Getting Your Ass (and Your Ego) Handed to You

I was scared; I admit it. The first time I got the nerve up to write a piece, I was freaking terrified. It was like pulling off a part of myself, stuffing it into a box, then handing it over to someone else to judge it...to inspect it.

They would hold it up to the light. What would they see?

A complete stranger would be able to look right through me, to see all of my flaws, my uncertainty.

What if I put a comma where a period should be? What if I split an infinitive?

What if my words compelled nothing more than a yawn? Was I just vomiting words on white, or was I really creating something that engaged someone?

The truth was that it was not just my words on that screen; it was an extension of me. I held my breath, closed my eyes and hit 'send'. To my utter shock, they liked it.

Building Momentum

After that, I was braver. I submitted one article after another, mostly to the "content mills." After a six months of real struggle, I was able to take my accumulated clips and land a job as an entry-level writer.

I was so happy, and I worked hard. I really, really tried. I put in the hours, did the work. God, I was so dedicated.

And I totally bombed.

As in, nose-dive, straight down. In smoke and flames. The phone call with the editor was horrible. Two minutes of terminal velocity and a big, big boom at the end.

Back to Earth, The Hard Way

Yes. I crashed to earth faster than Icarus hanging onto a two-ton ball of lead. Every fear I had ever had seemed validated.

The ghosts of failure past hovered about me, singing in a ghastly chorus just how much I sucked. I wanted to give up, to go back to something safe. I wanted to hide to run away.

Instead, I called the editor back and politely asked for a just a few minutes of her time. She seemed surprised, and I asked if she could tell me exactly what I needed to work on.

Not going to lie, it was very illuminating (and rather soul-crushing at the same time). I took notes.

Screw Icarus and His Wax Wings

I took a day to cry, to mull it over. I dusted myself off and got mad. Not at her, not really at me, just at the situation. I was not going to let one failure determine my fate.

Screw Icarus. Screw fate. I was going to become a writer-scratch that, I was a freaking writer! Good or bad, there was someone who wanted what I wrote.

I was not, and never would be the best, but I was not going to go down without a fight.

So here I am, two years later, making a decent income from my words. Am I the best? Hardly. Did I get better? You bet your sweet spell-check I did.

My point in sharing all of this is that no one died.

Failure is only permanent if you quit.

Find Your Voice

There comes a time in everyone's life, where you find out that you are flawed. You will fail at something. You may even be a terrible writer. Who gives an effing crap?! Really?! So what?

 Getting your ass handed to you will not kill you. Keep going. Get better.

You are a work in progress.

Beating yourself up about how many times you fall down is stupid. Take a day. Take a deep breath and haul your butt back up onto that horse and ride on.

Writers improve.

We evolve. There is not freaking perfect, ideal sentence. All that matters is that you connect with your audience. Period.

Some editors are going to love you. Some are going to hate you. Either way, it does not matter.

What matters is that there is something inside of you, no matter how raw, that needs to be expressed.

And, somewhere, in this vast world, someone else wants, or even needs, to read it.

This is a journey, not a destination.

Do it. More than that, keep doing it.

Here is a link to a video I made about overcoming fear. Drop me a line and let me know how you are getting on.
Now, stop reading. Go write something. Move forward. It is all any of us can really do.

 

Jumping off: Writing for a Living

 Standing on the lonely precipice, your foot dislodges a few small pebbles; they tumble off into the unknowable... 

You are filled with a mysterious longing, a need to move forward, to plunge into a life that is yet to be. You want to write for a living, but you are not sure if you are good enough.

Do you have the right alchemy of the soul, the kind that bends words into lovely forms? Have you suffered enough for your craft?  To which I gently reply, "Who gives the fussy crack of a rodent's furry little backside?"

Who says that you have to pay your dues? And, exactly where are these mysterious dues going?

Please feel free to email me number of the Swiss bank account that has been gathering fees wrung from the agony of writers throughout time.

Just freaking do it. Stop worrying about being "good enough." No matter what your level of talent, there is an audience that needs and wants your words. Will you have to work a bit. Um, yes. Will you get knocked down a few times? Duh.

Is it worth it? You bet your sweet word processor it is. Write. Just freaking do it already. Get your big girl panties on and move forward. There is no cure for a lack of experience, other that is, of course, than getting some by writing your butt off.

By the way, that goes for anything in life. Quit whining. Quit talking about doing it and just go and do it already. Make a plan. Take action. Start now. Why are you still reading? Go and write. Like, now.