Tammy Letherer I attended the Chicago Writers’ Association conference last weekend and, after two full days of workshops and socializing, I collapsed in exhaustion, both inspired and discouraged by all I learned.
Do you know the feeling I mean? Or, rather, feelings, because it was a stew of both excitement and self-doubt, bubbling between I can, I might, I will… and I could, I would, I should…
I came away overwhelmed by so many stories—of both success and failure—and the fact that not one writer’s path was exactly like another’s.
The woman who sat beside me during lunch was a beginning writer who had written forty pages of a first draft.
A CWA board member and presenter had self-published her first book, then handed it out for free on Michigan Avenue before being picked up by St. Martin’s Press.
One of the speakers, an author of four books and numerous short stories, said she had four more unpublished manuscripts sitting in a drawer.
A workshop leader laughingly told us over dinner that, despite having three published novels, she couldn’t buy a cup of coffee with what she’s earned.
Welcome to the wonderful world of writing, seemed to be the wry underlying sentiment, where all the cliches are true; where hard work, patience, and thick skin are just the beginning. And where, against all odds, creative souls persevere and continue to not only define their own success but find satisfaction in the journey.
How is this possible? How does anyone get beyond all the comparisons and self-doubt and what-the-hell-am-I-doing-this-for-anyway feeling?
My own critical voice kept piping up as I listened in amazement to a short story analysis led by a writer who has an MFA. I wanted to kick myself. Why didn’t I get an MFA? Why did I become a marketing copywriter after college instead of going to graduate school? How can I be part of this group who has fun discussing subtext and interiority and the intricacies of emotional responses?
I had to remind myself that, in the famous words of Theodore Roosevelt, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” I have to accept that, to borrow another famous phrase, “I did it my way.”
The truth is that, when I look back over my choices as a writer, I see that any success I’ve enjoyed has come only after I’ve shifted my internal perspective and expectations.
Only after I decided to believe in myself.
It’s not an original idea. But the constant pressure to be original or brilliant is just another should that keeps me from expressing myself.
Attending the conference reminded me to enjoy the process and I encourage you to do the same. Just sit down and write. Do whatever it takes to get to that place, beyond the woulds and shoulds, where you can say:
I knew I could. And the only one you should be talking to is you.
