In the 1600s, writers and poets would gather for an evening of artistic expression and discussion. Known as a literary academy, the all-men or all-women groups served as a meeting point for sharing topics of philosophy along with art in the drafting process. This column honors that sentiment with thoughts on craft and writing.
I received an email from a publication inviting me to submit a flash essay for a contest. I kinda blinked in surprise and wondered if it was a scam. Then I checked my records and learned I had submitted to their contest a year ago.
At that time, I had a flash essay, carefully written and heavily revised. It got accepted elsewhere. I withdrew from the contest. This sliding into my DMs like a missed potential lover felt odd. I wondered if they had read my submission and had considered it, only to later return and find it withdrawn. Perhaps this was how they garner more submissions—reaching out to previous submitters, widening their pool. At any rate, I felt disappointed because I had nothing to submit.
I have been quiet, somewhat dormant, for the last few years. I have publications, from a few years ago, and the excitement of those have faded. I’ve returned to those fears and doubts of whether I’m any “good” at this anymore. I try different writing techniques, creativity walks, and podcasts where the author admits to the stress of not knowing if the creative project you’ve set out to do will ever amount to anything.
I am in the habit of being a hermit. The more I’m with people, the more alone I feel. Even though I lack any recent accomplishments and I haven’t gotten an acceptance in over a year (but loads of rejections) I’m still a writer. I get up every morning and I return to my novel-in-progress. I visit with my characters, I reflect on the plot-lines, frequently writing and rewriting them.
There are moments where I dabble in social media and I learn about the achievements of others and I feel so behind. I wonder if I should scramble to get my manuscript finished and send it off to agents. And then I remember how I’ve hastily sent out pieces to publications in the past and I’ve gotten form rejections from the places I hoped would be a “yes.” I’ve worked most of my life to unlearn my toxic upbringing of comparing myself to others. I remind myself that I am only in competition with myself, that I strive to be a better person that day than who I was yesterday.
I come to understand and relish the journey in this. I give myself more grace on those writing days where my revisions are such a slog. I allow myself a day, sometimes a whole week, away from a project because I get a newfound burst of ideas and energy when I return to it.
This might come off as a ramble, but we’re nearing the end of January. The holidays are over and work is kickin’ into gear again. And I want to say that if you are like me, holed away in the small amount of personal space you’ve got, cranking away at some writing you feel excited/nervous/defeated/exhilarated about, know that I see you. And I appreciate people who are like me, who are learning how to set work aside to ‘cool.’ Who come back to it and keep tinkering away. Because you know what you are capable of. Because you know that there’s more to this than another byline. This period of the quiet writing is what it’s really all about.
Thanks for your transparency & vulnerability. So. Relatable. I have so many essays "in the cooler" chilling to non-perfection! To find satisfaction in the slog seems to be the paradox, but necessary so as not to become Sysyphus.