So life in the movies always seems so blissful. Even the montages of people working hard, clips of 1am desperation and bursts of passion.
In real life, it all just sucks.
I’ve always wanted to write a book. There I said it. It seems daunting, or perhaps it seems like the easiest thing in the world (lol), but there it is.
I’ve always felt like I had a way with words (at least in the written format, verbal is a whole other mess of a story ). So naturally I felt like that was a given. That sometime in the future it would happen to me.
That’s the sin of my whole string of thoughts right there.
It would happen to me.
Why do we think that things are just going to FALL OUT OF THE SKY INTO OUR LAP, without actually putting the work into it? Like we’re smart people, and yet the thought of actually working hard to achieve something still blows my mind.
Maybe because the creeping thoughts of even that not being good enough, is enough to shatter our dreams.
While researching publishing companies that submit manuscripts and looking at book proposal templates, I was already scared out of my mind. Just on that first step: the book proposal.
Mostly because, the entire length of a manuscript-the months and months of writing- could be constricted into a tiny little three sentence elevator pitch? And that pitch, would fuel the fate of your entire manuscript?
Do I just sound like I’m complaining now? Maybe I am (what else is new).
Then it had questions about the marketing value, and to be quite honest I have no clue about business-y things, marketing, selling, anything like that. My in-the-process degree is in freaking criminology for goodness sakes! (Double majoring along side professional writing….but you know…still).
I guess the point of this post (don’t worry, if you’re still unsure of its point…me too), is that the things that lead you down to your dreams, are hard.
Sometimes, people say, ‘If you do what you love, you’ll never have to work a day in your life’. Well, I used to believe that, but even now when I’m on the road of doing things that I really enjoy doing, like writing blog posts, creating Youtube videos, Instagram photos etc:
it is work.
It can be lovely work because you love the feeling that it gives you, but it is still WORK.
And what I’m also realizing is that, some day…..might be closer than we think. We tend to push things over in the future just so we could be comfortable in where we are now. So that we don’t have to think about it, don’t have to try-while still ‘dreaming.’ What’s the point of dreaming without actually doing something about it?
I feel like my whole life has been full of wishful thinking, and only lately I’ve gotten to the point of: ‘enough is enough.’
It feels liberating. It feels magical. But it’s dreadful.
Because writing-to those who don’t write- is an exceptionally vulnerable art form. It is so intimate that you feel naked every time somebody reads your words. You pour out your blood cells on paper (or screen…lol), and write those words from a trail of stab wounds.
So the thought of writing a story that’s so dear to your heart, editing it, spending your days and nights in it, could feel like you’re planted right back into the past.
The past that you spent so much time forgetting.
You try so hard to push your feelings away, but writing about them is like transporting yourself back in time.
So tell me, is that healing, or re-opening past wounds?
I don’t know. I guess every writer has to take that sacrifice. I look at song-writers that I get inspired by like Halsey and Adele. If you read their songs, they’re like soulful poetry. You only get that deep when you are willing to really dive headfirst into your emotions, into your past, and risk feeling that all over again.
I’ve heard so many stories of writers-no matter song-writers, book writers, bloggers- crying in front of their work because they opened a part of themselves they had kept dormant for so long before putting it on paper.
So I guess what I’m trying to say, is that writing is intimate. But that intimacy is all that readers want to read. It’s how I appreciate a good piece of writing, when the artist’s bare soul is splattered on it.
So maybe you’ll have an elevator pitch that’ll suck. And it’ll disappoint you.
Maybe you’ll have a story that sucks. Maybe the actual story doesn’t suck, but the way you write it sucks.
There are so many possibilities of failure. But the way I’m starting to see it, is that even if I don’t ever get it published, I would’ve have written a story that meant something to me.
That for a moment in time, it would hold my entire beating heart in typewritten font.
And whatever happens, you’d have that piece of your universe there in your hands, and I don’t think there’s anything that could take that away from you.
So beat. Keep beating. And keep writing, my loves. Or whatever it is that sparks your soul on fire.
The point, is just to keep doing.