About 12 years ago, my youngest child started preschool, and suddenly, my brain became my own again. Well, it was my own for at least 2 hours a day, which was a decent start. I started writing. For a year or two, I participated in a writers’ group. There were some benefits and some drawbacks, but while I had fallen in love with writing, a group writing experience was not for me, at least not then.
Unfortunately, left to my own devices, I am a wildly undisciplined, unproductive writer. If Facebook posts, napping, and binging Netflix somehow translated into word counts, I would have written Stephen King into the ground. Twice. As it was, I couldn’t see that my writing had a future without some kind of guidance. So, I asked some writing friends for help, and then a kind of magic happened: I found my friend, Clara. And this is how she helped me become a writer.
After my initial inquiry, we arranged an appointment via telephone (she lived in NY, and I lived in VA) and she listened to me talk about my writing. She listened to my ideas and my fears and then to some more of my fears. It was like excellent writing therapy. Clara explained what she could offer me: that she would be available initially to review some samples of my work, to help identify my strengths and interests as a writer, to help me write what I wanted to write, and to help me make it good. We could go from there, she said.
After our initial phone meeting, she sent a contract. I signed it. As a start, Clara read several of my short stories and a sad, half-assed novel I had started. She said her favorite of my stories, with the most potential for ongoing life as a novel was Story X, let’s call it. I was thrilled, as this was my favorite too! We were off. Kind of.
I was still at home with three young children. Clara had a demanding career with her own two young children. This has nothing and everything to do with how our relationship developed. Clara understood when I sent emails at 3:30 in the morning; she might be working then too. When a week of writing was completely wiped out due to the stomach flu, Clara rescheduled with sympathy while we both hoped that the funk would pass quickly.
At the same time, Clara was a hardass in the loveliest and most important ways. When I rescheduled two writing consults in a row (probably because of napping and Netflix, combined with the ice-cold fear an empty page can elicit), she gently informed me that if I rescheduled again, we would need to reevaluate our arrangement. The message was: my writing mattered. It could be rescheduled sometimes, yes, because that was LIFE. But when life turned into terminal procrastination, that was a hard “no.” If I wanted to keep working on my writing, I had to…wait for it…keep working on my writing. Clara helped me see that when I couldn’t see it for myself.
We have now been working together for almost nine years. With the help of Clara’s enormous kindness and scary-good expertise, I have completed two novels and several personal essays. I have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and hope to pitch my latest novel to an agent soon. I am not the next Jodi Picoult or Cheryl Strayed. But I am a writer. I know my voice, and I know some stories. Without Clara, my writing would be a collection of wishes, some on paper, most in the ether. I have been fortunate to have found other writers along the way who have nurtured my writing as well, but for me, the choice to hire a writing coach (many identify themselves as book doulas or midwives—with good reason) was and continues to be life-changing. Clara has been my friend on the page and in my life. She has made all the difference.
About the Author
Jennifer James is a writer who works passionately on both storytelling and procrastination as art forms. She writes short stories, novels, and creative non-fiction pieces, and has had several essays published. She lives in rural Virginia with her family, where she spends a lot of time watching wild birds and listening to as many books as possible via Audible.