Coming full circle

Dog what

November 2021. I was recently invited by the Rotary Club of Hout Bay to talk about my work. When I began thinking about the path my storytelling and writing has taken, I realised that I have come full circle. Here’s what I had to say:

I have worked as a journalist, business writer and columnist all my adult life. I have written articles, advertisements, brochures, columns, features, speeches, and websites. Writing is my profession. Of course, it is more than that; it is my lifelong passion and fascination. I don’t think that will ever change.

That said, in recent years, something peculiar, something extraordinary, has happened: I have begun writing books. I have become an author.

What’s peculiar about that, you might ask? You’re a writer who is simply working in a different format. Why is that strange?

To explain, I’d like to take you to a farm in the KwaZulu-Natal Midlands and turn back the clock more than five decades. On that farm, more than five decades ago, you’d see a little girl walking across the fields and hills, weaving her way through the trees or boulder-hopping on the edges of a stream in one of the valleys. There would be at least three dogs of various flavours at her heels. (The one in the picture above, photographed on the very farm, could have been among them. Her name is Honeypot.)

Ok. Spoiler alert. You might’ve guessed it: the girl was me. Anyway…

If you listened above the swish of the grass, the lowing of the cows and the babble of the river, you’d hear her, I mean, me, talking—endlessly. I wasn’t necessarily talking to the dogs, though I liked to think they were intrigued, but rather to myself. What was I saying? Why, I was telling myself stories, of course.

Up until I was four or five, the stories were about a lawyer called Susan. I have no idea how I knew what lawyer was and why on earth she’d be called Susan, but she was.  

After Susan and the legal profession became passé, the stories were about a veterinary surgeon called Penny. Susan and Penny might’ve had different jobs, but they shared a fundamental characteristic. They were both superwomen. If you had a problem, they were your go-to women. They rescued all manner of creatures and solved all manner of mysteries. They were beloved by everyone, furry and less furry. Their stories were dramatic, epic, and deeply satisfying to their solo audience, that is, me. (But maybe also the dogs.)

I also loved listening to stories told by others, particularly those of my maternal grandmother, Alice Kirk. She and I shared a love for animals and her stories were typically tales about her friendships with a miscellany of creatures over the years. I couldn’t hear her stories too often.

When I learned to read and the world of books opened to me, I was ecstatic. Now I could revel in the pleasure of, not only my own stories and those of my grandmother, but also the tales of authors from all over the world.

Experimenting with readers

At boarding school, I began writing some of my stories. Not the fantasies of Penny the veterinary surgeon, but rather the tales of a family of ants called the Antersons. I also experimented with readers for the first time.

In the evenings, when we were supposed to be doing our homework, I would write a new episode of The Antersons of Moundville. Written on an A4-page, the latest saga would be furtively passed around the room from child-to-child to read.

The Antersons of Moundville was an addictive literary soap opera dealing with the domestic melodrama of, not the Ewings of Dallas or Dr McDreamy in Grey’s Anatomy, but the lively antics of the Antersons and their friends and neighbours.

The fantasy, joy, and playfulness of my stories, of fiction and my dreams knew no bounds. It was a good childhood.

But years passed, as they are wont to do and, alas, I grew up. I never stopped reading but I stopped telling myself stories and I stopped writing them for my friends. Just as Susan the lawyer had before, Penny the veterinary surgeon retired. The Antersons of Moundville came to an end after the funeral of Father Anterson. What an anti-climax. It was the end of an era, the end of my childhood.

When I finished university, I became a journalist and made writing stories my profession. But, while I researched and wrote them, and thoroughly enjoyed doing so, they were not my stories; they were other people’s. For about three decades (okay, thirty years), I wrote about art, books, business, education, food, health, leadership, management, running shoes, sport, the oil industry, travel, wine. Every few days, I temporarily became an expert on another subject.

Hankering for more

I loved my job and cannot imagine having chosen a more satisfying career. However, after three decades, I began hankering after something more. I wasn’t sure what it was until, one day, I muttered something about wanting to write fiction for a book.

My son, then around twenty, heard me. “So, why don’t you?” he asked.

Indeed, why didn’t I? Here are some of the reasons I gave at the time:

  • Writing a book is an enormous investment in time and effort with no guarantee of return. My journalism work was commissioned. I wrote, submitted, and sent an invoice. How could I justify working on writing that might not earn a cent?
  • Writing a book is terrifying. What, you ask? Why would it be terrifying for someone who is a writer? Well, as I mentioned earlier, journalism is about writing other people’s stories. There’s something safe, comfortable, and easy about it. Of course, a journalist must be careful with other people’s stories, write authentically and tell the tale well. But, when you are working as a journalist, there’s less risk of revealing yourself and your limitations. Somehow, there’s less scope to be judged—and to fail.
  • Then there’s the fact that writing fiction requires a host of other skills beyond storytelling, being grammatically competent, and knowing how to style and structure a story, understand emotions, follow threads, and draw all the elements together.
  • In a nutshell, the idea of writing a book was terrifying.

I told my son all of this. He looked at me, non plussed.

“You know how to tell a story. What about Nicko? Write about Nicko.”

“Write about Nicko.” The lights went on. What a genius my boy is!

Nicko was the orphaned baby monkey my grandmother took in when he was abandoned in a mielie field. He lived with her and her many other animals until he died of old age. I had grown up on the story of Nicko as told by my grandmother. It was one of my all-time favourites and, when my son was born, I told him the story. He loved it too.

It was an excellent idea. So, I wrote a children’s book about Nicko, telling it as I knew it in my grandmother’s voice. What an easy, non-intimidating job it was. Of course, because I wasn’t assured of anything, I wrote it outside of work hours. There was still something nerve-wrecking and illicit about the idea of writing a book.

Nicko, The Tale of a Vervet Monkey on an African Farm was published by Penguin Random House SA in 2017 and was well-received. Although it is just 17,000 words—a work of adult fiction is typically nothing less than 80,000 words—it showed me that writing a book was possible.

I think of Nicko as my “gateway book”. It led to writing three more books, including The Wilderness Between Us. Before I say more about The Wilderness Between Us, let me finally get back to why I said, when I began talking earlier that writing books is peculiar.

Playfulness rediscovered

What has happened between writing Nicko and where I am now is that I realised that I have come full circle. I have rediscovered the joy of storytelling, of creating fictional characters and inventing events, scenes, lives, and journeys. I’ve rediscovered what first drew me to storytelling as a little girl on the farm. I have found the playfulness I had forgotten or perhaps, the playfulness I did not realise I was missing.

I have come full circle. It is wonderful and has created a new awareness for me.

As we reach adulthood, most of us adapt and learn to fit into structures and operate according to systems and what society expects of us. Our curiosity and playfulness are dampened and, as I was when I began writing Nicko, we become so estranged from playfulness that when we experience it, we feel guilty. I mean, really, surely no one should have fun working. If it is fun, it can’t be work, right?

In fact, as I have subsequently discovered, playfulness is a state we would greatly benefit from retaining throughout our lives. Playfulness leads to laughter, and we know how good that is for us. Playfulness also feeds our creativity and produces a sense of joyfulness and fulfilment that we do not otherwise achieve. Research also shows that an absence of play in adults leads to negativity and general malaise, and even severe depression. We need play and, where we have forgotten it, it’s a good idea to rekindle it.

That I have rediscovered playfulness in my writing pleases me greatly. But, just as the things we like to play as children differ, adults find enjoyment in different kinds of play. Experts—some call them playfulness therapists—say the best way to rediscover play is to look back to your earliest years. That makes sense given the way I rediscovered playfulness.

If you feel you could increase your quota of playfulness, these experts suggest you recall your natural tendencies from your childhood. How did you experience play? What made you happy and satisfied when you played? Did you like visual things, like drawing or painting? Did you enjoy making things? Did you like music? What were your toys? Did you like sports? Competing? Did you love playing with your pets? The trick is to recall what you had the most fun doing during playtime.

If, like me, your play was imaginative, you might be a storyteller too. But it doesn’t matter what you decide to do. The thing is that by rediscovering playfulness we can, in a way, reclaim some of our youth, our curiosity and joy for life. I like that idea and hope you do too.

Fiction is fun

So, The Wilderness Between Us, is the result of me coming full circle and rediscovering my playfulness. How so? Well, it doesn’t feature Susan the lawyer or Penny the veterinary surgeon—although I do have a book about a veterinary surgeon coming out next year!

The idea for The Wilderness Between Us arose during a hiking trip in the Tsitsikamma with a group of friends. When one of the party awoke with a migraine one morning and insisted we leave her at the overnight campsite so that she could get a lift to the next camp with the rangers, I thought about what could go wrong. Fortunately, all was fine and we were all happily reunited but that is what triggered the idea for this book. Of course, it grew into something much bigger and infinitely more complicated.

In brief, it is about a group of long-time friends who undertake the Tsitsikamma trail. At the last minute, one can’t make it and her daughter, anorexic Clare joins them. The self-appointed leader of the group ignores rangers’ warnings about possible floods. The group is separated, leaving Clare and another woman, Faye on one side of the flooded Bloukrans River and the others on the other. Clare is critically injured. Faye, who is dealing with her own issues of self-esteem, must take care of the younger woman. As the women struggle to survive, they must learn to trust one another and themselves. Meanwhile, on the other side of the river, the others battle in the aftermath of a dangerous river crossing, discovering new things about one another and struggling to preserve their relationships.

My objective was to write an interesting, page-turning story but also deal with some important issues, including anorexia and coercive control/gaslighting, and the associated shame. Where is the playfulness in that, you might ask?

To begin with, I set it in a place I had great fun in. I loved the experience of the hike, the wilderness of the area and the animals and plants there. I took great pleasure in writing about those things. Nature is important to me. I am at my happiest when I am writing about animals.

I looked at the healing power of nature. The book considers how being in the wilderness reminds us of what is important and what is not. Being in nature is calming. The peace, spaciousness and beauty give us the head space to think more clearly and serenely. It reminds us of who we are and what’s important to us. Nature makes us feel more alive. Being in nature also shows us how small we are in the world. It reminds us that clouds gather, rains fall, plants grow, animals breed and seasons change despite humans. We can’t control everything with our apps and spreadsheets. Being in nature puts us in our place.

I also found pleasure in creating characters, including one who I named after a person who caused me much anger many years ago. Yes, of course he suffers in the book.

I had fun exploring the idea that the most profound lessons in life often come from unexpected experiences, events, and times. We solve problems by experiencing and coping with unrelated events.

We also learn a great deal about one another and ourselves when we are put under pressure.  We are forced to examines ourselves and our relationships, even with people we have accepted as part of our lives for a long time.

But, as I mentioned earlier, I also wanted to deal with some important issues. I had anorexia in my late teens and early twenties. In The Wilderness Between Us I explore the deep shame associated with the condition via Clare. I wanted to have a look at shame and how, when you experience it, it can inhibit your relationships with others and your quest to find peace and happiness.

What Clare doesn’t realise is that the shame she experiences is mirrored by a similar emotion in the woman who saves her, Faye. Faye has been manipulated and bullied by her husband for most of their marriage. She’s lost her sense of self and her confidence. Being the wilderness and having to take care of Clare forces her to face some hard truths.

I liked the idea of an inter-generational friendship, where we learn from those who are older or younger than ourselves. Here, I put two women from different generations together in a difficult situation and hoped they could learn from one another.

It might sound like heavy going, but I can assure you it is not. My playfulness allowed me to create what I believe is a page-turning, action driven story about interesting characters and with several different layers to it.

I hope that, if you feel you could benefit from it, you try and rediscover your playfulness. And if you’d like to find out what fun I am having with my newfound playfulness as an author, perhaps you will be interested in reading my work.


What I have learned in 2020

This leopard, photographed in the Kruger National Park when I was there earlier this month, epitomises the overriding lesson 2020 taught me; sometimes you have to lie down and let life wash over you.

28 December 2020. Sometimes your only choice is to run the same route at the same pace as everyone else. Other times, you have to stay put – with everyone else.

I admit it; I like to be in control, choose my course and go at my own speed. Often, I elect to do it alone. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been self-employed/freelancing for 29 years of my 35-year career.

In addition, I like making things happen. Tell me something I believe in cannot be done, and I will look for a way to do it. It’s not that something cannot be done, I think, but rather that the means of doing it have not yet been found.

Typically, I make decisions quickly, some say rashly. Perhaps it’s because I am impatient but also because I like to get things done. Once a choice is made, I go with it and move on to the next thing. I try not to second-guess myself or dillydally.

2020 – with its basket overflowing with unpleasantries, including COVID-19, unrelated health challenges for some of my dearly-beloveds, a few publishing ambitions taking longer than I had (naively) hoped to materialise and an injury to my foot – stalled me. The past ten months have shown me that even when my pigheadedness out-pigs itself, it’s not always enough to plough through the mud.

There was no way around lockdown. Friends and family had no choice but to go through the health wringer, largely alone. I am learning that publishing happens (or doesn’t) at its own pace. My foot is not the foot it once was and my runs are short and slow.

This year has taught me that being in control sometimes requires accepting there are things I cannot control or make happen. On occasion, I have had to let the reins go. However, I’m a work in progress, an old dog and I know that convincing me to add to my things-to-let-go list won’t be easy. After all, there might be another way…

Here’s wishing you a healthy, happy and hopeful New Year!


It’s worth finding your writing tribe


21 February 2020. Being a writer is largely a solitary undertaking. This can be an ordeal for writers who enjoy talking about their work and the process (that is, in my experience, most of us). As is the case with the majority of passions, we want to share our excitement – not to mention the intriguing characters we invent. And, again, as is the case with most passions, our fervour is best discussed with those who understand and can relate to it. Having a dedicated and regular time to talk about writing and reading with others who also love the activities is one of the primary reasons I like being part of a writers’ group.

We’re a small bunch (six at most), each of whom is working on his or her own creative writing project. We meet in a quiet hotel lounge twice a month. A few days prior to meeting, three members send up to 3,000 words of their current work (usually a chapter or two) to the others. We discuss the submissions over drinks and snacks – almost always vociferously and with plenty of laughter – and email our notes to the relevant writers the following day. It’s a reciprocal process; the effort you put in to critique others’ work is repaid when it’s your turn to submit. The format is effective, and members of the group have completed several manuscripts, short stories, poems and a screen play during the three years that we’ve been going. Some work has been published and other manuscripts are pending publication. We’ve become keyboard comrades and friends, and our meetings are not just useful, but also great fun.

Here are some other reasons I value my membership to the writers’ group:

It keeps you keeping on. None of us can afford to write creatively full time (yet), which means we have to conscientiously carve out time to work on our projects. Without the group, it would be easy to find excuses and give up writing. Being part of the group compels us to keep writing. Each of us needs to submit at least once a month, which implies deadlines. These are, let’s face it, mandatory for most writers.

You get invaluable feedback. Essentially, the writers’ group comprises beta readers who are committed to reading and critiquing one another’s work. Because I like and respect the members of the group, I listen to and value their feedback. Their comments challenge me, give me fresh ideas, point to holes in my plot and other inconsistencies in the story and characters, show up bad habits in my writing and encourage me. Some feedback boosts my confidence. Other times, it gives me the opportunity to revise and improve my work. Very rarely, I choose to ignore it. And, because we supply written notes after our meetings, there’s always clarity.

It’s a safe place to share our work. There is no hierarchy in our group. It’s a safe place for our writing to be read and discussed. Crucially, we try to speak the truth about one another’s work with kindness and a sense of hope and encouragement. And, when we’re on the receiving end of criticism, we try to welcome the truth and the opportunity to improve the writing and/or the story – keeping in mind, you’re not obliged make changes you don’t agree with. No one is checking whether or not their advice is taken. It remains your story and no one else’s.

You learn to give and take criticism. The road to being published is long and rocky. Many never reach their destination. Being in the right writing group can help prepare you for how tough the ride could be. If nothing else, it’s an opportunity to learn how to critique writing and how to receive criticism.

There are great networking opportunities. My writing group are not only a great place to have my work read and pick up tips about writing, members are also good sources of information about publishing and promoting books. They’re also a supportive bunch. We count on one another to attend book related events and share information.

Not all writers enjoy being part of writing groups and I acknowledge that I am lucky to have found a fabulous tribe. If you’re thinking about joining a group, I urge you to give it a try. Writing is a solitary business but, if you find the right people, groups can add to your enjoyment of writing and storytelling, and give you the opportunity to get better at it.


Notes 3

The work of an author and that of a journalist.

Journalist versus author – and what they can learn from one another

14 January 2020. This year, I have worked as a journalist and writer for thirty-five years. The greatest portion of my income has been generated as a freelancer, writing articles for newspapers, magazines and news sites, and content for brochures, websites and the like. (You can read some of these pieces here.) I have earned a smaller part of my livelihood by editing and publishing the work of others, including nine years as the publisher of my own magazine, which taught me how to run a business.

Three years ago, I wrote the book, Nicko, which was published by Penguin Random House. As such, and with manuscripts for two other novels underway, I am now also an author.

Adding novels to my output and hoping to one day be able to focus solely on creative writing has inspired me to learn as much as I can about writing books. In addition to working with Jessica, I have connected with other authors and am set on finding out how to write the best possible novels. During this time, I’ve observed how different writers/journalists and authors are, and how the two might learn from one another to their mutual benefit. Here are some of my observations:

It’s in the approach

While journalists (I include writers of articles and other content in this category for the sake of this article) provide services for employers or clients and produce information as required and agreed on, many authors consider themselves artists. Journalists know that if they don’t produce quality work according to specification and on time, their livelihood is at stake. It’s a job that has to get done on deadline and when it’s done well, there’s a good chance a freelancer will get more work from that client. The do-exactly-what-is-required-really-well-by-deadline approach is key to thriving as a freelancer. Being a freelancer is, in a sense, like running your own business. If you don’t provide the service or product that your clients demand, you’ll fail. It’s that simple.

Authors, on the other hand, can be creatively stubborn and have a tendency to romanticise their work. They wait for the muse, pronounce writing akin to wringing blood from stone and entertain a miscellany of reasons to procrastinate, doubt, sabotage and circumvent their work. I know. I do the same sometimes. The thing is, it’s fine to wallow in the artistry of being an author – unless it gets in the way of actually getting the writing done, which is essential if you are serious about being published.

It seems to me that if more authors approached their work a little more like journalists do theirs – that is, like a professional job that needs to be done – they might work more effectively.

It also helps to set deadlines for creative writing. Authors complain that their greatest challenge is “getting the words down”. Setting goals and deadlines and sticking to them, like journalists are required to, will get the writing done. And when the writing is done,  you can move onto the next step, be that editing, reworking, rewriting or submitting your manuscript.

We’re all storytellers

Writing a successful novel depends on creating interesting characters and telling a story that draws readers in and takes them on a compelling journey. It’s not that different for journalists.

Even if the story a journalist is required to work on isn’t the most intriguing at first glance, it’s her task to find an interesting angle and present the information in a way that fascinates readers. They might not be categorised as creative writers because they deal in facts, but journalists need to be creative about how they convey information.

Authors and journalists are similarly required to grab readers’ attention and engage them. In this regard, perhaps journalists can learn to be more creative, descriptive and daring from authors, while maintaining their objectivity.

Keeping count

One of the greatest challenges of working as a journalist is conveying the facts and telling a good story in a few words. Brevity and clarity are the basic skills of journalism. Newspapers and magazines follow strict templates, which are designed by art directors. Editors commission articles from writers and set word counts to fit these templates. That’s how basic it is. Even if, as a writer, you think a story deserves more space, it’s rarely possible to convince an editor to allow more words. They just do not fit in the space allowed.

Articles and information for online consumption are also limited to specified word counts. The theory is that, with a plethora of information popping up on screens around them all the time, people don’t have the time or inclination to read long articles online. Writers producing words for online consumption are compelled to keep pieces short and punchy. Word count counts online too.

On the other hand, where an author is writing a full-length novel, she has around 80,000 words to work with. What a luxury! Or is it?

In fact, keeping myself from getting carried away by being able to write so many words is something of a challenge to me as an author. Why? Because, while I feel I have many words at my disposal, I know that every one of them needs to count. Words that don’t advance the plot, throw light on the characters and delight readers are extraneous. In other words, as much as I enjoy making up stories and creating characters to tell the tale and putting myself to the test as a creative writer, I need to draw on the skills I developed as a journalist and rein myself in. Do I need this word? Paragraph? Scene? How does it advance the plot, build the character or entertain the reader?

I count myself lucky to have worked as a professional writer throughout my career. It’s helpful as I endeavour to reinvent myself as an author. It also makes me understand how much I still have to learn about creative writing – and that’s exciting.


Run jar

Picture by

Up and running – and writing

28 December 2019. With four days to go before we welcome 2020, I’ve been thinking about what I’ve achieved during the past 12 months. I don’t generally make new year’s resolutions, but I did set myself two goals for 2019.

Firstly, I wanted to complete the first draft of a novel I began writing in 2018. Secondly, having recently begun running again after not doing so for around 30 years due to a dodgy knee, I wanted to run a 10 km road race. I am happy to report that I completed the first draft of my manuscript. I also ran two 10 km races and two half marathons (21.1 km) this year.

I thought about my two goals yesterday when I came across some notes about the manuscript that I had made at the beginning of the year. It occurred to me there are several similarities between running and writing and also to sustaining one’s enthusiasm for both. Here are my thoughts:

Do it because you enjoy it. Olympic marathon champion, Eliud Kipchoge says, “A running world is a happy and healthy world.” I get it. There are few things that make me happier than running does; writing is one. I run and I write because of the enjoyment I experience when I do them. I am unlikely to run a marathon, let alone do the 42.2 kms in 1:59.40 minutes as Eliud did earlier this year, and I haven’t sold countless books like Agatha Christie and Margaret Atwood. But that doesn’t stop me from pulling my running shoes on whenever I can and writing when I’m not running. The enjoyment of the process is what drives me to write and to run.

Embrace the solitude. Although not all writing and running is done alone (see below), they are largely solo activities. I am happy being alone for long periods at a time, which is one of the reasons writing and running appeal to me.

Make friends with people who share your passion. My family will attest to the fact that I love talking about running and writing. They’re good listeners but they don’t share my passion for the activities. Fortunately, I have a group of wonderful writing friends, including those in my writing group, which meets twice a month. We can talk writing, books and our work until the cows come home – and leave again for their pastures. It’s a fabulous indulgence. I get my running talk fix with my friend, Sue when we ascend and descend Chapman’s Peak on our regular 15 km runs. Running is also the subject of choice for conversation at the weekly Parkrun. Engaging with people who share my enjoyment of writing and running motivates me to do more and get better at it.

Be disciplined, consistent and persistent. Just like every run starts with a single step, every writing project begins with a word. If you don’t show up and take that step or write that word, it won’t happen. Being consistent is important if you’re going get fitter as a runner and make progress as a writer. Unless you have a coach, it’s unlikely that anyone presses you to run. It’s up to you to persist. Writing is the same. You’re the boss; get to it.

Find satisfaction from pushing yourself, and being creative and productive. One of the most enjoyable things about running is how I feel afterwards. The things I have experienced on the run, the weariness in my legs and the sense of having accomplished something are satisfying – particularly when I have run faster or further than previously. It’s the same with writing. I love switching off my computer at the end of the day feeling that I created a little world out of nothing and/or that I have produced another section of a project that will one day become something. And when I’ve pushed myself further in that writing, the satisfaction is greater still.

Believe in yourself. Unless you are Eliud Kipchoge, Agatha Christie or Margaret Atwood, there will always be better runners and more successful writers than you. It doesn’t matter. Only your legs will carry you during a run and only you can write your story. Have the right attitude, believe you can do it and get on with it.

Here’s hoping that whatever your 2020 goals are – whether for writing, running or neither of the aforementioned – you will accomplish them with pleasure. After all, what is life if not to be enjoyed?

Happy New Year!


Penny Haw with The Big House

When to take advice and when to trust your intuition

The first thing people spot when they step into my kitchen is a large painting tacked on the wall above the breadbin.

‘That’s lovely,’ they say. ‘Your son? He’s very artistic.’

They’re right on one score; my son painted it 20 years ago. He was about three. But lovely? That depends. It’s a simple, childish drawing of a big house with red walls, a green roof, and blue and yellow windows. Its best attributes are its proportions and the confidence with which it was fashioned. The colours are bright and the paint liberally applied. If ‘lovely’ means I love it, then it is indeed, lovely. But if, as many believe, good art should touch the mind, heart and soul of viewers and causing them to think and feel, it’s not strictly lovely.

And what about ‘very artistic’? In fact, one of the reasons I love the painting is because it was created when my son believed himself to be artistic. That was before a well meaning, but careless teacher pointed out that his art wasn’t as lifelike as that of some of his classmates and suggested he emulate their work. Inhibited by self-doubt and no longer trusting his intuition, he never painted with boldness and abandon again.

Today, my son is a marine biologist. He’s thoroughly happy and suited to his field of work. It’s unlikely he would’ve become an artist, dissuading teacher notwithstanding. Even so, I’m sorry his painting mojo was stifled so young. The big house was his magnum opus – at age three!

With my first book published in 2017, and work underway on another, I’ve been thinking about the painting and its aftermath a great deal recently as I ask myself the question: how do you know when to trust your intuition and when to take advice?

Although I’ve worked as a journalist and editor for more than 30 years, writing books is new to me. As such, I’m hungry for knowledge to help me improve. I belong to a writers’ group and read a lot about the process.

However, the more I learn, the more I wonder whether it’s possible to become so concerned and even cowed by everyone else’s insights and opinions that you lose touch with the instinct that distinguishes you as an author? And, even when you hold onto your voice, there’s the risk that your eagerness to learn and be led manifests in self-doubt and second-guessing that slows you down. Fellow South African author, Rehana Rossouw admitted in a recent interview, ‘I can’t read when I write – I either copy style and voice wholesale or fall into a pit of despair because I can’t match the writing’.

So, what’s the solution? One approach is to look for opportunities to benefit from both your intuition and the advice of others by deciding when either is most appropriate. For example:

Take advice on:

  • practical matters like the importance of working with an editor, how to format your manuscript for submission, the advantages of working with an agent, how to pitch to agents and publishers, and what to look for in publishing contracts;
  • how to spot and avoid common writing errors, such as repeating words, using clichés and confusing tenses;
  • how to build tension, maintain a consistent point of view, write dialogue that propels your plot and builds character, and sustain the pace of your story;
  • the importance of and what kind of research is required to convince your readers; and
  • how to get your booked reviewed and promoted.

Trust your intuition when it comes to:

  • writing the story you want to write. Two quotations resonate with me here. The first is Toni Morrison’s maxim, ‘If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.’ The other is from Nayyirah Waheed’s 2013 anthology of poems, Salt and reads, ‘When you are struggling in your writing (art), it usually means you are hearing one thing, but writing (creating) another’. Until it’s written, your story exists only in your mind. You won’t find it on the internet, in books about writing or in your writing group. You know your characters and their backstories. Listen to your gut and write the story that’s within you;
  • the writing process. Many of us are interested in how others work. Do you plot your manuscript out chapter-by-chapter and follow the plan faithfully? Or do you allow your characters to lead you? While learning how many different ways there are to write a book is fascinating and some information can be useful, you need to develop and trust your own process;
  • inspiration. I am most inspired when hiking in the mountains with my dogs. That’s the time when the most exciting writing ideas and plot twists occur to me. Other writers are stirred by music, meditation, photography and travel. What works for one, doesn’t work for another; and
  • incorporating humour in your writing. Your sense of humour is deeply embedded in who you are as an individual and therefore, who you are as a writer, which is why it’s crucial to listen to your inner voice when it comes to including humour in your writing.

Trusting your intuition doesn’t mean your decisions won’t be questioned. Neither does it mean you should disregard recommendations. Possibly the best advice I received about following my writing intuition is that I shouldn’t ignore it, but I should also be prepared to do what it takes to justify it. It requires courage to trust your gut, but it could mean the different between a good book and an unforgettable one.

So, it’s decided; henceforth, the big house on my kitchen wall is a reminder to me to be brave and bold, and not to let the voice of my inner artist be drowned by the voices of those who might or might not know better.

(This piece was first published on the Women’s Writers, Women’s Books website in 2018. You can see it there here: )