Writing Certificate

This is such a great question, Norm. It sounds like you've experienced that "zone" where ideas seem to flow from somewhere beyond yourself, and you're racing to capture them on the page. The thrill of that chase keeps many of us writing, and we'd all love to cultivate that state more often!

I firmly believe the most important thing you can do is show up regularly. After a long break from writing, we often feel rusty, and insecurities creep back in. Writing consistently keeps creative instincts sharp and strengthens the connection between your intuition and your hand. You might only feel "in the zone" on two out of seven days—but those blissful days wouldn't happen without the other five.

Writing regularly doesn't have to feel like a grind. Some writers channel the zone by listening to inspiring music, taking a walk or run before writing, or heading to a favorite coffee shop. Habits that help writers get into the zone can be quirky, too. I know an author who spritzes herself with perfume she imagines a character wearing, because scent is such a powerful trigger for imagination. A former student used Pinterest to create beautiful vision boards of her book's characters and settings. Indulge your whimsy!

Remember that feelings are elusive and not always reliable. In basketball, everyone can see when a player is in the "zone" because the shots are landing. Writing isn't the same. It's not a performance; it's a process, one that includes brainstorming, drafting, and revision. You might feel like you're writing flawlessly, only to later realize it needs significant revision. Or, you might slog through an uninspired session and find that it furthers your project in important ways, even if it wasn't fun at the time.

This is another reason to write regularly—you can distance yourself from the emotional highs and lows, trusting that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. As Wallace Stegner said, "Hard writing makes for good reading." Make writing a routine, knowing that great work comes through the layering process of drafts and revisions. You'll move in and out of the zone. The key is staying in the game.

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Do you have questions for our writing instructors? Submit them to continuingstudies@stanford.edu for possible inclusion in our next quarterly Spotlight.

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We are thrilled to celebrate new publications, awards, and other writing-related news from our student community.
 

• This has been a great year for Diane Byington, whose last novel, Mia's Journey, is a finalist in the Royal Palm Literary Awards writing competition in the suspense category. As Diane sells it, "It's a story about a disabled astronaut who really wants to get into space, any way she can." She also found out that Louise and Vincent won a bronze medal for historical fiction in a Readers' Favorite contest. Way to go, Diane!
   
• Jill Fordyce, author of the recently published Belonging, was interviewed by Bill Kenower on the Author2Author podcast, where they chatted about writing, life, inspiration, and why it is so important to get in the chair each morning and have faith in what is unfolding.
   
• Joanne Godley has been nominated by The Poetry Distillery for a 2025 Best of the Net prize for her poem "Light Fragments," about her brother, Paul, which you can read here.
   
• Paige Gray is celebrating the publication of her new novel, Now Then. Paige (who uses a pseudonym) reports that she has taken nearly 20 writing courses through Continuing Studies in a variety of departments, including creative writing. Congrats, Paige!
   
• Kevin Loughlin has had two pieces published since our last issue, a short story in The Raven's Perch and an essay about caring for Nobel Laureates in Hektoen International: A Journal of Medical Humanities. Kevin was also the author of the essay published in our Winter 2024 Writer's Spotlight, about the link between physicians and writing (and how more doctors should work to improve as writers).
   
• Sara Maurer recently wrote in to share the excellent news that her debut novel A Good Animal, which explores bodily autonomy in an agricultural setting, is forthcoming from St. Martin’s Press in 2026. Sara also kindly contributed an essay to this issue of The Writer's Spotlight, where I ask student authors to share a pivotal moment in their writing journey that led to where they are today.

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Instructor Writing News

Rachel Howard reports: "I've signed a contract with University Press of Florida to edit a new anthology, Dance Criticism for the 21st Century: Towards New Practices and Relationships." 







 
Liza Monroy's new novel, The Distractions, is available for pre-order. "Solitary tech worker Mischa Osborn is mourning the shelving of her passion project—an artificial intelligence algorithm capable of love—when a chance encounter with a social media celebrity leads her spiraling into an all-consuming obsession. Simultaneously, someone—or something—is watching." Liza has also shared an essay with us in this issue about the genesis of her novel, exploring and explaining its title. 





Angela Pneuman has a new short story, "Health and Human Wellness," which will be published in Chicago Quarterly Review in 2025.








Sarah Stone has a new short story, "Earthly Delights," published in the journal Image. 









Malena Watrous found out that the cookbook she co-authored with Nichole Accettola, Scandinavian From Scratch: A Love Letter to the Baking of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, was the winner of a 2024 Cookbook Award from the International Association of Culinary Professionals (IACP), for the "Baking, Sweet & Savory, Confections and Desserts" category.






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Feature: Essays from Liza Monroy and Sara Maurer

Liza Monroy

"Following the Breadcrumb Trail of Distraction," is an essay by Liza Monroy, who teaches workshops in both our Novel Writing Certificate and Memoir Writing Certificate, as well as our popular "Modern Love" creative writing class (open to all students). Her novel, The Distractions, will be published in January.

As a writer, I had always naturally believed that distractions were to be steered clear of: no peeking 

around on the internet, taking calls, checking work emails, or texting during what was supposed to be writing time. And most especially, no social media.

I was surprised to find myself breaking all my self-imposed rules after I became obsessed with a guy who ghosted me. I was constantly distracted, checking his social media feeds instead of writing, wishing I lived his new girlfriend's life instead of my own. She was beautiful, glamorous, and successful—and had achieved everything still dreamed of, like writing critically acclaimed novels. I'm sure nobody else under the sun has ever done something like this—right? Wasted precious writing time on distractions?

At the time I felt entirely mired in guilt and shame over my pointless and compulsive behavior, online lurking around people who didn't know me. I felt super-creepy, albeit to myself. Who wants to be someone who sits online watching other people's lives instead of living their own? So finally I did what I tended to do with embarrassing obsessions: I began to write about it.
But whereas I'd previously written semi-autobiographical fiction, memoir, and personal essays, this time an entire speculative universe unfurled as I wrote. I was glad it was turning out this way, as Woman Spends Entire Day on Internet would not exactly a compelling memoir make.

The title came to me first: The Distractions, because this man, and the people who populated his world, or at least his social media pages, had been mine. What if this was something not to be avoided, but a door? It turned out that portal opened into some of the wildest and weirdest fiction I had ever written: mini-drones that record our entire lives for us and play them back as highlight reels, giant ones that deliver endless streams of packages through city skies and into windowboxes, awards given by the social media company for the best lives, machine-therapists that record your dreams and analyze them for you, whole apartment buildings gone "full ReelBnB" with zero full-time occupants, and a virtual place called Blue Lake where attendees are sent to be cleansed of their distractions.

My protagonist turned out to be incredibly unlike me—existing in a state of anhedonia, low-affect, and isolated. She prefers brief, superficial connections and the company of algorithms. She got me interested in her, someone so unlike any consciousness I'd ever inhabited. As I gave her versions of my own distractions, she did completely unthinkable things with them, things I never would have done. When I became more interested and invested in this character than the real people I was following online, I finally stopped peeking in on them, and my focus returned to writing.

As I wrote about exaggerated versions of my most shameful behavior, my worst distractions, I became grateful for how they inspired me. They provided a starting point from which I departed to places I never imagined I could go, stretching my imagination and broadening my range beyond what I thought I was capable of as a fiction writer.

So the next time you're distracted from writing by something, anything else, rather than try to shove it away, I'd ask, what might emerge if you unpacked it? Followed it, used it as fodder for your writing? I now see it as simple math: distraction is obsession and your obsessions are your material.
 

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Sara Maurer

Our second feature is a short essay by Sara Maurer, a former student in our Novel Writing Certificate, who was asked to share a pivotal moment in the journey that led her to write her novel, A Good Animal, which just sold to St. Martin's Press for publication in Winter 2026.

I watched the 72nd Tony Awards from the Best Western in Livonia, Michigan, dumbstruck, listening to Ari'el Stachel accept the Tony for Best Actor in a Featured Role for The Band's Visit. He talked about his struggle to accept his Middle Eastern background. Taking the role in The Band's Visit helped him embrace his identity and become an advocate for representation. "I want any kid that's watching to know that your biggest obstacle may turn into your purpose," he said. I was no kid. I was a middle-aged white lady from the Upper Peninsula who worked for a bank, but somehow, he was talking to me. His words stirred me. I felt deeply sad and—for the first time in a long time—deeply alive.

When I got home from the work trip, my husband asked how we should celebrate my upcoming 40th birthday. I said I wanted to see The Band's Visit in New York. Two months later, we were on a New York City sidewalk waiting for the cast to come out and greet fans after the show. And there was Ari'el in his baby blue Alexandria Ceremonial Police Orchestra tuxedo.

"Go up to him," my husband nudged. "Shake his hand or something."

But I stood back. Though I'd had two Discos in the Desert—$20 souvenir cocktails served at the theater bar—and didn't trust myself to say anything intelligent, I also sensed that meeting Ari'el wasn't the purpose of the trip. I still regret not telling him how his speech had moved me, but the more important thing was that I'd heard a call, and I'd shown up. I just didn't yet understand why.

The next day, we walked through Central Park, and I stood before the beautiful brown angel in the Bethesda Fountain and felt the same stirring inside me that Ari'el's speech had inspired—a kind of awareness, a mournfulness. The angel's hand reached out in blessing. I took a nickel from my purse, closed my eyes, tossed it into the water. A single word came out of my mouth: "Novel."

I've come to understand the trip to New York as a pilgrimage. Ari'el's speech had shaken awake the long-sleeping artist inside me. Tossing the coin into the Bethesda Fountain had been my way of saying yes. My "obstacle" wasn't based on my racial identity but instead on fear. A college professor had encouraged me to get an MFA in creative writing, but I'd feared instability. I went on to study technical writing and focused—not unhappily—for the next 20 years on my family and work.

That changed after New York. The artist refused to go back to bed. Shortly after I got home, I wrote the first scene of what would eventually become my forthcoming novel, A Good Animal (St. Martin's Press, Winter 2026). I Googled MFA programs, then low-residency MFA programs, and eventually found Stanford Continuing Studies' Novel Writing Certificate program.

Not everyone needs a pilgrimage to New York City. I think I was a tough case that required a grand gesture. My advice is to listen to what stirs you. Even if it takes twenty years to do it.



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