Here’s something I know is true for all writers: If we stay with writing for long enough, we all go through hard seasons.
When I was trying to get published, one of my rough seasons came after a particularly hard rejection. My book had been under consideration for months, had moved through several parts of the process, and then one day in the mail, a form rejection letter came. A form. All that waiting, all that hoping, and I got nothing more than a vague “Dear Author” letter that they had photocopied.
A short time later, I was at Barnes and Noble, and when I walked in, I felt overwhelmed with how many books were crammed onto the shelves. And I thought, “Why would anybody want to publish anything written by me? What can I possibly say that hasn’t been said before?”
This was one of many hard seasons before being published, I’ve had many after being published, and I’m confident there are more dips and twists in the road ahead of me. If you’re in such a season right now, I hope these ideas will encourage you. If you’re not, I hope you’ll tuck them away for a day in the future when you might need them.
Those words I spoke at Barnes and Noble over ten years ago? I heard them echo back to me just a few weeks ago.
I have a darling neighbor who has wanted to write for a long time, and as she was preparing to go to a conference, she said to me with a laugh, “I keep thinking it’s silly. Who am I? What can I possibly say that hasn’t been said before?” She doesn’t feel like a “real” writer, and I told her, “Welcome to the club. None of us do. Especially in the beginning.”
I think it’s powerful when we can say, “Here’s what I’m feeling.” I think it’s especially powerful when we can confess it to another writer:
When I’ve gone through dark creative times (and dark life times in general) my tendency is to shrink up, and close myself off. But I’ve yet to drag myself out of a funk with my own strength.
We need writer friends we can be vulnerable with. To whom we can say, “I’m struggling.” If you don’t have writer friends, friends who are creative can do the trick too. Or just friends who love you and understand what writing means to you.
Roseanna White and I have joked that after so many years of friendship and repeating advice back to each other, we should just create a form email for each of the following statements:
- I thought this book was going to be my best yet, but it’s such a mess! How will I ever fix this?
- I saw so-and-so gave me a negative review…
- Life is so busy that I hardly ever get to write. And when I do have time, I can’t seem to get any words out.
Even if you know your friend so well that you know what they’re going to say, it’s still reassuring to hear the words.
One rough thing about having writer friends (or being a human being, really) is the tendency to compare. And sometimes, just like in life, we’re going through a rough season while a friend is seeing a lot of success.
A few years ago, as I was struggling in both writing and my personal life, Roseanna was getting offers for contracts that she hadn’t even asked for. I’m not kidding. Contracts seemed to be raining down on her.
I had to accept that it wasn’t My Turn. That it was Roseanna’s turn, and that it was my job to be supportive, encouraging, and even happy for her even though I was struggling. And even though Roseanna was receiving a lot of good news, she was still great about empathizing with me during my rough time.
We have to learn how to celebrate with those who are celebrating even when we’re mourning, and to mourn with those who are mourning, even when we have a reason to celebrate.
In Big Magic (which I think is a wonderful read for creatives, if you don’t mind some language) Elizabeth Gilbert says it much better than I can:
Einstein called this tactic “combinatory play”–the act of opening up one mental channel by dabbling in another. This is why he would often play the violin when he was having difficulty solving a mathematical puzzle; after a few hours of sonatas, he could usually find the answer he needed. Part of the trick of combinatory play, I think, is that it quiets your ego and your fears by lowering the stakes.
There’s something about continuing to pursue creativity, even if it’s something different than the area you want to be creative in, that renews your energy.
Also, where are you with writing? If you’re working on your first book, it’s not fair to expect yourself to be Tolkein. There’s nothing wrong with being a beginner, and once you acknowledge the gap between your tastes and your abilities that Shannon talked about a few weeks ago, you will hopefully be able to relieve some of the pressure you’re putting on yourself.