Grace for Writers

Anyone else out there struggle with chronic shame? I’m not talking about the I just punched my brother in the eye and now I feel bad about it kind of shame that is warranted in a moment. I mean the I punched my brother in the eye twelve years ago and it still haunts me and I’m pretty sure I’m actually a lousy human being kind of shame. Or the shame that explodes with overwhelming force as a result of a minor catalyst—I slept through my usual pre-work workout this morning and am therefore a failure as a human being.

I’ve been wondering lately about the source of shame. Are we primed to experience it in a unique way through the events of childhood and the ensuing beliefs/worldviews we adopt? Is recurring shame something that certain personality types are more susceptible to? Or is shame universal—woven into the fabric of human nature—and some of us have just learned better countermeasures than others?

For clarity’s sake, I just want to quickly note the distinction between guilt and shame. Merriam-Webster lists a number of definitions for “guilt,” but my favorite is “a feeling of deserving blame for offenses.” You do something wrong, then your conscience kicks in and you feel bad about it—or at the very least, you feel a sense of responsibility for your actions. Shame cuts deeper. Here are a couple of Merriam-Webster’s entries for shame: “a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety…a condition of humiliating disgrace or disrepute.” Shame, then, takes guilt and turns it into humiliation. It’s no longer I did something wrong; now, it’s something is wrong with me.

But writers never feel shame. Right?

Right?

Obviously, that’s not the case. Of course some of us experience shame more than others, but I’ll warrant it gets up in all of our business every now and then.

You only got a couple sentences written today? Instead of celebrating those sentences, a quiet thought whispers, It’s not enough. You should have done more.

Another rejection email from an agent pings in your inbox? You’re not good enough, says the voice in your head.

You’re re-reading the chapter you finished yesterday and realize it’s a hot mess? Get your act together, whispers the voice.

You may have developed your own defenses against these toxic sentiments. Maybe you’ve fought them off so effectively that they no longer trouble you. If that’s you, I’ll wager there are a number of anxious and/or depressed writers out there who would LOVE to hear your thoughts on how you went about it. Feel free to comment below with tips or tricks that help you to stay healthy and positive in the midst of what can be a very difficult and isolating vocation.

Here's a thought: A lot of the shame that writers wrestle with is actually just a series of lies that hit us where we’re most sensitive—and therefore likely to believe them. However, once we identify these lies, we can counteract them with intentional truth. Let’s not forget that we are free agents, here. We don’t have to be slaves to our feelings; there’s no contract written in ink or blood or whatever. We’re allowed to hit the breaks and change our attitude; in fact, it’s a sign of maturity when we do.

With that in mind, here are a few truths I think writers need to hear on a daily basis:

1. Your writing doesn’t have to be great all the time.

It really doesn’t. In fact, it would be sort of weird if it was.

There’s a reason they teach the “Writing Process”—plan, draft, revise, edit, publish—to kids building their literary skills in schools. Notice, only ONE of those five steps is actually meant to be polished—and even then, are there actually any PERFECT books that have been published out into the world? Doubtful. We are producers in a highly subjective marketplace. We do our best, and then we move on. Anything less is a slight on the creative process.

It's good to hold yourself to high standards as a writer. Just remember that the flaws in your work are a reflection that you—a messy, wonderful, imperfect human—are behind its creation. It’s nothing to be ashamed of; on the contrary, it merits celebration.

2. You don’t have to be “productive” all the time.

Man, I need this one engraved on a tablet and hung up on my wall. Allow me to speak both to myself and to all of my fellow writers who feel like crap when they’re productivity is ebbing: It’s all good. You’re all good. Seasons of low productivity are normal. I repeat, seasons of low productivity are normal. I know they can be disconcerting and frustrating, but they don’t last forever. You’ll find your spark again, and then you’ll be off to the races.

In the meantime, relax and look after yourself. Stop beating yourself up for not writing ten pages a day, or whatever.

If it helps, try to picture your writing journey like a road trip. For a while, you’re cruising down the highway, but eventually you’re going to have to pull over and gas up. Totally normal. And honestly, stopping to stretch your legs and stock up on chips and soda helps keep you sane for the actual driving part of a long trip—and writing a book is definitely a long trip. Buckle in, enjoy the ride, and stop to take in the sights every now and then.

3. If loved ones don’t care much about your work, it doesn’t mean they don’t care about you.

People are not trying to hurt your feelings if they don’t read your work, or lose interest partway, or read it and don’t like it. Let it go. Enjoy the moments when people DO get excited about your work. Then, with the people who don’t, learn to express yourself in other ways so that you can continue building and growing those relationships.

Honestly, I think it’s difficult for people who aren’t writers to understand what a personal endeavor writing can be. My own written work feels like the truest representation of myself that I could possibly offer to the world—even more than when I am physically present or speaking with someone. If you’ve written something that you really want someone to read—a friend or a family member, perhaps—you may need to tell them directly. “Hey, I’d really like you to read this. It’s meaningful to me and I’d like to share it with you.” Something like that. It’s okay to tell people what’s important to you.

4. Rejection isn’t personal.

We’ve all heard this a million times, so I won’t harp away on the point other than to offer a couple basic pieces of advice. First, it may help to put on a business hat when dealing with agents, editors, or publishers (metaphorically speaking; you don’t actually have to put on a hat—unless that helps you step into the role). Remind yourself that while writing is a personal activity, the industry itself is subjective and competitive. Imagine being your own assistant when reaching out to professionals in the publishing world. Represent yourself the way you would represent a client. When you receive rejections, don’t waste time taking it personally. Instead, move on with the next best course of action for your client (you).

The other thing that can offer solace when dealing with rejection in the industry is to remember that there are MANY fellow writers across the globe who are also wading through rejection emails, as well as MANY successfully published writers who have been there, done that.

Stay the course. Believe in your work. And don’t get bitter. Try to wait with anticipation for the right opportunity to come along.

5. If you’re doing what you love, you’re already successful.

While the dream may be to have a dozen New York Times best sellers to your name, remember that each day you get to sit down and write—even if it’s squeezed in around your day job and family commitments—is a day that you get to spend time doing what you love. Yes, for most of us, we want to share our work. That will come in time. But don’t miss the gift of getting to do the thing. Every morning that you get up at five to sip your coffee and tap out a few paragraphs? Every commute when you daydream about your next chapter? Every evening spent with your fingers on the keys? That’s you living the dream. Enjoy it. Don’t waste even a second of it wishing away the journey.