My home office window faces north. In southern winters, dreary rain splatters the brick sill past glass I should have cleaned ages ago. My bare feet needle into the lush area rug at my feet. Everywhere are reminders of the convergence of my two writing journeys - first, as an author, and second, as an editor and coach. Most days, I cannot tell the difference. I am open to both. My phone is nearly always audible for a text; my laptop screen is nearly always open.
Typical days. But this January day was anything but typical.
To properly explain my connection to coaching, I must be vulnerable. Last December, the siren song of another of my freelance branches, ghostwriting, lured me to the firm promise of a lengthy and lucrative contract. Several of my coaching clients were ending our run together because they had reached their goals. A self-published novel. An agent. A traditional contract. Most clients transition away from me on a celebratory note. Many clients return to me for editing projects, but I'm always happy when they find editors elsewhere. It means they are continuing to grow and learn. When I put myself out of business with a client, I know I've done my job well.
One of the remaining clients had been with me for three years. We had accomplished much together, many novels under the bridge, yet her brass ring eluded her. I wondered if she might grow in new and different ways with an alternate voice in her head. I convinced myself of this because, well, Hollywood called.
She set off on a journey to find a new coach. If you don't find anyone, I told her, let me know. This past January day, she contacted me. Through her quest, I learned so much about what other writing coaches do. What coaches should never do. What I will never do. My anger at what she found - money grabs, help that was no help at all, coaches unwilling to roll up sleeves and dirty hands in messy projects, coaches that had the audacity to sublet their services (!!)- sparked this series.
Today, we are working together again. I am grateful that she is part of my writing journey. She pushes me into finding creative solutions. She challenges my notions about genre and the changing landscape of publishing. She reads to her horizons and broadens my perspective. Helping her find that brass ring is the least I can do.
If coaching holds little interest for you, I invite you to skip my series posts these five days. But if you have ever paid someone to make you better at tennis serves or cooking, if you have ever wondered what heaping servings of personalized advice can bring to your writing table, I encourage you to dive in with me. I will shoot straight so that you may make good decisions with your creative fire.
This series is what I believe a client-coach relationship should be, what I strive to create with each individual, but there is no one-size-fits-all solution. My approach is more of a hybrid between an ongoing editor and a coach. If you want a coach who will mind your days and self-imposed deadlines and fill you with rah-rah pleasantries, I am not for you. Writing is always messiest before the brilliance.
Tomorrow: The Writer-Coach Relationship, Reinvented. Every. Time.
