I’m a Quitter and a Coward
Putting it all out there, being vulnerable, stating your truth … it’s damn hard. The beginning of everything is so easy, like falling. I suppose that’s why we fall in love or fall for fraudulent schemes (sometimes simultaneously).
I don’t mean to brag but I’m quite good at falling.
I know how to go all floppy and not hurt myself. Tensing up is the wrong way to whack into unresisting surfaces.
Today, as I leapt around in my living room to a workout video (it’s quite a spectacle), I tried to whip my brain into writing a new story. It’s something that often works for me, thinking while the blood is flowing around the veins at full speed. Instead, I felt the floppiness coming on. Maybe that’s it, no more stories, no more creativity. There would be approximately three people that would care if I stopped.
I could quit. How many things have I quit so far? Things begun with great gusto: painting, horseback riding, theatre, languages, vet technician, web design, graphic design and last of all, the ukulele.
Sure, plenty of people zig zag through life. But do they quit for the right reasons? I suspect I quit out of fear. It’s one thing to declare that I am not good at something and move on, but quite another to have other people tell you so. Fear of failure is common enough but it doesn’t get you very far.
Writing good prose that connects with your reader requires some digging into the psyche and pulling out the things that bother you. The advice that replays in my head: write about the things that hurt. In daily life, I’m pretty quiet and even though I’m compelled to write, the knowledge that others will read it and comment, maybe even attack the things I’ve said, is pretty daunting.
I worry after I hit the Publish button. Who will read it? Will they think I’m talking about them? Is it clear that I’m trying to be funny?
Last week a very supportive friend found out that I’m writing on Medium and asked that I share the link with her. I said I would. I haven't.
She’s right, how can I gather followers if I don’t put myself out there?
- I’m afraid that she’ll be dissappointed in me.
- I’m worried that it will stifle my ability to write freely.
- What if I write something that hurts someone?
- And if I’m worried about all of the above, how can I write anything worth reading?
So? Go back to scribbling in the journal by my bed and stop taking up all this time and space. Right?
But there’s a time in your life to quit quitting.
When I joined Medium, it was to write 100 Naked Words. I typed a post in the nude (I really did) and I vowed to let it all hang out. Although, not a daily practise, it continues to be a regular one (not the nudity, I like being cozy in my shame).
This time, I’ll just keep going. I won’t quit until it’s no longer possible to write OR someone makes me stop. I’ll write about writers block. I’ll write about the expanse of white in front of me and curse the cursor.
Like Stephen King, I plan to gather an impressive number of rejections for my work. He had a spike for his. He’d just ram them onto the spike and carry on submitting.
Mine is a virtual spike (most rejections come via email); I picture it as a long, rusty thing poking out from a beam in the attic. It’s only got a few yellowing papers on it so far. I suppose I’d better get back it. Feed the Spike. Once it’s filled with let’s say 100 or so, I might reconsider this writing thing. I’ve always wondered if I could make a go at it in the world of mouth-trumpeting.
