One, Two, Cha-Cha-Cha!

I celebrated a huge writing win on Friday—huge for me, anyway.

After spending the last few weeks banging my head against part three of my novel, I realized most of my anxiety was about how much part one would have to change to support the ending.

To be clear, I’m no stranger to stripped-to-the-studs revisions, but I was considering razing most of part one, which gave me pause. So last week, I devoted all my writing sessions to creating a workable revision plan for part one of my novel in progress.¹ By the end of last week, I could finally picture a revision of part one that felt like a solid enough foundation to support moving forward with the ending.²

And in what I’m taking as proof that the writerly universe has a keen sense of humor—after I pinned my revision plan to the bulletin board in my office and read it where it hung one more time just to prove that I could not only picture the new chapters but feel them³, a friend texted me a link to the video above with a note that read:

“This totally reminded me of you.”

I grinned at my phone, then did a silly but celebratory cha-cha-cha of my own.

One of the most important things a writer can do to support a healthy writing mindset is to foster a habit of celebrating your writing wins, no matter how small.

My win on Friday was a medium win.

Yes, I spent a few days scribbling my way to a workable solution, but I still have to actually transform those solutions into chapters that pull readers in.

Hell, I still need to finish the book.

But in much the same way folks on a cross-country roadtrip might cheer when they start to see their destination listed on road signs, a writer has to celebrate those moments when a possible path to the end of the novel presents itself.

So, yeah. I cha-cha-cha-ed the hairy hell out of this week’s medium-sized win.

But I also try to make a habit of celebrating the small wins, too. Maybe not with a cha-cha-cha—though I argue the world would be a better place if more folks cha cha cha-ed with abandon—but figuring out how to end a chapter is certainly worth a fist bump, replacing a boring verb with one that sing is worth a smile, and finding a winning moment in a chapter you’d written off as a steaming turd is worth at least a grudging Cowboy nod.

Look, I’m not suggesting that I’m a prose Pollyanna. I launched this Mood Tools series with a post about the importance of taming our dragons because my inner critic’s greatest joy in life is loudly reminding me that my writerly failings are legion. My inner cheerleader, on the other hand, uses a mousy voice and forgets her pom-poms on the regular.

Fortunately, though, we don’t need pom-poms to celebrate writing wins—we just need to notice them.

Too many writers are downright miserly when it comes to celebrating writing wins, as if joy must be carefully rationed so we’ll have enough in reserve on the day we sign with our agents or sell our first novels. A well-lived writing life is too long to be celebrated in just two moments, even two moments as colossal as these. Instead, we should celebrate the hundreds of thousands of small wins that make up that well-lived writing life, starting with every day you tamed a dragon and sat down to write, say. Every day you wrote, period. Every time you paid attention to feedback it would be far easier to ignore. Every time you pushed a good sentence to be great. Every time you hit a narrative dead end and refused to give up. Every time you continued to refuse to give up even when that chapter still wasn’t working. Every time you just kept at it until that sticky widget come unstuck.

Celebrate all these wins and thousands more like them, if only by taking a moment to notice them. Look, we all know how to celebrate the big wins—champagne! hugs! screaming!—but we’re not so good at celebrating the small wins that make up the true curriculum vitae of our lives as writers.

At the end of most of my writing sessions, I write a baton to hand to my future self about what I intended to write next (because writerly intentions are like vivid dreams I’m sure I’ll remember, then don’t). What if when I’m wrapping up for the day, I also highlight my favorite lines from that day’s writing? I don’t think twice about leaving nastygrams in my manuscript about future edits—on my best days it’s a cogent suggestion for revision; on my worst a decidedly unconstructive ugh-FIX!!—but if my manuscript were also peppered with highlighted sentences I loved, wouldn’t that buoy me on my worst ugh-FIX days?

Better yet, why not start a writing wins file? I’m so quick to journal when I’m frustrated or down—how profound would it be to keep a writing wins notebook as a kind of craft gratitude practice?

It’s fine to look forward to the big writing wins we dream will happen in some faraway someday—the agent who says yes, the editor who makes an offer—but there’s no reason we can’t also celebrate the wins among the words we write day in and day out.

Take times to notice your writing wins, is what I’m saying.

And if the spirit moves you, by all means, cha cha cha.

Take Away from Mood Tools Week 11: One, Two, Cha-Cha-Cha!

“Too many writers are downright miserly when it comes to celebrating writing wins, as if joy must be carefully rationed so we’ll have enough in reserve on the day we sign with our agents or sell our first novels. A well-lived writing life is too long to be celebrated in just two moments, even two moments as colossal as these. Instead, we should celebrate the hundreds of thousands of small wins that make up that well-lived writing life…”

1. What that looks like and what it takes to get there is a post for a different series.

2. Spoiler alert: I seem to be spending much of this week’s writing sessions rethinking my plan for part three, though two days into this week, I’m doing so productively and happily.

3. Picturing them is intellectual—I can see it works. Feeling them means I can tap into the emotional heart of the scene in the same way I can tap into one of my memories. But all this is a topic that belongs in another series.