I watched in curiosity with the rest of the world as Simone Biles pulled out of the Olympics a few months ago. I can’t imagine making such a difficult call. To put in that effort over such a period of time and then to withdraw. I admire her courage in stepping back, recognizing whatever it was that told her to say stop. That’s strength, people. Anyone that says differently has never put themselves on the line before.
I read a great article about her decision, and about other elite athletes who’d made similar calls in their careers. And while I’m not an elite athlete, I realized I’m skirting the edges of the yips and twisties right now. “In a moment driven by stress…you forget why you do what you do, and where you’re headed.”
Most writers will say they write because they simply cannot NOT write. I tried not writing. I officially did the not-writing thing for a couple of years once. I was discouraged. Writing wasn’t a real career and even if it was, I’d never be good enough. How would I pay rent in the meantime? Writing wasn’t for serious people and I was a serious person. Only I was jotting down ideas on paper scraps and on whiteboards and in the back of lab notebooks. Characters and plot points and ideas.
Writers will also tell you they write for themselves. Publishing isn’t the goal. Fame and money aren’t the goals. Most of us probably believe that to some degree. It’s not the goal but it sure would be nice. Who would turn down a six-figure advance or a movie deal? Who’ll decline the NYTimes bestseller list? The thing is…in order to achieve these not-goals, you have to publish.
Publishing is scary.
When our book sits under our bed or on our computer, it can be the greatest thing since sliced bread. Putting it out there…reality knocks on the door.
I put the final edits on my latest book this Labor Day weekend. The feeling…wow…95,000 words. My longest to date. And I seriously love this story. I know a mother should love all her children equally but I’ll tell you a secret: For the Love of Sam is my favorite. I wrote the prologue for this book more than 20 years ago. I wrote the first chapter a few years later but I never had the understanding or the skill to do more with it. I couldn’t do this book justice. When I started writing the story again, I thought…maybe…just maybe I had learned enough to do this book right.
Tomorrow I will start to query this book with agents. I think this book could be the one to get me an agent and that terrifies me. Because what if I’m wrong? What if what I think is my best work still isn’t good enough? You know what’s worse?
What if I’m right?
What if I get an agent? What if someone loves this book as much as I do? What if they manage to sell it? That means I’ll need to WRITE ANOTHER ONE JUST AS GOOD! *cue emotional spiral into the void of self doubt* This is what the elite athletes call the yips and twisties. I’m lost in the what-ifs.
When I get to this place, I tend to self-sabotage. I edit into oblivion. I stop writing. I change careers and move states and blow up my life so I don’t have time to write.
This confession is my attempt to head off the yips and twisties just a bit. I’m taking a step back, I’m evaluating, I’m planning, I’m moving forward. I have a goal. Whether I reach that goal or not I doubt anything will change for me. I’m a writer. I write.