On Writing Careers and Fear

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I'm the kind of person who likes—and often needs—to plan things out in advance. Whether it's plans to go out, plans for work, plans for trips, etc. I'm a planner both with my manuscripts and my everyday life. Planning makes me feel grounded, and allows me to prepare for what to expect for the day. It leaves me with a sense of solid surety that I can handle today's tasks.

While there are certain big things I can plan—my education, for example, and large life decisions that are under my control—a writing career is not one of them.

Sure, I can plan for things on my end—how many manuscripts I'll write this year, and in what order, and when I'll aim to have things ready for my critique partners and agent. I can plan my manuscripts themselves and set up a pipeline of the next five to ten books I'll work on, assuming I come up with that many ideas. There are things even in a writing career that I can control and plan—but my career itself? The reviews I get, what books are published, when they're published, my advance, my royalties, what rights sell, etc.—those things, while they directly affect my life—are completely out of my control. I can't predict them. I can't plan.

Similarly, there are things I can't predict and plan for when writing a manuscript, either. Even though I plot every scene upfront, I can't really accurately predict how long the manuscript will be. I also can't plan for how the writing will turn out, or what characters will need work in revision, or what plot points I'll need to rework. I can't plan for whether the manuscript takes me longer than expected due to life or health things, and I can't plan for whether my CPs, my agent, or my editor (or new editors!) will like my work.

And you know? It's scary.

It's scary knowing that the truth is, I just don't know. It's scary thinking that I can put my heart and soul into a book and some people will still hate it. It's scary considering that much of my writing career is really and truly out of my hands—that what happens after I write the end largely depends on other people.

For unpublished writers, it's scary thinking this manuscript you're working on may never be published. It's scary sending out query letters and knowing chances are likely you'll get a bunch of rejections before you hear good news. It's scary wondering whether you'll ever finish this manuscript, whether you'll ever get to the query stage to begin with. And it's scary knowing even if you get an agent, even if you get published, you may be writing and publishing for a long time before you're making anywhere near a living wage from your writing.

On my end, I've learned to cope with the unpredictability of my career by setting the bar ridiculously low. When budgeting, for example, I don't factor in my writing income at all—so anything I do get is a bonus and I'm not fretting over when my next writer paycheck will come in because I've already figured out how to pay my bills without it. Though I've got lots of projects in the works, I don't assume any of the ones not under contract will ever sell—in fact, I tend to assume the opposite until I have an actual offer. It's a defensive mechanism to not get my hopes up, but it also allows me to plan other aspects of my life without trying to rely on a career that, quite frankly, I can't even begin to predict.

Writing and a writing career is scary, especially when you're like me and don't feel grounded without a plan. But in my experience at least, it's also incredibly rewarding.

I may not know what my life will look like in five years—at least, not with the writing aspect—and I may deal with frequent fears when it comes to my writing career. But fear and writing is just part of the process, and though it never goes away, it is something you learn to cope with, one day at a time.

What writer fears do you deal with? 

Twitter-sized bite: 

The unpredictable nature of a writing career is scary. But it's possible to learn to cope with it. (Click to tweet)

On Writer Insecurities

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So the book that I’m currently revising, which I’ve started calling #NerdyWIP on Twitter, has been an emotional roller coaster to say the least. One day I love it—the characters, the message, the voice, and humor, and fandom references, and the next day I’m pretty sure it’s secretly terrible. It’s been like this since I started first drafting, and even after I’ve gotten really awesome feedback from CPs, and betas, and my amazing agent, it’s still been a very up and down experience.

Of course, I know I’m definitely not alone with these feelings.

Please tell me that everyonehits a point in a draft where they truly hate their book and can't remember why they thought it was a good idea.

— Olivia Hinebaugh (@OliveJuiceLots) May 12, 2015

Writing is a really personal experience. Even when you’re not intentionally making it personal or making parallels to your own life, it’s impossible to write without putting parts of yourself into the work, even subconsciously.

Every stage of the writing process has its own moments of terror: whether it’s the brainstorming panic of how will I ever write this book I’ve built up in my head? or the mid-draft my writing sucks block, or the finished draft what the hell did I just write? Then of course there are revisions which come with their own set of anxieties and insecurities that often run along the lines of how am I supposed to fix all of this?

To be honest, I don’t really have a solution or way to avoid this. It’s part of the process, and it’s scary when it happens. But the best remedies I’ve found are to keep going and/or talk to your critique partners (or agent, if that’s something you and your agent do).

But I think the important thing to remember is it does pass. And when you hit this point, know that it’s okay. It’s normal. It’s largely unavoidable and just about every writer goes through it repeatedly.

Experience it. Acknowledge it. Then move on. Just don’t let it paralyze you.

Have you experienced some writer insecurities? How do you get past it?

Twitter-sized bites:

Writer @Ava_Jae says, "it's impossible to write without putting parts of yourself into the work." What do you think? (Click to tweet) 

How do you get past writerly insecurities? Join the discussion on @Ava_Jae's blog. (Click to tweet)

Some Thoughts on Writing and Fear

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So I did this thing on Sunday night where I sent my second manuscript to my agent. And even as I think about it now, more than twelve hours later when writing this post, I still get a little quiver of anxiety.

There are a couple reasons why.

Firstly, this is the first manuscript my agent will see that she didn’t read before offering to represent me. It’s kind of a weird situation, because with the first manuscript, you know your agent will love it because they chose you based off of that manuscript (so they’ve already told you they love it). Any manuscripts after that? You kind of just do your best and hope everything works out. Judging by what I’ve seen other agented writers talk about online, this not an uncommon anxiety amongst writers.

Second, the manuscript. This MS, and the next one I’ll be revising, and the one after that all terrify me for various reasons. For the MS sitting in my agent’s inbox, it’s mostly the extremely personal nature of the manuscript, which I won’t really get into today, but I will say writing it was the most terrifying experience I’ve ever had with a book.

To give you an idea, when I finished first drafting it, I immediately put it away and declared it was awful and I’d never look at it again. Partially because I rushed through the ending and writing the whole thing was ridiculously difficult, and partially because the idea of taking that manuscript seriously and actually showing people really really scared me.

Even now, after seven people have read it and given me (largely positive) feedback, it still scares me. And to be honest, I’m not sure if I’m more terrified that my agent will read it and tell me to scrap it (or that it needs a bajillion years of work) or if she’ll read it and love it. If I’m being totally transparent here, I think the latter, right now, sounds scarier than the former.

Just writing this post is freaking me out a little.

There’s this quote on writing going around that I’ve even shared myself that basically says to write what scares you. The implication is that’s where your most powerful, raw writing will come from, and in my experience, that’s pretty true.

I’d also say, however, that writing what scares you doesn’t stop being scary after you’ve written it. If anything, it’s more terrifying, because you’ve written it, it’s out there, and now other people will see it. Potentially.

It’s no wonder so many writers struggle with anxiety.

I don’t know if this book will ever go on submission. I don’t know if it does go on submission if it’ll ever sell. I don’t know if any of you will ever see it.

What I do know, is despite the terror, I’m proud of this book.

I know that whatever happens, I love writing, and I’m excited to dive into my next project.

I know that even though my next book scares me, as does the book after that, I’m going to revise them anyway and make them as good as they can be.

Writing what scares you, as it turns out, is scary. But usually it’s because the stories that come out of it are really extra special.

Have you written a MS that scares you?

Twitter-sized bites: 

"Writing what scares you doesn't stop being scary after you've written it." (Click to tweet)  

Have you written a MS that scares you? Join the discussion on @Ava_Jae's blog. (Click to tweet)

Writer Fear, Debunked: I’ll Never Write This Well Again

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Not too long ago, I received another lovely e-mail from one of you wonderful readers, and in it was mentioned a fear that I suspect most writers know all too well.

Sometimes, when we write something that we’re particularly proud of, whether it’s a paragraph, scene, chapter, short story, poem, or book, we get this little nagging voice that says this is the best you’ll ever do. 

Sometimes, when we struggle after that great story or whatever it is, the voice says, you’ve plateaued. Might as well settle for mediocrity, because you’re not going to get better than this. 

Sometimes, when the struggle continues, the voice says, you’ll never write as well as that passage again. It’s over. 

And let’s be honest. Sometimes, we’re tempted to listen to that voice. 

Don’t do it. 

The wonderful thing about writing is that it’s a skill that we can always improve. There’s always more to learn, more ways to develop and hone our craft, more techniques and tips that even the top earners of the field are still taking in. There isn’t a final master level and we never plateau. 

The thing I love about writing is that much of the learning is subconscious. We learn every time we read a new book, every time we read a tip that resonates with us, every time we sit down and start writing. We learn with every edit we incorporate, every manuscript we evaluate, every tear we shed (figurative or literal) over revisions or getting that line just right. 

So whenever you reach a point when you start to think you’ll never write as well as that sentence/paragraph/passage/book/whatever, I want you to stop and tell that voice to shut up. 

Because not only will you write as well as that passage—you’ll write better. One day you’ll look back at what you thought was your best and you’ll realize just how much you’ve improved because your work now? It makes that fabulous passage look average. 

As long as you keep reading and writing and pushing to improve, I promise you you’ll get better. It may not feel like it, and you may not even realize it at first, but with every scene you write and book you read and sentence you edit, you are improving. You are learning. 

You are writing better than ever before. 

Have you ever heard the nagging voice? What did you do to overcome it? 

Twitter-sized bites: 

Have you ever worried that you'll never write as well as you have before? Here's why you shouldn't. (Click to tweet) 

Worried that your writing skill may have plateaued? You don't need to, and this is why. (Click to tweet)

Write What Scares You

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Late last spring, I came up with an idea for a new book. It was an ambitious idea, different from anything I’d written in a long time, and required a lot of world-building. As in, an entirely new planet, species and language, kind of world-building. 

I’ll admit, it intimidated me. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to do it justice. But I liked the idea, and I had a feeling that I may even be able to love the idea if I dove in headfirst, and after plotting it, I knew that if I somehow managed to pull it off, it might even be good. 

So I started writing. Tentatively, at first. I called it an experiment and tested the waters and told myself that if it didn’t work out, it was fine. It was just testing an idea. 

When I hit 10,000 words, I knew I had to make a commitment. This wasn’t just a little experiment anymore—if I continued down this road and fully committed myself to the project, I could have a completed draft in a matter of weeks. 

It still scared me. I still worried that I wouldn’t do the story justice, that I’d lose interest or confidence in the story halfway through. I hated the idea that I may hit 20 or 30k and realize it was wrong, as I had done with an ambitious project in the past. 

But despite my nervousness, I made it official and told Twitter I was working on an actual WIP. Which made it official to me, at least. 

Now several months and drafts later, I’m starting to think this WIP may be the best MS I’ve ever written. I love the story, the characters, the world that I was terrified to create. I love the plot, every jerk character or snarky line, you guys, I’m a tad bit obsessed with this WIP. And I love it. 

But had I allowed my fear to stop me from writing it to begin with, had I given in to the voice that whispered it won’t be good enough, I never would have fallen in love with my new characters and world. I would have missed out on several weeks of absolute joy while first drafting and revising. 

I’m not saying this MS is going to be The One—I have no idea what will happen from here. But regardless of what does or doesn’t happen with this WIP, I am so grateful for the experience. And even if the only ones who ever read it are my CPs, I would do it again in a heartbeat. 

I’d heard writers say you should write what scares you, and it always seemed like a nice idea. But now that I’ve experienced it myself, I can tell you with absolute confidence that the fear is worth it. Acknowledge it, accept that your project makes you a little nervous, then write it anyway. 

Because at the end of the road, when you’ve conquered your fear and have a shiny new WIP to boot, the feeling of accomplishment and wonder makes it all worth it. 

Are you or have you ever written something that scared you? 

Twitter-sized bites: 

Don't let fear paralyze your words. Writing what scares you might just lead to your best work yet. (Click to tweet) 

Have you ever written something that scared you? Writer @Ava_Jae shares her experience with fear and writing. (Click to tweet)

Don't Be Afraid of Failure

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Throughout my time in the Twitter/blogosphere, I’ve seen a lot of talk about failure. For writers, failure could be any number of things, whether it’s failing to write a good book, failing to get x amount of subscribers/page views/followers, failing to sell your manuscript, failing to sell enough copies of said manuscript…the list goes on.

I’m not here to talk about all the different ways a writer could fail, because quite frankly, we writers—hell, we as a people in general—tend to be pretty hard on ourselves when it comes to chasing our dreams and goals. Any hiccup, speed bump or letdown could be in one way or another interpreted as a failure.

Failure is a natural part of life—it’s a testament of the risks we’ve taken, they’re battle scars impossible to avoid throughout our lives and in the end, they leave us all the wiser.

But there’s this one particular failure that many writers are afraid of, one that has killed novels before they had a chance to live, one that has thwarted dreams and left many-a-writer feeling unworthy of the title.

By and large, writers are often afraid of writing badly.

I see it all the time on Twitter—writers who want to write, who have this goal, this dream of finishing their manuscript, who have put some words down and see others speeding ahead to meet their daily writing goals…and yet they hesitate. They look at the words they have so far and they pause. They say things like “I’m stuck,” or “I just can’t write today,” or “Maybe I’ll write later.”

And I recognize it because I’ve been there—because at times, I still find myself there. For me, the fear or writing badly is at its worst just before I start a new novel—that lingering whisper that looks at the plot I’ve thrown together or the first words I’ve scratched onto paper and sneers while it says the words: your writing sucks. They’re the doubts that crawl in and say, you can’t really write that—it’s going to be terrible.

For others, the fear of writing badly kicks in part-way through the story. It doesn’t matter when it kicks in though, because the result is the same: a seeming inability to write.

Something you need to understand—something I occasionally need to remind myself of—is this fear of failure is a lie. It’s a trick, because by being so afraid to put down a word, you’re already failing. By not writing anything at all, you lose by default.

Something you need to understand is it's infinitely better to have 80,000 words of a mediocre story than nothing at all.

Something you need to understand is even if you have to toss those 80,000 words and rewrite the whole thing entirely, even if the manuscript ends up in the bottom of a drawer, even if the words are so awful you’re embarrassed to show even your closest friends, you haven’t failed at all.

You haven’t failed because you wrote something; you created something, something that no one else could create the way you did. And maybe it’s ugly, and maybe it’s not the way you imagined it, but none of that matters because with every word you write, with every chapter you string together, with every novel you finish—terrible or not—you learn something. Those 80,000 words didn’t write themselves—you learn from the process just as much as you learn from reading and studying the craft.

The fear of failure is a lie, because you cannot fail, not really—you can only learn from your experience. And maybe you learn that you went about it the wrong way, or that you really need to study how to write dialogue, or that you’ve possibly written the most cliché-ridden antagonist in the history of terrible antagonists, but you learned something. And you’ll take whatever you’ve learned with you as you write the next book, the next short story or poem or whatever it is you write.

When you’re afraid of writing badly, don’t be. Put the words down and let them be God-awful and know that it doesn’t matter. These words are yours and one way or another, you’ll learn from them.

So go forth and write, friends. I’ll be cheering you along the way.

Also, read this beautiful post, DON’T BE AFRAID TO WRITE A BAD BOOK, from Tahereh Mafi, which basically covers everything I didn’t, and then some.

Has the fear of writing badly ever stopped you? What do you do to combat your writing fears? 

Character Development: Fear

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Everyone is afraid of something—most of us, many things. That may seem a bit cliché or redundant to say, but while we do our best to avoid fear in our everyday lives, we should punctuate on it in our writing.

What do I mean?

Fear humanizes us. It's something we all share as a species and an emotion that our characters should share as well—even the bravest and baddest of them all. You see, a character without fear is automatically unbelievable and more difficult to connect with—not to mention missing out on plenty of plot opportunities a character with a few fears has.

When looking to develop your characters, I highly recommend you get to know their fears—five each is a good place to start. The fears should range from anywhere as deep and integrated into the plot such as the fear of dying alone, to something as silly and simple as the fear of butterflies (which is a real fear by the way, linked to the fear of moths and called lepidopterophobia, but I digress).

It's not enough to be aware of our characters fears, however. Once you've developed a list, it's time to take a look at them and figure out how you can incorporate a couple of them into your plot.

Is your main character afraid of rabbits? Make sure she comes across a field full of those adorable little bouncing fluff balls.

Is your secondary afraid of bright colors? (again, a real fear believe it or not)—send him on a trip to Vegas.

Is your antagonist terrified of losing a loved one? Incorporate it into the plot.

I'm sure many of you noticed in my last example I used the antagonist, which brings me to my next point: evil characters have fears, too.

Yes, I know, it sometimes seems like an oxymoron to think of our antagonists as actually afraid of something, but the best, deepest antagonists have fears of their own that often color their actions and—at times—even causes them to make some fatal mistakes.

When it comes to fears, your antagonist should be no different from your main character —even the most nefarious of villains must be afraid of something to be believable. Their fears could be simple and linked to the plot—fear of losing power, for example, or fear of failure. I recommend, however, that you try to give your antagonist a normal, humanizing fear as well.

What if your antagonist's greatest fear really was losing a loved one? What would happen if his fear came true—or, perhaps, if it already did?

Discovering and developing our character's fears is a fantastic way to deepen your host of characters and make them more believable—not to mention the plot possibilities it provides you (how many times did Ron Weasley have to face his fear of spiders, for example? Or Indiana Jones and his phobia of snakes?)

Then once you've figured out what your cast is afraid of, it's time to start incorporating them into the plot.

Do you know what your characters are afraid of? Have you exploited their fears in your WIP?

Taking a Leap of Faith

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It’s easy to talk about not being afraid. To encourage others to push their fears aside and chase their dreams with the passion of a thousand suns. That part is simple. I’ve even done it myself.

Reading about it is easy, too. Nodding along and thinking yes, they’re right, I need to do that is secret and safe. No one will know if you actually go for it, and so no one will ever know if you fail.

Easy.

But doing. Actually going out there and taking a chance, actually leading by example and ignoring the resistance and the fear—that’s another matter entirely. It’s hard and it’s scary. Hell, it’s downright terrifying.

I know, because I’ve been there—scratch that, I’m there right now. But it wouldn’t be fair for me to tell you guys to chase your dreams and shove fear aside if I didn’t do it myself.

So I’m doing it. I’m taking a leap of faith. I’m going to be brave and take a risk and do something I’ve been putting off for months.

I’m going to design book covers. For you.

Starting today, I’m taking on commission work. If you’d like to see what I can do you can check out my deviantart page or the pretty new Cover Design page up top.

So there you are, guys. I’m taking a chance, a leap of faith, and I hope it’ll encourage you to do the same. Because I’m done letting fear dictate what I can and can’t do. And you should be, too.

And for that, I think we all deserve some confetti.

Photo credit: ADoseofShipBoy on Flickr

What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail? What’s stopping you? 

Just Keep Swimming, Swimming, Swimming...

After writing six full manuscripts, I thought I understood the process of writing a novel. I could finish a manuscript. I knew about the highs and lows of writing, about those days when driving bamboo shoots beneath my fingernails would have been easier than pounding out a hundred words.

That was old news. I had it under control.

But then something happened. I began a novel, got through twenty pages and choked. What was I thinking writing this? It was a terrible idea! I was insane to think that I could actually continue with it. The writing was all wrong, the voice forced.

Besides, I had a better idea. So I started over. I wrote another twenty pages. The idea died. Suddenly I couldn’t go on. I didn’t know where to go from there; in fact I wasn’t even sure it was worth pursuing.

I began to panic. I needed time off from writing, I said. I just needed to relax, to focus on other things, to distract myself.

Weeks went by. Months. I hadn’t written a novel. I wasn’t working on a manuscript and I began to feel useless. I couldn’t write and I couldn’t understand why this was happened. Never before had I encountered this kind of death of the muse.

The panicking continued. I was stiff, I doubted my ability. Was I wrong? Was my dream to become published over? Was I really about to give up?

Had I lost my ability to write?

So here it is; the cheesy Finding Nemo reference. You knew it was coming.

I’d become Marlin. I’d dropped the ball and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find it again. It was a doomsday scenario in my mind; I’d lost my ability to write and now my dream was over. OVER! All hope was lost.

To my credit, I sat down and started again. I only got through a chapter this time before I got stuck. I choked back the frustration bubbling up inside me and smothered the need to run outside and scream at the sky. I waited a few days and went back to the opening chapter. I didn’t want to abandon this idea too, there was something there. An energy waiting to be harnessed, a spark, something.

But the fear was overwhelming me. It smothered my inspiration and strangled every idea. 

It’s not that the writing was bad; in fact I thought there were some pretty good moments. I was just scared. Afraid that this one would end up like the others, tossed away into the depths of my hard drive. I began to realize that the problem wasn’t in the story. It was me.

I was the problem, because I was afraid.

You see, I’d written six manuscripts, but I’d never been published. I’d gone through the motions, the editing, the researching, the query letters and synopsis, the rejection letters, the crying. I’d run through the process so many times I dreamt about it, but it all ended the same way: sorry, but this isn’t for us.

What I needed was to keep going. Sometimes you need to get past the fear and delve into the murky depths. Yes it may be dark, and yes you may feel uncertain and alone, but just keep swimming.

You’ll find the shore sooner than you think.

Question time! What do you do when the fear gets overwhelming?