I said I wouldn’t write this blog. A lot of people are writing encouraging blogs today, and I bet they’re better at it than me. I excel at encouraging authors I know, because I won’t lie and they know this. Lying about writing serves no one. When I try to encourage people as a group, I can hear them in my head saying, “Listen, Lady, you haven’t read my book. So shaddup.” Plus, I always feel like I should have clouds and a soaring eagle in the background.
This was *my* encouraging speech:
A preview of this outcome:
Unfortunately, then I wrote a few encouraging emails to individuals I DO know, and I realized I have something to say. Two somethings: one about my husband’s grandma. One about a terrible book.
Once upon a time, I was in the endless process of hawking one of my books to people, and I was sad that they didn’t want it (agents, publishers, CPs, can’t remember what stage I was in right now and it doesn’t matter). I was talking (whining) to one of my best friends (who happens to be my husband’s grandma. Shut up.).
Because I trust her, I was really honest. Like, ugly honest. I said, “I don’t know why I’m so freaking sad. I’m not one of those people who cares what strangers think of them. Maybe in my twenties I was, but now I could give a sh*t. Why do I care so much if they don’t think my book is good enough?”
She said, “You don’t.”
I glared into my soggy Kleenex and said (possibly with a small amount of sarcasm). “Um, you sure about that?”
She said, “You told me you write because you feel called to do it. When you get inspired, it feels like fate, like something you have to do.”
*loud nose blowing* “Okay, yeah. Maybe I said that once. So?”
“You don’t want someone to think your book is good enough, you want someone to tell you that your instinct isn’t wrong. That you’re doing this for a reason. That you ARE supposed to be doing it and when you feel inspired, it’s not ego or delusion, it’s real.”