Let’s Commiserate Together and Other Reasons Life is Good

Let’s commiserate together.

Back in December, I was neck-deep in manuscript revisions… and about ready to tear my hair out.

Nothing was working. All my new and improved scenes felt like fluff. I had thousands of words to cut and no idea where to begin (or end, for that matter). My entire system was on the fritz, sleep-deprived and grumpy as hell, and every time I thought about editing, I panicked.

What if I’m losing the heart of the thing?

What if I’m not staying true to my characters?

What if it’s getting worse instead of better?

The Voice

I was well aware that I was lacking perspective, and I did my best—from this rather chaotic space—to gain it. Unfortunately, my usual mantras, meditations, and exercises were serving only as bandaids on a wound that was begging for stitches.

And maybe wound is a strong word. It was really more of a sore. A sore spot that was very easily aggravated by anyone and anything that disturbed the Voice. The Gatekeeper. The little devil on my shoulder that whispered, “This far and no further.”

Because my first round of edits was hard but rewarding. What was to say this round wouldn’t just be… hard?

My first round of edits was exhausting but fulfilling. What was to say this round wouldn’t just be… exhausting?

And my first round of edits made me a better writer. What was to say this round wouldn’t prove I wasn’t ready to be a published novelist?

We are our own worst critics.

But when we’re in cahoots with the Voice, “we” and “our” become “I” and “my.” Surely, no one else is experiencing the same devastation and doubt. No one else understands this pain and uncertainty.

It must be easier, being other people.

Life is Good

So you can imagine my surprise (and my tears) when, in mid-December, Rebecca Ross, author of The Queen’s Rising series, posted an Instagram story about how much she was struggling with her WIP. She was stuck. She was tired. And she just wanted to say it aloud.

That day, I couldn’t find encouragement enough to gift to myself, but somehow, I found the words to message Becca with some virtual hugs. Because I felt her. I felt her so, so deeply. I was stuck, too. We were stuck together.

The second I saw her reply, I smiled. Because her first three words, “Let’s commiserate together,” reminded me of something oh-so-important.

When it comes to the creative process, you are never—never, never, not even once, NEVER—alone. You are not solitary. You are not strange. You are lovely and loved and understood by what can only be described as a greater mind. A mind of writers and dancers and musicians and painters. A holy mind. The mind of art.

On Growing Anyway

Last week, I wrapped up my second round of revisions. It was bliss. A lot of it was bliss. And a lot of it felt like the sky was falling. That’s okay. Ultimately, it was all part of the journey, a journey that I’m still on. Sometimes we win, and sometimes we commiserate.

And I wish there was a recipe for completion, a guide I could give you that would guarantee the fulfillment of your dreams. I wish I could promise you—and myself!—that everything will bloom as we’ve planned.

But there’s no right way to grow. (There’s no wrong way either.)

So all I can tell you is this: The next time you feel stuck and steam is coming out of your ears, feel those crappy, miserable, derailing things. Then call/text/write a letter to another artist. Let them remind you of the magic in these slush pile moments. Let them commiserate with you. Because when the book debuts or the dance is performed or the song finally ends, your years of attachment won’t be to the results. Your true love will remain with the creation of this thing. Your thing. The one you were brave enough to conquer.

(P.S. Angel-human Rebecca Ross got unstuck, too! Her latest YA fantasy, Sisters of Sword and Song, releases in June [AH]. You can preorder it here.)

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash