Be Not Afraid

I used to be so good at blogging. I just fell off the wagon for a while. But today's writing tip is something I've been thinking about a lot, lately. Enough that I actually remembered to get on and blog about it.

It's natural to be afraid of failure. I imagine this comes from an ancestral fear of the crop dying, or the hunt being unsuccessful. Being unable to eat is, indeed, a failure of dire consequences.

Even today, failure is not a pleasant experience. It hurts to see so much work go to waste, when a project doesn't work out. And sometimes, for those artistic souls among us especially, the amount of food in our house really does hinge on the level of success we achieve.

But failure is also the mother of improvement. Very few ravenously successful inventions or ideas have reached such prestige in their rough draft forms. To use a somewhat cliche example, Thomas Edison didn't hit on the right lightbulb formula on his first try. Or even his first dozen tries.

I didn't make an awesome Harry Potter wand the very first time I picked up a stick of wood and a knife. In fact, I'm a little flabbergasted at the rudimentary level of work, whenever I see those first tries. My wands look like they do now through an enormous amount of trial and error. Many attempts got scrapped in the process. And, even better, many became something else. A newer, prettier, more excellent idea that never would have happened without total failure on some front or another.

Like both of these. They actually were supposed to be something completely different, but accidents happened, and I had to improvise. The end product ended up being much better than the original concept. (Although the cheap phone pics don't at all do them justice, unfortunately.)

History is rife with examples of this, so I won't sit here and list them all. Doing that won't convince anyone anyway. Because we've all heard it before. The straight truth is that it's hard to not be afraid of failure. I get that. But

FAILURE IS NOTHING TO BE ASHAMED OF.

In the realm of writing, this is as applicable as anywhere. I have multiple friends in multiple places around the world who have expressed similar sentiments.




But what if they don't like it?















What if they think I'm no good?

I just don't think I could take that kind of rejection.

I mean, if you're cool being George 1.0, that's fine, I guess. See you in 30 years, still wearing 90's hair, dead end job, and probably watching old Friends reruns. I'm off to try to be successful. Even if I don't make it, I'll be in a better place than that. And I'll be happy as I do it.  

I think my point is quite clear, here. You can't possibly know what you're capable of if you avoid any and all risk. You'll never change, never grow, and never get anywhere.

Dreams can only be realized through the risk of failure.

Weird concept, but a true one. Risk begets results. Hiding begets... well, George 1. Sometimes those risks work out, and sometimes they don't. But they for sure won't work out if you don't take them. Why guarantee failure when you can reduce the chances of it by a solid 50%?

No one's first ever story is Tolkien. Not even Tolkien's. No one knows just how NANOWRIMO will be the first time they get themselves into it. Even Rowling got rejection letters. But all of those failures build you into who you are. You won't be much of anyone without them.

-Afraid of NANO because what if you don't make it? SO WHAT? You'll have learned a great deal about your writing process. You'll have experimented with new ways of writing (which might end up really working for you.) You'll have grown emotionally by putting yourself out there. And who knows. You might actually make it, and then you'll have accomplished something. There's nothing so good for the soul as succeeding at something totally crazy.

-Afraid of querying agents, because what if they say no? SO WHAT? If they say no, are you any worse off? On the contrary, you'll have learned something about what works and what doesn't, which you can use next time. You'll also learn something about yourself. That first rejection letter really is a critical moment in your life. The way you react will help define the whole rest of your path.

My first rejection really kicked me into gear. Most things I've done thus far usually fall by the wayside when the going gets tough. And to that point, writing was like that too. Casual, lazy, and not really going to go anywhere. And then I got the rejection. Unlike all of the other stuff I'd tried, this rejection sent me careening down a path of "I WILL SUCCEED NO MATTER HOW HARD IT GETS!"

I suddenly knew that I didn't mind the difficulties. I worked harder than ever, and improved enormously. And that never would have happened without the crossroads. If you hit that rejection crossroads and can't take it, well, you're probably in the wrong line of work anyway. And it's good to find that out sooner rather than later. You have to find the thing in your life that you want to work hard for.

-Afraid of showing other people your work, because what if they think you're an idiot? SHOW THEM ANYWAY. Writers aren't islands either. You will stagnate without other people to help you. That's true in any career. And if they do think you're an idiot, then at least you'll know what doesn't work, so you can fix it. (As it turns out, my mother is a spectacular proofreader. She found typos that a dozen other people never saw.)

- Afraid of fear? CAST A PATRONUS CHARM. They're invaluable.

Okay, Okay, I'll let up for now. My point is just that life is meant to be lived. Things are meant to be learned. Mistakes are MEANT to be made.

All I know is that I wouldn't trade all those mistakes for anything. Sure, they hurt at the time. But I don't want to go back to being that same old dumb teenager. I'll keep getting awesomer, thanks. 

And on that note, I'll just leave you with this Making of George 2.0 montage.

Writing is hard. Why do you do it?

I've heard a lot of different reasons for writing. I want to be famous. I want to get rich like J. K. Rowling. I want to work from my home when my kids are asleep. They run the gamut.

But by far, the most common response I hear is:

"I write for me."

Without accusing these people of lying, I ask: What does that even mean?

I'm not being sarcastic here. I really want to know. Because I sure don't spend hours typing, and correcting, and re-reading, and correcting again, and banging my head into the wall just "for me". I don't get it.

When I do say that to myself, it comes across in one of two ways.

1) A pretentious way of saying "You didn't want to publish me? Well screw you. I didn't write it to be published anyway."

2) As a self defense mechanism. "I actually do want to be published more than anything in the world, but if I tell people that I only write for me, then it won't be so crushing when I get rejection letters."

Whatever the case, though, writing is hard. And to do it well takes a lot of work. "I write for me" isn't strong enough on its own to justify all that work. People who say it must have more specific reasons. I just don't know what they are.

Why do I write?

I have a crippling shyness. It is a real process to get me warmed up in a crowd of people that I don't know.

And then when you do get me talking, I don't shut up. On, and on, and on, and on, about things that they really didn't need to know. (My blogs are more like my talking than my writing.) I've shocked a lot of people that way. They never see it coming. The energizer bunny of rambling.

Let's just say I'm really bad with people. The Supreme Chancellor of All Awkwardness.

And yet, unlike a lot of writers, I am not all that introverted. I need people. I need to communicate with people. To connect with them, and share ideas with them. Everything about me works better when I have someone else there to help me.

As you can see, this creates quite a problem.

That's why writing is perfect for me. I can share ideas, tell a story, make someone laugh or cry. I can connect with someone. But I can type it out, read it a few hundred times, and make sure it says the right thing first.

"I just write for me" will never work in my case. Because I NEED the audience. I need to be heard. I need to be responded to. And writing is the only way I can do that effectively.

I write because I need to communicate.

Why do you write? If "I write for me" is applicable, what does it actually mean to you?

Don't be a Jellyfish

Most artists share one ginormous weakness. Sensitivity.

It's understandable, of course. Being criticized on the way you file papers or answer a phone can be obnoxious, but it's not life-threatening. Being criticized on a painting or a performance is a whole different thing.

When you've got something that you've poured so much of your time, energy, and soul into, it becomes like your child. Bad reviews are like personal attacks on your family.

Where sensitivity goes, I've noticed two distinct categories that artists fall into: The Jellyfish and the Lizard.

Don't be a Jellyfish. 

Jellyfish are kind of cool. Most of them are pretty, but that's all they're really good for. Looking at. They're so delicate, they can't afford to let anything get too close.

Touch one, and it gives a pretty wicked sting.
Take one out of its protective watery environment, it dies.

Jellyfish don't even have brains.

If you've ever watched American Idol (or any similar show), you'll know that some artists are jellyfish. Like this guy. They just sting you and swim away to do their own thing, brainless and useless as ever.

If you want to make it in an artistic career, you've got to be more like this guy:

This guy has thick skin. He has spikes and an effective defense mechanism.

He knows that the world isn't all rainbows and candy.

He also knows that he has weaknesses.

When he's threatened, he protects his softer underbelly, displays his spikes, and weathers the storm. When the storm is over, he gets up and lives his life.



You can't please everyone.

Haters gon' hate.

It is literally impossible to please everyone. Even the most fantastic literature of all time has its critics.

You will always (and I repeat, always) have someone somewhere that doesn't like your work. It is inevitable. If Rowling was a jellyfish, we wouldn't have the epicness that is the Harry Potter franchise, and thousands of kids would still be non-readers.

Now, if everyone hates your work, and you don't get even one like, you might want to pay attention. But even that must be taken lizard style.

Jellyfish often think they're lizards. 

They think that stinging the offender and ignoring hurtful comments is the same as having thick skin. It is not. The key word here is HUMILITY.

Without advice from outside parties, nothing about your work will ever improve. Stagnating is as bad as dying.

The trick is to become a good judge. Listen to critiques and learn to figure out which comments will help you, and which are just the hating haters. Learn to take criticism without letting it hurt you.

It isn't an easy road. If it was easy, we wouldn't need so many spikes. But then again, if it was easy, there wouldn't be much point to it either.

Even lizards have tough days, though. And just in case you're needing a little bit of a mood lightener to aid you as you lizard through life, watch this.

Go forth, and be a lizard!