Dear Writer,
Here’s the thing about giving really great advice to people, advice like “Bring to life your inspirational avatar and call them to you…”
…is that then you have to do it.
Like I said this week, it’s not about the knowledge. It’s about the practice. It’s about doing the thing.
And I am so scared to do the thing.
I’m intimidated, and my internal voice is so mean, and I don’t know if I’m any good anymore. I’m not entirely convinced I was ever any good. And when I say that, I hear my own words…
…the only way to be good at anything is to be bad at it first…
…and I get really irritated with me. Because I’m right, and I know I’m right, and hey, me, how’s about you shut up for a little bit how’s about that?
I’ve been through so much in recent years. I am different. Trauma changes your fucking brain, for one thing. Maybe I don’t work the same way. Maybe I can’t work the same way.
Maybe I can’t work.
I’ve built up this whole “story expert” thing and I know how story works and I teach how story works but what if I can’t make story actually fucking work? Also, it’s been forever since I’ve written anything. If I did write something, I don’t know if I would want to traditionally publish but more importantly, would they want me? Because traditional publishing, no matter how much it sucks and how abusive it is and how little it pays, is Validating As Fuck.
And maybe I feel like I might need a little validation.
Or a lot.
Maybe.
I don’t know. It’s all a mess in my head.
And I know the answer to all of this. The answer is, “It doesn’t matter, because that’s all outcome, and outcome is not your business.”
I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m a huge catastrophize-the-future type. I think, somewhere in my twisted mindset, I believe that if I expect the worst, I’ll be able to handle whatever comes my way. I’ll be prepared.
And that is some high-grade, next-level bullshit, I tell you. Here’s why.
Lots of terrible things have happened to me in my life, and I never saw any of them coming. My father’s sudden death when I was 12. Didn’t see it coming. My first marriage falling apart. Head in the sand. My second husband lied about literally everything. I was shocked. I was prepared for exactly none of the big terrible things.
But meanwhile, while all these real terrible things came at me from left field, I was giving all my energy to a million imaginary things that never, ever happened, in some futile attempt to See The Next Thing and Be Prepared.
It doesn’t work that way. Here’s how it actually works: You see your therapist, you build your resilience, and when a storm hits, you get through it and pick up the pieces and you’re able to do that because you saw your therapist and built up your resilience.
And then, when my energy isn’t being sucked into a pointless pit of nothing all the time, I’ve got so much more energy left to enjoy the good stuff. You know. The stuff I missed while I was fretting over the Next Big Disaster That Never Actually Happened.
So, what I’ve learned: Worrying about the future is an energy pit. Outcome is not my business.
My business is doing my thing. And writing is my thing. I still love it, I still want to do it, and how it turns out?
Not. My. Beeswax.
When I take the outcome out of the writing process, I completely relax. I get excited. I can see Max wagging his tail, so excited that we’re gonna go on that W-A-L-K I’ve been promising.
He’s such a good boy.
So this is what I’m gonna do. Outcome doesn’t matter. Action matters.
I’ll go schedule my Max time like SUCH A GOOD GIRL and report in on how it goes next week.
Everything,
L