Get Over It, Writer - November 18, 2007

So, this writing thing is your passion. What you want written in your obituary when the sun finally sets on your life. It is, and you firmly believe this to the very bottom of your soul, what you were made to do by whatever brand of higher power you follow.

Then why aren’t you? Why aren’t you WRITING?

This isn’t the time to make excuses or cite your numerous other obligations/commitments/roles/volunteering activities/Superhero Mom duties. This is the time to take a deep breath, let it all out, and face the one thing that holds us all back.

FEAR.

There, I said if for you. Fear fear fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of never being as good a writer as fill-in-the-blank. Fear that people close to you, those whom you need to trust most to support you, will laugh at you when you tell them you’re writing a book. Laugh in that, “Oh, how fantastic!” kind of way, like we try our best not to do when our five-year-old tells you her plans to be a mommy, astronaut, teacher, and veterinarian all at once when she grows up.

And then, of course, they’ll go on to tell you just how impossible it is to break into the publishing business. They know this for sure. They read it in an article somewhere. Reader’s Digest, maybe, while they were bopping along to the Muzak at the dentist’s office.

So here, let me say it for you, GET OVER IT.

Get over your fear of failure. The only way you’ll fail as writer is by never trying.

Get over your fear of rejection. Remember your deepest crush from the acne-plagued years? You survived that rejection long enough to be reading this. Editors won’t be rejecting you this time around, just your work. Remember there is a difference between the two.

Get over your fear of never being as good a writer as so-and-so. So what? I constantly read books that are so amazing, so imaginative, so different from what stories I want to tell and I read them with great respect and joy. (Example: Three Bags Full by Leonie Swann - sheep as characters. Brilliant.) The respect is for the author’s abilities, and joy is that I discovered their work. None of us is the same; playing the comparison hierarchy is just plain self-destructive behavior. Give it up or get therapy, just don’t let it get in the way of you putting pencil to paper.

Get over your fear of being laughed at and told you’re just not good enough. First, who the heck are these people around you, feeding you such a bunch of bunk? Get new friends.

Second, take heart from your children. When Princess Pinky was two, her favorite color was blue. And her favorite shirt that summer was a too-small, belly-hanging-out, blue t-shirt with a puffy neon nightmare of a fish on the front. I tried to hide it. I tried to put it in her baby brother, Prince Tatertot’s room. I tried everything to keep her from wearing it. And she, in reply, screamed. Non-stop. Until she was wearing it. Every day for a week. Did she care what the world thought of her? No. She didn’t even care what I thought of her. She liked it, that’s all that mattered.

If you like writing, that’s all that matters.

Now, I’ve shaken my digital finger long enough in reminding you about all these things you’re smart enough to already know. I’ve got some writing to do, and so do you. Get going!

WM