One of my great joys is to support coaching clients who a have book, a play, a painting, or any work of art inside them but can’t quite get the work out. I've coached two psychologists, a psychiatrist, a few executives and coaches through the daunting task of bringing a creative endeavor into the light of day. But artist endeavor is not for the tenderhearted. People like to think writers live a romantic lifestyle. Yeah, right! Writers, like all artists, go into dark corners and start kicking things around a bit, artists stir the pot, open closets where the bones have been buried and forgotten. Artists say and present things that we don’t like to talk about in polite society.

The trick about writing is to write. Thinking about writing is not writing—some days I've had to grab a goddamn sentence, snap its neck, pound my fist into the table, and crack my knuckles just to get a few sorry syllables to spill onto the page...on other days it flows. I’ve had words fly across my desk, turn, spin, and topple like teeth shattered from the blow of a lead pipe. And I've followed words, phrases to the source of sound, only to become aware that all my fierce soul really wants to say that day is, "Where’s my blanky?"

Yet because I write to find Beauty and Truth, what moves me, what scares me, what I revere, for me it is a holy experience... I also write to work things out, things that have become muddled in my mind, and answer questions asked to deeper waters. Writing has taught me how to breathe underwater.

If I Stopped