After introducing herself, Anne Lamott begins her writing memoir, appropriately enough, with advice on getting started.

The “getting started” encompasses many elements. Most importantly, you have to want it. You must have the desire to tell a story or write a poem, to document your history or your family’s, to share advice or information. A lot of people say they’d love to write a book, but they don’t really. Being a published author looks like fun from the outside, but it’s not a job most people are willing do to.

You must want it and you must want it more than you want to watch television tonight or get an extra hour’s sleep or hang out with your friends. That’s where a lot of would-be writers give up. They insist they haven’t the time and they decline the opportunity to find it. Bird by Bird is filled with good advice, and the first and best agrees with Will’s Writing Rule #1 – You have to write.

You have to sit down or at least sit still. You need paper and a writing instrument, or laptop or phone. And you have to think until something happens. You make a promise to yourself and keep it.

You don’t have to write every single day or at the same time every day, but it helps to have a routine of some kind. This isn’t a rule, but something that has worked for many of us. After a few days or a week or two, your body starts to remember this appointment even when you don’t. Your brain will nudge you towards your writing spot. Your feet might even walk you there at the appointed hour. For months after my dog died, I stood up every day at 4:00 p.m. and headed for the front door. I often caught myself standing in the middle of the living room wondering what I was after. Some days I remembered that it would have been time to walk her, but not always. Some days, I couldn’t lose the idea that I’d forgotten to do something.

If you give yourself a time to write, your brain will do this for you as well, and your mindset will shift. It won’t happen immediately, but you will begin to think creatively, without having to force it. Some days, it’s difficult to turn the dial down when you need to stop, but don’t worry about that now. When you’re getting started, allow yourself to turn the dial up.

Do you believe in the power of positive thinking? Some people believe – and some science supports – the concept that thinking positively can improve your health and mental outlook. In the same way that challenging mental activities can reduce the risk of Alzheimer’s, positive thinking improves your ability to pay attention, focus, and solve problems faster. I’m still skeptical about the science, because we know so little about our own bodies, but the idea that we can rewire our brains to be more productive and healthy is attractive. Maybe we merely trick ourselves into feeling happier, but if the end result is the same, who cares?

Think of your writing habit as fostering your power of creative thinking. When you tap into the part of your psyche that wants to tell stories or write poems, you will start to experience the world differently. You will start to notice more details: colors, shapes, smells, connections. You’ll start to hear stories in overheard snippets of conversation. More and more memories from your childhood will surface and they’ll feel more important than you might have previously imagined.

But you have to start. For the most beginning of beginners, memory work is often the best entryway to creative writing. If you want to tell the stories of other people, start by telling your own.

I wish I had accepted this when I was younger, or had a better understanding of it. When I was a kid, adults everywhere urged us to keep a journal. I tried, multiple times, but I believed my own life was too boring to document. Nothing changed from day to day. I went to school, came home, watched tv, ate dinner. It didn’t occur to me to write down what we did in class or how my teachers looked or sounded, or who I liked or didn’t and why. If I was bored, who else would be interested? I never thought about remembering my parents’ dinner conversations, to the extent I even listened to them.

Too, there was the fear that someone might read what I’d written. In retrospect, this was highly unlikely. Our parents barely paid attention to us in physical form; I doubt it would have occurred to them to snoop. But I couldn’t bear to think that anyone would read about times I’d gotten angry or lied or bragged to one of my friends that I got a hard-on during class.

I could have written about the girl in middle school – a girl! – who followed me between classes one day, loudly and repeatedly slamming me into walls and lockers. I recognized her, but didn’t know her. We had no classes together. I’d never spoken to her. I have no idea why I caught her attention, but she was built like a linebacker and had no trouble pinning me between her shoulders and the wall, as she and her friend laughed. The harder I tried to get away, the more doggedly she kept on my heels. She didn’t really hurt me, but when she finally went her own way, I cried in shame, embarrassing my one friend who had witnessed but did nothing to help. I don’t remember ever encountering her again, other than seeing her in crowds. What had I done? What had happened to her that day? I guess someone pissed in her cereal and she needed a way to vent, and the short, quiet, four-eyed nerd with the bad haircut and ill-fitting poor-kid clothes provided an acceptable outlet.

I can write that now, but at 11, 12? Experiencing it was bad enough. I wanted to pretend it never happened, not relive it. If I could barely admit it to myself, how could I reveal my shame in writing? What if somebody read it? I could only imagine how mortified my parents would have been and the lectures I’d have heard.

And that’s the key to getting started. You work with memories. You start small, with lists or descriptions of people and places. Make a list of the cars your parents owned and what you had for dinner most often, what was packed in your school lunch and who sat with you, if anyone. Create a family tree and add in every neighbor, family friend, teacher, and school kid you recall. Write about the parents of other kids and how they compared to yours. Describe every place you remember going – homes, churches, schools, groceries, libraries, malls, theaters. Write down the tv shows and movies you watched.

As you write, these lists will easily sort themselves into good and bad people and places and experiences. Write about what you loved or hated and why. Who made you uncomfortable? Who made you feel special?

Don’t fuss about what’s “important” or making stories out of these memories, not yet. Focus on putting something – anything – down. Get started.