If I could travel back in time and talk to myself at age 29, the year I decided I was going to write seriously, this is what I might say to me:
- You’re going to live to be at least 60 – wear sunscreen.
- So Martine, all that bad stuff you’re writing? Ya, you just have to get that out of your system. It’ll take a few years, but have some faith in yourself.
- You’re going to have days when you’ll want to give up. Don’t. All wannabees give up. All real writers do not give up. Think about it.
- The minute you stop trying to write like the newest big name, or write what’s in style, or write what you think people want to read – the moment you start writing the book you want to read, that’s the moment you’re going to start making headway.
- I know you want to be published – the ultimate affirmation. But Ann Lamott is right: publishing is like plastic surgery – almost everything you hope it will do for you is an illusion. You will find out this is true on the day you publish your first book and you still have to clean the toilets.
- Don’t worry, none of your children will grow up to be juvenile delinquents, in spite of your chosen profession.
- Oh, honey, you’re going to be poor. But you won’t have any regrets. Promise.
- There’s this funky little school called Vermont College of Fine Arts – go there.
- In a couple of years there’s going to be this little company called Apple. Go empty your bank account and buy some shares at $16 each…