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The Insecure Writer’s Support Group – 09/03/14

  • Posted on September 4, 2014 at 1:00 am

IWSG badgeI only recently found out about the Insecure Writer’s Support Group, so forgive this post being a few minutes late.  Basically, from what I can understand of the website, it’s a group meant to bolster and support those going into writing as a career, by helping them see that others have similar insecurities, and by talking them through them.

To be completely honest, I have more insecurities than triumphs, right now, and that’s not something to shake a stick at. I’ve triumphed a lot in my life, to get where I am now, and so when I say the insecurities way me down, I mean it, truthfully.

The thing about it is, however, that you can’t let that sort of thing hold you back. Several of my fears are completely valid. Being the type of person I am, I compartmentalize, and then end up completely disorganized through out the entire process, which just leads to chaos. So, in an effort to help you through some of the things that I’m suffering through, I’m going to organize a little.

Worry one: I’m not going to make it. 

My mother is an author. My best friend is an author. My Mentor is an author. All of these people, I hold dear. But each in their own way, they struggle beyond what is possible for me to feel comfortable with. My mother has one book published, and is working on her second, and honestly, I’d give anything to be nothing like her. That’s a whole seperate story. My best friend has written five books, and none of them are published because he is waiting for one specific publishing house to recognise his works. And my mentor, possibly the most successful of all of us, has two books published, and still is not earning enough to support himself yet.

None of these are my idea of ‘making it’. Of Succeeding. My idea of succeeding is the type of fandom and fame that people like Neil Gaiman, Andrew Hussie, and J.K. Rowling have. And my fear is that I will never reach that level of success.

But that’s wrong. To worry about that so early in the game. The only way I will ever make it, is if I put my all into it now, if I give everything I have to succeeding. I can’t allow this worry to cripple me, the way I’ve allowed worries like this to do so in the past. I have done so much in my short life, and this will not be something that I don’t cross off my bucket list. So please, don’t let the high pole of your own idea of ‘making it’ hold you down.

Worry number two: The things I’m writing will perpetuate horrible things.

If there is one thing I want more than to be the next J.K., it’s to make sure that my writing MEANS something. That it gives someone who didn’t have representation before, that representation. That it allows people to feel more comfortable being themselves.

So I worry and fuss and drive myself nuts over my books and blogposts and writing, to make sure that they don’t hurt those I’m trying to help. It’s a lot harder than one might think to avoid internalised misogyny, or misandry. To fight off homophobia that I didn’t realise slipped into the way I write. To tear away anything that might make someone feel worse about themselves than they already do. And I’m scared that I might never be able to do what needs to be done to make the world a better place.

To combat this worry, I’m trying to learn as much about the world as possible, so that I might end up helping, instead of hurting. I’m attempting to make sure that nothing is left out. That I leave no stone unturned. Honestly, there are some who would tell me not to worry about this, but it seems to me that not enough people worry. So I try my hardest.

Worry number three: I’m afraid I’ll decide this is a waste of time someday, and quit.

I have picked up a habit over my years on earth, and it’s a bad one. I start something, put a lot of work into it. Hard, fun work, that leaves me breathless and wanting more. And then suddenly, as if nothing ever happened, I just… can’t do it anymore. I can’t pick up the pen. I can’t make myself write that next reply. I can’t tell myself that I need to continue it.

Knitting, Final Fantasy Eight, Gardening, Drawing, Painting, Manga-writing, BDSM, Domme-ing, Relationships, and numerous, numerous story ideas. All thrown to the wind, on a whim. I have come to accept that I am a fickle creature. And what worries me, is that after all this effort I’ve put into working so hard on this, I’ll just… give up.

I don’t know how to combat this worry. I don’t know how to get rid of it, or change it, or make it work for me. The best I can do, the best anyone can do, is take it one day at a time, and try their hardest. That’s why I write as many blogposts as I can, that’s why I read so many blogs on my Feedly. That’s why I twitter more now than I ever have before. That’s why I search for blogs and talk to other writers, and try desperately to tie what I’m doing here into my other areas of interest.

Worry number four: I’m worried that this will take over my life, and kill my other dreams.

I want to open a Manga Cafe. The first Manga Cafe in Colorado. I want to have children. I want to travel the world. I want to be financially stable and own my own home. All of these things… None of them are mutually exclusive. But I’m afraid that all the work, all the effort, all the energy I have to put into this whole author-business, will take away from the energy I’ll have for these other dreams.

How can I run a cafe, a business, when I have to spend so much time writing, just to be a mediocre author? What will my children think when I have to tell them I can’t take them to the park because Mommy has to write? Travelling the world costs money, and since it looks like I’m going to be an indie-author, I can’t afford that kind of expense. My money, my life, my energy has to go towards my career as an author.

This is a simple fix, though. This is all just a matter of perspective. If I can wire my writing into the rest of my life, as well, then maybe, just maybe, I can have it all. Why not write while travelling? It’ll make my books more realistic! My cafe can give rise to whole new book ideas, as well as a place to sell my books, and others! My children will see me working hard towards my dreams, and gain a work ethic themselves. I can do it. I can do this, and I WILL make my dreams come true!

Worry number five: I’m worried that I’ll succeed. 

Now, bear with me here, because I know one of my worries up there was that I WOULDN’T make it. But, making it, succeeding in becoming the type of author I want to be… Well, that’s just as terrifying. The kind of fanbases that J.K. and Hussie and Gaiman have are amazing, but also, dangerous. People have Andrew Hussies’ BABY pictures online. I would have no privacy. Not only that, but these people would be hanging on my every word. I would be responsible for a part of their world view. That’s a horrid responsibility.

And there would be my close friends. What of my best friend, who is still waiting for that publisher to call him back? The jealousy there might ruin our friendship. I would rather die than lose him as a friend. And what of my mother? I love her, but what if she thinks this is some kind of contest? We barely have a tenuous relationship as it is. I’d rather not turn into Rose Lalonde, thank you.

The only balm I can soothe this worry with is that I won’t let success change me. Not really. I will still be friends with those I love. I will still be me. And I know I’ve never intentionally hurt a person. And I’ve never withheld an apology when I knew it was really needed. So I can only hope that responsibility will sit with me easily.

Does anyone else have these worries? How do you soothe yours? Please tell me, because I’d love to hear.

Weely Writing Update: 09/02/14

  • Posted on September 3, 2014 at 4:00 pm

So I meant to do this update two days ago, to kind of wrap up August, but I ended up working and basically emotionally drained entirely. Luckily, I have more energy now! I even managed almost 2500 words the other day, on a cute little story! The link is below, under Nightmares Waking. Please take a look!

Word Counts

Kurylian Saga: The Sorcerer and The Swordsman – Edit one – 11 pages

Kurylian Saga: The Prince and The Corpse – Rough Draft – WC: 1,348

Kaimi Rowe Series: Seeker Born – Rough Draft – Restarted – Outline phase

Unnamed Scifi short story – Idea stage – Minor research done

Blog Posts

Build Your Own Challenge

Breaking Down Nemesis: Part Four

Nightmares Waking

Books Read

Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman

Goals

Seven chapters of Nemesis read/blogged

Finish Tithe by Holly Black

Finish Valiant by Holly Black

Write a 2500 word short story

At least four blogposts posted this week

Build Your Own challenge

  • Posted on August 25, 2014 at 9:10 pm

abandoned-buildingI had been here before, a long time ago. Something tickled against my body, and I shivered. My foot found it’s way onto the old metal staircase without my mind telling it to. The echo sounds just like it might if I’d stepped on rock in a dank cave somewhere in the deep jungles of the world. Here, surrounded by the graffiti of activists past, I find my hand pressing along the cold, sticky railing.

Up, up, up, I turn, following the staircase with single minded intention. What would I find at the end? What was it that tickled my memory so, that made me desperate to remember, deeply wanting to find out. That strange tickle at the bottom of my belly had started up again.

The one that always told me to go through the small hole at the bottom of that fence next to the abandoned house. The feeling that had me going down alleys that had gates at the end of them. The sense of something great being just behind a locked door, one with wrought iron hinges and stained glass. That same hope, that maybe, just maybe, this time, something wonderful would happen.

This door, instead, was rusted, and leaning at a tilt that let light come through the door. It’s handle was cold and rough against my palm, and I wanted to squeeze it harder. My chest felt tight, something wrong and right all at the same time. I had been here, once. So long ago that I can barely remember it. What was behind this door? What had I forgotten so completely that it filled me with such excitement at the idea of seeing it again?

The shriek of the door’s opening was louder than my heartbeat. Everything whited out. The smell of clean air. The rustle of soft leaves. I pushed past the sudden glare of sun. When my eyes stopped watering, I saw it all.

The beautiful green garden that I suddenly remembered with a clarity so sharp it felt like a knife’s edge. Grown wild now, with no one to tend it, it exploded across the building’s roof, and down the sides of the walls. I remembered now, the old woman with the soft eyes, her scarred lips laughing. I remembered the afternoons I’d come here, hoping for adventure, and never being let down. She’d told me so many stories. So many happy endings, and cliffhanging heroes.

My eyes watered again, this time, at the remembrance of childhood. This time, I let them drip down my cheeks, a solemn wake for a time long lost to me. A time just discovered again. Now, I set out. For a new adventure. Perhaps this time, it would be I who told the tales, who picked the jewel-like berries and pressed them into jam and drink for curious children.

Kicking off my shoes, I began my next adventure.

 

This peice was written in response to Daily Post’s current Build Your Own writing challenge. They inspired us to pick a picture, and an opening line. This, is what I came up with. Upon hearing the opening line, I immediately thought of all the wonder that accompanies discovering something you once knew. And so, this grew out of it. 

 

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