Fear and Writing

by Amy

When my son was five, his kindergarten teacher planned a beautiful graduation ceremony, where each child stood up and told the assembled parents what they wanted to be when they grew up. Standing with his classmates in the school gym, my son suddenly realized he did not like being in front of a crowd, no sir, he did not! As his turn to speak drew near, he retreated—first by pulling his shirt collar above his face. Then by turning his back to the audience. When he finally crawled under his chair, bottom facing the audience, we rescued him to the playground.
 

Fear. We’ve all felt it. On more than one occasion I myself have wanted to crawl under a chair, butt facing the planning and zoning commission. And I was nearly paralyzed with fear when I took my son, alone, for a week vacation to a remote village in Mexico where I barely spoke the language. Fear can be good—reminding us to be careful—but it can also be crippling. It can even affect our writing.

It keeps us from joining a critique group, from attending conferences, from submitting to agents or editors. It might even keep us from ever putting pen to paper in the first place. So how do we deal with it?

 

"...when one’s mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear.” --Rosa Parks

Mrs. Parks was right. It seems awfully simplistic, but I’ve found that setting clear goals for my writing is the best thing for staving off fear. Every step we take in our lives involves a decision. Decisions are hard and the longer we fret over them, the more painful and scary they become.

Decisions = Fear

My dad used to say, “You don’t want to have one foot on the boat and one foot on the dock.” After years of standing blank-faced in front of him, imagining some poor soul spread-eagled over a lake, I realized what that means. The worst thing you can do with a decision is not make it. Get in the boat. Or stay on the dock. Either choice will most likely be fine, so long as you pour one-hundred percent of your energy into it. Just make the decision. Don’t wait too long. Don’t look back.

So when it comes to your writing, decide what you want and plot a course.:

     -If you're just trying your hand at a book, write it. If it doesn't turn out like you'd hoped, you don’t have to show anyone.
     -Does it simply give you pleasure to write stories, maybe to share with your kids or grandkids? Great—you don’t have to chase publication for that, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
     -If you’d like to be published, there are ways to pursue that. Read, study, hone your craft, write, revise, submit, repeat. Those are the steps. They’re laid out for us. We don't have to figure them out; we just have to follow them. And following directions isn't scary at all.


Sure, there might be some niggles of fear when our cursor hovers over that ‘send’ button, launching our first submittal to Dream Agent Extraordinaire. I still get them…over four million ‘sends’ later. But that’s okay.

The beautiful thing about fear is that overcoming it helps us grow. Sometimes we realize what scared us isn’t so scary after all. My son is now an aspiring Improv actor who’s been on stage in front of hundreds of people. Other times, overcoming fear helps us expand our comfort zone--or at least, define it. I probably won’t take my son to another isolated area alone, but I’d definitely consider Europe. Oh, heck yes I would! Who wants to go with us? Don't be afraid!

"Because fear kills everything," Mo had once told her. "Your mind, your heart, your imagination."--Cornelia Funke, Inkheart

Be brave, Monkeys!

Stay on the Dance Floor

I have been teaching Creative Writing at my high school this year. It's the first time the class has been offered in nearly a decade. I have awesome, dedicated, creative kids. It's been an amazing experience. 

And I've been scared out of my mind. 

What if I screw this up? What if I look like an idiot? What sort of math teacher teaches Creative Writing? What if a critique crushes someone's soul and they never write again? What if I have the writer of the next great American novel in my class and she sees how pitiful my writing is? 

It all boils down to: What if I'm not good enough?

Of course, I deal with that often enough in writing itself. Maybe these harpies sound familiar to you: 

What if I write the best I can, put everything I have on the page and it isn't good enough? 

Or, worse yet…