A Bad Formula

I was talking to my friend Laura Munson the other day. Laura is an author and teacher who leads Haven, a very popular five-day writing retreat in her home state of Montana. People fly in from all over the world to attend these workshops, but if someone doesn’t have the resources for the trip, Laura also offers Haven Nest, an extended online version of the retreat. She’s an ambitious woman, Laura, and I’m always impressed at how she’s building this business of hers, particularly because I knew her before any of it existed.

Sometimes when I hear her describing her latest venture, I’ll think, “I should do that.” I’m a teacher as well, after all, one who has led more than his share of workshops over the last ten years. When she talked to me about how Haven Nest has grown since Covid, I thought of all the times I’d been advised to create something similar. So far, I haven’t. Occasionally when I notice how I haven’t, I’ll wonder what’s wrong with me. Am I lazy?

In the middle of our conversation, Laura asked me how I was doing and what I was up to, and I mentioned that I’d be teaching in-person at a bunch of writers’ conferences this fall, which would be the first time I’d done so since we all went into our pandemic hibernation.

“I should do writers’ conferences,” she said. “I should do more of those. I don’t do any of them. How do you get into them?”

I began describing the very basic steps of submitting workshop ideas, when I stopped. “Here’s the better question, Laura. Do you really want to? Don’t do it because you think you should. There’s no point. I can only do things well that I want to, and I know I’m not alone.”

Laura then confessed she was sick of a lot traveling, and of cruise ships and conference centers and hotel ball rooms. She didn’t like them. She liked her big, comfortable, scenic Montana house where she gathered with her writers for Haven. Why shouldn’t she? Let them come to her, if that’s she wants, which she did.

I made a living for many, many years doing something I would have happily quit doing. I learned I could chop wood, you could say. When I got out of that job, I resolved to find a way to earn money doing what I would do for free. It’s not always been clear what that work is. I’m still discovering. But I do know this: I’ll not find the next cool thing by trying to do what I think I should. That’s a formula for confusion and failure. It’s like I’m following steps laid out by others meant to lead me where I want to be, steps that lead me inevitably back to the same empty destination. Those steps worked for them, why not for me?

The answer is in the question.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com