Q:I ended my last FAQ post by saying "If you really want to write, you'll find the time."
To which one person responded: "It is not the writing that I have difficulty finding the time for, it is the "Writing". People keep telling me I should "Write" rather than write but I can never find time. And I suspect the reason is the one given in your final sentence. Deep down, I suspect I am frightened of attempting to Write in a serious way (whatever that may be.)
A: That wasn't actually a question but that's okay -- this isn't actually an answer. But if the writer is talking about a fear of rejection, I can speak from my personal experience.
When I was in high school and in college, I thought I'd like to be a Writer. I knew I wrote well -- I was an English major, after all. I wrote essays and papers and the like all the time. And got A's on them. But could I Write?
To me, Writing meant publication -- preferably in The New Yorker and, failing that, in some prestigious literary journal.
And I couldn't bear the thought, not so much of rejection as of anyone knowing about said rejection. I even toyed with the idea of renting a box at the post office so I could receive issues of The Writers Digest surreptitiously -- as well, perhaps,as the dreaded rejection letters.
I didn't do this -- neither did I pursue Writing any farther after sending one poem to The New Yorker and, not surprisingly, receiving one rejection letter.
It took over forty years before I decided to Write -- ie pursue publication. And somehow, a wonderful thing had happened. I had lowered my expectations. (I suspect it had to do with age and wisdom.)
It didn't have to be The New Yorker or a fine literary journal. It didn't have to be The Great American Novel or even literary fiction. I decided to have a go at a mystery -- crime fiction -- a genre that reaches from just adequate writing to Really Amazing Writing.
I gave myself permission to fail. And permission to fail publicly. (More age and wisdom -- I find that the older I get, the less I care about what others think of me.) I told people I was trying to write a mystery. When I finished it (and what an achievement that felt like!) I let it be known I was querying agents.
When I was in high school and in college, I thought I'd like to be a Writer. I knew I wrote well -- I was an English major, after all. I wrote essays and papers and the like all the time. And got A's on them. But could I Write?
To me, Writing meant publication -- preferably in The New Yorker and, failing that, in some prestigious literary journal.
And I couldn't bear the thought, not so much of rejection as of anyone knowing about said rejection. I even toyed with the idea of renting a box at the post office so I could receive issues of The Writers Digest surreptitiously -- as well, perhaps,as the dreaded rejection letters.
I didn't do this -- neither did I pursue Writing any farther after sending one poem to The New Yorker and, not surprisingly, receiving one rejection letter.
It took over forty years before I decided to Write -- ie pursue publication. And somehow, a wonderful thing had happened. I had lowered my expectations. (I suspect it had to do with age and wisdom.)
It didn't have to be The New Yorker or a fine literary journal. It didn't have to be The Great American Novel or even literary fiction. I decided to have a go at a mystery -- crime fiction -- a genre that reaches from just adequate writing to Really Amazing Writing.
I gave myself permission to fail. And permission to fail publicly. (More age and wisdom -- I find that the older I get, the less I care about what others think of me.) I told people I was trying to write a mystery. When I finished it (and what an achievement that felt like!) I let it be known I was querying agents.
My family saw the rejection letters clogging the mail box. (The post office is over thirty minutes away -- thank goodness I'd gotten over the secrecy bit.)
The above is not one of mine -- I wish that it had been. Encouraging rejections are few. And in spite of my lowered expectations, each form rejection was like a body blow. A scribbled note on a rejction letter, on the other hand, felt like a hug.
I've told people that I think one needs to feel fairly strong and secure in themselves to risk repeated blows to the self esteem. But if you want to Write, that's what you have to do. You can't succeed without risking failure.
People deal with rejection in many ways from papering a room with rejection letters to changing their names and moving out of town.
Here's a novel approach. Check out the Journal of Universal Rejection .
It might be therapeutic. Or at least good for a giggle.
