The story about the pots is an oft-cited anecdote from the book Art & Fear, and I decided to write about it today because it’s one of those parables that, as an writer, you absolutely must hear at least once. I probably think about it five or six times a week.

Think back to when you were a kid, and recall a reward that you desperately wanted. I can think of a bunch: my name under the sunshine that read “THANKS!” on my second grade teacher’s chalkboard; 

Nothing is more motivating than a deadline. We’ve all experienced this in a million ways, right?
Only in recent years have I discovered that there is such a thing as a too-distant deadline.

Like many people, I love the ocean, and not just lying on the sand soaking in the sun—I love being in the water. I love trying to surf and doing it badly/thinking I look savvier than I do. I love the waves crashing into me and leaving my skin gritty for hours afterward.

What do you do when the last thing you want to do is write?
For me, there's no time this is more likely to occur than when I've committed to write something. Once I've promised to complete a project—whether that commitment is to a class, a publisher, or someone else—I suddenly feel like I'm walking underwater.

For me, finishing my first novel meant trading in a job that didn't allow me time to write for one that did. This came with a big pay cut—I went from being a lawyer to being a tutor (which is what I did before I was a lawyer), but it was so worth it.