Recently I got together with a group of writers for a co-writing session. Before settling in to focus on our works-in-progress, we started with a prompt to spark creativity. I set a timer for 10 minutes, and we wrote. When the timer beeped, we un-muted and either summarized what we wrote or read it aloud.
The Dear Favorite Author Prompt
This was our prompt: Think of a favorite author, living or dead. Got that person in mind? Write the author a letter letting them know why their work mattered to you:
Dear _______,
Set a timer for 10 minutes and write the letter quickly, like we did. I’ll wait…
.
.
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…did you write it? I hope you’re able to before reading on, but I know you might not have time to tackle it on the spot.
Writing to Your Favorite Author Reveals Your Creative Values
Here’s what happened to us: When each of us went around and shared what we wrote, we realized our letters unearthed specific reasons our favorite authors impacted us.
One writer noted how her favorite author handled character description. Each person in the novel seemed real to her due to precise details. She admired it and wanted to create memorable characters in her projects, too, so her readers could remember and enjoy them.
Another person in our group said, “This exercise helped me to reconsider Austin Kleon, an author I hadn’t thought about in a while. His style was freeing to me; it wasn’t only his words but how he used his art—drawing—to convey his message. I was reminded all over again to let myself be myself.”
When you write your letter, you’ll discover your creative values—modeled and inspired by your favorite author’s work. You may find yourself admiring their willingness to tackle tough topics and themes or their techniques that produce a melodic, mellifluous style.
Write that letter from the heart to get to the heart of your own writing.
Dear Madeleine
In case you’re curious, here’s what I wrote in response to the prompt that day (edited ever-so-slightly to avoid distracting you):
Dear Madeleine,
You dropped into my life when, as a kid, I checked out of the library A Wrinkle in Time. Even though I didn’t understand it all, I understood it all…the power of love and the danger of separating the mind from the heart. I didn’t get the worm holes, or quantum physics, or the theory of relativity, or whatever else you cleverly packed into the novel. I just knew Meg fought to get her dad back and was driven by love and that tie, that heart-centered theme, was right and good. It was weird, too, and that spoke to my weird-kid personality.
You dropped into my life again more than a decade after, when I was a young adult navigating life with young kids and a passion for writing. I stumbled on Walking on Water, which sang to my spirit. I longed to merge faith and writing in a way that wasn’t faith-y and honored my commitment to literary quality and tone, and you showed me how; you mentored me on those pages.
Then, at the library, I discovered the The Crosswicks Journals (God bless the library). I blew through all three in the series once, then twice, poring over them, eventually finding used copies to own and mark up. They felt conversational and messy and real and gave me a window into the life of a mom-writer, which is what I was trying to be, or to become. You almost persuaded me to move my aging parents home in their later years. For reasons I won’t elaborate on, I did not go that path, but The Summer of the Great-Grandmother was quite persuasive.
I dropped into your life when I showed up at a talk you gave at Earlham College. I don’t remember the connection you had to the place. Did you attend Earlham? It’s such a tiny liberal arts college in a tiny Indiana town, but you came to give a talk, so a friend and I grabbed our Madeleine L’Engle books (I snatched Walking on Water from my shelf), jumped in a car, and drove to Earlham to hear you speak. You sat on a stool for the talk, because you had a leg injury. You sat again for the long line of fans with arms full of your books they hoped you would sign. Your assistant kept things moving, having us open the book to the frontispiece where you signed one book after another with a big black marker.
I held up the line for a few beats when I asked you, right then, how you did it. How did you write as a parent of young children? You had the marker in hand, scribbled your message and signature onto… [Just at that moment the timer went off, so I couldn’t finish it, though I did write about my encounter with her years ago!]
Send or Publish Your Letter to Your Favorite Author
Have you written your letter?
If your favorite author is still alive, finish the letter, look up their address, and send your letter to them.
If your favorite author is dead, share your finished letter as a post on your blog, Substack, or Instagram. You might help your followers or readers discover a new book or a new author who will impact them, as well. And it’s a formal, public way to document—one might even say to honor—the author-mentors who helped shape the authors we’ve become.
Resources:
- 20 Generous (and Easy!) Ways to Encourage a Writer Today
- How to Write in the Midst of Motherhood (my interaction with authors Madeleine L’Engle & Holly Miller)
