It’s10:40pm. I’ve got an hour and twenty minutes to get this blog in before the second of my eight Tuesdays passes me by.
Today’s truth is this: As a writer, I find I’m constantly having to prove myself as such. As I read that sentence over, it seems dizzyly obvious that that’s just the way it goes. Visual artists have to show their art. Filmmakers have to show their films. Writers have to show their words. But why do I feel like the words are not enough?
I find I’m having to ‘sell myself’ at the same time as I sell my words. But to me, the two are one in the same. I write, therefore, I am. I send off press kits. I update my resume. I put it all out there. If my writing is judged, then I am judged. Okay. I get it.
I can cover walls with rejection letters. I get it.But I can’t let this stop me.
It doesn’t seem to be getting any easier though.
It’s possible that sometimes my words and my self won’t match with something I really want to do that has to do with writing.
I won’t get asked to be a part of that reading. I can’t teach a workshop in this location. Why can’t I just let this be okay? Why do I have to feel like I’ve done something wrong? Why do I feel like my writing isn’t good enough?
Did Atwood ever feel this way? Probably not. In fact, I have a hunch that if she read this (if she even got this far), she’d tell me to stop being a baby. Suck it up. If you’re a writer. Be a writer. Write. If they like it, they like it. If they don’t, they don’t. She and Yoda would be dear friends, I think.
My astounding truth is that I keep letting the rejections get me down in some, way, shape or form? What is that? Why is that?
Of course I have to sell myself. I have to sell my writing. Didn’t I just say they are one in the same?
I read so many blogs created by writers, for writers. Everyone is so informative and educational. I appreciate their teachings and take all of it to heart, but I can’t be the only one out there who finds this part of the process…well, difficult. Uncomfortable.
Yes, I want a major book deal, a book tour, a spot on Strombo’s chair, but I also want the high school talks, the book club guest speeches and the library workshops.
I recently had a chat about having cake and eating it too. Is this a case of cake cliche? Do I really want it all? And is it really too much to strive for?
My apple cinnamon tea is cold. I guess I can’t have tea and drink it warm too, huh?
If you have cake, don’t you want to eat it? What’s the point of it then?
I promise that my next Tuesday’s Truth will not be in any way related to my confidence (or lack thereof).
I got up at 6:13am this morning and wrote a blog. I wrote what I’m writing now. I’m writing.
That’s what I do. I’m a writer.
If I can’t ‘prove’ this to myself, then does it really matter what others need me to prove?
I wish Hemmingway were here. I’d like to watch him write.He seemed so sure of himself. His talent. His reasons for writing were so pure. He could write a story is one sentence.
But I can have cake. And eat it too.