Writing and Self-Esteem
Being a writer is hard work.
Not the writing. That’s the easy part.
Not even the editing. That’s harder. More stressful, slightly more emotionally and psychologically draining, but no.
Editing is kid’s play relative to the real challenge…keeping your chin up even when things don’t go your way.
Because here’s the thing—writing is full of failures. Whether you’re having manuscripts rejected, or publishing but having lousy sales, or having good sales but bad reviews, or having good sales AND good reviews but are getting panned by some random section of society or your family, or even your own brain providing words like “loser” or “why do you even bother?” or “God, you suck”.
You WILL fail. Either that, or you’ll get death threats.
(MAN, I wish I were successful enough to get death threats. You know you’ve arrived when you piss people off that bad.)
You’ll need to gather the strength or the courage or even the stockpile of antidepressants that’ll force you to open that manuscript tomorrow. And the tomorrow after that.
Because no matter how well you think you’re doing—because your book sold well, or you got on some famous list, or you got some kind of critical acclaim—someone will say to you what I heard today…
“That’s great! Now you should start thinking about writing The Great American Novel. You know—like a REAL book. Of course, you’ll have to work on your writing a whole lot first…”
…and the wind will go out of your sails.
It won’t matter who loved your work or what your critique partner or betas said. It won’t matter if your editor thinks your great, or your agent thinks you have quite a future. (You know, they say that to *everyone*, the doubt-crows whisper in your head.) It won’t matter WHAT success you’ve had, because that one fucking arrow, if aimed correctly, will spear right through your heart.
You’ll feel like you suck.
The real challenge of writing is that moment. Those things that brings you down again and again.
Because the hard fact is the only person who can truly convince you that you don’t suck is YOU.
Sure, you can beg the internet for reassurance, or a group of sweet people who’ve agreed to stroke your ego. But in the end we all know the truth. You’re the only person who can lift your own chin.
Only you can straighten your spine.
Only you can get yourself up and dust yourself off and even kick your own ass.
It’s you versus your self-esteem, and fuck it, you’re not going to get that whiny person inside you win.
That person is weak, and annoying.
She can’t write for shit.
And those naysayers—have THEY ever written a book? No? Then fuck ‘em.
In the end, it’s you versus every person or thought that gets in the way of telling the stories you want to tell.
And THAT is the real challenge.
Oh, and if I DO I ever write The Great American Novel? It’ll have sex in it. Lots of sex. And it’ll be GOOD sex. Hence…a romance novel.
Cheers, Daisy
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