Ask anyone who has run a marathon or triathlon about their training regimen. Would you expect them to focus on time alone? Or do you think they would take a stand on a number of subjects like diet, rest days, stretching, interval training, and the like?

Athletes, especially serious ones, know exactly what works to keep them at their best. And if they experience doubt about their practices, they will seek answers. There’s no shame at all in asking for help when you’re training. In fact, there is an entire industry of books, apps, trainers, and equipment available for people who want to take their fitness to the next level.

But what about writing? (Or painting, or film making, or some other art form?) When a writer wants to do better work, or is having trouble with some aspect of the task, or finds herself stumbling from exhaustion, where does she go for support?

She might ask her fellow writers, if she knows any. They might share what works for them, what advice an old writing teacher offered, or some ritual they have found helpful. If she’s lucky, what helped her friends will also be good for her. But it’s a matter of chance.

She might read books about writing, most of which either focus on craft or on writing through resistance. If those help, she will be fixed. But if her troubles prevent her from training on through the pain, she will be stuck.

And the drum beat of “there is no such thing as writer’s block” and “just do it” will throb on in her head. Of course she might force herself to keep working — like a runner who staggers on without stopping to consider the source of injury.

Hey, writers write. If you’re having trouble that means you’re not a writer. Ever hear that? Like a kid chirping that anyone who can’t do fifteen cartwheels is a loser and ought to just go home.

If you’re a writer, there is only one home to go to. And that’s back to your work, your voice, your practice.

The book takes the approach that methodology is as important as output. Writers who are working have techniques that aid and abet them — they might not want to talk about them or admit to them — but all working artists do. They have their training regimen; times they work out, nutrition choices, type of equipment and a relationship with the world that allows them space to be in motion.

We have been going about working with writers all wrong. We have expected them to show results without considering what goes into those results. We have been merciless in our assessments of their production — black and white, artist or amateur.

I am here to debunk that conventional wisdom.

Creative practice and the work, competence, even triumph that ensues can be leaned. Training for a hard, tiring, thrilling event might not be easy. But it does not have to be undertaken alone, without the experience and wisdom of those who have gone before. It does not have to mean running yourself into a state of collapse.

We are all on this planet for a short time. If you want to feel the road beneath your feet, let no one persuade you that you’re not entitled to it. Go as far and as fast as you can.

Just be sure to treat yourself like the champion you are.

Who is running me today? As I post my daily poem, then move on to the book I’m happily working on all about Creative Blocks (irony much)?

In the interest of getting them off my back and showing what I preach in action, meet the monsters who came to day:

1. Huwassat?

What was that again? This one is foggy, a professor so absentminded that no experiments get concluded, nothing ever gets finished, and no risk of being incorrect ever gets taken. It shows up when I have clarity and starts a panic. No, no, no it says. This is a HUGE undertaking. No way you can ever complete a book. Forget it! That is a big project — and we both know I’m not smart enough to remember today what I knew yesterday.

Strategy: The first is to notice. The next is to retrain my brain. I can’t pretend to have done things I haven’t, but my life gives the lie to being short-sighted or dumb. Yeah I can be a ditz. That’s because I’m thinking deep thoughts, according to someone who loves me. So this Saboteur ought to just hover off and smell the roses. Every huge undertaking started with one simple step and then another.

2. Gertrude, i.e. Greatness is not for you.

This one is a deep, old, familiar gargoyle I’ve been dragging along like wreckage all my life. Picture a piece of some haunted temple that no one worships any more. But the ugliness remains. Gertrude is there to enforce the status quo (most monsters are). She likes to remind me that I am if anything less than mediocre and I ought not risk any MORE humiliation by putting my crappy thoughts out there. She’s not all that nice.

There are several strategies here. The most obvious is to insist that greatness IS for me; but actually, it’s not what I’m after and Gertrude is only trying to bait me by asserting that it is. Actually, what I am after is to be of service. Want to take me down for helping others? Really?

Yeah, I didn’t think so.

3. Priscilla, or This is Going to take Forever.

This one feels ancient. Will I get recess?

I can use this one to remind myself to rest, have a life, and protect my schedule. I do have a tendency to be intense and while my Monsters assure me I’m lazy, in fact I don’t usually build in rest and fun. I can use Priscilla as a guide toward the play yard now and again.

4. Thumper, or “Shut Up”. My most powerful Monster, Thumper is a remnant of childhood. I come from a big family of very bright people. Enough said.

I am a rebel, so being told to shut up, while a distraction that might be a good reason to stop and stay safe, is also an invitation to be obnoxious. I like ignoring authority, so when Shut Up rolls around I can leverage my inner Ninja to fight back. And on the positive side, there is value is questioning if every thought needs to be expressed. Truly, some don’t. Thanks for that.

5. We’re going to be Famous.

I hate this one. This is the Monster that assumes I want all sorts of things no nice person wants, like money, clout, and the ability to have things my way. In order to show that I’m innocent of all charges I have to disown all ambition. Sigh. As I notice this one floating by, I do have the option of re-reading the contract and wondering — really? What’s wrong with wanting a little power in this world if I believe in what I’m doing and other people benefit?

So, Monsters, I am on to you. I see you there, breathing fire into my ear and trying to mess up my plans. I won’t pretend you never distract me.

But you’re not going to stop me. I have a much better idea; come over to the side of good. Maybe some of your awesome tips will be useful for the book. Perhaps you are tired of holding on to the idea that success means failure. Why not let all that ancient blah blah go?

Writing the book, working with amazing people on stuff that is so interesting, seeing patterns, working magic, feeling unvarnished JOY; that’s what lies ahead.

Retract those claws and come along for the ride. Or step off. It’s your choice.

In my work, I get the aisle seat next to the Monsters; you know, the creatures who run us. They’re the things that hijack us when we’re trying to work, who sneak up and slip sleeping potion in our coffee, or critique us so mercilessly that nothing ever gets finished. When the Monster is in charge it is a miracle anyone can sit down and start anything. Today is to observe some of their favorite, brilliant, not-all-that-supportive notions.

See if any of these are familiar to you. If they are, you might be trying to work while on a Monster ride-along.

Common commentary from Monsters I have seen:

1. By accepting the role of artist-who-is-working, I must be signing on to save the world. Who do I think I am, anyway?

2. The people around me are sure going to get ruffled. Or mean, Or hurt. Or whatever. Because they were counting on not having to compete with me.

3. Trusting myself feels an awful lot like growing up. And aren’t artists supposed to be childish, selfish and edgy? In fact I’ve avoided being happy all this time because I thought it would make my work interesting.

4. If I commit to my creative work, it will hurt so much more when I inevitably fail. Better be half-hearted and avoid the risk.

5. I suck at this.

Ring any bells?

Working through grandiosity is important because many of us were told growing up that the Artist was an exulted role fit only for Great People, those who had outside egos and a mission far larger than any mere mortal. It can be scary on the day when you have been patiently keeping to your work schedule and suddenly you realize you actually hold magic in your hands. It’s worth thinking about, untangling and owning. The paradox of being good at the work and tapping into that channeling place of amazing joy can feel like you’re trying on a crown of some kind. Most of us don’t truly want to be king, we just want to offer our stuff. So work through this business of Specialness. Real artistic specialness feels humble, not weird.

People we care about suddenly act like Monsters. It can be very stressful to realize that some of the resistance we feel is external; some of the people in our lives are not going to support our work habit. Obviously we all have to keep working anyway, but if there is any way to find compassion for those who haven’t resolved their own yearnings to create, that solution will use the least energy. And it will feel kinder. And generosity towards others allows more compassion for yourself — it’s another one of those paradoxes. I urge you to try it and see.

Growing up is the wrong metaphor. Being who you really are, chips fall where they may, is better. That idea might have been considered childish for some of us when we tried to disagree with the powers that be about who we were versus who they wanted us to be. Try to remember that they didn’t want us to starve. And to them, being an artist meant never growing up at all, never being responsible, never having the sweetness of security and responsibility that gives life meaning. They lived in a different world. You get to have all of that stuff and be yourself. There’s no need to kick and scream now.

Committing to the work is the one and only way to be good at it or get joy from it. Again, the only subject at hand is the work itself, not the accompanying success/failure, expectation, commercial prospects, fame…those are separate topics that require none of your attention at this time.

You might indeed suck. It doesn’t matter. The fact that you’re reading this means that your skill level is yearning to meet your desire to create. That’s all you need to know now. The only action required is to stick to your work habits and observe what happens.

The goal is to learn how it happens; your commitment is to designing your life so that you get to the work regularly and often. If it feels bad, invite the Monster to talk. The Monster knows what is stopping you. Get to know your Monster, and you’ll be free to negotiate a happier future.

It originally appeared in a shorter form in the Seattle Film School newsletter. I enjoyed every piece of wisdom she had to share with students of film and aspiring screenwriters. Frankly, I believe her attitude of persistence and collaboration are important for anyone who wants to accomplish something new.

Tianna Langham and her partner Chris Bessounian received the Nicholl Fellowship in Screenwriting in November in Beverly Hills.

LL: You spent your formative years in the Northwest. How did you get from there to where you are now?

I moved to Port Townsend from England when I was 12 years old and attended junior and high school there. I feel fortunate to have landed there; it was an incredibly safe, nurturing and creative place to grow up, so full of history and interesting people from all over the country. But being such a tiny town, I was ready to leave and see more of the world after I graduated. I attended the University of Redlands in California during which I studied and explored many different countries (India, Kenya, Mexico, Austria, etc.).

During this time I decided to pursue film, though knew very little about the process.

Following Redlands I moved to Seattle for a year where I became involved in the local film scene. I joined Women in Film, volunteered at SIFF and went to many of their year round events, acted in some short films and performed in script readings at the Alibi Room in Pike Place. I really tried to soak up as much information as I could and meet those who knew more than I did. There was enough going on in Seattle at the time (late 90’s) that the film scene was penetrable without being overwhelming. However, I was drawn to LA in order to expand my opportunities (and for the sun). But after reading and being inspired by Robert Rodriquez’s “Rebel Without a Crew” I decided to first go to Brazil to write and shoot a short film, before moving to LA.

LL: Do you have any advice for Northwest-based writers about their geographical situation? Do you counsel them to move to L.A., for example?

The real benefit to living in LA is immersion. With so much going on in film, a multitude of film events every night of the week and so many people you meet involved in it, it’s constantly inspiring and opportunity and collaborators are easy to find. Among the 2011

Nicholl finalists and winners there are a number of people who don’t live in LA but by the end of the Awards Week they’d been convinced to try and do so, at least while they’re getting established. Of course, with discipline, talent, and tenacity, living elsewhere can lead to a great career, perhaps beginning within one’s local film industry. Some people find LA so overwhelming and competitive that they never get anything done; remaining where they lived and creating a name for themselves there might have been a better option.

LL: What is the most important thing you’d like to tell un-established screenwriters about their aspiration to make films?

If you’re drawn to it, if you’re passionate about it, do it. If you hope to earn a living from it fast you might be disappointed, unless of course you get really lucky. But if you love the process of writing, or piecing together a film, seeing it come to life, then the reward is already there. Anything else it achieves is icing on the cake. I’ve written 7 feature films, made 4 short films and made one feature. I’ve received a number of wonderful accolades but financially very little. Uncertainty is constant and continuous but for me, the satisfaction of the work, of constantly improving my craft and learning about new things as I do it, makes it all worth it.

LL: What was the biggest obstacle you encountered in getting to where you are now?

Probably hearing time and time again that the stories I’m passionate about won’t get made. And it’s still happening.

LL: Is this the first time you have entered the Nicholls competition?

The first time I entered was when I lived in Seattle and wrote my first script in two weeks. It was about the homeless community that I observed around my neighborhood in Belltown. I didn’t know a thing about craft yet, so it didn’t get very far. I’ve also submitted every year for the last 5 years and advanced further with each one. First to the Top 15%, then to the Semi Finals, then the Top 30 scripts, then winning this year with one script and reaching the Top 30 with another. Persistence does pay off!

LL: Why did you send the script you chose to send?

This year I actually submitted 3 scripts. A new one (comedy) that I had just completed which reached the Top 10% and I submitted Guns and Saris and Butcher of Bosnia. I had previously sent in both of them before and reached the Semifinals with them, however have continued to work on and improve them. I wasn’t planning on submitting them again however when the deadline rolled around my partner (Chris Bessounian) said we had nothing to lose, we might as well give it a shot. Thank God for him.

LL: What kind of research, if any, should a screenwriter do before entering a contest?

The Nicholl Fellowships are an obvious one because their reputation is clear and can open so many doors. In terms of other contests it is helpful to know what they offer the winners in terms of exposure before submitting. We have placed fairly high in 3 different contests, however, the Nicholl is the only one that’s generated manager/agent and producer requests.

LL: Now that you have won, do you feel you understand what the judges are looking for?

They’re really open to every genre. This year’s finalist scripts were very diverse and

included horror, supernatural, comedy, thriller, and dramas. What connected them all was that each was very unique, none of them felt derivative, something the Nicholl seems to avoid. They’re really interested in stories they haven’t read before, that surprise them, even open their eyes and minds. Stories that have something special.

LL: Or are they “looking for” anything in particular?

Just fresh and surprising.

LL: In general, what approach should our readers take toward breaking in to the business?

I would suggest being very, very open to those who have more experience than you do and a better understanding of the craft. I have noticed that a lot of people who wish to be

screenwriters have a very hard time when it comes to criticism of their work. It’s something that never gets easier, however, it’s absolutely essential. Sometimes we feel like hacks because we rely so much on the brutal honesty of others, without it our work really wouldn’t have got this far.

LL: If you had it to do over, would you change anything about your approach?

In hindsight, I often think I should have focused on more America-centric projects, even if independent in feeling. Being an international person, I’m drawn to stories from around the world, tales I know little about and can discover and learn as I go. But it’s made it a much harder journey. It’s what I was passionate about, what I wanted to write, so I guess there was a reason for it.

LL: How important is authenticity to success as a screenwriter?

Essential!

LL: Do writers censor themselves too much at the beginning of their careers in order to create what they think will sell? If so, how big a mistake is that? Is there a way around it?

I’ve seen both sides of the coin. Writers who write something commercial for the sake of a sale, and do sell it, and launch a great career. And the alternative; it sits on the shelf forever. I suppose it’s just about what you’re drawn to. Most writers probably like commercial projects also, so writing one isn’t a bad thing, you just have to make sure you’re really keen on the subject, because if not, it shows.

LL: What pitfalls do you see for writers trying to gain a foothold in the world of filmmaking?

What I mentioned earlier about fear of criticism is a serious pitfall. So many writers seem to have a poor reaction to it, as if it means you’ve failed, you don’t know what you’re doing. But it doesn’t, the real skill in writing is being able to hear valuable notes and apply them well. I believe this is harder than the actual writing which, if you’re a fast typer, isn’t so hard at all.

LL: How often do you write? Every day or when you have an idea you are working to execute?

Every day I’m either writing, researching or brainstorming a story. Not only because I enjoy it and am committed to it, but it keeps me sane as I wait for things to happen with projects that are already written. Unlike most people who work in film who are dependent on getting a job or financing to do what they do, all a writer needs is his/her imagination to keep creating.

LL: Is there anything about your creative process that less established writers might find useful?

Other than getting as much quality feedback as you can every step of the way (smart people are your greatest resource!), I’d say research is one of the most important things to me as I write. Even if a story is almost entirely fictional, I try to use pieces of real situations and real people as much as possible when creating characters and conflict, because it seems to make the writing less concocted, and more grounded in real life.

LL: What are the benefits of working with a partner?

Finding a good writing partner is no easy thing. The essential variable is respect for each others abilities which then allows a freedom to try things and speak your mind. Which then requires an absence of ego. If tiptoeing around a fragile one is necessary when bouncing around ideas, you’ll get nowhere. Chris and I freely tell each other when an idea is awful or something’s just not working and it saves us a lot of time. In that respect working with a partner is a great benefit as you get instant reactions to ideas and work, without wondering if it’s lousy or not for days, weeks or months on end. The answer’s immediate!

Today what that means for me is bending myself into the shapes our modern marketplace requires; learning to wield technology like a scalpel rather than a blunt instrument. It means I have to tolerate that fuzzy head feeling that comes from accepting tentacles of new input. Have you ever been to a country where you’re half fluent in the language? Know how at the end of the day you feel five new kinds of tired? That’s a bit like this. I’m working it, regardless of bad pronunciation.

Funnily, though, while caught in the throws of a new web site, shiny business plan, a motherboard of online interactivity; I’ve allowed my tired feet to stumble into the most powerful creative practice I’ve had in a while. By powerful, I mean something that gives me the happy I-made-this-today feeling EVERY day.

And yes, I am wondering why I didn’t give my self this gift a while ago. Possibly it felt too easy.

Ever notice how many of us have learned that it has to feel bad to be good? I don’t mean tiring, like learning something new, I mean icky, like doing something that isn’t true. In any case, I have ignored that feeling of “this-isn’t-quite-right” for ever because the thrill of making something was worth so much more than the sadness of not creating at all.

So, I have a new blog where I post a poem every day. For me, writing poetry had never counted as creative practice because it is too easy. So joyful, such a pleasure. Creating is supposed to be hard, right?

But guess what? The joy I get from making something new each day transcends all that. Imagine, instead of putting on the heavy coat that is “my project”, I can just start and finish a new one, all in a day. Yippee skippee.

Far from making me want to do less, it just convinces me I would love more. Greedy for a chance to say it out loud, give the world something of what I know, all those happy feelings we get when we’ve done work.

It is so easy to get a word press, or a tumblr, or something that feels small but good, and start. Do it! Do it today.

I promise, satisfaction of creating today is so much better than waiting until conditions are favorable.

Give your brain some of what it needs. Do some work today.

Additionally, a lot of challenges are external and involve staying committed in the face of distraction, rejection, scarcity, etc. It’s making that transition from occasional writer to working writer, to someone who has a career rather than a hobby.

Tools a writer might want to think about honing are:  processing grief/rejection/criticism; differentiating between experiencing failure and being a failure; determining what forms of support/structure are helpful to you as an individual; finding balance between life and work; and maybe even managing other peoples’ expectations around your writing.

It all starts with awareness. When you sit down to work, what happens? If putting words on paper isn’t an issue for you, what happens after the fact that keeps things from moving ahead? Each of us has areas of strength and areas where we need support. My suggestion is to identify the vulnerable places; this can be a trick for many of us who have learned to just push through.

If that works for you, great. But what is lost when you ignore your small, quiet voice? And how would your work improve not just in quantity but in humanity, if you had access to that part of yourself?

How to stay sane and keep healthy perspective while there’s so much pressure?

I want to share a non-scientific poll I’ve been conducting with some of the young people around me. Sometimes youth are the earliest of adopters and can give insight into the way our society is headed. Okay, there’s a danger of mistaking fashion for change, but even with that, I’ve noticed a heartening trend.

It’s toward simplicity. Not the kind of purer-than-though frugality of the recent past, with its we’re-not-crazy-we’re-choosing-this defensiveness. Rather, I see kids who are sincerely, without fanfare, requesting LESS: less material acquisition, less pressure, less self-critical expectation.

A kid I know said it best, “I already have everything I really need”. And she’s not alone. Kids all over the map are saying this. I’ve never heard a more puzzled, slightly uncertain chorus of “ok-ayyyyy” coming from parents and grandparents.

What is this all about? Will it last? And if it does, will we have to give up our beloved devices and luxuries?

I don’t know. But for my part, I am encouraged. As someone who has at times done without any but the most necessary possessions, and at others lived with huge privilege, I will observe that maybe the kids are being the canaries in our coal mine of stuff. Maybe what they’re chirping about has to do with wanting the important items, i.e. love, community, fun, and that kind of relaxed enjoyment you can only get when you’re not bending under the anxiety of impending debt. They don’t want to be bought. They want us.

This year, as an experiment, let’s consider ourselves as just as great a gift to those we love as any gadget/article/item. What if we allow ourselves to go into situations without the armor of impressive giving, but with our energy, good humor, and generous spirit intact? What if we really let it be the thought that counts?

I know a few short-ish people, most of them without much spending power but still full up with joy and spirit, who would consider it a gift beyond all others.

I wish you a healthy, stress-reducing holiday spiked with moments of helpless laughter and good conversation.

Know that you yourself are the best gift.

Love,

Lisa

The problem is, I don’t buy it. There may be many things going on. One might be that a person’s been spanked by life and has made up a story that this pain came from being authentic (rather than from the people who chose to punish rather than reward that authenticity). Another could be that someone will be harmed by the greatness revealed in their work (as if great art ever really hurt anyone, while we know that squashing our own authenticity absolutely does). Or perhaps the “success” one fears is really the loss involved with being honest. Let’s face it, many of us have created false personae to deflect attention from our real voice.

This all feels to me less like being afraid of success, and more just like being afraid. Is it always safe to be your true self? Of course not. Is it safe to be your true self while you’re alone, working, being an artist? Well, if you’re not willing to be with that fear you’ll never find out. And worse than not creating, you risk not being who you are anywhere in your life. Talk about failure.

I know, in our culture “success” may mean material reward, fame, or praise. That might be scary, if it’s attached to inhabiting a false self. Selling out sucks.

But let’s make a distinction between selling out, and being in. It what you fear is compromising yourself for “success”, then you have one battle to fight. If what you fear is being yourself and expressing that self accurately via your work, that’s a totally different struggle.

Let’s not confuse the two. One involves the external. The other is all inside. People are often so estranged from their artist that they don’t know which frightens them more; the storm on the surface, or the sea under. Both are unknown and mysterious. Both contain beautiful and useful elements. And, both contribute to moving forward.

You aren’t going to do good work if you do it from a hack place. And once you’ve done authentic work, your next step is to share it.

Expressing yourself to your cat isn’t the sort of success we fear, is it?

So, one experiment you might try is to pick the one that frightens you more and be with that. If you’re afraid of selling out (the stormy surface), think deeply about how that works for you. What you yearn for and what you feel prepared to do to get it, what worldly powers you crave and what they would supposedly supply you with. What don’t you feel powerful to do now? What parts of your life would you jettison if artistic success forced your hand? I promise you’ll learn something, if you risk being honest with yourself.

Another exercise is to be with the internal fear of success (the deep green sea). Being who you truly are is highly risky. We all know the rewards of authenticity:  inner peace, energy, courage. However, for some of us history has shown how totally not okay someone out there is with our efforts. The work to be done, and it is work, involves examining how you collude with your oppressors. How have you internalized the notion that what you have to say is not okay, and that if you “succeed” in saying it, your success will be toxic? Where have you bought in to the idea that your being yourself will explode the status quo? And are you okay with that?

Watch yourself as you work (yes, you will learn the most if you do this while you’re actually working). Observe compassionately how the voices of inhibition show up, and what that does to your comfort level. Chances are, the most active fears will be easy to identify. As yourself what they’re really concerned about.

It may be that the success you fear is actually the successful integration of this anti-you noise into a larger symphony. Sure, there will be anxieties, fears, worries. That’s part of every human life. But to see them for what they are, as temptations to avoid being your most authentic self; that’s the kind of success worth showing up for. So, be a patient observer. Focus less on the world out there and how much money/recognition/applause is at stake. Rather, devote yourself to finding that quiet place of you-ness that is the source of all success.

Don’t worry. It’s not anywhere near as scary as it’s cracked up to be.