HOUR ONE: We meet at Starbucks. I pretend to be a Vanity Fair reporter and interview you, literary superstar, about your writing life - past, present, future. Before parting ways, you hand me up to fifteen double-spaced Times New Roman formatted pages of writing that needs midwifery.
HOUR TWO: I sit down with a double-tall sugar-free hazelnut almond milk latte and give your baby my full, tender, undivided attention: this progeny could be an essay, the chapter of a novel, a short story, a work sample for a grant application. I take copious notes and prepare questions. (Please note: I will not shortchange your baby. I will take however long it takes to read with care and attention, whether your baby weighs one pound or fifteen. But I will only charge you for one hour.)
HOUR THREE: We meet again over coffee and talk about your baby. We also address big issues, the ones all writers need to address, e.g. how to keep going, stay mindful of and connected to the wellsprings that fuel your work, bulldoze doubts, and - above all - sustain joy. You walk away feeling like you can kick any practical and psychological impediments in the tukas.