I stared at a blank screen. Why did I ever think I could pull this off?



Until that moment, I’d only written short projects. Articles, essays, poems. 



As I sat staring at the screen, questioning myself in about every way possible, I was supposed to be writing my first book—a manuscript of over 50,000 words.



Overwhelmed, I sat at the keyboard, frozen.



Sound familiar? Have you felt inspired to write a book you believe will truly help people—even transform them—but you’re not sure you have what it takes? 



Well, once upon a time, this multi-published writing coach was in the exact same place.



I was staring at the screen, inspired to write a book, but doubting myself: Do I have what it takes to write a book?



Could I Write Something as Big as a Book?



How does an essayist-poet-freelancer embark on the massive task of completing a 55,000-word manuscript?



That question felt unanswerable and I felt inadequate.



This prose-freezing self-doubt was a huge problem, however, because I’d signed a contract. I was obligated to write a book I didn’t think I could write.



First, a Proposal



For a year or so my friends had been urging me to move forward with writing a book after I kept sharing concepts with them in conversations over coffee or during play dates at the park. One after another, they would say, “You should write a book about that!”



I’d laugh it off. “Me? Write a book? Ha!” 



“But you’re a writer!” they’d insist.



“I’m a writer of short things. A book is too long, too huge.”



They’d shrug and we’d go back to wiping yogurt off our kids’ faces.



One day I was meeting with my mentor, a writer named Ruth (I had two writing mentors named Ruth—what are the odds!—and this was the Ruth who lived nearby). Nearby Ruth was the author of a book acquired by a publishing house based about three hours north of us. 



She offered to introduce me to the editorial team, so I could pitch the idea to them over lunch. She said she’d drive me up there herself! All I had to do was hop in the car, share the project with them, and hand out copies of a book proposal. 



It was all arranged.



What a great mentor, right?



I just needed to create the book proposal…which I didn’t have the faintest idea how to put together.



"You can look at mine"



“I need a book proposal? Can’t I just describe the book?”



“They need the book proposal,” Ruth said. “That’s how they do it.”



It’s the same now as it was then, by the way. For nonfiction projects, an author produces a book proposal before landing a book contract with an agent or editor. (Learn more about the process and purpose by watching this webinar.)



Back then, I had no idea what a book proposal looked like. This was pre-Internet, so there were no samples to download or coaches to hire.



“You can look at mine,” Ruth offered. “You can see how it’s laid out and how I described my book. Then you can plug in your book’s details in the same places.”



Can you believe that? My mentor offered to let me see her own book proposal like it was no big deal.



But it was pivotal. Life-changing. Career-forming.



Crafting my First Book Proposal 



Hers was the first book proposal I ever saw. I pored over it, following the flow to craft my own. Her subheadings showed me the purpose of each section. Her content gave me ideas for how to phrase the business-y stuff about mine.



Weeks of work went into that document.



I wrote the overview, typed up a bio, and listed famous people I could ask for an endorsement (I didn’t personally know famous people, but at that point in my life I knew people who knew people, so I added names with an explanation of each friend-of-a-friend connection).



Then I got to the meat of the proposal: 



The Table of Contents.



The chapter summaries.



This took time, because I was essentially writing the book without writing the book, and if you recall, I’d never written a book before so I had no idea what I was doing.