Tag: sarah k peck

Help Me Bootstrap a New Podcast!

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

I’m launching a new podcast this summer!

Startup Pregnant: a podcast about women in leadership, work, and life.

The podcast shares the stories of women before, during, and after pregnancy and into early parenting. From working, to building businesses, to accelerating your leadership, to growing families, I’m interviewing women on their lives and livelihoods and what they’ve done to grow both.

We’re looking for our early sponsors — help me bootstrap our first season:

If you’d love to see this podcast get rolling, head on over to Patreon to support us.

  • Micro-sponsors: We’re looking for micro-sponsorships, so you can chip in anywhere from $1/month to $4/month to help us build momentum and record an amazing new podcast to add to the airwaves. For the cost of a cup of coffee each month, you can become a backer!
  • Show sponsors ($100): Got a company or project that you’d like to advertise? We’re looking for companies that are a great match for this audience that would like to sponsor one episode per month. You’ll get a 30-second advertising spot in the show every month for as long as you are a sponsor.
  • Master patron ($250): Get listed in the show’s front notes as a sponsor, a shout-out feature story about your company (90 seconds) in one episode each month, which I will work with you to craft to perfection. The story will land in the first 22 minutes of the podcast. You’ll also be listed on the podcast page of our website as a featured sponsor.

There are lots of different options to sponsor the podcast. Help us bring the stories of women in leadership, life, and work to the airwaves!

Support us on Patreon and sponsor the Startup Pregnant podcast!

About the podcast: what are we driving towards?

The podcast looks at deep human question around what it means to become a parent, to grow a business, to embrace a body of work, to deal with failure, to shift in identity, to learn, and to grow. Throughout both “Startup” and “Pregnant,” we look at what it means to undergo these most profound transformations that come with creating new things from scratch.

Startup Pregnant isn’t strictly about startups and pregnancy; instead, it’s about the deep transformative power that growing businesses and babies taps requires, and how we change as a result.

Transformation isn’t easy, in fact, it’s often painful, but it’s one of the most beautiful parts of being a human.

The podcast will address questions like:

  • What can business learn from women and pregnancy, and what can pregnancy learn from business?
  • How did the growth of your business or family affect how you showed up in the world? What strategies did you use to learn, grow, and adapt?
  • How can we re-imagine what women in the workforce can look like?
  • What do you wish your CEOs and colleagues knew about pregnancy and the journey into parenthood?
  • Does parenthood change your work life, for the better? How does it change your creativity or management style?
  • How do these powerful forces of feminine energy, willpower, and strength intersect and provoke better entrepreneurship, invention, and collaboration?

We’re Launching in July/August 2017:

  • We are bootstrapping most of the first season of the podcast.
  • When we hit $100 per month in backing, we’ll prep the launch of season 1!
  • When we hit $250 per month in backing, we will improve our sound quality, audio mixing, and production.
  • When we reach $500, we we will begin preparing seasons 2 & 3.
  • Check out our Patreon page for more details.

Join me in my podcast (and my mission) to share deeper, wiser, and more profound stories of women at work.

Support the podcast here.

In my own experience of being pregnant while working at a Y-combinator backed startup: it isn’t easy. But like so many things in life, it’s worth it. In fact, many parts of it challenged my bones, my soul, and my stamina unlike anything else I’d experienced — like most things in life that are hard, it was also unbelievably worth it.

The podcast is a way to bring women to the table to have a conversation about what it means to be a woman in leadership and in work, all while raising families.

If you are like me and enjoy contemplating the absurdity of growing a human inside a human, if you don’t mind the stress of figuring out just exactly how a business will survive, and if you don’t mind the chatter of voices that wonder constantly how, exactly, you’ll pull this off — then you can laugh, cry, and wince along side me as I take you inside the stories of women working on great endeavors.

November Writing Theme: Connection

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Each month I share a monthly writing prompt for you to reflect on, write about, and discuss. I’ll be writing a lot on this theme, and I invite you to join me in writing by linking your blog in the comments below or following the hashtag #mowriting on Twitter or Instagram.

Connection: What is it? What does it mean to connect?

How do you connect? How do you know when you have connected to someone or something?

What do you connect to?

What makes up a “missed connection”?

For me, I know that I want to listen more deeply to my inner compass and pay attention to what I need, moment by moment. This requires discernment, reflection, and ultimately connection to who I am and what I want.

I also want to connect more deeply to the people around me — through writing, letters, more frequent phone calls, better and more vulnerable conversations, hugs, and deepening my most cherished friendships.

Join me in reflecting on this question this month. What does it mean to connect and why is it important to do so?

I invite you to consider both the connection within yourself, as well as the outward connections to other people (or things).

Leave a note in the comments on this post with your reflections, share your pieces using the hashtag #mowriting, or send me a note with a guest post if you’d like to contribute to this month’s theme.

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PS: Join me in my next two live seminars!

Do you ever get overwhelmed by scheduling your day, week, or month? Does email bog you down or frustrate you? I’m teaching two new virtual seminars this November all about rethinking the way you schedule your week (November 9th) and becoming a jedi master with your email inbox (November 17th).

The seminars are 1-hour long, live, and will be recorded. Registration is $49 per class.

When You Fall Down, Break Your Routine, or Stop: Notes on Re-Starting

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

HEADER GRAPHIC TEMPLATE—WRITING

The rhythm breaks. The routine falters.

You write, so diligently, and then a week slips by.

Getting back into the structure of things — writing — is even more challenging when traveling, moving, changing.

I can make a million excuses; writing and making time for writing is and always seems so hard.

It’s easier when I’m already making. When I’m on the train that’s already moving, it can be easier to keep going. And then I slip. My eyes wander up and left, I slip outside for a drink, I stop in the sunshine, I caress the thought of taking a break, and—

—Days go by. The procrastination wears down, like water through a crevice, building its rut and smoothing the sides into familiar curves with its constant trickle.

The weight of the days adds up, as though each day has its own weight, compounding over time.

Dread hangs over until the shadow of not doing spooks me in the morning, haunts me inside of the bags underneath my eyes. The sheer weight of not doing makes me so tired and that fear and dread build up, and I even start to doubt; I believe that I’m too tired; that tomorrow will be an easier, better day, that writing will somehow become more magical and effortless if I just wait.

The truth is, the one that I learn only by doing, is sometimes one sentence and one foot in front of the other, a shuffle-step, a trip, even — Sometimes sentences are written underfoot, scribbling out while running — the truth really is, that if I only just start, if I sigh and press open that sheet, tricking myself into making something so tiny I can’t help but just inch it out; when I make a small piece and massage it a bit, play out a word, dedicate a paragraph to the morning and a few more notes to the day;

The truth is, the hardest part is starting.

The gaping mountainous space that is not having started, with the weight of all the days piled up on top of each other like the exploding laundry piles of a pair of triplets, that space—that space is the one that can be popped like a balloon, a whistle of air sadly escaping out as a small sigh, only, only, only if you dare to jump, to pop the weight of the invisible balloon, to recognize that starting is always as hard as it’s ever been, and the hardest thing you do, will be to start.

Starting my pages is like an exercise in watching my crazy brain dart and monkey around — all the things I must do! Lists and busy-work become important, tasks and to-do’s building up alongside corners of pages, papers stacked several sheets high across the expansive desk space that is, for all purposes, meant for writing. I must make a new batch of tea! And i’ll try a green juice! Perhaps the internet will have the answers! I will Facebook like everything in sight because ALL OF THESE LIKE HAVE MEANING! I am connecting! I am powerful! I am!

And the answer is, after three hours of puttering, anxiety building in my stomach like a lining of acid swelling across my belly, I get so mad and frustrated that I shout, I MUST go for a run, I will RUN, then, then, you will SEE.

And a small piece of my mind thinks to me, you can’t afford to run, so, well, just write a couple of sentences before you go, and then of course, you will go for a run, and of course, that will help.

And then I sit at the desk, legs twisted to the left, shoes half-on, one sock on the floor, and finally open the document — my intent to start writing as soon as I get back, and then the document that is still blank bursts open on my screen, white terribleness blasting me with my procrastination; I stare at the pages that are empty, and with one hand on my shoe, I scribble and scratch out the thesis and the questions I’m going to be answering when I get back. I’m not writing, see, I’m running.

Lists and notes come out, and then my foot rotates and slides under my chair, and I’m jumbling in it, sports bra and keyboard, pouring, pouring, — well, I’ll just talk about this one thing, I start to say, but that story in the paragraph builds into a third, or a fourth, and I look up and the clock has spun around a few times far too quickly, and the sun’s down already, and I’m still in my underwear from taking off my pants to go for a run, but in between pants off and shorts on, I sat down to type, and the typing exploded, a story wielding it’s way on the page, long words and excessive ramblings wrapping around neatly in the shiny way that digital files do, and I’m hungry.

I’m hungry.

The sun’s down again. It’s dark.

On the days when I have to begin again, on the days when it’s been far too many days in between, and I haven’t written in too long, I know that the most important thing is just the dump of words.

The writing will not be good — it rarely is on the first time, and especially not on the first day back, but the second or third day after greasing the word wheel with an onslaught of words, it gets smoother and easier in a way that’s unexpected.

It’s like the first day is a rinse of my brain with a writer’s neti-pot, the morning pages and the first thousand words a clearing of the clutter, a draining and sweeping of the cobwebs in my brain. Snot-clearing pages, I describe them to my writing classes. Just get the snot out, blow your nose, suspend judgment and don’t look inside too closely at those boogers!

It’s like the pile of words that drains out is mucus that stuck up my brain, and those morning pages are blowing my brain’s nose. The next day, when the morning pages have been written a second time, I can sit down and my mind is much more connected to the page, to the words at hand.

Starting is hard.

Come back in, however you can.

Pandering — and 9 other things great writers refuse to do.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words. — Mark Twain

I don’t often publish guest posts here on It Starts With, but occasionally I meet a fellow writer with a story and a message that matches our audience. Today, I’m delighted to share the work of Isaiah Hankel.

Isaiah is a speaker, author, and Ph.D. scientist who recently released the book Black Hole Focus. Long before getting his doctorate, Isaiah was a sheep farmer in rural Idaho who struggled in school and was diagnosed repeatedly with ADD and ADHD. He survived college and barely made it into graduate school—but in graduate school, he was put on academic probation and worked as a janitor while sleeping in a friend’s basement to make ends meet.

We talk a lot about what it takes to write well — and when Isaiah shared what he had written with me about remembering this list of things that great writers don’t do, I couldn’t wait to share it with you. Here’s the list—and Isaiah:

The first draft of anything is shit. — Ernest Hemingway

Pandering — and 9 other things great writers refuse to do.

By Isaiah Hankel.

After I wrote my graduate thesis I realized I was a horrible writer. It would have been nice to know this a little earlier. Like before I turned 30. Oh well.

The funny thing is that I thought I was a really good writer. I thought I was a smart writer. I used big words and academic transitions like “moreover,” and “furthermore.” I referenced the hell out of everything. It turns out all of this stuff is good for getting an article published in an academic journal that a handful of people will ever read—but not much else.

I started my first blog right around the time I started writing my thesis. You can tell because a lot of my first blog articles have the word “moreover” in it. Awful. My first few articles were short and talked about other people and other people’s ideas and basically just reworded blog articles that I read on the Internet that week. I’d see an interesting topic online and think “I agree with that!” and then start writing the same article.

I hadn’t found my own voice yet and was too afraid to tell any personal stories so I just regurgitated other people’s stories. I’d take someone else’s idea and then try to repackage it as my own. If you’ve done this too, don’t worry. Everyone does. Even Mozart’s earliest compositions contain lines from other composers like Johann Sebastian Bach.

Over time, I got better. It took a few years, and a lot of mistakes, but I eventually found my voice. And I found my audience. I started having my own ideas and using other people’s work to back it up (instead of the other way around). I refused to just regurgitate information anymore—and I learned a few other rules about writing.

10 things great writers refuse to do:

There are a few other things that I refuse to do now, too. Like sacrifice clarity for cleverness, or get gimmicky and preachy. Great writers refuse to do a lot of things. I’m not a great writer. I’m just average. I only refuse to do a few things. But great writers refuse to do A LOT of things. Here are 10 things that great writers refuse to do:

1. Pander to their audience.

People who sacrifice their identity to success will end up with neither.

As soon as writers start sacrificing their voice and their true nature in hopes of getting more book sales or article clicks or likes or fans or whatever, that’s the end. It’s the end of the writer’s unique self.

A lot of authors who have success early and then miss on their second offering have the urge to go backwards. Instead of creating something new, they try to repeat the past, causing them to lose their edge. Some try too hard to go back that they end up spiraling downward. They get desperate and pander or start begging their audience to like them again.

Great writers refuse to do this. They’d rather go through a slump than stop creating original material that speaks to them personally.

2. Sacrifice clarity for cleverness (or smartness).

“If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.” — Einstein.

Einstein nailed it with this quote. Too many writers are trying to be clever when they should be trying to be clear.

I love the line in the script for the movie Fight Club when Tyler Durden turns to the Narrator and says, “Oh I get it. It’s very clever. How’s that working out for you? Being clever?”

Cleverness is overrated. Clever titles don’t get clicked and they don’t sell very well either. Clear titles get clicked and sell. Great writers refuse to sacrifice clarity to cleverness.

What made Earnest Hemingway such a great writer?

Hemingway chose words that were common, concrete, specific, Anglo-Saxon, casual, and conversational. He rarely used adjectives and abstract nouns and always avoided complicated syntax.

You don’t need to try to sound smart. You don’t need to use a larger word when a smaller word will do. And all of those dumb little transition phrases that your high school and college teachers taught you—like “firstly” “secondly” “finally” “significantly” “interestingly” and, of course, “moreover”—delete those.

3. Sacrifice success to art.

Success sometimes means something worked well—build on that.

I know, I know, this seems to contradict #1. It does. But that’s because there needs to be a balance. You can’t sacrifice your art to success AND you can’t sacrifice success to art.

A lot of authors hold too onto the idea of originality too firmly. They refuse to stick with what works. This is admirable—but what good is your creative piece if no one ever reads it?

Play with your voice until you find something that other people respond to. And, when they respond, don’t be afraid to stick with what works. Tim Ferriss wrote The 4-Hour Workweek, then The 4-Hour Body, then The 4-Hour Chef. Gretchen Rubin wroteThe Happiness Project and then Happier At Home. J.K. Rowling wrote seven Harry Potter books. And then there are the 50 Shades of Grey, Hunger Games, and Twilight series.

Success means something worked well. You don’t need to shun success—it’s okay to use your voice and to build on what works.

4. Forget about the hero’s journey.

If you forget that we’re all heroes on similar paths, your story will fall flat.

Why do Adam Sandler movies suck now? It’s because he stopped following Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey.

Billy Madison and Happy Gilmore are classic stories because the main character, Sandler, is the unassuming protagonist who is thrust into a plotline that he wants no part of. He is an average Joe who hesitantly takes on a burden and starts a difficult journey. He gets knocked down over and over again but then, against all odds, comes out on top, gaining wisdom and power in the process. This is essentially the same story that is told in everything from Leo Tolstoy’s War & Peace and Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield, to Harry Potter and  Katniss in the Hunger Games.

The problem is that Sandler’s recent movies just have him playing the same guy over and over again — someone who is kind of funny and has a few weird things happen to him. There’s no burden, there’s no hesitating (flawed) hero, there’s no real journey out through the other side of a transformation at all.

Great writers never lose the hero’s journey. No matter what you’re writing, fiction or nonfiction, your work can include a hero’s journey. If you’re writing fiction, remember to have your protagonist follow a hero’s journey. If you’re writing non-fiction, include personal stories that take the reader along your hero’s journey, or better yet—show them how you fit into their own hero’s journey. Use vulnerability and confidence in equal parts to be relatable and to create the effect of going on a journey where you come out better off than you were before.

5. Ignore their creative process.

Everyone has a creative process but not everyone’s process is creative. The only way to be truly creative is to turn the negative voices in your head off.

Off.

One of the biggest mistakes that mediocre writers make is keeping their internal editor always in the “on” position. This is a super fast way to kill your creativity.

One way to do this is by dividing your creative process into three phases: a creative phase, a realistic phase, and a critical phase. This is also known as the Disney Method, named after Walt Disney who designed it.

During the first step, you should write like no one will ever read what you’re writing ever. Just write like you’re a kid. Jump all over the page. Experiment. Go on tangents. Revel in complete creativity. For the second step, review what you wrote realistically – clean your creative work up so that it makes logical sense. And for the third step, get critical and cut out anything that doesn’t fit with the overall piece.

6. Always keep their favorite lines.

You have to be willing to delete large portions of your work in order to make it punchy, powerful, and clear.

After you’ve created massive amounts of work, next, become an editor. (But not at the same time). Equally important is the critical phase of the creative process.

Often, you’ll have to cut out your very favorite line in order to make the larger piece as good as it can be. You might even have to delete the line that sparked the entire article or book in the first place. Great writers are okay with this. They refuse to sacrifice the larger piece to smaller parts that they’re in love with.

Don’t let your ego get in the way of creating the best overall piece of work possible. You can always use your favorite lines in your next article or book.

7. Forget about feelings.

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” — Maya Angelou.

I love this quote from Maya Angelou. It’s so true.

When I read The 4-Hour Workweek by Tim Ferriss, I feel free and mobile, like I can leave all my obligations and possessions behind and still be happy. When I read The 40 Laws of Power by Robert Greene, I feel bold and confident and eager to try my hand at taking over the world. When I read The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin I feel happy, reflective, and grateful for what I have. Pride and Prejudice makes me feel romantic and hopeful, Anna Karenina makes me feel sad and nostalgic, and The Fountainhead makes me feel intelligent and industrious. I’ll never forget how these books make me feel.

Great writers never forget feelings. They craft their stories to impact not only their reader’s thoughts and actions, but their feelings too. A story sweeps us up into the feeling within the writers mind.

8. Or… only focus on feelings.

On the opposite end of this spectrum is the writer who treats his reader like emotional punching bags—dumping their problems and pains all over the page without adding anything productive.

There are literally thousands of blogs written by mediocre authors who are pumping out article after article of nonsense. They rant and rave and complain without offering anything constructive in return – no solutions, no good questions, no actionable takeaways.

Great writers refuse to be martyrs. They talk about their problems openly and are intensely vulnerable but they never whine. Their writing is of service—to a greater art, to an idea, to an audience—not a platform to stand and complain.

9. Get gimmicky and corny.

Great writers never use gimmicks. Instead, they build an authentic rapport with their readers. They stay real with their audience, not fake.

One of the first short stories I wrote was very gimmicky. For starters, I ended every chapter with a corny transition like, “Alex walked over to the bushes that were interwoven with the park’s metal fence and…”

Then, the next chapter started with, “… picked up a handful of white rocks.” Or whatever. It sucked. I wasn’t the first person to use a gimmick like this and, unfortunately, I won’t be the last.

Gimmicks are a turn off. Readers shut down when they think they’re being played. And they get annoyed by corniness.

10. Get preachy.

The only thing worse than being gimmicky is being preachy.

Yes, writers should have their own point of view. And you should take a stance on whatever topic you’re writing about, especially if it’s an opinion piece. But if you righteously put yourself on the moral high ground, this will make your readers hate you—no matter how nice you are in person, or how right you are about the subject.

Lead your audience from within, not from above. The imperfect teacher is a more effective teammate than dominator. This is a much more effective way to rally support for your ideas.

Great writers embed their philosophical ideals very deeply in their work. Whether it’s a nonfiction or fiction piece, these writers use stories, not sermons, to make their points. When it comes persuading your readers, a Trojan Horse is more effective than a battering ram.

 

What about you? What are some things that you try to avoid doing in your writing practice?

If you loved this, check out more of Isaiah’s work on his website, read the essay I swapped with him on swimming naked from Alcatraz, or pick up a copy of his just-published book, Black Hole Focus.

When you’re tired, worn out, beleaguered, scared, underfed, miserable, alone: a reminder. #dosomething

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

IMG_0118

I don’t care who you pretend you are.

I don’t care so much who you
pretend you are
when you’re well fed,
well dressed,
well slept,
put together, prepared,
And so called ready…

When the polish is fresh and the face
newly painted, airbrushed layers
covering freckles, pock-marked skin
with storied layers hidden;
the script locked on papers in hand,
it’s less interesting, this version.

No, see, I care who you are when you’re
tired, worn out, beleaguered, scared,
underfed, miserable,
alone.

I want to know
who you are when you’re not
caught up in the throngs or masses
styling yourself around other idols or dreams,
chasing a relentless reality of productivity in some Western idea of
what is Good.

No, I care you you are
when your soul flutters a bit and smiles,
when it sparks at the strange language of tender raindrops on dewy skin,
shivery hairs erect in the water’s spotlight, goosebumps
whispering hello to the wind.
When your feet fight to do the darndest, weirdest things, those
“silly dreams” and things no one else thought of; and
you almost don’t let yourself think them either,
because they’re strange, different, or seem
too obvious to you.

I care who you are when the world isn’t watching,
when the lights are down and
your hair is a scattered mess and
sweat stains pool in your armpit creases and
the sour smell of unwashed skin is the forgotten leftover of
your ambition’s messy chase towards your project, the thing at hand.

I want you (you want you)
crazy, tender, raw,
different, unique, silly, strange,
whatever you-ness is you, under
all that posture, pose and pretend;

My eyes flicker with green fragments of light against the roaring
C train’s metallic brakes squeal to a grunted stop
when I see the tendrils of humanity stream
uncannily in and out of subways, trains of thought
departing from each mind into the stuffy underground air,
mixed with kiosks filled with sugar and chips and
magazines of big-bottomed ladies tantalizing the sexual fantasies of thousands,
a cesspool of potential ideas, waiting,
for ignition, for permission,
a start that begins within.

In this, this messy
pursuit and nonlinear pattern-chase of never-ending arrival,
things fall down and apart,
logic feels lost and you feel so messy that you wonder,
is this it, am I doing it right,
am I doing it right?

Because who you are then —
when the worst conspires against you —
or the doldrums of daily commuting monotony threatens to close your creativity
when you’re lost, confused, meandering, processing, contemplating, cultivating,
this, this, is the essence of your humanity.

Show me who you are
when the ladder slips, when
you miss the subway by a moment, when
your face cracks, painted black smears blurring clarity tears
on makeup-caked cheeks, showing the beneath, when
your friends leave, departed for otherworlds
or better promises, when
your project busts, your pants rip down the center seam,
your mind breaks against the weariness of repetition,
and you breathe it in anyways, and
find a smile to give the departing train, and
hug your friend a tearful departure, and
laugh at the failed pants debacle and somehow,
you pour out gratitude and kindness and
showcase the kind of humanity that
is built from resilience,
grace,
pressure.

If you can do it then,
if you do it when
it’s not easy, –hah! easy—
when it’s difficult,
my eyes shine and spark with fierce
love for you, my sisters,
my brothers,
my partners,
my fellow humans,
working in the thick of it all
to find compassion, to showcase fierce grace,
to find the love deep
in the center of it all, to be
full of life.

If you can do it when
it’s a struggle, a hustle,
you can do it any time.

there is power, grace, and love buried inside
of the fiercest form of grace;
swimming taught me this—
when you’re tired, scared, unsure, insecure, and think you can’t:

do it anyways,
do it because you have no right,
because the odds are stacked against you;
because your mind plays tricks
and tenacity builds your soul

because adversity shouts You Can’t, You Can’t,
yet you still fucking can,
so
why not,
do it anyways.

And then
go on,
do it better than the rest of them,
knowing that if you do it now,
through this,
in spite of this,

then you can do anything.

do something.

Want to be a better storyteller? Two new online workshops, April 24th and 29th.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Humans are born storytellers. The way we tell and share our stories about who we are, what we do, and what we want affects who sees us, hears about us, and whether or not the right people connect with us.

If you want to learn how to describe yourself or your business (or both), join me at one of the following live storytelling workshops.

I’ve taught storytelling and narrative writing workshops live across the country—from the World Domination Summit to Bold Academy to General Assembly, and now I’m teaching two of these workshops as live online webinars that you can access from anywhere. Previously these workshops were only offered in person—if you’ve wanted to attend a class (or you’re curious about the upcoming writer’s workshops), join this one-day class.

Join me on Thursday, April 24 and Tuesday, April 29 for two 90-minute sessions on storytelling, narrative, and psychology.

“One of the best classes I’ve ever taken at General Assembly.” — Craig, General Assembly workshop participant
“Amazing class. I learned so much—left with pages packed full of notes.” — Joel, WDS workshop participant. 

Storytelling 1.0: Crafting narratives for individuals and businesses. Thursday, April 24th, 1pm EST. $30.

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WHAT YOU’LL LEARN: This introductory class will cover narrative form and storytelling tools that are practical and quickly implementable for many communication needs ranging from a personal biography to the description of your company. Understand the role of your audience; the psychology of your readership, and why asking certain questions will make storytelling much easier.

You’ll learn how to dissect the various mediums where messages are told, how to modify your story based on the place you’re telling it; how to identify your values and your audience’s values, and the power of lyrical descriptions in your story. We’ll also cover basic psychological principles of understanding and why this is important for how you craft your message.

HOW IT WORKS: This private online webinar will be hosted LIVE at 1PM EST. The webinar includes 90-minutes of lecture, visual, and presentation materials followed by 30-minutes of open question-and-answer sessions—ask anything you’d like and get feedback on your story + listen in to the questions of others!

Can’t make it live? The webinars will be recorded with a private link of the recording sent out to all participants.

PREPARATION: Bring pens, paper, and notebooks to write on. Bring a draft of your current biography and/or business description (you’ll be asked to re-write it during the webinar based on the key principles we cover).

Register here: Storytelling 1.0: Live Webinar, Thursday, April 24th 1—3pm EST. $30.

“Sarah goes over five different frameworks for how to tell stories — this was the first time the Hero’s Journey really made sense to me in a modern context.” —Anne S.
“I never thought about how important value systems were to storytelling—once she described it, it was a huge “Ah-ha” moment for me. Now I know which stories to tell when.” — Jeremy H.
“The simple idea that we all have many stories to tell took a lot of the pressure off—we don’t need to pick just one story. We can switch them out based on our audience and the medium.” — Leslie.

Storytelling 2.0: Leadership, sticky messages and the psychology of persuasion. Tuesday, April 29th 1pm EST. $30.

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ABOUT THIS CLASS: This second session of the two-part storytelling series can be taken independently or in conjunction with Storytelling 1.0. In this class, we look at the stories that great leaders use to inspire; why (and how) to use emotion in your stories, and the persuasive benefits of a great story. This class includes a deeper dive into case studies of great stories (and not-so-great stories) to better grasp the concepts. In our time together, I’ll even show how Finding Nemo can teach us how to engage audiences from the beginning of your story with clever hooks and curiosity gaps.

HOW IT WORKS: This private online webinar will be hosted LIVE at 1PM EST. The webinar includes 90-minutes of lecture, visual, and presentation materials followed by 30-minutes of open question-and-answer sessions—ask anything you’d like and get feedback on your story + listen in to the questions of others!

Can’t make it live? The webinars will be recorded with a private link of the recording sent out to all participants.

Register here: Storytelling 2.0: Live Webinar, Tuesday, April 29 1—3pm EST. $30.

“It makes so much sense—leadership stories are different than other stories, because the objectives are different. Now I can see how people tell future-based stories and I realize how powerful they are.” — Sam
“This class takes a deep dive into your own personal Hero’s Journey narratives based on the work of Carol Pearson—I finally understood how I was living out my own Orphan narrative. This class was better than therapy.” —(Anonymous).
“Sarah is one of the warmest and kindest people I know. Work with her, she will be a change-maker and an incredibly valuable asset to your team or life.” — Jana Schuberth, Owner, Love Work Now

Creating your own weekly review: Robert Cooper on finding ways to be exceptional.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Living up to your potential sounds pretty fancy. It’s something we all want, right? Live up to your potential. Maximize your potential. Be all that you can be. 

But how, exactly, do you do it? How does an intangible life objective become manifest into your daily routine? For Robert Cooper, author of The Other 90%: How to unlock your vast untapped potential for leadership and life, accessing our own hidden intelligence and achieving our potential lies in better understanding neuroscience and trusting our brains in order to unlock our full capacity.

What did you do last week?

What did you do last week? What did you do yesterday?

A friend of mine was chatting with me recently, and he confessed that he’d get to the end of his day and he would forget what it was that he had done during the day. He’d look at his to-do list and realize, “Oh, right—I did some account desk settings, some client help, answered emails, built my next list…”—but when prompted with a question, he couldn’t remember. Nothing stood out.

Our brains are designed to help keep us safe and warm—comfortable and secure. Cooper describes how this part of our brain works:

“A powerful part of the brain, the amygdala, wants the world to run on routine, not change. Located within the limbic system, an ancient area of the mind that deals with the way you perceive and respond to the world, the amygdala relentlessly urges us to favor the familiar and routine. It craves control and safety, which at times can be vital.”

The amygdala serves as the center of our brain to keep us safe and secure. When deciding between doing something new and something familiar, we’ll be steered to the familiar. This is helpful in many ways—but in terms of growing beyond your comfort zone, not so much.

“The amygdala’s instincts, which have evolved over thousands of years, tend to spill over into every aspect of life and promote a perpetual reluctance to embrace anything that involves risk, change, or growth.”

And here’s the kicker:

[tweetable hashtag=”—Robert Cooper via @sarahkpeck”]”Unless you choose to consciously override this brain tendency, you’re consigned to repeating the past.”[/tweetable]

After understanding how our brains operate to keep us safe, he devised a simple mechanism to “overcome our natural resistance to growth.” By regularly asking two questions—whether it’s by taping them to our bathroom mirror; scheduling a meeting with ourselves weekly, or having a journaling practice—we can begin to override the amygdala’s tendency to keep us safe and secure.

He recommends asking yourself two questions:

[tweetable hashtag=”@sarahkpeck”]What did you do last week that was exceptional?[/tweetable]

[tweetable hashtag=”@sarahkpeck”]What can you do next week that no one expects of you?[/tweetable]

Defining exceptional:

Exceptional might be loving more; it might a tender moment. It might be resting more, or doing less. What is exceptional for you—taking your child to school and holding his hand and listening to his stories—might be different for the next person.

For me, this week, I’ll follow up with my clients and prospects and touch base with people just to let them know I’m thinking of. This week, I’ll plan a brand-new webinar and teach myself a new software program to run more online classes. And this week, I’ll do week 6 of The Artist’s Way, a project still in fruition for me. Those are the exceptions to my week. Those are the pieces that are somehow difficult for me, and that will make this week above and beyond last week.

Breaking down ‘exceptional’ into weekly increments—noticing what’s different from one week to the next; understanding how a little bit more, or a little bit different this week can be the work that matters—is both tangible and do-able, and keeps you on track.

That way, when fifty-two weeks add up to a year as they always seem to do, you can look back and think, wow. That year was great.

[tweetable hashtag=”@sarahkpeck”]What will you do this week that’s exceptional?[/tweetable]

Hustle is a dial, not a way of being.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

There are appropriate times to hustle in your business. Sometimes you’re hustling for a year or two on the side, creating your escape route and freedom business to jump ship from your corporate job.

Sometimes you stay up late and hustle the night before a course launches, or when you’re putting the final tweaks on a project before a deadline. Sometimes you hustle in between gigs, moving across the country, lining the highways in a bus, or getting from bookstore to bookstore to sell copies of your book.

Hustling, however, is not a way of being.

Many professions and careers (and managers, unfortunately) make hustling an expectation. Too many companies create expectations that people will work non-stop, jump at an email, and stay up late with very little advance notice; this is hustling as a result of poor planning, not as a result of the ebb and flow of project schedules.

With few exceptions, hustling as an expectation and a way of life—when you’re staying up too late and waking up early again the next day, time and time again, without an end date—is not sustainable. You’ll get sick, fall into depression or adrenal fatigue, contract bronchitis, or want to quit. The advent and appeal of lifestyle design comes not from people who are lazy but from people who are fed up. People who want to regain a bit of control over their time and want their efforts to matter.

Whether you’re an entrepreneur, an employee, a self-directed freelancer, or a consultant, constant hustling isn’t always indicative of a great environment. There is such a thing as too much hustling.

Hustle is a dial. Dial it up, ratchet it back. A mode that you can press to apply a bit more pressure, and ease up when it’s time to rest.

Hustle is a dial—play it up, pull it back.

Play it like an instrument. Step on it gently or firmly like a gas pedal. Know when to apply the hustle. Know when to apply the brakes. (Brakes are there for a reason, and it’s not just to slow down).

And as a counter-point: if you’re not hustling, I suppose it’s time to find something worth hustling for. Once in a while. It’s alright to love something and want to work on it a lot. Ratcheting up the dial can make downtime so much sweeter.

But if you’re hustling non-stop, it’s probably time to step back.

Why Writing is an Act of Bravery: A Letter to Writers

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Brene Brown Power of Life.

“Only when we’re brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our life.” — Brene Brown

Writing is an act of bravery.

Each year, when I teach our writing workshops, I get to work with a small group of twenty-some writers, thinkers, and creatives. Inevitably, the process gets difficult in weeks two and week three, because I ask people to share parts of their stories—their wishes, hopes and dreams, who they are.

My students write with angst—“I’m behind! This is hard! I’m struggling!”—and I know this feeling all too well. I encourage them to continue, to press on in the face of fear or worry, and to get their pens to the page as often as possible. I am here to support, to encourage, and to push—just the right amount. Enough to get into it. Enough to push past the blocks and the barriers. Then the insights come: “Wow—I wasn’t expecting that I’d write about that,” and “That was fascinating,” and “I just got lost in a 2,000 word story and I’ve barely just begun.”

Writing is an act of bravery. Writing often means facing your own darkness and light. This is an essay for all of the students in my writing class, but it’s also an open letter to all writers, everywhere, struggling.

1. An open letter to all writers.

Dear writers:

The past few weeks have been deep, winding, and possibly full of emotions as we unpack the thoughts and ideas that have perhaps been long been locked inside of our minds. We have access to our thoughts, but not always a full understanding of them. Emotions can have such a mastery over us, and forging a relationship with your pen can help unwind parts of that. Through writing, we discover deeper truths about what we want, who we are, what we value, and the stories that we tell ourselves. Often we have to write the stories first before we can discover what it is that we’re trying to say.

For the newest of writers, I often hear that these first few exercises are somewhat surprising, bringing up past ideas and thoughts that perhaps haven’t fully percolated or settled in ways that you had thought. Often rough with emotion and tenderness, I find that writing brings up ideas and thoughts that I’m not sure how to frame, or what to say, or where to go next. It is within this context that I offer up a thought of gratitude for showing up to practice, and thank myself simply for embracing the pen and paper as a way to discover new (and existing) thoughts and ideas.

Writing is a spiritual practice, a soul-cleansing, deep-dive into the emotions and ideas we might not even be at first aware that we have.

Writing is a spiritual practice, a soul-cleansing, deep-dive into the emotions and ideas we might not even be at first aware that we have. Some days writing brings out the best in us, and other days I have to thrash through words before getting up angrily to go for a long walk, dance out my thoughts, or drown my ideas in coffee, water or wine. As we uncover the deeper truths and ideas—we become aware of who we are, and possibly the painful moments within us that have been buried for so long.

Write to discover.

Writing lets me figure out what it is that I’m thinking, by putting words onto pages and telling the story of my life, my experiences, and the world as I see it around me.

When I come back to it, I recognize patterns and ideas and realize much more about my perspectives and point of view. One of the kindest things I’ve done for myself is take the time to make space on a page, write some words down, and allow myself to come back whenever I want to talk through my ideas. Not every day is a glamorous day by any stretch, and I often struggle to sit down at the computer in the first place. In fact, it’s amazing how appealing laundry and dishes become when I’m avoiding saying the thing that needs to be said. What keeps me coming back to my practices, however, is that this is the place where I’m allowed to think what I think, write what I want to write, and tell the stories no matter how fantastical or horrible they might feel. I have permission to explore these ideas, without consequence. I can write them down. So, I write them down.

When we look at ways to talk to other people and develop communications (and stories) that teach, share, and explain—or moreover, that persuade—it often requires a deep understanding of the self, as well as a deep understanding of another person. Whether you’re a marketer trying to explain your product to an audience that could benefit from your design, a teacher trying to clarify a new idea to students, or an individual seeking understanding from a close friend or loved one, it is through our words that we take the ideas in our minds and give them shape for other people.

Words and writing are one way that we tap into our soul and ideas—words are a connection device between humans, a way to tell stories and share parts of ourselves with other people.

Words and writing are one way that we tap into our soul and ideas—words are a connection device between humans, a way to tell stories and share parts of ourselves with other people. The more we practice using our words and explaining our thinking, the larger our repertoire of sentences and stories that we can pull from to explain ourselves to other people. The more we write, the better we can teach, explain, love, persuade. Writing, as a practice, gets easier the more that you do it.

Words give us the power to share.

Writing is about bravery and courage.

“Give me the courage to show up and be seen.” — Brene Brown.

“We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are. We all have shame. We all have good and bad, dark and light, inside of us. But if we don’t come to terms with our shame, our struggles, we start believing that there’s something wrong with us –that we’re bad, flawed, not good enough—and even worse, we start acting on those beliefs. If we want to be fully engaged, to be connected, we have to be vulnerable.” —Brene Brown, Daring Greatly.

The beauty of writing, and this is true for me quite profoundly, is that we can often make our way out of suffering through the act of writing itself and often just by writing alone. It is not always the action or the striving that must be reconciled, but rather the understanding and acknowledgment of feeling itself.

As Spinoza, the philosopher, is quoted:

“Emotion, which is suffering, ceases to be suffering as soon as we form a clear and precise picture of it.” – SPinoza

In re-reading Man’s Search for Meaning, a gut-wrenching first-person account of surviving the concentration camps of Nazi Germany, Harold Kushner details the quest for meaning in his introduction to the account:

“Life is not primarily a quest for pleasure, as Freud believed, or a quest for power, as Alfred Adler taught, but a quest for meaning. The greatest task for any person is to find meaning in his or her life. Frankl saw three possible sources for meaning: in work (doing something significant), in love (caring for another person), and in courage during difficult times. Suffering in and of itself is meaningless; we give our suffering meaning by the way in which we respond to it.”

Forces beyond your control can take everything you possess except one thing, your freedom to choose how you will respond to the situation. You cannot control what happens to you in life, but you can always control what you will feel and do about what happens to you.

Writing is not just about sadness and suffering, either (and nor is life). Writing also lets us write the good things, write the ways we want to feel, and give permission to the greatness in emotion that needs as much encouragement to expand as do the emotions that make us seek understanding. Good feelings need space to expand, too. Write about all of it. Tell it.

Perhaps we are afraid of writing because we’re afraid of knowing our own story.

Writing is intimidating for so many reasons. We’re scared that we won’t capture the ideas or know what to say—and we’re afraid of what we’ll discover or become if we do pencil out those terrifying thoughts.  in your life do you feel brave or have you been brave? Perhaps your writing journey can begin with a highlights reel: describe a moment in your life when you encountered an opportunity to be brave. How did you react? What was the call to action? How long did it take you to decide to do something? How did you feel before, during, and after? What was the result? Who was changed as the result of this event?

Bravery is something different to every person.

To me, I can find it tremendously difficult to act upon one of my biggest dreams—the dream that I’m almost afraid to make real, the one that seems so simple to everyone else but me. In contrast to this seemingly simple thing, this act that everyone but me seems to find easy, I would rather jump in an ocean naked, swim a hundred miles, or work myself to the ground than admit to myself how important it is. When I discovered the extent to which I was avoiding doing the practice of my deepest dream, I wondered to myself whether or not taking steps to fulfill this dream was even brave. Did it matter that it seemed like the hardest thing in the world was getting on that bus and taking myself to the class I was so scared of? Did each of these actions—even just saying what my dream was out loud to those closest to me—was that even bravery?

Speak up for something you believe in.

The answer is yes. Speaking up for something you believe in, even if it’s just a laugh and a smile; holding your daughter’s arms, saying no with your eyes, writing about a story that hurts to tell, taking a class that terrifies you even though it doesn’t seem difficult to anyone else—this is bravery.

Write, tell the story of your life.

Thank you for reading and writing,

Sarah

 

Your life is a set of made-up habits.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Your life is a set of made-up habits.

You learned how to behave by doing something, and then repeating it hundreds, if not hundreds of thousands of times until it became normal for you. When talking to one of my yoga instructors the other day, he said: “Want to change your personality? Just do something 1,000 times and it will feel like it’s you after a while.”

You learned how to tie your shoes one way, and then you did it thousands of times. You learned how to ride a bicycle, swim, dance, hold a pen, write in cursive, and use a computer — or if you haven’t yet, you might still want to.

You can change, make up things you want, do new things. It’s totally up to you. Once you realize how weird you are currently — from the way you organize your bathroom to the times and frequency of eating to dropping clothes on the floor randomly — you can decide, hey, I want to be weird in a NEW way.

You can set your radio to wake you up to chants, decide to go running at 4AM and then go back to bed, begin a writing habit even if you’ve never done it before, or decide to start Tae Kwon Do at age 48. It takes us a bit of new energy to start a new habit, but it’s not impossible.

The biggest thing holding us back from doing new things is a frail set of patterns that tell us we are what we already have done.

Screw that. It’s a big open empty canvas in front of you, and you might have to scratch a little to climb out of your past, but you really can shift and change.

You are your habits. And your habits can be changed.