Dare Greatly — just 2 seconds of courage required
So — how did I get from there (angster who doubted they could write) to here, an agented writer with a real chance of publication? I’ll tell you next time…
joking….
Well, there was no miracle moment, as such. Sorry. It was slower than that. Read my previous blogs for how I had to tackle my own head for a start.
But the sudden death of my Mum certainly sent an earthquake through me. At first, I was mired in quicksand, swallowed by grief. I’m sure I don’t have to tell many of you about those moments.
But eventually, I became aware of an inner prodding, a different voice, the one that said ‘life is short’. I dusted off my WIP and began tapping away at it again.
I remember watching several TED talks on YouTube on conquering fear: choose any of them for yourself https://www.ted.com/playlists/468/how_to_overcome_your_fears
I learned that in order to be creative and successful, you must accept the inevitability of failure along the away.
To quote Brené Brown again, you must ‘dare greatly’ — I highly recommend it.
It makes so much sense when you think about it. Great writers, successful writers, they all have a story of being repeatedly rejected, of failures. Not just writers, all the greats in life, scientists, actors, painters, etc. They all failed at some point in the process but they did not give up. Those that feared failure were paralysed. They never did anything out of the ordinary, they never risked ridicule, criticism, disaster. As a result, they never achieved anything extraordinary. Were any of these people perfect? Were none of them naturally anxious? You bet! But they dared to do it anyway.
I could dare greatly, I decided. I decided to become a writer and get my book published. Why the fuck not?
Of course, we’ve all read the many, many articles telling me how difficult this is, with 0.1% of writers ever getting an offer of representation from an agent.
I decided I would be in that 0.1% The phrase was ‘dare greatly’ was it not? Not ‘dare a bit’.
For now, I felt I had battled with my work enough on my own. The advice is always to have others read your work. Despite that being vomit-inducing, I decided imput from others would be useful, no imperative. But I still did not really have much confidence in my ability. I had never actually showed anyone my writing in all those decades.
The ghost of Brené Brown echoed in my head,
DARE GREATLY
(OK — poetic license — she isn’t dead. Long live Brené)
I swallowed the bile and booked myself on a few writing workshops, then day retreats (they had to be cheap, or highly discounted in my case). The thought of speaking to people about my writing? Or even showing it to someone? The thought of having to give my opinion on their writing? How could I even think I was qualified?
Then I realised that for that moment, I only needed that two seconds of courage to press send on the forms, the emails.
Surely we can all have courage for two seconds?
So I screwed up my eyes, clenched my jaw, took a deep breath and pressed send. Oh, I instantly regretted it, of course, but it was done. You cannot unsend, my friend… and that was, after all, the point.
I was. Yikes! What was I thinking? I don’t participate! I was the four year old that had to be dragged out of ‘Book corner’, horrified, as I was forced to join in with a round of ‘happy and you know it’ with the other nursery children. I was ‘Mini Houdini’, slipping out of apparently locked doors, scaling five foot fences to escape, turning up on my front doorstep, 2 miles away. My favourite place as a child was in the airing cupboard, reading a book. As a teen, I hated parties; small talk was a foreign language. This is what millennials call Neuro Divergent, or something. We were simply known as rude, or nerdy, or not cool in my day. Faced with these courses and workshops, was I going to revert to the familiar? Give in to the anxiety? Nope, not this time. I would dare greatly and embrace the pounding heart.
I won’t even start on the hammering heart and sweaty palms when I actually had to attend those workshops. The agony of having to find the place, work out how to open the door (not just me I hope?), greet complete strangers. Barfsville, USA.
But, again, one step, one foot in front of the other. A few seconds of courage, then a few more. I learned to manoeuvre my mind in bouts of seconds.
And you know what? There are some really lovely people out there that also struggle to call themselves writers, but would dearly love to.
I can’t say I mastered the small talk, but I did learn to read other’s work with a critical eye, to provide useful feedback on their work and this , in turn, helped me to look at my own writing with a critical eye and not a … er.. critical eye. There’s a difference you know.
Did any of this make me feel intimidated? Anxious?
You know it did! But, you know what? It didn’t kill me.
For such gains I could learn to tolerate a little discomfort. And it taught me so much about my own writing. I learned to accept others’ praise (I had never had any problem accepting the criticism). Within this supportive environment, I learned how to assimilate the advice that chimed within, and to ignore that which did not, to stand my ground when I should, and to relinquish territory when it made sense. I gained in confidence. My voice crystallised, gained strength. I had other people telling me I was good. Not perfect, but good enough. More importantly, a little voice in my own head began to believe it.
The course gave me a little community of like minded people — other writers. This idea had always scared me but now I had plunged in and found the water wasn’t bad, rather soothing in fact.
It seems to me that the writers that are open minded, digest constructive criticism offered without letting it crush their souls, the ones are are willing to adjust, revise, participate fully, are the ones that thrive and succeed.
I’m going to recommend the fantastic, sweary people below (other courses and workshops are, of course, available, but I can personally attest to these):
And, then there are competitions. I know, right? Hold onto that vomit.
You only need those two seconds of screwed up courage, just enough to press that send button. Go on Dare greatly.
Some comps give you feedback, like https://cheshirenovelprize.com/
These are brilliant. I got longlisted for the Bath Novel Prize. I cannot tell you what a boost you will get if that happens!
So — hold your breath, clench those teeth, gird your loins, whatever it takes, find those two seconds and PRESS SEND.
