The 5 best tools for freelance writers.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine said something profound. Over a particularly delicious cup of bold espresso, she made a point about what most people think about writers. Very matter of factly, she set her coffee on the table, swallowed her last sip, and said, "They think we spend all of our time drinking coffee, or frantically putting words on paper that have been sent down from on High.

"Either way," she said, "no one really thinks it's work."

She's right. And even though we felt guilty for drinking coffee while talking about how other people think writers just sit around all day and drink coffee, her point is valid. Writing affords the luxury of an extra cup of coffee every now and then, but this work is not just putting God-given words on paper. Most of the time it's just really. hard. work. Blank page after blank page after $50 invoice after $50 invoice. Sometimes it feels grueling. Rarely does it feel easy.

We finished our coffee and went back to our respective offices (our homes) to get back to work. Because yes, although I'm slightly more hyped up on caffeine than I was as a teacher, I'm also constantly aware of the real, sometimes daunting thought that there's a deadline looming, and there's only one person in this business who can meet it.

As I come up on my one year writer-versary, I know that this work is work. And lets be honest, coffee isn't the only tool I need to get the job done. Just like real-estate appraisers, teachers, or private investigators—there are tools that make this job a whole heck of a lot more efficient and enjoyable and productive. And over the last year, I've managed to accumulate a few items that now I can't imagine working without.

Here are what i think have been my top five tools as a freelance writer. You ready?

1. Business cards that wow— $70.00+

This was the first "tool" I bought as a writer, and let me be honest. They made me feel like a tool, too. Still, I don't think the era of business cards is over—even though we live in a world where I can find you at the drop of a name in a google search bar. Sure, I might be wearing jeans at 10 am on a Tuesday, but handing someone something official like a business card says, yes, even though I am not in an office, I take myself seriously. I'm a huge fan of Moo, an online tool to help you design your own card. Make sure you've got what you want on the card—website, twitter handle, phone number, e-mail, SSN—whatever. You never know when handing that card to the right person might be the ticket to a new relationship or friendship or story or idea.

Plus, once you finally start calling yourself a "writer" to other people, that's when it will start to feel real, and if you're going to have business cards, they might as well be awesome. I mean, check out this one of a vintage typewriter. Cool, right?

2. Website to catalogue your work — $175 yearly There's nothing more important and more simple than starting your own website. As crazy as I felt the day I bought clairegibson.com, I've never regretted it. No one was ever going to keep up with the bylines for me—so that's part of the job. Plus, I started realizing that all that hard work I poured into each story shouldn't just be lost when the link dies (and if you write for the Tennessean, that link is going to die in about 2 weeks time).

I use Wordpress. It's easy. It's relatively inexpensive. I purchased the $99 upgrade, plus a $75 premium theme (that I eventually purchased for this blog, too), and presto. You're in business. If I were choosing again today, I'd pick something like this premium theme, or this free theme. Here's the one I'm using.)

3. Computer you trust— $1400+

I mean, duh. This was a big deal for me though, because I hadn't purchased a computer since my freshman year in college. So when the guy in the big white store told me what it was going to run me, I couldn't help but let my jaw drop. Still, my husband bought a PC for work that cost him something like $300, so you don't have to go the expensive route.

4. Livescribe pen to save on transcribing everything — $150 + refills

This is hands down the best investment I've made as a writer. When I was a teacher, we used it in the classroom to let kids take notes and record the lecture at the same time, that way, if they wanted to go back and listen to certain parts of the lesson, they could. I noticed pretty quickly that this is a tool that could be helpful since I spend hours interviewing different subjects in person or over the phone.

Here's how it works. When the pen is fully charged, you can press "record" on the magnetic paper (that comes with the pen). When you write something, it actually syncs the audio recording with whatever you wrote on the piece of paper. So no more transcribing hours of audio tape. You can put a star on the piece of paper when the subject you're interviewing says something you want to go back and listen to again. Then, weeks (even months) later, you can go back to your notebook, tap where that star is, and listen to that old recording.

It's pretty amazing. You can go watch how it works if you're interested. But seriously. It's been worth every single penny. Now, there's even a wifi pen, so you don't ever have to connect it to your computer for updates!

5. Camera to do some scouting — $500+

This has been my most recent (and least essential) piece of writer-equipment. Still, I believe it's been really helpful in my development as a writer. First, when I'm writing my blog—I don't have to go searching the web for hours to source pictures. That got old really fast. Also, now that I have photos, it adds a whole different dimension to my writing, and helps me tell stories visually and verbally. I'm still trying to get better at that. In the professional realm, it's great to scout pictures of what you're pitching to magazines/newspapers so they can get an idea of what you're talking about. After all, we're all pretty visual people these days—so seeing a picture to go along with your pitch can help an editor say "yes."

Here's the one I bought after much debate. I've heard B & H Photography can hook you up with some great used prices, too.

TOTAL EQUIPMENT COSTS: $2,295

Who knew being a freelance writer could cost so much?

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So there you have it. My 5 essential writerly tools. What about you... other writers? What are your essentials in the workplace?

Just Ask.

This morning, I caught wind of this video of Vanderbilt freshman Michael Pollack asking Billy Joel if he can accompany him on "New York State of Mind." And you want to know the crazy thing? Billy Joel said yes.

Michael proceeded to kill it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p04TYk4j0zQ&feature=player_embedded[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p04TYk4j0zQ&feature=player_embedded]

Michael proves to each of us with a skill, talent, and passion, to get out there and... JUST ASK. What's the worst someone can say? No? Big whoop.

HA! Literally as I wrote that sentence, I received an e-mail from Vanderbilt University.

I did not get into Vanderbilt's creative writing program. I asked, and they said no. It hurts. But I guess I have to take my own advice.

Big whoop.

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More on dealing with rejection and insecurity. 

My last chicken-check in.

Someone said yes once.

photo via.

Yard Update: In Progress

This weekend was beautiful in Nashville. I was nestled in my couch with a cup of coffee, blue-lit face staring at an empty inbox. I was waiting on a response from an editor, and it was Saturday, so I knew one wouldn't come. Monday, I thought, maybe I'll hear on Monday. Outside, blue cloudless skies and warm bathing sunshine were softening soil left wet from a week of showers. So, even though we were planning on leaving our yard work until next weekend, I jumped the gun a bit and got to work. Plus, I needed a distraction.Rather than sit inside and press "refresh," maybe I could get a head start refreshing the front yard.

Just as a reminder, here's what our yard looked like before:

So with a spade and a shovel and a helpful husband and father-in-law, I set to work.

I started in the garden bed closest to the house on the right, and immediately, I felt completely overwhelmed. Roots, overgrown bushes, thorns, covered up stones—it looked like a garden gnome vomited on the ground six years ago and no one ever cleaned it up. I felt alone, like the work was impossible, and we'd never make a dent.

Hands in earth is back bending, muscle-aching work. After 4 hours in the yard, I felt like we'd made very little progress. The roots kept appearing, layer after layer. The sweat kept dripping and my hands grew weaker against the obstacles in front of me. At times it felt like I'd rather just drop a bomb on the whole yard and let it detonate. But slowly, things began take their places. Roses were cut low, thorns tossed to the side. Stones were turned over, cleaned and replaced. And as the sun set, I was tired.  But it was obvious, my hands had wielded change.

On day two, my father-in-law showed up with a U-haul. Without telling us, he'd rented a truck and came by to help with the demolition. And that's when the real work got underway. One chain, one truck, and a whole lot of roots unearthed.

We dragged fifty-pound bush after fifty pound bush to the alley. Covered in dirt, my hands were marked with soil and roughed by sticks and limbs and leaves.

Inside, a shower rained heavy and hot on my shoulders, and I watched dirt muddy the pool at my feet. Cuddled in sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and holding a steaming cup of tea, I sank into the couch. I checked my email. And there was the response. A rejection. "Don't be discouraged," she wrote kindly. "The bar is unusually high."

Normally, that kind of note would sting and bring tears and paralyze me for hours, even days. But there, sore on the couch, I felt the pain absorb into my already-aching muscles. Then, the sting diffused and disappeared. I wasn't sad. It was okay. I'd seen so much progress in my yard that day, that this small hiccup wasn't a problem. The hard work softened the rejection. I could handle it. The satisfaction of sore muscles trumped the sting of the spurn.

Work in the yard, over the stove, with the vacuum, with words, with my hands. Can these rid rejection of power? Yes.

Thriving in all Circumstances: One Thousand Gifts

I don't know how my sister, Leigh does it. She's a mother to three children under 6, wife to a military husband who's been on three combat tours, and a certified Crossfit instructor who had the privilege of training George W. Bush (okay, so maybe they just worked out in the same gym one day, but still, that's pretty cool). In these busy times, Leigh and I don't get to talk as often as I would like, but if there's anything she's good at, it's remembering birthdays and always sending a thoughtful gift to celebrate. (I really wish I was better at that).

This year, when I turned twenty-six, she sent me a book.

So when Leigh told me to read this book, and when she subsequently wrote a blog post that brought me to tears—I paid attention. I started reading.

What I found in Ann Voskamp's book, One Thousand Gifts, was a challenge to live with gratitude. Not for what could be, what I feel like ought to be, but for what already is.

This is hard. My natural state is to be complaining, wishing, wanting, needing. While cooking dinner the other night, I found myself frustrated with the pants I was wearing, itching my legs. I was angry at the simmering beef that was cooking too quickly—it burned before I could finish chopping the onion to add. There were breakfast dishes still in the sink, and crud on the floor—that ugly tile that I want to demolish anyway—and before I knew it, I was just angry. At dinner. At life. At the fact that everything is hard, dinner is never easy to make, and the house will never be clean.

And then I think about my sister. And about how she has twice the family that I have, and twice the dishes and twice the laundry and that means she has twice the frustration and anger, doesn't it? If life is already this hard to manage—I wondered, how will I ever be a mother without becoming an alcoholic, rageaholic, shopaholic, or divorcee? How is it even possible?  In her reaction to this book, Leigh wrote words that cut to my soul.

"My heart claws for something, ANYTHING to make this motherhood journey more graceful, clear, predictable, and if possible, that I remain largely undisrupted. Regrettably, there is always more. More laundry, more groceries, more dishes, more clutter. More spit-spray on that bathroom mirror. All this endless hassle-work when our souls are screaming for rest, solace, order.  (When you think about it, everything under the sun constantly moves toward disorder, and we can only do so much to subdue the process.)"

I feel that way. And it's just me and Patrick. And I feel that way.

How do I ward off depression and frustration and thirty more years of "this is not enough?" Voskamp eloquently explains that there is only one response that will make any difference. It's the response of King David and Daniel and Jesus and Ruth and anyone who's ever been called close to God. The response is gratitude.

The dare is simple. Write down 1,000 things you are grateful for that are right here in  your every day life. Purposefully, carefully chronicle the gifts that already exist here and now. Leigh shared the start of her list here. She said the practice has changed her life. And I deeply want it to change mine, too.

So here I go.

• sugar crystals like glass shards on a ginger cookie
• red haunches stoic in a bay window
• sun bathing an orange velvet chair
• cream swirling through black coffee, spoon led
• bitter, fragrant fresh cinnamon
• a pregnant blank page and blinking cursor
• rushing drips of his morning shower
• smell of warm rain on grass
• sore muscles from work in earth

The beautiful thing about gratitude is that it focuses my eyes on details that every single day I let pass me by. As a writer, I need this discipline to be observant. As a woman, I need this discipline to be grateful. As I human, I think I need this discipline to survive without becoming bitter, angry, and hardened.

Thank you, Leigh, for this book. Thank you Ann, for writing it. Thank you God for giving us words and "pens as eyes," and people to share the gifts we find like hidden secrets, whispers of heaven on earth.

So grab a pen. Ann dared Leigh. Leigh dared me. Now I dare you.

On how God told me to write a book... and it happened.

Have you ever had a burning bush moment? A moment where heart pounding, feet tingling, you feel the presence of God and sense that what you're hearing is audible and silent and hidden from the world, but apparent to you? I've had one of those moments, and it happened in January, sitting in church, hearing a sermon about Ruth—a message about losing control. The turning point in Ruth comes when she presents herself all gussied up to Boaz, hoping that he might take her as a wife. But then he turns around and basically says, "wait, I need to take care of a few things." Ruth is let waiting, wondering, and completely out of control. She has no power to determine what happens next—it's all in his hands. And behind the scenes, without Ruth's knowledge, Boaz orchestrates everything necessary to redeem her and her husband's land. Though she didn't know it, there were conversations happening outside her earshot that changed her life.

And during that sermon, I felt something stirring in my heart that couldn't be called anything but crazy. TOTALLY CRAZY. It wasn't a voice, it wasn't a literal burning bush. It was this still, quiet thought that entered my heart in the  midst of a song. You need to write a book.

"Sure," I thought, responding to the thought. "I've always wanted to write a book, and I think I will some day." But my best efforts to kick the "book-writing" can down the road were thwarted. The thought kept pestering, breaking through, and finding its way to the pages of my journal where I was keeping notes. It was as if someone was whispering in my veins, Let go right now and be ready to write a book. Like Ruth, forget control and money and your schedule and find out what's been happening behind the scenes on your behalf. 

I've never left church so confused. At the grocery store afterwards, filling our cart with apples and turkey and sausage and orange juice for the week ahead—I told Patrick what I felt I'd heard that morning. He looked dumbfounded. What would I write about? I didn't know. Would I quit everything else and just start writing something? I didn't know. Would it take six years or six days or six months? I had no answers.

A few weeks went by and I tried to forget that I thought that God had called me to write a book. "You are so vain," I told myself. "You just want to write a book so you can be rich and famous. God doesn't call people to write books. People write books because they are conceited and want the world to think they're smart."

Yikes. I stuffed down these self-deprecating thoughts and insults, and smashed down the burning bush moment with them.

Unbeknownst to me, during this time a publisher was making a call to a non-profit in Michigan. Over one phone call, they asked the founder if he thought he could compile a book. Then, that founder called a friend in Nashville and asked if the friend knew any writers. Then that CEO called me.

It had been two weeks since that heart thumping, God-fearing moment in church. My phone vibrated and flashed an unknown number from Michigan. It was Brad Formsma, the founder of I Like Giving. He introduced himself, then asked me a simple question. "Claire, would you be willing to help me write a book?"

I said yes.

I'm telling you this story because I wonder what's happening in your life right now. If God is moving in my life, he's moving in yours. Because he loves me, and he loves you, and he's up to stuff! Perhaps even really big, mountain-moving stuff. And what if we cram it down and ignore it? And what if we label it coincidence instead of calling? We need to tell each other how God is moving. Because telling stories is a beautiful form of praise. We need to hear each others stories—because it reminds us that he is real and good and love. I need your story to keep me believing.

So, will you tell it?