Hi Reader,
On Friday, I had a story to crack. Cracking a story is what I call it when the entire arc, from beginning to end, becomes clear, and it feels like the story has cracked wide open before me.
So I hopped on Zoom with my editor friend Kim. We walked through the outline together, asking probing questions and examining the setup for an explosive ending.
An hour or so in, it all clicked. Some excerpted quotes from our moments of revelation:
“Holy sh**.”
“That’s absolutely perfect.”
“This is blowing my mind.”
“This is such a good story. Such a good story.”
When Kim and I wrapped, I jumped straight into a call with the client whose story we’d been discussing. Which is to say, I took all that fired-up story nerd inspiration and shared it with the writer before a single idea had time to cool or fade away.
And for two more hours, we got to pass all that brilliant clarity back and forth, building it out into specific events that will tie the entire story together.
Eventually, after a good four hours or more of uninterrupted story crafting delight, I had to wrap up my workday.
I gave the client next steps to continue their story development. I closed my computer and stepped away. I bundled myself up in as many layers as I could find, and I went downtown to watch a local Christmas parade in sub-freezing temperatures.
There were a number of memorable floats in the parade. (My favorite was a car elaborately decked out as a giant toilet. Plumbers walked beside it tossing toilet paper into the crowd.)
In between the floats were marching bands from various high schools playing carols and themes from Christmas movies, their instruments wrapped in festive garland and lights.
And sure, they were local high schoolers, not professional symphonies. But there’s something about live music, the trumpets swelling and cymbals crashing, that I find compelling, that sweeps me up and makes me grateful to be there, in that moment, experiencing the art as it’s happening.
In fact, I was so drawn in that for a second, as Joy to the World played, I caught myself thinking, I wish I played an instrument so I could be part of a marching band.
As soon as the thought rose up, I questioned it. Bold assertion, Alice.
Do I actually want to be part of a marching band? Not really.
Do I actually want to spend years learning an instrument to the point of mastery? Absolutely not. I have picked up and quit so many instruments throughout my life.
So what did that thought mean? What do I really want, if not to be part of a marching band? What does that band really represent?
What I want is this:
I want to be a participant in a creative process.
I want to collaborate with highly skilled, irrepressibly inspired people.
To experience art happening live in the moment.
To create something together that is far greater than anything we individuals have the power to create on our own.
And as soon as I was able to articulate that, I realized—
Bands do this with musical instruments.
And writers do this with words.
I didn’t need to march with a band to experience that creative high on Friday night. I was, in fact, still riding my own creative high, the one that comes from hours of story crafting with writers and editors.
And I wasn’t alone. The next day, I received this email from that writer:
"I'm still so jazzed about our call yesterday!! I started mentally drafting some of the new scenes we talked about, which is something I haven't done for a while."
There’s this perception that writing is an isolated craft, something an individual does alone in a cabin in the woods. And sure, it can be.
But it’s so much more inspiring, so much more energizing, so much more fun when it’s collaborative.
This is why writers work with book coaches. Because telling yourself your story is great, sure.
But to bring a creative partner into your process, someone as invested in your story as you are, and to share your ideas with them and refine your art together? I can think of few things more rewarding than that.
This space of collective inspiration and collaboration, this space where creating art is so fun it almost feels like a party—this is joy that I need. That the world needs. That I bet you need, too.
And we can access it together (and without a single note of musical training).
Happy editing,
Alice
P.S. I’m currently booking editing clients for the first few months of 2025. Spots are filling up quickly, though. So if you’re interested in getting my feedback on your story (and experiencing all that 👆collaborative, creative delight) . . .
. . . click here and tell me about your story.