There’s a myth of the talented writer–really, of any artist–who produces brilliant work on the first try, maybe over a few sleepless days or weeks.

She brings that outpouring to the public, which anoints her as a new talent.

No book reviews discuss the two or three unpublished novels that usually preceed the “first novels.”

The myth is that real writers don’t need editors or editing. They barely revise.

The myth has religious roots. According to it, beautiful language and insights come to us by inspiration, a word related to breathing. If you’re truly good, says the myth, you’ll breathe in your life and breathe out art. Like Joseph Smith, the founder of Mormonism, who claimed to have translated a buried book on golden plates, we transcribe voices or discover complete works within ourselves. Joseph Smith didn’t need an editor or editing, and neither did Moses.

It’s true that when you write, you experience magical moments when the words and insights come fast, seemingly from nowhere. Those heady times keep you going. You feel in touch with your true self. Why would you want or need to second-guess yourself or ask someone else to change what you produced when you felt most alive and authentic?

The reason is that, oddly, it takes skill and practice to be yourself on the page.

As a reporter, I’ve interviewed Nobel Prize winners and experts who talk to the public every day. Even people who are skilled at presenting their ideas repeat themselves and make grammatical errors. They say things that don’t make sense and skip necessary details and wander off into tangents and use the wrong word or terms their audience won’t understand. They misrepresent even their emotions: they may sound cold when they feel tender, angry when they feel detached, and false and sentimental when they feel passionate.

That’s why a good journalist picks quotes carefully.

As a writer, you owe yourself the same consideration. Of all the words you put down on paper, you need to pick the best, most revealing ones.

You need to learn when you aren’t making sense or are skipping necessary details or wandering off.

You need to revise.

Unless you are Moses, your finest words will not come to you the first time you listen.

Hiring an editor is no substitute for doing your own editing.

But once you revise, you may want to call on the services of a professional who has mastered the skill of editing, which is not the same as writing. A good editor will bring out your ideas in your own voice.

Many of the greatest works of literature exist in their current form only because of an editor. The Great Gatsby is a famous example. F. Scott Fitzgerald decided that he would write it more carefully than he had written his previous books, This Side of Paradise and The Beautiful and Damned, which were both commercial successes. He ended up discarding most of his early drafts. When he did send a manuscript to his editor, Maxwell Perkins, Perkins told him that the novel was vague, and Fitzgerald spent the next winter revising it.

Editing is no guarantee of commercial success. The Great Gatsby sold many fewer copies than Fitzgerald’s earlier books after it appeared in 1925. Two decades later, during World War II, the Army gave away copies of the novel to US soldiers, and Gatsby began to take its place as one of the greatest American books.

Scott Fitzgerald had huge talent. But he knew that to produce lasting work, he needed to revise more and to heed his editor, Maxwell Perkins.

A copy-editor will polish your prose, correcting punctuation and stylistic or grammatical errors. Maxwell Perkins gave Fitzgerald a critique. A critique includes useful comments on how your manuscript could strike different readers. It may offer suggestions on how you might make it more effective. If you are writing a speech or article, you want to be clear, eloquent,  focused and persuasive. In a novel, you need characters and a plot that will hold the reader’s attention from beginning to end.

We’ve all wondered how Emily Dickinson could write her poetry in near-complete solitude.

It’s less commonly known that even Emily sought an important reader, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, and once wrote him that he was “The Friend that saved my Life.”

The two only met twice, and Higginson is said to have told others that he never met anyone “who drained my nerve power so much.”

Yet they maintained a correspondence for 25 years until her death in 1886. She sent him almost a hundred poems, with their strange punctuation and power to penetrate the heart.

Higginson was famous as a man who hated capital punishment, child labor, laws depriving women of civil rights, and slavery. Emily was a radical in her heart and mind. Higginson was radical in his speeches and published writing and even took a little action. (For more on their fascinating story, read White Heat: The Friendship of Emily Dickinson and Thomas Wentworth Higginson, by Brenda Wineapple.)

So yes, even Emily Dickinson sought one person who could understand her.

For years I resisted blogging. I had been trained to think that one should allow the public to see only highly polished work. The idea back then was that you spent years, decades, honing your craft with a small circle of confidantes before you expected public attention. After all, no one expected audiences (other than friends and family) in their apprenticeship years as a violinist, ballerina, tennis player, or singer. Those are physical skills, which makes a difference. But writing depends on insight and insight comes with the years. It is also a technical skill.

For almost a decade, I rarely sought to publish, though I did give my work to loyal, responsive and insightful friends. I was also enormously lucky to have a mother who wrote and supported my ambitions. And I hired teachers, a short story writer and a poet, to read my work and meet with me one-on-one. When I did begin to send out my work, I had some success.

I am now a blogger, and like all bloggers, I’m excited to see my stats. Sometimes I get large numbers of “views”—unheard of numbers of potential readers judged by our pre-Internet standards.

But the real joy is in the one-on-one connections that can be made. If you hire me as your writing coach or editor, I will carefully copy-edit, line-edit, critique, or brainstorm with you. I hope to give you all the benefit of the compassion, insight and expertise others have shared with me. Meanwhile, I hope you will seek your artist family in literature, in writing groups, book groups and online.

That one-on-one connection can be with yourself. In my own life, the appreciation that has most surprised me has been my own–many years later. I read my stories and poems from years ago and feel comforted by the wisdom of that child. She knew me.

And that’s when I understand how Emily was able to go so long in near-solitude.

Writing is a form of love. Self-love and love of others, and as we see in other relationships, the two intermingle. We love ourselves through our love of others. We love others through our love of ourselves.

So yes, we write to be read. You too are one of those essential readers, a Friend who can save your Life.

The flow state of utter absorption comes from a balance of goal-seeking and ease.

For me, it happens when I’m doing yoga, dancing or writing. I feel vibrantly alive and content, satisfied that I’m being my best self.

I’m in the “flow,” a term coined more than 20 years ago by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. Athletes use the phrase being in “the zone.”

A flow state is special, moments that come to most of us only once in a while. But you can have them more often by stretching yourself and mastering skills that use your personal strengths.

If you’re a writer, one reason to stay on a schedule is that it tends to help you get into “flow.” When I am writing a novel, I look forward to my next time at my work. I associate writing with a particular kind of relaxing, though I might write for hours at a stretch at the end of a long work-day in an office. Yes, it was that good! Sometimes. Often.

I’ve gotten into flow states while editing, rather than writing a first draft–in fact, it may happen more often because the goal of a polished paragraph or finding the perfect word seems within reach. I’ve even felt flow while copy-editing!

My friend Yvonne remembers feeling flow while practicing gymnastics at 12 years old. “I was by far the pudgiest girl on the gymnastics team and the least naturally talented, but I took classes and practiced every day,” she recalls. Her stepfather even made a gymnastics mat out of old scraps of foam so she could train at home. “I worked out on the homemade mat for hours upon hours until it was dark, not finishing until I got that side aerial and the back semi nailed,” says Yvonne. “Having a goal that stretches you, but is also doable—that is exhilarating. Nothing mattered except me and the acrobatics I was dead-set on doing.”

We emerge from flow happier, and with a stronger sense of identity. When Yvonne needs strength today, she recalls the determination she had at age 12 on that homemade gymnastics mat.

Flow isn’t only found in physical activities and favorite pastimes. Some people are lucky enough to get into the zone at work, making them more likely to both perform well and feel satisfied. My friend Rebecca loves teaching 3rd and 4th graders, especially when she tries new lesson plans that capture her—and her kids’—attention. When Rebecca is “in flow,” she says, the kids respond with more energy and enthusiasm. “At the end of the school day, I’m exhilarated,” she says.

A class of vibrant kids is a clear example of the feedback that aids flow. Think of it like feeding off of each other’s energy. Sometimes, however, the feedback is more subtle. My friend Steve, a composer, says that his feedback comes from the notations he’s making. He sees how his notes “turn into music,” on a day when things are flowing well.

“Most of us don’t have luxury of finding jobs and activities that exactly match our strengths,” says University of Michigan psychologist Christopher Peterson, Ph.D. The answer, he says, is to look for ways to bring your strengths—traits such as kindness or creativity—into your day.

Another strategy: If you’ve got a list of dull tasks to do, get creative by making up challenges for yourself that can help you get in the zone. For example, if you’re a blogger, limit the number of words in a post and see how creative you can get or dive into an engrossing topic you’ve never written about before. If you’re a chef—whether at a restaurant or for a hungry family—set out to create a dish without any butter or oil or with vegetables you’ve never tried before.

Gordon Lawrence, author of “Finding the Zone: A Whole New Way to Maximize Mental Potential,” traces flow states to the natural curiosity of babies, who become completely absorbed and delighted when exploring. Adults, like babies, are stimulated by novelty, but you’re most likely to experience flow as an adult when engaged in a skill in which you already have some mastery.

You are most likely to feel “in the flow” when you pursue clear goals that are challenging but within reach. You’ve found the sweet spot between boredom and frustration. As you go about the activity, you enter a feedback loop that gives you the information you need to get closer to your goal. You lose track of time and awareness of your own body and may even forget to eat or stay up into the wee hours of the night.

If you find that you’re not enjoying your writing time, try breaking down the job into smaller tasks. Make an outline and check off each section when you’re done. Resolve to write a particular passage of dialogue–and no more–by the end of the week. The key to experiencing flow is to choose a goal that’s both meaningful to you—and within reach. For you, that may be writing your book.