On Fear

I have never been one to take risks. I often tell my friends, "I need a schema..." and this has become our shorthand for my deep need to understand what is going to happen, to know how things will turn out.

In the past three years, however, I have found myself without a schema, making my way with only a vague idea and a sense of faith that is unusual for me.

My decision to devote time to writing a book was a risk.

My decision to leave my job to finish that book was a risk.

And now, I find myself nearly finished with the book and it is time to submit my manuscript to agents for consideration which feels like the greatest risk of all.

What if it isn't good? What if no one wants it? What if people think my writing is too introspective and self-indulgent? What if I've put three years of my life into something that will forever reside on the hard drive of my computer?

What if I fail?

I have never taken risks because I'm scared, because it is easier to think of all that I might be able to do rather than deal with the reality that I can't do them at all.

This year has been about taking risks, about saying "yes" to things that frighten me, to living without a plan.

I submitted my manuscript to an agent for the very first time last month and received a rejection letter this week and it stung more than I'd like to admit. The note itself was kind and complimentary - I can see that now. I can see the good in it and take pride in the fact that a complete stranger thought my words beautiful.

But, in the moment, I could only hear "It's not good..." and "It's self-indulgent..." and "You'll never publish this." I thought about scrapping the whole thing. I convinced myself that I should have written a novel. Then, I decided that I should quit working on the book and focus on blogging. Then, I decided that I shouldn't write at all and I should just make chocolate chip cookies and then I realized we didn't have any fucking chocolate chips. Of course.

And then I talked to friends and I got a good night's sleep and I thought about it and realized something important. This was my first rejection because I've never tried, never taken a risk until now. I am 0 for 1. When I look at it like that, I'm annoyed at myself for allowing the pity party to go on as long as it did.

This morning, I told Luisa that my only goal for today was to write. I knew that I needed to put my fingers on the keyboard and finish what I started without worrying about what comes next.

So, I sat down at my desk and I pulled up one of the essays from my book that I love and I read it. This is dangerous for me because I sometimes read pieces like this one and think I can never write anything I will love as much. But I read it and then came to this part,

I want her to know how to navigate, to know how to right a ship when it lists dangerously to one side. I want her to learn that, sometimes, we have to sit with our fear to understand that it passes, that we can survive it.

Today, I will sit with my own fears and put words on the page and move forward.

Just Right

I went to Atlanta with Heather last weekend to lead a session on writing called "Just Write" based on the long-running series of the same name on her blog.

We met at the airport and took a cab to the wrong hotel and then had trouble with a cash machine but we eventually left the safety of the hotel and found the MARTA station to take the train to the correct hotel.

It could have been stressful but it wasn't.

As we we stood side by side trying to buy tickets for the train, I laughed to myself and thought, "Of course, this would happen to us. Of course." It was a particularly affectionate thought and striking upon reflection because this "us", this friendship is so very new in many ways.

The next day, we hooked up my laptop to the projector and loaded our slides, set our notes upon the podium and waited for the room to fill. There was only one microphone and I wondered how it would work.

Wouldn't it be awkward for two people to stand at a podium?

How would we know when to pass off the microphone?

The room did fill and we began and it felt effortless. We talked and people wrote and then some shared their work or their questions and thoughts and it felt just right.

I have spoken at conferences about writing twice now and, each time, I have felt like the little kid who gets off the roller coaster and says, "Again!"

After our session, I was talking to some other people and I was struck by how this all began for me. I thought about my seven years of blogging and how I've learned to value doing things even when you don't know why you are doing them or what you might gain from them. I said, "The first thing I wrote on my blog was a poem about a baby carrot and now I talk to groups of people about writing."

There is so much to learn from simple beginnings.

And I know that this is what I want to do. I want to write and talk to people about writing and sit with people who love stories and storytelling as much as I do. I want to hold on tightly, want my laughter and fear to mingle and get lost in the wind and when the ride comes to a stop and I exit safely to my right, I will say, "Again."

This post was written for Just Write. Check out Heather’s post which includes a picture from our MARTA adventure and her own reflections on the weekend. Also check out the posts of all who joined in this week.