to hit a deadline because I know that the team around me is waiting to do whatever it takes to send me back on the track anew.I mentioned that I had become absorbed into my fictional world during The Singing Trees. That can be wonderful. I mean, not for my family, because my ADHD is on fire, but when you’re under deadline in healthy terms, you have an unstoppable momentum. You wake each day with itchy typing fingers, motivated to stay on track, despite distractions. It’s in this state of flow where the storytelling juju happens.Also, having a deadline pushes you when you’re running on empty. Yesterday was the most important deadline of my WIP, my response to the first round of edits. Sadly, I still didn’t have the ending right. I hacked away all morning, desperate to fire off the book to my new editor so I could enjoy a couple of weeks off, but the right words were stuck somewhere in my head.I fixed a severed irrigation pipe in the yard, then went at it again. Nada. I had lunch, took a long walk, then tried again and failed. I’d shake loose those words if it took me all night. An hour before we had to leave for my son’s dance class, I made tea and once again tried to tap in. Finally, flow! What a magical exchange, a breaking of bread with the universe. The words had simply been waiting to see how badly I really wanted them. Ah, the loving push of deadlines!You know that song “Purple Hat” by Sofi Tukker? “People dancing on the people, I got people on the people, with the people on the people.” I now make up my own deadlines and have deadlines for the deadlines on the deadlines.I use a Pomodoro timer to stack a series of twenty-five-minute, uninterrupted sprints into my morning. And I don’t quit for the day till I hit a certain word count. For me, that’s usually around three thousand words. These daily practices are essentially micro-deadlines. It should be said that I don’t beat myself up if I don’t achieve those goals. Sometimes, the bird don’t sing.Beta readers are a wonderful opportunity to ramp up pressure. I have twenty-one seasoned readers right now. I break them up into groups and notify them weeks in advance which day they’ll see a version of my working manuscript. They’re amazing cheerleaders and always eager to see what I’m working on, so I push hard and stay at it extra-long each day to deliver the best manuscript I can.Being pushed also keeps you from overthinking. Guess what: your words and sentences and stories will never be perfect. A deadline will force your analytical mind to take a much-needed time out, so that you can have some fun and get something on the page. Who cares if it’s rubbish!For this last book, I came up with a fun idea to help me reach “The End” before my first deadline. I shared the details with my readers, told them I had to write 3-4k words a day for three weeks. Then I gave updates along the way. Not because I enjoy self-flagellation, but because adding friendly pressure can bring out the best.My arm pain went away within weeks of moving to Spain and meeting Ruth, and though a few deadlines still rattle me, I’m far more comfortable with them. They don’t need to be scary. They’re lovely, cuddly puppies waiting to greet you when you get home. They’re the fuel you need to keep going when you’d rather binge The Morning Show and eat popcorn.And don’t forget the celebrations. What’s better than hitting a deadline, then whipping up a charcuterie board and pulling the cork on your favorite bottle of wine? The more deadlines the better, come to think of it.Ultimately, pit stops achieve what Steven Pressfield insists in The War of Art is the most important part of being a writer: getting your butt in the chair.(This article was originally published on Writer Unboxed, where I am a regular contributor.)Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

I’m cracking into my new project today, so it’s the perfect time to dive into how to grow your spiffy little story idea into a hundred-thousand-ish-word effort that might stand the test of time. This is my fave part of the process: watering the seeds of a novel, cranking tunes, drawing out mind maps, exploring a billion What-ifs?, free writing, having long conversations with ChatGPT, tearing through books, movies, plays, and TV shows, pacing back and forth while mumbling to myself, creating fresh voices, slipping into the skin of new characters—syncing my heartbeat to theirs.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.I am now Cara, a forty-two-year-old Californian with slightly anxious tendencies who has no idea how bad it’s about to get in her life. Everything she’s been hiding will be blown wide open, leaving her and her family to pick up the broken pieces a long way from what they once called home.On the topic of character, I committed to names a couple of weeks ago for my mains: Cara, Luke, and Lainey. And I like to pair them with a face on the internet. Sometimes, it’s a random person I find while searching applicable keywords, other times I might have a famous person in mind. The bonus there is you get a sense of how they speak and move and even a glimpse into their personality. In the early drafts, I couldn’t quite find the voice of Annalisa, the protagonist in my novel, The Singing Trees, but she suddenly came alive after I watched an episode of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and realized they shared a similar sense of humor. As I rewrote sections of dialogue, I imagined the hilarious Mrs. Maisel speaking. Cracking that code gave Annalisa the verve she needed and created so many laugh-out-loud moments, making the writing experience intensely enjoyable. Of course, if it weren’t for me putting it out there now, no one would ever know I’d injected some of Mrs. Maisel’s DNA into Annalisa. The best artists steal anyway, right?For my WIP, Mr. Mark Ruffalo is a sure bet for Luke. The casting decision was actually a request from the real-life person on whom Luke is loosely based. Smart, quirky, sensitive, warm. A professor type. Perhaps a bit aloof. I’m not sure on Lainey yet, but I see straight sandy blond hair that falls well past her shoulders. For some reason, I also see her wearing big headphones, hiding from the world. Note to self: I need to figure out what she’s listening to.I’m thinking Jennifer Lawrence would play a mean Cara, but we’ll see. She’s the big one, the make-or-break hero, so I need to feel her in my bones before I get started. Later today, I’ll spend some time watching Jennifer Lawrence clips and interviews, seeing if she makes sense. Or I might start over and search images of women in their forties till a bell rings in my head, saying, “Yep, that’s her!”Sure, these decisions might change, but I like settling on names and faces (and even voices) early on, so they can seep into my subconscious. Another great trick for getting to know your people is to let them speak through you. I don’t necessarily work out all the details of my cast’s histories, but I like to free-write for a while in first-person from each of their perspectives, exploring their beliefs, their loves and hates, their strengths and weaknesses. Even more minor characters. It’s amazing how doing so breathes life into them, like plugging an air pump into a blow-up doll. Before we get too carried away, let’s take a step back and consider the project from a wider purview. One call I like to make early on is my angle of attack. How am I going to let this tale unravel?Choosing your narrative stance—the point of view and tense—is a big one. Remember, these decisions can always change; you’re not wasting your time. I wrote my first thriller, Lowcountry Punch (published under pen name Benjamin Blackmore) in third-person past, then totally rewrote it in first-person past. Guess what? It only got better, as I was forced to rethink each sentence, so don’t worry about making a bad call. Most of the time, you’ll know after a few pages if you’ve gone in the wrong direction. I like changing it up with each book, as a fresh choice brings out a different vibe. Besides, who doesn’t like compounding challenges? For some reason, I never make it easy on myself.Yesterday, I decided to start free writing the opening scene of the book, which had come to me a few days earlier. Without any thought at all, the tale sprung from my fingers in first-person present, a narrative mode I’ve not used before. As they say, there’s a wonderful sense of immediacy, and it felt right in my bones—at least for one of the two timelines.This one’s a dual-timeline novel, meaning it will feature two separate stories woven together across time. As I did with An Echo in Time, which was also dual timeline, I’ll use present tense for the present-day story and past tense for the earlier part. It makes the time jump easier on the reader.My advice to you: don’t be a lunatic like me and feel like you have to go outside of your comfort zone and change it up with each book. If you’re just getting started, spin your first tale or two in third-person past and go from there. For God’s sake, don’t write dual timeline. It’s twice the work!The other big decision that needs to be made early on is how you’re going to arrive at your plot. Maybe I’ll one day add to the robust surplus of words dedicated to plotting versus pantsing, but today, I’ll keep it rather simple. I’ve most often been a plotter and heavy organizer. You ought to see this Excel sheet I created last year that prompts me to hash out flaws, wants, needs, wounds, motivations, etc. When you write under deadline like I do, I try to minimize the amount of words I’ll have to delete later by spreading all the pieces of the puzzle onto the table. Even when I follow an outline, I typically axe upwards of fifty thousand words during the editing process. God knows how much chopping I’d have to do if I played the discovery game like Stephen King, writing without a sense of what happens next.That being said, each book seems to take me further from following a particular regimen. I used to be tied to the story beats of Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat!, which is a distilled version of Christopher Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey, which is a distilled version of Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In tackling the last few novels, I’ve followed the general idea of a hero’s journey, but I’m not tied to the beats in a systematic way. As they say, you can break the rules once you know them. After publishing nearly two million words, I’d like to think I can follow my instincts more.With this book, I have a strong urge to set myself free. In my current genre, which I like to call high-impact fiction, or upmarket fiction (others like to say book club or women’s fiction—the latter of which I really don’t like), the beauty is it’s actually genreless. There are no tropes I must follow, no guardrails keeping me on a specific track. Hell, you don’t even need clear external goals, a narrative component nearly every writing craft book out there crams down your throat as essential. So no, I don’t need to follow a recipe. I might have one character who only has an internal goal—or none at all—and another that might switch external goals every fifty pages. It can all work! Ultimately, my own external goal is to write a page-turner while sneaking in a few eloquent lines that might be worthy of the muck on the bottom of Pat Conroy’s loafers. Okay, I’ll never write a line that great, but I’ll keep trying. Anyway, there are infinite ways to create a page-turner. Don’t you dare let your OCD win and think that you have to follow the latest rule book. There’s a quote that’s been knocked around for a century or more, perhaps first said by playwright George Abbott, that captures the essence of story well. “In the first act, get your hero up a tree; in the second, throw rocks at him; in the third, get him down.” Let’s stop overthinking things. Just do what he says! That’s my intent with this one. My simple outline will mostly consist of a bunch of rocks that I’m going to throw at Cara and the gang. I’ll also spend some time imagining the end, see if I can get a sense of the climax—even a a few vivid images. Right now, a big part is Cara and Luke rediscovering the love they have for each other, so there will inevitably be an emotional scene when they finally break down the last wall standing between them. Sometimes, simply by knowing our character’s flaws, we can get an idea of their ending. I’m unsure on Cara’s issues right now, but if her flaw is that she runs from everything in her life, then she’ll need to stop running and finally face her demons…or daddy issues. Having a feel for the ending can be a north star guiding you home. To summarize, I now know my humans, how to attack them up in the tree, and how to get them back down without breaking too many bones. Now I’m ready to jump in and get going, without worrying much more about formula. I may or may not follow the outline. As I heard someone say recently, what would I have to stray from if I didn’t have an outline?Let’s see how this goes. Like my last book, I might smack into a wall at thirty-thousand words and have to back up and get super-detailed with my preparation, re-hashing the outline and all the moving pieces in a big way. But I like the idea of going after it untethered with this one. A tiger with a laptop let out into the wild.All these rules we study are great, and you need to know them, but at some point, we’re simply trying to write a story that snatches the reader from reality and throws them into our imaginary world in awestruck fashion. How do we do that? By letting it snatch us, the writer, away from reality first. In other words, readers won’t get chill bumps or shed tears unless you do first. Last I checked, their chill bumps and tears don’t care if your midpoint falls right at the fifty-percent mark of if your external goal isn’t tangible enough.So put in some prep time, then turn off the critical part of your brain, slip on the skin of your character, jump into the story, and get those digits moving.Hell, break every freaking rule out there. Write art-house anti-pop if you want. Unless you’re trying to pay the bills. I guess you need to decide that too—your end goal. What are you trying to accomplish? Is this for Mom and your crazy aunt Loopah? Or are you setting your sights on dethroning J.K. Rowling? Heeding to some sort of structure will likely make your work more appealing to the masses.There is no right answer. That’s the concept you need to keep telling yourself. There is no one right way. Seriously, tattoo that on your flipping forehead in bright red. I wish I had early on, though my wife might not have so easily fallen into my spell. Feel free to type out a hundred-page outline or try to outdo me with an even more detailed Excel sheet, capturing every meal your hero had since birth. Or, don’t spend one second of your precious time planning. Open up a blank page and let her rip.All I can do is share what’s working for me right now and how I got here. Now go on and start hacking away at your masterpiece.P.S. First thing I did this morning was change the name on my Alexa from my previous protagonist, Sandy, to Cara. Now my wife has to “drop in to Cara” if she wants to speak to me. Commit, folks! Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Let’s back way up. What are we fiction writers doing here? (Okay, you nonfictionites can come along too.) Why are we here? Are we not cut from the same cloth as jesters in the king’s court, as storytellers standing around a fire, as bards traveling to far-off lands to share their latest tale? You’re damn right we are. We are entertainers!Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Yes, our novels need all the components: a killer first sentence, a beginning, middle, and end, intriguing characters with believable arcs, solid grammar and diction, a satisfying climax, and on and on. But there’s one piece that we must not forget: we share the same DNA as prehistoric fire-tellers who wove their tales around campfires and along migration routes tens of thousands of years before the existence of the written word. I heard Liz Pelletier of Entangled Publishing speak at the NINC conference in Florida one year, and she offered a piece of advice that’s now on an index card on my whiteboard. “Tell a story as if you’re trying to keep your spouse on the couch from picking up the TV remote.”One effective way to push your book in that direction is to read it aloud and make sure it’s singing. Yes, I always do a final read-through toward the end of my edits, but I’m constantly speaking passages aloud, even during early drafts.There must be a rhythm to our words, a rise and fall. Lines have to land with perfect timing. There should be a poetic sense to how the syllables leap from our tongue, a lyrical essence as if we’re songwriters. If you spin your tale as though an audience is facing you, you’ll know in an instant when a clunky passage trips you up. And to Liz’s point, you’ll know if you’re droning along unnecessarily and losing your audience’s attention, because if you’re bored, they will be too.This practice also slows you down, forces you to experience every word. Makes you live the story in real time and allows you to live it the same way your reader will. Sometimes, if you’re like me, you have a lot going on in life, a ton of tasks and distractions pulling you away from hitting your word count, a gremlin whispering about all the easier things to do than face the computer screen and slap the keyboard around. In those cases, orate! Speak your words! Slowing it down to that level will pull you right into flow.Hemingway advised we focus on sculpting one true sentence when we’re feeling stuck. Write that sentence, then read it aloud and see if it rings true. Forget the overwhelm of your grandiose project and fall back in love with the sound of words puzzled together, the wondrous auditory delight of a line of prose.Regarding dialogue, it’s true that we don’t want to mimic everyday banter. “Hello, how are you?” “I’m great, you?” None of that belongs in our pages. We don't want to waste a reader’s time with what can be implied. Our dialogue should capture the essence of a real-life exchange, but it should hover above reality, speech that carries heavier weight, as if each character had a moment to think before they spoke, knowing they might be recorded. Once you’ve done that, jump in and have fun. Put voices to your characters and read as if you’re recording your own audiobook. You’ll hear and feel what’s not working. It doesn’t matter if you’re awful. You ought to hear my 19th-century Hampshire, England accent as was deployed during the writing of An Echo in Time.I’m wrapping up developmental edits for The English Bookstore in Bologna, and I’m drained. I’ve pounded away at my work-in-progress every day all year, and I’m in that place where I never want to see another line. I’m super proud, of course, and I’ll miss these characters, but God, I’ve read and re-read and changed and edited this story to pieces, to the point where I could almost recite it, so I’m just done. It’s not a new feeling. I’m this way with every book once it’s close to leaving the nest. If you’re not feeling zapped, then you didn’t give it your all.But I refuse to let my birdie fly till after I read it through one last time. Out loud, with pizzazz. (Can you imagine what my wife endures in this house of ours?) I’ve fixed most of the issues. The plot is there. I’ve zapped the inconsistencies. With help from my beta readers, agents, and dev editor, I’ve smoothed out character arcs, killed the fluff, and tended to each description till I’m happy.Now it’s time for the thing that matters most: making it a tale that transcends its medium. I’m now Aesop or Homer standing before a crowd, an orator from the days of old. My author voice must be perfectly clear. My words must flow and vibrate. My characters must come alive. So as much as you don’t want to, as tired as you are of this story, do not go lazy now and avoid that final read. Give yourself one last push. After all the work you’ve put in from seed to here, you owe it to yourself. This is the dress rehearsal the night before the big show, your chance to see if there are any pieces that need a final tweak. If you skip it, you’re robbing yourself and the reader of the best version of your work, and you’re forgetting who we really are and why we’re here.Now go forth, you entertainers—give our fellow humans a break from the woes of their reality. Draw them into your imagination and cast your spell. Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Beta readers are an essential part of my storytelling; they’re the oxygen of my editing process. I’ve had my team for almost a decade—only adding an additional member when the stars align—and they never fail to take my manuscript to the next level. Before I discuss how I work with them, the result of years of trial and error, let’s back up and discuss the basics.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.What is a beta reader and why are they not called alpha readers?The term was stolen from the software world, referring to the first outside users to test software before public release, a way to catch any last-minute bugs. Alpha testers would be the developers themselves, or in my case, the author. In the book world, beta readers are a team that reads your manuscript pre-publication to make sure nothing slips through the cracks and to search for any last ways to elevate the manuscript. This team is separate from your publisher’s band of developmental editors, copy editors, and proofreaders. How do you build your team as a budding author?This is the hardest part. And the answer is always: your partner. Or your mom or dad or aunt. Perhaps your favorite English teacher. Your closest friends. Anyone who is willing to suffer through an early draft and offer some notes (without crushing your spirit—more on that later). They don't need experience, but it’s good if they’re big readers, even more so if they read in your genre. You can also seek out beta readers via social media by posting your search on your feed and in various book-lover groups. If you’re old school, post on the community board or even go find a local book club. Readers love to be a part of an art project. Once you catch some momentum and find your voice, beta readers will come to you. They’re the folks who most resonate with you and your work, the ones who send you a note to tell you how much your latest effort meant to them, the ones who leave you the grandest reviews. I’m always looking for people like that, as they’re my people, the ones who vibrate at the same frequency, and I’ll start up a conversation, gauging their interest. I want readers with a positive mindset, who read A LOT, and have the necessary time available, as it’s a ton of work, especially when they join me under deadline, which is always the case these days. I vet them, then give them a test run with a novel. If they’re on time and contribute in a meaningful way, then they’re part of the team till they get tired of me.Each beta reader is so different, and that’s the beauty of them.Every person on my team has a different way to contribute. It still amazes me how readers see stories so differently, each of them providing unique observations. Once you get to know them on an individual basis, you can figure out how to use them best. I have eagle-eye readers who love to find typos. Others are wonderful at catching inconsistencies. For example, my protagonist might stand from the couch earlier in the scene, but then I accidentally reference her still sitting a page later. Or perhaps the couch was blue in the first chapter and somehow turned orange by the end. Other beta readers are prose wizards and will point out paragraphs or sentences that cause issues. I have the historians and fact checkers who won’t let me look like an idiot. The big-picture people might send me fewer notes, but they’re equally as crucial. They’ll point out which characters grate on their nerves, perhaps how and why and when. They’ll point out timeline issues, plot holes, or overall concerns about a character’s questionable choice.It’s all essential and removes some of the burden from my publishing team, who can focus on other issues.How do you know what to listen to?Once you open the door to beta readers, the biggest challenge is knowing who to trust. If you’re using a developmental editor, you kind of have to trust them. They’re like the producer of a record. Your vision needs to line up with theirs if you’re to make magic. But beta readers aren’t being paid; nor are they trained professionals. They’re avid readers excited to see how the process works under the hood and to be a part of a project with an author they admire. I have two ways to decide when to go with a particular suggestion. Firstly, I follow my gut instincts. Typically, if a beta reader offers advice that’s on the more subjective side of the spectrum, I’ll ask myself if it resonates. I often know the moment I read their comment that they’re right, because they’re confirming something I’d already considered. The other way is by democracy. I have over twenty readers right now. If more than half of them tell me the ending with the food fight isn’t working, then that’s strong evidence. If only two people have a problem with it, then killing the scene is not such a slam dunk. Democracy rules!Notes on getting your feelings hurt.I can take criticism personally. It’s hard not to. That’s why I haven’t read reader reviews in years. But most of us attempting to publish must rely on outside help, likely your agent, your publishing team, and your beta readers, and they’re going to hurt your feelings from time to time. I often feel like a cow up for auction when I get my comments back from my professional team. They poke and prod and say, “A bit fat in the belly. One ear’s bigger than the other. What happened to the tail? He’s not the smartest bull in the pasture. A bit overpriced.” Or more accurately: “It gets off to a slow start. I don’t even care whether your protagonist reaches their goal, they’re so unlikeable right now. You’re really overdoing the interiority; delete fifteen-thousand words immediately. The ending isn’t working.”Such critiques can feel like attacks to your soul if you’re not ready for them. My ego might think, When am I finally going to get, “That was perfection, Boo. I wouldn’t touch a thing”? Let’s get clear on that right now: they’ll never say that. My professional team (agent and publisher) is often past the point of offering praise. And that’s fine! They’re not there to boost your ego (well, maybe a little), but the whole reason they’re working with you is they like you and your writing—those are givens—so their harsh or stern comments aren’t because you suck. They’re simply in project mode trying to do the job you’ve given them: seek out ways to improve the project.I have a different expectation from my beta readers. Yes, I want criticism, but the positive kind. Early on, I had a few make harmful comments that would sting. “This book doesn’t touch the last one.” Or, “Ugh, this one isn’t for me. What happened to your writing?” Another loved to say, “One day, you’ll write the book you’re meant to write. This isn’t it.” I don’t need to hear that from my beta readers, because all it does is inject doubt into my head and slow down my process.I started sending out a note to the team each year, something like: Though I want honesty and criticism, please refrain from overarching negative comments that don’t come with solutions. I’m great with you suggesting that characters or plot points aren’t working, but do it in a kind way. And absolutely provide a solution. Avoid stating that the book isn’t working, that you don’t see how I’m the same writer who wrote Red Mountain, etc. We are creating a circle of trust where we build each other up. We are making art together, and in doing so, let’s be gentle on one another.I might sound sensitive, but I know my process. Anything that gets in the way of the connection with the muse is off limits. I used to write songs in Nashville with a guy named Scott Simontacchi, and it was a similar situation. We never knocked each other down. If one of us didn’t like something, we’d kindly disagree and offer another path forward. How do you pay them back?I couldn’t possibly pay back my beta readers what they rightly deserve, but I always try to take care of them. Naturally, I put them in the acknowledgments and send them a signed book once it’s published. More importantly, I respect how much time they’ve devoted to the story. I read and consider every word they send over with my whole heart. When we correspond, I take the time to be present and soak in the gratitude I feel for them. Sometimes, I’m deep into a deadline and catch myself replying too quickly. I’ll back up and feel into this amazingly generous gift they’ve given me, then respond from that place. They are superheroes to me, selfless wonderhumans who give me giant chunks of their time. And hopefully, they find a lot of joy knowing that they’re part of the process, especially when they read the book a year later and see how they’ve contributed.How do I collect their efforts?From a technical perspective, I ask beta readers to return feedback in one of two ways. They can use Track Changes in Microsoft Word or Apple Pages and return a marked-up document. Or they can send one email after they’ve finished (please, for the love of my inbox, not after every chapter). It might include answers to my questions, some overall thoughts, and then references to particular passages. If the latter, I let them know that page numbers change daily during the drafting process, so don’t say, “On page fifty-three, there’s an issue in the first paragraph.” I need a few sequential words, so that I can search for that particular spot.How do I organize it all?When I open up a beta reader email, I always have my main Word manuscript open alongside a Scrivener document I call The Brain (not to be confused with my main Excel sheet, also called The Brain), which is where I keep my elaborate to-do list for the novel. If the suggestions are small and easy, I’ll go ahead and make the change in the manuscript. If it’s a bigger change that I don’t want to do in the moment, or that I’m on the fence about, I might make a comment in the margins of the manuscript, but I’ll definitely insert it as a task item in The Brain, under such sections as: on the fence, large edits, fixes, lingering questions, or details to add. Once a particular team’s feedback is in, I make final decisions and move forward with the bigger changes.How do I use my team?This process has developed over time, and one of the lessons I learned early on was that sending to everyone at once caused issues. The first beta reader to submit would point out a few obvious mistakes, and I’d wish that I’d caught them before sending to everyone. I know who my first line of defense is, the speed demons who can knock out a read in a day or two and provide an amazing critique. I’ll send an updated manuscript to these two or three people first, so that when I send to my larger team, we will have knocked out any obvious issues that might be distracting. Breaking up the crew into several teams is the way. I can collect notes, polish the work, send to a new team, polish again, send to yet another new team, and so on. Makes way more sense than sending to everyone at once, right?I’m in the dev-edits stage of my WIP (work-in-progress) set in Bologna, Italy, tidying things up. For this one, my beta team is broken into fours: the first line of defense, then three larger teams named after characters: Team George, Team Bianca, and Team Sandy.Though each beta reader knows what to do at this point, using the skills particular to them, I’ll accompany my manuscript with guidelines and questions, adding, As always, do what you do best. Not everyone needs to hunt down typos or grammar. If you’re a big-picture person, that’s HUGE. I need overarching thoughts now more than ever. There are no wrong answers—unless they’re mean.Then I’ll hit them with suggestions and questions, such as:* Where do you find yourself skimming? (The answer takes extra strength to endure.)* Point out lazy writing.* Do you notice any words or phrases that are overused?* What sentences or paragraphs slowed you down, due to confusion or a lack of smoothness?* What’s not working? What is? (Knowing what is working is as paramount as knowing what isn’t.)* What’s bothering you? Where were you offended?* What inconsistencies can you find?* Give me any details that I might be missing. And point out any historical inaccuracies.* Anything you can think of that makes the story more relatable, smoother, more enjoyable, smarter, etc.I won’t give any spoilers in the email text, but I include another set of questions at the end of the manuscript, so that when they finish, they can help me dive deeper.Here’s one of my favorite examples of beta-reading goodness:Apropos my earlier comment about democracy, I was super excited how my team came through with helping me tease a big secret that’s slowly revealed in the WIP.Two readers from Team George caught an early hint and suspected the secret on page one-hundred, but that’s okay. I don’t mind a few clever minds figuring out the truth ahead of schedule. But most everyone on the team figured out the truth 1/2 way through. A tiny clue made it too obvious. I tweaked it, then sent to Team Bianca. This time, most of them didn’t start suspecting until 2/3 of the way through. Then I wondered if giving the secret away earlier was a good move, so I polled everyone who’d read. I also sent the question to my dev editor.Giving away the secret early would give the reader a reason to pull for this damaged character even more. And the reader would likely feel the tension caused by knowing a secret that the other characters weren’t yet privy to. On the other hand, holding back the secret till the last few pages would drop an M. Night Shyamalan sort of bomb.Which way did I go? You’ll have to read The Only English Bookstore in Bologna to find out. Doing stuff like this, figuring out how to best deliver a story, is the most fun in the world. And it’s irrefutable proof that beta readers are gold.A few more brief examples:I had a joke where one of the characters lies and says she’s pregnant to a table of friends. I thought it was hilarious. And yet, my dev editor and more than half of my beta-reading team didn’t care for it. So it’s gone, never to evoke another laugh again. I test out a lot of jokes this way, often unfiltered ideas that push the boundaries and may or may not be funny. Running them by my team is like a comedian testing out his jokes in a small club before hitting the road for a stadium tour. Even the tiniest catches can be huge. I have a couple of wine snobs who will challenge me on the history of a particular grape variety. I actually argued with one about the proper use of variety versus varietal. Another might notice that I used the phrase with all due respect five times in a chapter. Or twenty times in the book. Same for words like actually, just, and really. One wise reader suggested that I’d injected too much description of the bookstore in the opening chapter, that I hadn’t yet grabbed the reader with a hook. Ugh, I thought the description was so eloquent, but alas, he was right—I knew it in my bones. I needed to hold some of that description back for a later chapter. Another pointed out that I used the phrase “so good it will make you cry” twice. Can you imagine if I’d published that? Terrifying! One reader simply injects comments into the Word document as she reads, such as: I’m making a guess but I think she’s pregnant. She was breathing heavily earlier. Or: In this scene, I’m suddenly feeling empathy for this character. I wasn’t the biggest fan before. How priceless is it to see in real time what’s working and what isn’t. One of my characters used the expression Jesus H. Christ when she grew frustrated. A reader pointed out that Claire from Outlander often says Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. I had no idea, but it got me thinking. My character hates love and all things to do with it, including romance novels. She owns a bookstore and purposefully keeps the romance section miniscule. But what if she’s secretly reading Outlander? What better way to show she so desperately wants love? And how fun to have her get busted by colleagues when she lets Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ slip from her tongue. Gotta love beta readers for that sort of gem! These dazzling lightbulbs happen all the time when you have multiple minds diving into the same developing story.In conclusion…A beta-reading team can make you, the writer, seem smarter than you are; they can see things you’ve missed because you’re too deep into it; and they can point out a thousand opportunities to take your novel to the next level. In my case, they can also become dear friends.Let’s raise a glass to beta readers everywhere, as the books on our shelves are far better because of them. Cheers, you literary angels, you; keep flapping those wings.If you’re interested in beta reading for me, I’m happy to add you to the waitlist. Email [email protected] in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. 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This is a short story of dazzling entanglement and evidence that the multiverse does indeed conspire to give us creators what we need.If you’re lucky, a story idea not only smacks you in the face, but it settles into you, grows till you have no choice but to bring it to life. That’s happening to me right now.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Finding the right story is a lot like a surfer catching a wave.If you paddle out past the breakers on a promising morning, sit up on your board, let your legs dangle in the water, and set your eyes on a horizon brushed with tangerine hues, you’ll likely find yourself struck with awe, a lone soul fully in touch with the world. For surfers, that’s their church. You’re a conduit for the holy, at one with your surroundings, your ego falling away.And it’s a waiting game, a meditative practice. Waves rise in the distance and roll toward you, but you let them pass by, because you’re waiting for the right one. There’s no rush.When it appears in the distance, you’ll know. You just know. Okay, sometimes you still get it wrong. You paddle with everything you have, lift up your feet to let your nose dip, but the wave doesn’t grab you. That happens with stories too, even for those who’ve been at it all their lives. You might spend a few days or weeks (hopefully not months) chasing a new idea, but the momentum dies. It’s good to listen to that voice inside and bail if you sense that you were tricked. Don’t whiteknuckle losers.As an aside, I had two exciting stories that had been budding up in my mind over the last year, but after a lot of soul-searching and consultation with my agent and wife, I’ve decided now’s not the time, so I’ve dropped them back into the ocean and let them float away. Who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other again one day.But boy, when the right wave comes along, there’s nothing like it. You point your board toward the shore and paddle like a great white is after you. The powerful wave shadows over you, then propels you forward. That’s when you pop up to your feet and go for a ride in the curl.I’m in the curl now and just experienced the most magical moment.In my last communication, I wrote that an idea, a fully intact premise, recently landed on my shoulder while biking around Peaks Island here in Maine. It pretty much came out of nowhere.When the cushy life of a family of three implodes in California, they retreat to an island house in Maine that they inherited from an aunt, whose only stipulation was that they can't sell it. Can the island and this house be their salvation?I remember that moment so vividly, how I’d not been trying at all, full surrender, a beautiful letting go, and then…a wave story vibrating on my same frequency rose high above the others.Damn right, I went after it. The rest of the day, I let the idea seep into my soul, pondering who might the members of this family be and what in the world caused an implosion. Perhaps the husband was dabbling in illegal activities with his business, ala Ozark. Perhaps there was an affair. A death of a fourth member of the family?And this is where it gets good…That night, my family and I were having dinner at the Cockeyed Gull with our friends, Jack and Gerri, who are no strangers to partaking in the magic of the multiverse. I shared how I’d been biking around the island earlier when this particular story idea hit me. Jack asked, “Did you happen to see that front-page article in the latest issue of the Peaks Island News? About a family who recently moved to the island after their house burned down in the California Palisades Fire?”My head exploded. “Um, no, I didn’t.” There it was, right before me, a piece of my fictional family’s implosion. (I say “a piece” because I sense trouble was brewing long before a fire took their house.) Either way, a fire, and even the theme of rising up from the ashes, could be the keystone to my novel.This is the magic that happens once you find your wave and start paddling. The ideas gather force, and hopefully you can ride it all the way until you proudly press a copy of your book into a reader’s hands.A few days later, I attempted to hunt down the family and found the wife on social media. I sent her a message, telling her I was an author (a crazy one) with a writer’s cottage on the island, then shared the tale of how serendipity had led me to them. Would she and her husband be interested in sitting down for a chat?Not that I wanted to tell their tale, but they and their experience could throw all kinds of gas on the fire of this thing growing in my imagination. And I’d walk away with real-life details that would add some versamilitude to my fiction. I included a link to my Substack article detailing how the story came to me, said I’d love to hear from them.She responded quickly. I got chills reading your story. We’d love to meet!This is how it’s supposed to happen, amigos! The story is waiting for you; it wants to be told.I’m beyond eager to connect with them this weekend upon my return to the island. How wild (like holy-efffing-wow!-wild!!!) that all this has come together. What an entangled and mesmerizing web we all inhabit. It’s all out there; all we have to do is plug in.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. 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Funny how life works...I was biking around Peaks Island here in Maine while chatting to my wife on the mainland. I told Mikella I wasn't feeling any new story ideas and might take some extended time off, that I needed to wait till something smacked me in the face. I didn't want to write until the words were wild beasts hurling themselves up against the bars of my cage.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.That’s hard to do, friends, when you are the sole breadwinner in the family. It’s a strange place to be in to not have a new project in the works, to have itchy typing fingers with nowhere to go. If you’re not careful, it can be unsettling.It’s also an exhilarating position to be in, where you expose the marrow of life. That same feeling you get when you leave a job you don’t love to chase a dream; or when you loosen the grip on your easy life and pack your bags and move to a place just because life is short and you’re craving an adventure. I wasn’t telling Mikella my idea of taking a break out of a sense of fear. I was sharing it with her as I would any breakthrough, as an artist who’d remembered I’m not alone. In creating. In making art. There is a higher power that wants to assist. As Paul Coelho wrote in The Alchemist, “When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” Why would I want to go on without such potent guidance?As an Individualist, #4 on the Enneagram chart, I couldn’t possibly subscribe to a particular belief system. My spirituality is my own and no one else’s. I’m not even sure I could communicate it properly if someone pushed. Words and images couldn’t possibly capture what gets me going in the morning, what pushes me to want to be a better man, a better human. That said, my belief system is likely similar to yours in so many ways, no matter if you’re religious, atheist, agnostic, or somewhere in between.What I mean is, there’s a powerful energy surging through the multiverse, through all of us, through every cell that surrounds us. I certainly can’t tell you what it is, but I bear witness to it whenever I take a moment to let my ego subside.There’s a spot on Peaks Island, a section of road that runs along the rocky coast that’s one of the most awe-invoking on earth. A dazzling amount of cairns decorate the shore. A few woody islands—as Maine as it could ever get—stand in the distance. Lobster boats and sailboats pepper the cool azure sea. Two lighthouses steal the show on the horizon, beacons bringing us home. Oversized seagulls squawk from the sky. And the heady smell of salt and seaweed pushes through in a steady breeze. This is where I was biking as I was speaking to my wife, confessing my creative surrender. No, I wasn’t afraid. I was more alive than I’d been in a long time, putting all my trust in the vibrant energy intoxicating me with wonder.Even now, chills prick my skin as I recall the source flowing through me on that day.Seconds after we hung up (I’m not kidding), a premise smacked me in the face, nearly knocked me off the bike. A fully intact premise. I’d been teasing at an idea, allowing a few characters to rap on the door, seeing them walk an island like Peaks. I felt some of what they were feeling, a fresh start after something bad happening, but I wasn’t sure where I was going. The following settled into me, word for word:When the cushy life of a family of three implodes in California, they retreat to an island house in Maine that they inherited from an aunt, whose only stipulation was that they can't sell it. Can the island and this house be their salvation? It was as if someone had whispered it to me.I skidded to a stop and wrote the idea down before I would forget. Where had it come from? Was my surrender what had shimmied it loose? Is it when we finally let go that God speaks to us? Or when the energy runs through us? When the wind finally whispers? How is it that a fully intact premise struck me in that exact moment?My theory is that we’re not alone when we’re creating at our best. In fact, when we’re at our best, we’re nothing more than conduits, right?I guess it's time to open up a blank document and tease this baby out let the source tease this baby out. There's nothing like pure surrender to get the juices flowing.Kind of feels like the wild beasts just broke one of the bars.I suspect someone in my life might say I shouldn’t reveal a new story idea, but I’m okay with it. It may or may not stick. Who knows? But as I share my process in the coming months, it seems only right to use a real-life example. If someone out there wants to steal my idea, give it a go. Would love to read it; I suspect it would be totally different from mine. Might I even call it fan fiction?Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

We might not know the color to paint our literary nursery yet, but we know we want a baby—er, I mean a new story.But forcing it can sometimes throw up blocks. I’m not trying to conjure up images of newly married couples with parental dreams getting a bit too desperate in their lovemaking, but I guess I just did. “Honey, take your pants off!” “But I just…we just—” The militant spouse fires a finger at the bedroom. “Let’s go!”Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.We have to find the sweet spot of being open to a new story without demanding one. In other words, we need to set the mood: light a few candles and throw on Van Morrison. (Okay, I’ll leave the baby-making analogy behind, but it was fun while it lasted.)For me, it starts with a simple message that I send out into the world. I’ll literally say out loud, “I’m ready for a new idea.” I don’t need to get into my own spirituality, but you can send that prayer out to whomever you like, be it your God(s) or simply your subconscious. However you like to do it, it’s important that you open that door.Then I start to fill my creative cup. First and foremost: reading. When I’m under deadline, I don’t get to read like I want to, so there’s catch-up to do. We all know Stephen King said in his memoir, On Writing, that the best writers are the best readers. I take down fiction and non-fiction books like a man in a hotdog eating contest. For the record though, I still stick to my one-hundred-page rule: if I am not enthralled in a big way by page one hundred, I move on. Life’s way too short.While I’m reading, I study what’s working and what’s not. If I don’t finish a book, I think about why. If I tear through it, I analyze the heck out of it. Why was I so captivated by the character(s)? Why did I care? What kept me up at night? How did the author weave their story so effectively? Or how could they have done better?All this applies to television and movies too. I absorb as many stories as I can, seeing what kicks my skirt up. I recently watched the A24 film Past Lives on Amazon, and I was reminded how powerful a love story can be and how I can’t imagine writing a book that didn’t have love in it. The first season of Dexter: Resurrection dazzled me with its tightness of plotting, how it never lets up.I just finished Friends and Neighbors on Apple yesterday (no spoilers), and it was mostly wonderful, but I felt a few episodes dragged, and a couple of other points niggled at me: the chemistry between two characters and the final clue that exposed the truth. Maybe by studying what they’re doing, I can avoid the same pitfalls.Ultimately, though, I’m looking to be reminded why I fell in love with creating in the first place. I want the fire to burn high. I want to find a book or show that sizzles my insides and reminds me of the power of art, a creation that makes me desperate to get back into the driver’s seat and slap some words onto the page.I also read tons of magazines and news articles. Apple News, which is a news aggregator, is the best for spitting up all kinds of interesting bits that rattle my imagination. I might come across an article about a man who opened up a camp in the wilderness for blind children, another about a chef who put an Asian twist on cacio e pepe, or another about a man fresh off a heart transplant who’s having strange dreams. I’m basically downloading new data into my brain, in hopes that it might organically find a way into a future story.Another trick: I’ll scribble out what I’m interested in lately. Last week, I wrote:new kid on the block, missed connections, multiple love stories, dramedy, finding home, washed-up artists, imperfect humans, island life, underdogs, dysfunction in all formsBecause I’m not under deadline, I have more time for family and friends. I feel bad, because I’m secretly paying attention with writer’s ears and eyes. Most have already made it into my books, whether they know it or not, but there’s always more gold to mine. Writers should come with a disclaimer: to befriend me is to expose yourself to the inevitability of winding up in a forthcoming novel. Some like it, and some DON’T, but that’s a story for another time.Most importantly, I carve out time to empty my mind and find stillness. As a songwriter on Peaks Island reminded me yesterday, the universe is conspiring together to give us creative fuel. All the energy surrounding us wants to connect with us, to create with us, to give us melodies, story ideas, images, anything we seek. It’s collectively speaking to us; all we have to do turn off our monkey minds and stick up our antennas. Tom Waits said about songwriting, “be real quiet if you wanna catch the big ones.” Long walks, bike rides, or strumming a guitar are often the way I set my brain into a theta state, that dream-like place where the subconscious mind comes to play. Or I have a bench near my house that faces the ocean; it’s become a portal for me. All I have to do is take a seat, set my eyes over the water, breathe in the salty Maine air, and listen to the waves crash against the rocks. God does the rest.Above all, we must keep it fun and come from a place of deep respect and gratitude. What a pleasure it is to break bread with the source and create something out of nothing. Those of us who write for a living might hear the terrifying knock of fear at your door. What if nothing comes? What if I’m out of words? What if no one will be interested in my new idea? What if no one buys it? Oh, no, I might have to find a new profession. Med school? Car mechanic?Guess what…a new idea always comes. The creative fuel is infinite. There will ALWAYS and FOREVER be new melodies, new ideas, new ways to spin a tale. Tell your fear to zip its trap and then seize onto faith, because life’s too short to be afraid. Instead, have some flipping fun in this space of not knowing what’s next, because I’m not sure there’s a better part of the creative journey than when your antennas are up and you’re waiting for a divine whisper into your ear. How lucky we are to have so much at our finger tips that wants to be captured. All we have to do is plug in, friends. Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

It’s been nearly two weeks since I hit my deadline, and I still feel like I’m shaking off a bit of PTSD, but a sense of being totally and utterly alive has come over me. It’s like I’m stripped naked and wandering, raw to the bone, a creative man without a thing he’s creating, my soul bared, the call of the unknown lighting my path. I just finished the new and brilliant documentary about Billy Joel on HBO, and I came away feverishly inspired to chase after new tales.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.One of the the reasons his songs were so wonderful was that each of them had autobiographical roots. He wasn’t coming up with words out of thin air; he wasn’t simply looking for rhymes. He was attaching his own life to melodies, never afraid to bare it all. I had no idea that the song “Big Shot” came from his experience of waking up with hangovers (perhaps during one of his particularly dark times) and recalling the stupid things he’d done and said the night before. He’d look in the mirror and say to himself, “You had to be a big shot, didn’t ya?” Or with “New York State of Mind,” he wrote that tune driving back east after running into a creative rut in California. As he drew nearer to his homestate of New York, music began to creep into his soul, manifesting into one of the most important songs ever written.I’m reminded that each of my books has a piece of me in it, so as I open myself up to new stories, I’m doing more than seeking seeds externally. Sure, I’m taking down tons of books and movies, listening to friends tell stories, eavesdropping on strangers’ conversations, listening to the quiet of nature, often just finding stillness, but I’m also looking inside. What’s going on with me?Wanna know? Oh, what the hell. Just like Billy Joel often did, I find myself wondering where I’m going right now with my career. Do I want to write pop? Literary jazz? Do I want to write whatever the hell I want? Should I consider my current readers? Do I play the game of writing to market or do I simply write for myself? Do I want to continue to push myself? With each of my fifteen books, I’ve taken on new challenges as a way to keep it fresh and interesting, to stay in the curl of the writing wave. It might be writing in present tense after years of past-tense stories. Or writing dual timeline. Maybe setting one of those timelines in the 1800s. How about writing a story from three or four points of view (not easy). What if one or two of them were female? After writing a handful of tales that span the length of a summer, how about tackling a story that evolves over decades? And if you’ve read my stuff, you know I love to tackle a new setting.I won’t name names, but so many successful authors find their lane and stick to it. Similar settings, time period, characters, theme. Do I need to do that? What if I get bored? But…what if that’s where the fame and fortune is? Can readers handle following an author who does what he wants?(As an aside, there are elements that I’m always interested in. I like love stories, and there will likely always be one or two in my novels. I like colorful everyday characters who are thrown into extraordinary circumstances. I like underdogs. I adore dysfunction in all types, like characters who strip down to nothing and get down on their knees in the middle of a row of vines and howl at the moon with the coyotes.)I’ve been desperate to write a dystopian novel, one that might have zombies of some sort. A literary dystopian love story. Don’t worry, that’s not happening right now. I’ve also had this idea to write a modern-day Lorna Doone, which was an English masterpiece written my a relative of mine: R.D. Blackmore. The books that have most captured me lately have some element of time travel, like the work of Emily St. John Mandel. I can’t get enough. But oh my, would I upset my agent, my publisher, and many of my readers if I climbed on that train.Back to the Billy Joel idea, I’m pointing at the push and pull going on within me right now as a working artist, and I wonder if there’s a story in me about a guy or gal who is experiencing the same emotions, wondering which path to take, wondering where the sweet spot is between creating for himself and others. (At the height of his fame, Billy wrote and released a solo-piano album of classical music. Good for him!)Let’s go deeper. There’s more going on inside of me than simply wondering about my career. Things far more important.How about growing as a father and husband? As a son? As a member of my community, my state, my country, my world. Can I incorporate characters who share a similar want to be better?Sure, it’s enough to write beach reads, but I’d like to shine my light even brighter if possible. I’d like to change a life or two. I’ve wrestled with grief in real life and in my novels, and so many of you who’ve lost someone have written to say that I’ve given you hope or helped you turn a corner. I’m not sure what more I can ask for as a novelist, and I want to keep doing that. Whatever I write needs to have some power behind it.Another thing that plagues me is my nomadic tendencies. I’m always eager to move and check out new places (I would move to Madrid or Estepona tomorrow), but as I get older, I’m also attracted to the idea of throwing out anchor, connecting more deeply with local friends, finding what it’s like to live in a place for longer than our norm of three years. Writing stories about searching for home interest me.As do stories about people moving to new places, because that’s something my family and I have done a lot. We know what it’s like to be the new kid.There you go, friends, a bit of the Boo you might not have known. Next time, I’ll touch on more of the external search for story, because it’s one of my favorite parts of the writing process, that headline that grabs you while scanning through the news, an arresting experience like seeing baby birds poke their beaks out from a nest, or a clever bumper sticker that rings your bell and makes you think, “That’s it! I know what I’m going to write.”I’m all ears and eyes and heart right now, waiting ever so patiently for a story to say hello. In the meantime, I’m going to keep feeding my soul and attempt to stay steady in the present.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

I’m all wound up with no place to go. I turned in my W.I.P. (work-in-progress) this week, nailing my deadline despite an army of obstacles to get there. It’s been one of the most challenging books I’ve ever taken on, which means I’ve often had to grind harder than normal, pushing myself to hit my word count and stay on schedule. I can already hear some of you saying I should have stepped away. Sure, it’s so nice to do that when you’re exhausted or lost, maybe take a few days or weeks off, but when you’re a working writer with deadlines and a family to take care of, you often have to push through. In doing so, I uncovered a second wind that took me to wonderful places as I raced toward the climax of the book. Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Where the middle gave me all kinds of problems, the end coalesced as if I actually knew what I was doing. With each page, the four points of view weaved together tighter and tighter till they nearly became one at the end. My mind stayed a scene ahead of my fingers, seeing exactly where the story wanted to go, and that, my friends, is a glorious place to be.I’m proud of what I turned in and eager to share this book with the world next year. While my courageous developmental editor wraps her head around my story, I have three weeks off (-ish). What do I do with this nervous energy, this feeling of needing to get back in my chair and keep typing? I need to harness it. I need to settle in and not necessarily do anything about it. Though the season of brainstorming new stories is here, I don’t NEED an idea yesterday. What I need to do is turn that grinding inner hurricane into a healthy steady power, a whirling dervish. Time to let life recharge me, let the Boo meter rise back to full. What does that look like for me?My wife and son, for one. As much as I can get of them. I went up to my son’s room yesterday and said, “Wanna hang?”“Sure.”“What should we do?”“I don’t know; anything.”So much wisdom in that idea of anything! We ended up making lunch together, nothing groundbreaking, but we were super present as I taught him how to make sauteed spinach, peeling and dicing the garlic, etc. How wonderful simple moments can be, right? His suggestion of anything meant: as long as we’re together, who cares? Along with hanging with family, I’m doing a ton of reading, watching movies and tv shows, walking and sitting in silence, listening to music, eavesdropping, and napping. Lots of napping.Meanwhile, story ideas are buzzing ‘round. I’m not trying to grab for them all; I’m simply noticing them right now, like fish nibbles on bait. I’ll know when it’s time to set the hook.What I don’t want to do is try to force a story, despite that nervous energy feeling like a hole that needs filling. The only other book that’s nearly broken me was The Singing Trees, which funnily enough has gone on to sell more copies than any of my previous novels. Maybe there is truth to that idea that the most difficult to execute are often the best, if you can wrangle them. It’s interesting how the story of The Singing Trees came about. I’d been invited to pitch a couple of book ideas to a prospective publisher (Lake Union) and had promised them something by the end of the week. Let’s just say it was a golden opportunity, my ticket to freedom. I had one idea in the bag, that of An Unfinished Story. I couldn’t wait to write it, as I felt the protagonist in my bones, and the premise was rock solid. But I was coming up empty for a second idea. Of course, it didn’t help to have the pressure of a deadline on top of knowing how big of a chance this was for my career.I beat my head against the wall for four or five days, scrambling for any seed of a story that might be hiding around a corner, attempting to wrestle them into submission. Stress set in, and the story ideas grew worse. I can only imagine how much cortisol my brain was producing. With a day left, I was in tears, so mad that I didn’t have what it took to be a writer, that ability to be creative under pressure. It was a debilitating feeling.I’ll never forget the moment when I gave up. Not in an ugly way, but in sweet surrender. I happened to be in Naples, Florida visiting my in-laws, and I remember plopping down on the couch, saying to myself, “Welp, I surrender. I’m closed off and need to stop trying. Where’s the fun? Where’s the boy who fell in love with words years ago? Where is my connection to my higher power?” Amidst a week of intense pressure and stress, a bubble of serenity surrounded me.I swear to you, not a minute later, my mother-in-law sat down next to me and started telling me a story. Totally unprompted. She wasn’t feeding me an idea, only making conversation. Turned out she was sharing her coming-of-age story, because it so happened that someone she knew had passed away that day, and the news had stirred up old memories.As she told me her story, it was as if every dead cell in my flattened body came back to life. I knew with all of me that it was time to set the hook. I said, “Nonna, I need this story! How have you never told me? Please, may I pitch a version to this publisher? But here’s the deal, I want to change names and settings and draw out the drama even more. Basically, I want to dramatize your past.” She said yes, and over the next year, we wrote that story together, and it’s sold nearly a half-million copies so far. So there you go.I’m opening myself up to new stories now. I literally said out loud this morning to whomever was listening, “I’m ready for a new story to land.” I’m not going to force anything though. If I feel like rummaging through the lists I keep of new story ideas, then I’ll do that. If I feel like scribbling down a few premises, sure. But I will not become frustrated with the tension of being in this place of not knowing what’s next, because I might as well dig a hole and bury my creativity there.That place of not knowing can have a feeling of a free fall, as if you’ve leapt out of a plane. And we can choose whether it’s exhilerating or debilitating.I have some control issues, so it’s hard to be a passenger and not be steering the ship, to be along for the ride and not know where I’m going, to be in free fall and unsure if I have a parachute, but I know which path I’m choosing: exhileration. This is a time of nurturing, of embracing love, of being, of taking my shoes off and feeling the earth rise up through me, of sitting in stillness, of letting my senses go wild with discovery. Ah, there’s such beauty in this place now, and I mean right this minute. I wish you could feel the energy swirling through me. Very soon, a story will alight on my shoulder, and it will be time to face the blank page of my sixteenth novel. In the meantime, I’m cherishing this wonderfully limitless, safe place; this free fall into the unknown.Perhaps what I’m most reminded as I write to you this morning is that faith and enjoyment are our doorways to making our best work. Faith, because we have access to tremendous power and magic (however you may define your magic) if we open ourselves up to it. And enjoyment, because stress, blockages, and cortisol die under enjoyment’s blue skies.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

The blank page of a new chapter stared at me like a grizzled gunslinger holding a hand over his six-shooter. My fingers trembled over the keyboard. Never had I wanted to help my in-laws with their printer issues more in my life. Or go to Costco. Anything but start my Pomodoro timer and leap into the unknown.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.I have similar mornings more than I’d like to admit, but a month ago, as I reached forty-something thousand words in my WIP (work-in-progress), I ground to a halt, and there was nothing funny about it.Having exhausted myself tackling two complicated books last year, I tried to make this one easier by shooting for 90,000 words, keeping it to one POV, and writing a tale that wouldn’t require as much research. That way, I wouldn’t have to prepare and could spit out a winner without having to descend too deep into the literary cave where demons dine on writers’ brains.And yet, there had been nothing easy about it, and that broke my heart.What about Grisham? He probably wrote his last bestseller on a recliner while watching the news. No plot, no problem. And Emily St. John Mandel? I bet she doesn’t even have to edit; perfect sentences simply flow from her fingers. Then there’s me, prying words out like rotten molars.I can’t speak for all writers, but I’m twenty years in, and it’s not getting easier. I get nowhere without getting my hands dirty. My attempt at phoning one in backfired epically. My WIP now has four POVs, including two unreliable narrators, and will likely surpass 130,000 words. That’s what I get for trying to outsmart the system.Why do I do this to myself? Because I’m a writer, which is defined as a human who likes to torture themselves on the daily to create a product destined to elicit devastating reviews that will tear their heart out of their chest and stomp on it.For those of us who are not Stephen King, this novel-writing thing can be a grind, and there is no more challenging part than writing the first draft. I had to dive deep into my bag of tricks to find a way forward. Thankfully, one thing I still have intact after being the victim of fourteen novels is resilience. I’m like a warrior hobbling off the battlefield with only the hilt of his sword.Being a craft junkie, I revisited some of my favorite wisdom that I’ve collected over the years. One that set me back on track was from Cal Newport:“Grand achievement is based on the steady accumulation of modest results over time.”I cherish that idea.There’s another quote that I ponder while I’m in hell being shot at by evil robots chanting “You’re wasting your time, you worthless piece of…”—er, I mean, while I’m in the early stages. Shannon Hale said:“I’m writing a first draft and reminding myself that I’m simply shoveling sand into a box, so that later I can build castles.”I need that one tattooed onto my face.First drafts should be fun. We must play in our sandboxes like the wondrous children we once were. Sometimes, during a sprint, as I’m wrestling a writhing behemoth, I’ll intentionally insert something silly to remind myself that first drafts are for my eyes only. In the middle of a passage, I’ll write: Booby, Booby, Doo, where are you? Or, if I’m not yet “seeing” my protag’s dress, I might type: she wore a boring red dress that was so red that the president declared it was a new red that was redder than any red in the history of red. (Now that’s talent.) It’s fun to encounter those Easter eggs during the rewrites.Okay, I’m sitting on 176 pages of lukewarm prose and peering down the barrel of a deadline. I’ve cried and been berated by the little boy inside of me. I’ve allowed the fear of producing nothing more than slop machine-gun me with doubt.But I see the light! I’m reminded for the billionth time that it’s okay my early draft is warthog ugly. There’s no other way to get to the good stuff. As Fredrick Backman says:“Chaos, chaos, chaos, book.”Here’s my best effort at capturing my process, though it’s constantly evolving. I brainstorm, free-write, and scribble out ideas for a while, then eke out an outline using Scrivener’s cork-board feature. Once I foolishly think I’m ready, I dive in, slaughtering the English language with my word salad. I might make it halfway before I run off the tracks. Then I return to my outline, rework it with knowledge gained from this salad-shooter shit show, and try again, deleting wildly, rewriting entire chapters, but hopefully getting further this time. Each attempt makes the story more vivid in my mind.If we approach early drafts with a carefree mindset, they can be a land of discovery. I love sprinting to a timer, as it sets me free. If I can help it, I don’t stop typing, often hitting a thousand words in twenty-five minutes. They’re mostly gobbledygook, but something wonderful happens. My left brain—the washed-up Oxford English professor in highwater trousers who questions everything—goes quiet, letting my right brain soar, often spitting out something that surprises me.For example, I had a character with a muffled external goal. After a quarter-life crisis triggered by a failed book launch, she moves to Bologna to rediscover the happier version of herself that studied there in her teens. I’m the king of vague external goals, but I was having a hard time figuring out what she was doing all day on this journey of self-rediscovery. One-hundred pages in, during a mad finger dance, it hit me. She’s trying to do everything but tackle another book, but the urge to write keeps niggling at her. Eventually, she’ll cave and attempt a second book in secret, like an alcoholic knocking back shots of Smirnoff in the closet. It was only in taking a stab at mashing keys did this idea reveal itself. Hey, even though I had jumped the gun earlier this year and tried to write without a clear path, I still made progress.When I backed up to start again, I did something I’ve meant to do for a long time: get organized. I started an Excel sheet called “The Brain.” The intent was to create the sheet of all sheets that captures everything I’ve learned; a tool that could be used as a template to prepare for each of my future books, ideally turning first-draft bloodbaths into Ritz-Carlton bubble baths.The upper cells are dedicated to the title, premise, theme, etc. Color-coded columns for every arc-worthy character prompt me for short bios, Enneagram type, mentor figure, enemy, A-to-B shifts, a verb that captures their essence, internal and external goals and needs, and on and on. Further down in the same columns are beat sheets, which feature my version of the hero’s journey. There’s a section with notes to myself, such as reminders to include all six senses and add urgency. There’s also a to-do list, with tasks like work through Parker and Stone’s But, Therefore formula. I’ve even added my favorite quotes to a section at the bottom. For a guy who hates Excel, it’s a slightly impressive sheet.Excluding the current book, which is moving in the right direction again, thanks for asking, I’ve always dedicated a ton of time to prep work and outlining, and it just works for me. Going forward, I plan on filling out every cell in “The Brain” before I start typing. Some of it doesn’t come easy, either, especially figuring out the latter beats. It requires full immersion into the story world without a keyboard in sight.Writers love to debate plotting vs. pantsing. I plot by pantsing in my head first. This sort of journey of discovery is just as fun as typing to figure out what happens. I spend countless hours drifting off, slipping into my characters’ skin, and following their arcs all the way to the finale. It feels freeing to accept and confess that I’m one who requires deep prep work beforehand, especially since I write on deadline. I can’t afford to go in the wrong direction for too long.I’ll leave you with this, a concept this over-caffeinated, insecure overachiever known to define his self-worth by his daily word count must beat into his own head. Amidst those soul-sucking, brick-wall moments during drafting, give yourself a break and remember to trust in the process. Allow yourself the joy of the incubation period. Writing isn’t always typing. Write by walking, strolling, watching Shrinking, daydreaming, Yoga-ing. Or by creating your version of “The Brain.” Then take another stab with no expectations. Once your inner voice tells you that you’ve lost control, step back to recalibrate again. Most of all, keep it fun. A few steps forward every day will take you to the grandest of heights.(As first shared via Writer Unboxed)Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

It’s hard to define which draft you’re working with once you’ve type “The End” for the first time while creating a novel. I’ll ram my head into the wall if you insist that it’s the first draft, because there are giant chunks of my manuscripts that I’ve deleted, changed, hacked, and re-worked ten times before I arrived at a completed draft. Does that make it the tenth?Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Typing “The End” is such a massive step toward completing a novel. You’re not even close to done, but you finally have a glimpse of the story you’re trying to tell, and for me, I’m leaving the part of the project that’s all writing sprints, a war with my inner demons, a leap into the unknown.No more do you have to pull words, images, and ideas out of nowhere, all while trying to juggle a thousand other pieces. It’s not easy to get it all right on the first or second or tenth attempt, but we try. Oh, boy, do we try.While carving out the bones of my story, I’m thinking about sticking to the premise, staying on course, character arcs, weaving the characters around each other, pacing in general, the push/pull of the love stories, the gradual build of tension, the growing degree of conflict, how we shouldn’t keep the characters in one room for too long (Dennis Lehane says get ‘em out after six pages), and the necessity to capture the reader and have them race to the end. In the back of my mind, I have to be cognizant of my tendency to give characters pity parties, and also my bad habit of allowing for too much interiority—meaning going on for paragraphs about what’s in their head. I’m also considering how I can be guilty of slow starts and how I might light a stronger fire in the first few chapters.And how about writing strong and unique sentences? I want to keep the writing fresh, steer clear of clichés, focus on active verbs, abolish as many present participles (-ing verbs) as I can, and avoid boring words that love to sneak into my manuscript, such as just and really. Like all my other writer comrades, I’m also questioning how many sentences start with And or But, because some are okay, but they can get old quickly. Might as well steer clear of them early on, as opposed to hunting them down later. Since I love to torment myself and often set my books in foreign lands, I’m attempting to conjure up images from my research travels, trying to make the book read as if I’m an expert on the locale.Though I can’t possibly nail it all down, I’m going for as many details as I can while I race to get in my daily word count. I don’t want the pickpocket to steal her money, I want him to slip his calloused hand into her knock-off Louise Vuitton and grab the pearl necklace she’d just haggled for at the market. There’s no room for boring or vague.And don’t forget about timing. I try to get the timeline right, which is damn near impossible, because I know it’s going to change—despite the prep I put into the book before I even wrote the first word. I’m accidentally going to set a big scene on a Saturday, which will screw up every other day beforehand. Or I might realize the story should span the course of three weeks as opposed to a year-long journey.All that’s a lot to think about in the “first” draft! And I’ve barely scratched the surface (shit, cliché, delete). Still, we try to get it all in there early on, and yes, it’s exhausting.Now, let’s be clear. When I’m hammering away at that first draft, the idea is to get into a flow state, which is why I write to a timer and don’t allow myself to stop. I crank music super loud and go. More often than not, I can enter this place where I become a conduit, sentences and ideas spilling out that don’t even feel like mine. Bombs could be going off outside my window, and I wouldn’t notice. Even then, even in the deepest flow, I’m still aware of the things I’d like to get right on the first go.Let’s use a Formula 1 analogy. While drafting my novel, I’m not only the driver on the track, but I’m also the race engineer, the guy whispering strategy into his earpiece.It’s a lot. Don’t even get me started on facing fear, the voices in your head questioning whether this story is working at all or if you’re even worthy of making art in the first place.Of course it’s fun—the most exhillerating activity I know—but it’s not without its challenges.Fortunately, there’s a shift that happens when we type “The End” and move on to the next part of the journey. It’s like climbing out of your Formula 1 car and jumping into a sailboat. Oddly, despite the next stage becoming more about “editing,” my right brain becomes even more alive. I adore this part of the process. I wake with such tremendous joy at the idea that I can now start to bring alive this word-dumped catastrophe into a story that’s worth telling. For me, it’s where the art and magic happen. There are even more opportunities to fall into flow, which is the drug that keeps pulling me back in for more despite the countless obstacles. In this stage, I can take the time to flaunt some poetics. I have the luxury of staring at and re-working a paragraph or a scene till I see it with vivid clarity; till it reads the way I want it experienced. The bird flew overhead can be a red-tailed hawk pierced through the cotton-candy clouds. (Wait, Boo, you’re really laying on the adjectives. Oh, well…) Now that I’ve seen what my characters are going to do and how they’ve changed, I can slip in the early details that will make that metamorphosis all the more powerful. If I’ve realized that a character ultimately doesn’t love herself—her main flaw—then I can find subtle ways to show it throughout the story that will lead toward a bigger payoff. And I finally have a solid grasp of the premise, which means I have the answer to what needs to be deleted.It’s like finishing construction and being given the key. Now I can focus on the interior design.You know what it is? It’s taken me this long to distill it down in my head. No longer am I staring at a blank page. It might sound silly if you’ve not walked onto such a battlefield, but for me, there’s nothing more frightening than a cursor blinking on an empty page. Give me a madman with a knife anyday. The editing part, though, that’s the end of the rainbow.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe

Lots of monsters in my head earlier in the week. I had a proper breakdown. Just ask my wife. I told her that this was it, the book that would kill me. Nothing was making sense. I didn’t believe my characters’ actions, and even worse, the ending I’d planned for over two years now, the one gifted to me by my muse and a major reason I felt inspired to write the book in the first place, wasn’t making any sense.So not only was I way behind, but I was going in the wrong direction, AND the one thing I thought I had, good instincts, had proven to be a sham. I was a hack with no instincts and a deadline that made me feel like I was tied to a stake with someone lighting the stack of wood under me.I even called my agent and told her I wanted to hurl myself out the window. (I know, so dramatic.) She laughed, then said something like, “Boo, stop looking at the boulder you have to push uphill. You’re already at the top of the mountain looking back down at the wonderful book you wrote, grateful that these challenges pushed you to your best.” I kind of sort of heard her whilst I banged my head upon my desk.It didn’t help that we snuck down to NYC for a few days. Don’t do that when you’re way behind and have the sharp teeth of a deadline waiting to chomp down on you. We experienced the worst turbulence of my life on the plane back to Maine, while I was trying to get in my last words of the day.A guy actually threw up on the flight attendant and all over the carpet and little kitchen and the bathroom and pilot door. Once the attendant had cleaned herself off, while taking a break from scrubbing the walls with her colleague, she put on a smile and said through the speakers, “I know this is scary, but it’s perfectly normal. We’ll be just fine.”I was pretty sure we were goners.My psychotherapist, who is also my wife and a saint, told me yesterday to stop and take a break. I’d simply hit my limit, that it was a bit of literary turbulence and that I’d be “just fine.”“I can’t stop, honey. I have to hit my word count.” (She might cut me if I ever say “word count” again.)She pretty much repeated what the flight attendant said. “I know you’re afraid, but you do this every book. Every. Single. Book. It’s totally normal. And you’re exhausted.”I smacked my forehead.But she was right. I climbed into bed in the afternoon and binge-watched some Taylor Sheridan, then crashed hard. I woke up after a good eight-hour dreamfest with a warrior mindset.Later, Mikella came in with her coffee and asked, “How does it feel today?” She was smirking because she already knew the answer. She’d been listening to my fingers hammering away at the keys since five.I said sheepishly, “Yeah, I might have fixed the issues, and things are back on track. I’m actually having…fun.”She crossed herself. Actually crossed herself.You know the only thing more difficult than being a writer?Being married to one. (Okay, being a flight attendant seems like a tough gig too. And a literary agent. Imagine dealing with a whole horde of crazed lunatics—er, I mean, writers.)Okay, back to it! I’ve broken through 100k words, maybe 20k more to go. August 11th, here we come! I love deadlines. Just love ‘em! They really bring out your best.I hope you’re having a much smoother week.Drowning in Words is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Drowning in Words at boowalker.substack.com/subscribe