It's that time again.
|Thanks Mr. Alex Cavanaugh|
I receive messages from Dan Blank and once in a while I actually read them. Here's one that was perfect for today's Insecure Writer Me post.
|A Writer On The Way To The Top|
You, Dear Writer, Are Going to Fail Miserably
You, dear writer, are going to fail. Miserably. Until you succeed.
You will be alone. Until you are embraced with open arms.
We are going to make fun of you (giddily.) Until we come to respect you.
We will find every tiny flaw in your otherwise decent story. Until it grabs our hearts and makes us fall in love.
We will do the worst thing possible for way longer than you expect: we will ignore you. Until we can't stop thinking about you, and talking about your work.
We will use you as a scapegoat for our own sense of inequity. Until we strive to become more like you.
We will take pot-shots at you. Making fun of things that are none of our business.
Until you stop caring about those things. We will grossly generalize what your work embodies, misconstruing it whenever possible.
Until you ensure we "get it." Dear author, we are not going to make this easy for you.
Which is why so many authors stop. They stop writing.
They give up. Too soon.
Sometimes moments before success and validation; other times, years before.
We win. Game over.
If you want an excuse to stop, to give up, oh we will gladly provide them. It's a hobby of ours, really.
Go ahead, try to get us to stop. We won't.
There are too many of us, and this is simply too much fun.
We won't stop until you start caring less about what we say, and more about the power of your own work.
Until our words hold no power over you. And likely, until that mirror you look into everyday that speaks our words in your own voice holds no power over you as well.
Who's the WE in this letter?