The Crisis

For most authors I know there’s a crisis. The moment that they don’t want to write. If it goes on awhile, some call it writer’s block. At the Writing Excuses Retreat (WXR 2017), author Emma Newman called it by its real name: FEAR.

Fear, in the vivid and detailed imagination of a writer, is many and varied; real and unreal. And we can’t just get rid of fear by shutting off our imagination. Our imagination is how we describe non-existent people that you feel like you know. From a floating mote of dust, we invent universes that do not exist, and churn out plot twist after plot twist to engage readers so deeply that they remain awake beyond the darkness, through ’til dawn, unable to close our books.

The writer in me is helpless in the face of my imagination.
And so it also feels helpless in the face of the fear.
But what do I fear?

I have turned in a Non-Fiction Book Proposal. Within days, possibly weeks, Literary Agents will read words I’ve written and judge them.

In my proposal, I stated that my draft manuscript would be available on July 15. How did I pick that date? It seemed just-far-enough-away. After all, the book is partially done, I know how to go about writing it, and I’ve written 50k words in a month before, haven’t I?

Why, YES. Yes, I have. That is what NaNoWriMo is for. It is about being able to say to yourself, “I did that. I’ve got this.”

But today I don’t want to write.

I want to go back to bed. I want to escape in a fantasy novel. I want to figure out why my dog keeps trying to get in my lap. I want to pull weeds, pick fights, wash dishes, and re-organize my whole house. I don’t actually want most of those things. What I truly want (Thank you, Emma) is to stop being afraid.

Afraid because I have consciously chosen to give “control” of my idea to a group of people who “know.” Just to be clear, I have had a hundred people, easy, many of them complete strangers, encourage me to write my book. My Alpha readers like it. Writing teachers have encouraged me. Bookstore employees have gotten excited and rushed to show me where my book will be shelved once it is written.

No matter what the agents say, I will work as hard as I can, and make the best book I’m capable of making, with whatever resources I can muster. What the agents say makes no difference, really…
…but the fear says it does. And worse, the deadline; self-imposed, completely reasonable…goads the fear in me.

What if I don’t get it done?
What if it is, in fact, not a good idea?
What if I am not funny?
What if what I say makes people uncomfortable? Mad at me?
What if what I write is not The Truth?
What if spilling my guts on the page is a waste of time?
What if my story is boring?
What if I’m not good enough to make what I want to say show up on the page?
What if I am a fake, a poser, a dilettante, a wannabe…an imposter.
So. Much. Fear.
Some unfounded. And a whole lot that boy, howdy have I “founded” over and over in my life. Not good enough. Never good enough. No matter what.

This is my fear. This is my challenge. This is what stops me from opening my manuscript and getting to work.

Writing itself isn’t a problem for me. I can write SO MANY WORDS…as long as they aren’t the scary words. I don’t care much who knows that I am scared, journalling the absolute truth of the moment is just no problem for me. I somehow only care if they think my stories–the not raw truth–are good. Why is that?

Seeking answers, I turned to Pep Talks for Writers again today. In Chapter 1, “You Don’t Need Permission To Be A Creator,” Grant Faulkner writes:

“…you’re not embracing your creativity because it’s an easy path. You’re doing it because you have something to say. And no one gets to tell you that what you have to say doesn’t matter, because it matters to you.”

IT MATTERS TO ME.
What I have to say matters to me.
And it also matters to me that maybe, someone else will enjoy it too.

Hard as it is to open the file every day–to just get the damn work done and do it the best I know how today–this is what I have to do, every day.

Every day until all the stories are done. (As if “done” was even a thing.)

The crisis isn’t the writing. Just look at all these words!
The crisis is the fear.
Don’t let the fear–whatever it is, and yes, you gotta figure the fear out or else procrastination wins–Don’t let the fear be what matters.

The story matters so much more.