Tammy Letherer 
I was driving in the car with my 16-year-old son when I realized I had nothing to write about this week.
“I have no ideas for my blog,” I told him. “I’m drawing a complete blank.”
“Why don’t you write about the movie you went to?” he said, referring to Bohemian Rhapsody. “You liked that.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, but I was feeling grumbly, certain there was nothing I could say about Queen or Freddy Mercury that would be interesting.
But here’s the thing: each time I’m given an assignment or a writing prompt is a chance to access creativity from a different angle. It may not feel the same as it does when it’s blown in on the wings of inspiration, but it’s still there, ready to be tapped.
So I started thinking about the movie. I told myself what I tell other writers—that I don’t have to make an observation that’s never been made. I don’t have to tell you why the movie was interesting; I only have to express why it was interesting to me.
I loved learning the backstory about the band Queen. I loved seeing how Freddy Mercury committed to an outlandish idea of injecting opera into a rock song. I was struck by how boldly he stuck to his vision, and at how much fun the band seemed to have with the creative process.
And I was astonished by how much rejection and criticism followed.
Ah. Here it was: something I could relate to and write about.
After I finished my memoir I began sending it to agents and publishers. It was the start of a long period in which I actually began to appreciate rejection; anything was better than no response at all, which was often the case. I gave myself a deadline: I would spend either one year or send one hundred queries—whichever came first—before giving up.
As it turned out, those two deadlines kept close pace with each other and, just as I was nearing my final queries, my manuscript was accepted by She Writes Press.
I share this because during that time I was plagued with doubts. I thought about how crazy I was to think my story deserved to be published when it was not necessarily a unique experience. It wasn’t like I had performed in a televised concert for billions of people or raised millions of dollars to fight starvation. I was only trying to make sense of a divorce. (Yawn.)
Watching Bohemian Rhapsody reminded me that everyone has a unique perspective and personality and experience. And that when we are brave enough to be ourselves and believe in ourselves, we all have an opportunity to connect with others in surprising ways.
I have to hold my vision, even when no one else gets it.
This is the real life. Not just fantasy. When I can achieve this, like Freddy says, “Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me.”
