What Are You Afraid Of?
By Barbara O'Neal | September 24, 2014 |
There is an Elizabeth Gilbert post making the rounds this week dismissing fear as boring. Which it is, in a way, and I get the point of the post, but it strikes me as something we need to talk about sometimes.
What are you afraid of? Some writers are afraid of not being good enough. Some are afraid of fading into obscurity. Some are afraid that people will judge them, that they will lose love when people see through the words to the person they are, deep inside. Some are afraid to be called a hack.
My first fear as a writer was very clear and direct: I was terrified that I would not find a way to get published, that I would not have the writing life I wanted more than an end to war and food for all the hungry in the world, small as that might make me sound. I burned to publish, achieve that stamp of legitimacy and honor, and be paid soundly for my work. I wanted it so much that I labored for five years in total poverty, trying one thing and another and another, burning sage and chanting over manuscripts before I mailed them to agents or editors out in the far away world. I burned with it, ached with it. Fear spurred me to work when I could barely see with my exhaustion.[pullquote]Articulating a fear can take it from being a monster in the closet to something you can wrestle down.[/pullquote]
If I examine that fear a little however, what was at the core of it? What would be the worst thing that would happen if I didn’t have a writing career? If I worked as a journalist or a social worker or a psychologist? I was afraid of being really ordinary, another mother raising another set of children, cooking meals, never daring anything. I was afraid I would not test myself enough, and my life would just add up to another invisible woman’s life in a small city in a mountain state.
My fear drove me in those days, but fear can also be debilitating. I spent the day with a tortured writer a couple of months ago. Writing takes her a long time, a long painful time of false starts and tossing things out and starting over again. Doubting every step, questioning every move. I know this is seen as an artistic mode of writing and I know many other writers, very successful writers, who employ this process. But it strikes me as incredibly painful, a process so rooted in doubt and fear that it cripples the creative process. Rather than stabbing fingers into her pain, I held my tongue, but I wanted to ask her to articulate her fear. What are you afraid of?
Articulating a fear can take it from being a monster in the closet to something you can wrestle down.
This writer is probably afraid of not being good enough. But not good enough for who?* Early on, I was in a critique group with a university-level literature instructor who loved books and reading (obviously) but couldn’t begin to contemplate being a literary writer. She had the talent. She had the understanding of the tools, but the canon stood between her and any attempt she might make. Her judges were the teachers of the future, and she was afraid of falling short, so she wrote other things.
The thing about fear is that it can be a positive or negative presence. My fear as a young aspiring writer ended up being positive. It made me work harder. I unconsciously used it to help me stick with what is sometimes a very long a difficult process. I have experienced other times of fear that were not so positive. When I was afraid to try something new and delayed doing it until the moment had passed. My mother was urging me to try my hand at YA novels about one year before Twilight exploded, but I was nervous about stepping outside my comfort zone. The judges I was wary of at that point were all the readers and reviewers who might already know me as a women’s fiction and romance writer. I was afraid they wouldn’t like my work in that realm.
Last year, I felt strongly both that I needed a breather from the women’s fiction work I’ve been doing for ten years, and that I wanted to try writing in a younger voice. I bit the bullet, took some time out of my regular schedule, and wrote three New Adult novels over the course of a year.
It was not easy. Oh, the judges, both in my head, and then in the real world, were sometimes very unkind. I dithered over whether I should reveal myself or keep my identity a secret, wondering which would lend the best results. I dithered over whether I really could pull it off, if I had the right voice, if…if…if…
It meant starting over in the community of writers doing this work, without dragging my credentials with me, those badges of honor I’ve worked so hard to accrue. They’d do me no favors in this world, where my compatriots would be suspicious of my ability to pull off anything even remotely right. I lurked and then started participating in an online group, learning, talking, connecting. Even when it was hard. Even when they sometimes ignored or dismissed me. Even when I wasn’t sure if I was not the right path. Even when yes, some reviewers were very underwhelmed by the work.
My fear was that I would fail in public, humiliatingly and noticeably. I had to swallow a lot of pride to make it work. But I was so driven by the desire to try this other thing artistically that I kept with it, even when it seemed like it might be true that I’d fall on my face, that the judges wouldn’t just laugh, but roll their eyes.
Sometimes, friends, they rolled their eyes.
Guess what? I lived through it.
One of the great things I’ve learned about fear and writing is that I have to see a thing through, even if I feel like I want to throw up. Even if I am sure I’m going to be humiliated. Even if I’m poor and could get a job at a newspaper. See it through.
I have seen my experiment with New Adult through to book three, Epic, and am now writing book four as Lark O’Neal. It was a long eight months at times. The books didn’t suddenly sell right out of the gate. They needed new covers. They needed a lot more eyes on them, which is not easy starting out. Some of the early readers were disdainful or didn’t get the books because—as ever—there’s my way of doing things and it’s not for all readers.
Opinions didn’t really start to turn until early August, with the promise of a fourth book in the series, some lucky breaks, and new covers. Suddenly, the series is doing well and have found their own readers and garnered great reviews, and funny, but the reviews are much like the reviews for my other work—readers like my characters and emotion and writing style.
What if the gamble had been a flop? What if the books never took off and I really didn’t write in that genre very well? What if I had muddied my brand?
Well, writing isn’t banking. I would just start again. I have left my Barbara O’Neal brand intact because I fully intend to keep writing foodie novels about women’s friendships, relationships, and dogs. In fact, taking a break to write as Lark has energized me creatively and I have a very juicy book ripening now, work that has the capacity to stretch me, take me another step into craft, storytelling, and into my own deepest voice and themes in a way that feels thrilling. Would it be arriving without this hiatus, this stretch of my writing muscles? Maybe. I suspect not.
Now of course, I’ll come up with other fears, but I hope they spur me upward rather than hold me back.
How about you? Can you name your fears? Who are your judges? Can you turn what could hold you back into something that spurs you forward?
*Going with the colloquial here
Flickr photo Fears by Elba Fernandez
Barbara O’Neal is the author of more than a dozen award-winning, bestselling novels, including the runaway bestseller, When We Believed in Mermaids, which has been published in more than 20 countries and spent many months on the Amazon Charts, as well as the Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and Washington Post bestseller lists. Barbara lives on the beach in rugged Oregon with her husband, a British endurance athlete who vows he’ll never lose his accent and their zoo of cats and dogs. You can find more information on her newsletter and where to find her on social media at barbaraoneal.com.
Great post! I completely agree with you about naming that fear, Barbara. It does help us pinpoint the real issue and stare it down, work through it, and move forward. It’s funny, “fear” must be making its rounds this week because I just posted one over at the Writers in the Storm blog on Monday. :)
Here’s the link in case you care to look: When Rejection is Necessary, or I Reject All the Fear https://writersinthestormblog.com/2014/09/when-rejection-is-necessary-or-i-reject-all-the-fear/
Ideas just get ripe in the air, I think. Fear must be the topic of the week.
I really resonated with this post. I wrote an article called time flies where I was terrified to press publish on each post I wrote until a friend of mine sent me an email describing many of the things you wrote here. Thank you! I have just discovered your website, but can’t wait to read more. Have a Buddhaful day!
-Lisa Britt
Glad you found a way to get your work out in the world, Lisa. And love your sign-off!
I suppose I fear obscurity. I fear being considered not good enough. And yes, I admit I want the validation. And the longer this process takes, the greater the fear looms (i.e. “He’s been working on those books all these years and he *still* can’t get published).
But it’s not just fear for myself. It gets magnified by my fear for my wife. A lot of people, not just in my world but in hers too, know that she’s shouldering much of the financial burden in our household, in support of my writing aspirations. I fear not just the eye rolls I would receive as a flop, but the sniggers behind her back. Please mind the fact that I don’t think she shares my fear – not in any form. I don’t even think it would bother her if the sniggering came true (or already exists). But thinking about any unfairness to her hurts my heart.
So yes, my fear is important, and a driving force. Its fruition would tarnish the most beautiful gift of my life. Thanks for taking us a step beyond the Gilbert meme, Barbara (that thing’s been bugging me, and I hadn’t realized why).
It does get hard if you’ve been working hard for awhile, Vaughn, but like you, I’m absolutely certain that your wife would probably punch those snickerers in the nose.
I have no doubt you’ll find your place. None whatsoever.
Barbara-
Great question.
Having represented and taught many writers at many stages of career, I can tell you that fear is at its height at the outset. You see it in resistance to revision, five year plans, and focus on the industry.
First print publication is like getting into college. It’s a huge test passed. The next test comes when the balloon deflates and one faces the business of becoming a workaday storyteller.
Many give up but don’t admit it. You know this type. You meet them at conventions. They haven’t written anything new in years. They’re looking for an agent to flog their backlists. They opine about the industry.
The best, like you, make their fear work for them. They not only challenge themselves but let their fear point them to what they’re most afraid to face in themselves and their writing.
Speaking for myself, having somewhat succeeded I’m no longer afraid to fail in public. Heck, I’ve done so many times. I’ve been ridiculed, blasted and bummed out. But that’s the beauty of it. I’m alive.
Fear is a foreshadowing of death. Being creative is breathing the air of life. I try to live every day. It’s so nice on a day like today to learn that Barbara O’Neil, whom I so admire, feels the same. Big thanks.
“That’s the beauty of it. I’m alive.”
Yes, this. It’s all part of the journey.
Barbara–
Thank you for “What are you afraid of?” Obviously, fear has not gotten in your way. Your success as a writer is the clearest evidence of this, and earlier accomplishments no doubt enabled you to try something new. But the source of your success is the psychological and emotional freedom needed to write lots of publishable work. Identifying what you feared, confronting and mastering it early on is the source of that freedom. It’s why your personal writer’s story is valuable to others.
In “the current climate” (whatever that means), being productive, writing lots of books is more crucial to success (and to failure) than ever. A writer who doesn’t come to terms with fear as you have done will almost certainly lack the confidence needed to keep producing. Thanks again for an excellent post.
Prolific output is favored in all times. I remember twenty years ago, writers putting out 6, 7, 8 books a year and making heaps of money in genre fiction. Not everyone is built for that kind of output (not me!) but in all ways, having the courage to choose a path and stick with it can cure a lot of fear. Getting all the voices of judges outside of the office can help clear the way for our own true voices.
And yes, we do need some psychological freedom to be able to write and get out of our way.
My Fear–the one with a capital f–is that I will not tell my stories as vividly as I envision. Courage, for me, is the act of sitting at the keyboard, watching clusters or words grow, move around, disappear, wading through track-changes suggestions, coming back time and time again to prove that this Fear is a phantom. Well, I haven’t proven it yet, but the evidence is stacking up.
John, it is the same for me. That gap feels like a chasm at times. But BIC and perseverance are closing it, albeit too slowly. What if I die before I close it? I’m afraid my stories will have no readers. What a sad fate for a story. But perhaps the very act of writing it is enough … and the older I get, the more grateful I am for having the luxury of a writing life.
Barbara/Lark — the pen name suits you. It evokes all sorts of freedom and flight!
You’re right, Vijaya – the effort alone is important. One of the most valuable tools for me has been the simple act of being connected. Writing is not enough: you must become informed so you know what you’re striving for. I believe any of us can achieve anything we put our mind to. The only trouble with writing stories that will do what they must is that we need to know what we’re striving for, so that we can outdo even that. My motto has changed slightly from “Keep writing”; now it’s “Keep writing, and keep learning from as many gurus as possible.” (One possible interpretation of that: stick with Writer Unboxed. The very experience will chase away many a bogey-man.)
Love that, John: the evidence is stacking up. Keep at it.
Barbara, kudos to you, for having the courage to dig deep, recognize fear for what it is, and not letting it devour you.
Roar, girl! :)
Denise Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT
Barbara, thanks for sharing that even hugely successful authors feel fear about their writing future. Listing your fear, helped me name mine and reminded me to push through, keep the faith, and make it happen.
I have major fears about being a writer, but I want to be brave about it. If I show my fear, people will think I’m a fraud. It’s hard to do something without emotional support. I have great family and friends, but they don’t understand this passion. I rarely talk about my writing, except in my graduate classes, because the fear of being scoffed at, being told I’m not good enough is overwhelming.
Trust me, we don’t have time for me to list the things I fret over. In any case, you eschewed the life of a psychologist. Why torture you or anyone else who might read this comment? ;)
I can see why that letter would be troublesome to some people by implying that their fear was insignificant or invalid, and that they should henceforth keep their lips sealed. Personally, I didn’t take it that way, and it’s probably because of my own relationship with fear.
The thing is, being able to name my fears hasn’t banished them, so in my case, self-knowledge isn’t the magic bullet. Further, for a good while I labored under the delusion that I had to get rid of the fear in order to write. (I’ve since come to see that’s one voice of Resistance and that the inverse relationship is true; write first and fear becomes a tolerable companion.)
But would I love to have an author of Gilbert’s stature tell me my worries were groundless? At the risk of sounding like a certain moose-loving politician, you betcha! Mostly though, I wish I would have understood that my neuroses are perfectly ordinary in creative folk, that I’ll never be free of them, and that they don’t have to keep my from my writing. A few years back, Gilbert’s letter would have helped me let go of the fear of the fear.
Hope that makes sense, Barbara.
In any event, when I think of fearless writers, you’re top of the heap, so thanks for this.
I adore Gilbert and didn’t mean it to sound as if I didn’t like her post. I did. It was just a starting point.
Boy do I know Fear and Resistance, a nasty piggyback relationship that I’m constantly having to kick to the curb.
Followed by another swift kick that goes like this:
Really Shelley? What are you worried about. The patient doesn’t die when you use the wrong verb tense. You have another chance to get it right.
Helps me keep things is perspective.
I hadn’t come across this Elizabeth Gilbert post but will now go looking for it, as I am a fan of her work and am curious to read her perspective.
Fear is such an interesting topic, for it’s something we all experience or have experienced at some point in our lives. Yet it can manifest in so many different ways that we may not understand, even though we all “get” fear on a fundamental level.
My biggest writing-related fear right now is that all the years I’ve spent trying to get good at writing and produce something publishable that I’m proud of as well as all the substantial changes I’ve made to my lifestyle to support my “writing habit” will have been for nothing. I fear that no one will like my work and I’ll never rise above the relative obscurity of my day-to-day life, and in the end, I’ll be left with all the paths I COULD have followed and the other hobbies I COULD have taken up and all the parties I COULD have said yes to but didn’t.
But making choices (and living with their consequences) is what being an adult is all about, and having dreams is what living life is all about. Dreams are just as powerful as fear, for they can lead us places and push us to do things that matter so much, we’d as soon not even pursue them than risk failure.
Barbara, I admire the “I burned to publish, achieve that stamp of legitimacy and honor, and be paid soundly for my work.” That’s real drive, and even if the results didn’t come in—thank God they did—there’s real legitimacy in getting out there, being willing to feel the sting of that burn (and even burn out?), and earning the depth of the work. I wish I’d felt the calling as clearly, as sharply as that—I feel much more of a dilettante.
My big fear is leaving nothing behind of value, to say that I made at least some effort to get to the marrow in my writing, rather than flitting on the surface as I so often feel. I don’t have kids, so the work would be my only tangible legacy. Thanks for such an eloquent angle on the fear topic, and for the perspective on how you faced it head on.
In my Other Life, I’m an Indie YA fiction author. But I’ve been reading adult erotic romance for years, years, years. After attending a Chippendales revue I got this crazy idea for a series. And now that it’s in my head, I can’t go back to my YA WIP until I’ve head-dumped this idea. I’ve finally decided to dip my toe in the adult erotic romance waters. My fav authors are Lori Foster, Carly Phillips, Jaci Burton. Lorelei James and several others who write fabulous series novels. My two YA standalones, as well as the YA trilogy WIP, are written from a first person POV. But I want to try writing adult romance from a third person POV because I’ve discovered that’s how my fav romance novels are written. And I like third POV because I can get into the head of both main characters.
My fear is that I won’t represent the male POV well, only because I’ve written from a younger female first person POV. I would like to try writing for the New Adult genre, but my fear is that my characters will still come off sounding like teenagers. Not sure what I need to do to get past all this.
I love this post. I love the timing of it. I have fear–huge, gulping fear–but I haven’t identified it yet. It’s not a fear of rejection, because I faced that for countless years. Rejection somehow energized me–made me redouble my efforts. Now that I’ve sold…well, the beast is gnashing its teeth. A wise author recently told me that publishing will suck the soul out of you, so you have to figure out what you want out of it, and then define your boundaries. Thinking about it that way settles the beast some. The trend seems to be about quantity, getting as many books out there as we can–but I don’t want to do that. I want each book to be a thing of beauty–not another notch on my monitor. I don’t know. I guess I wanted to say that where I thought the author’s advice settled the beast some, this post makes me think that it’s actually my fear talking. And that maybe I should shove those boundaries aside and just open up and let things happen. Maybe I’m more capable of handling the publishing side than I realize. Maybe I shouldn’t let fear limit me. You’ve opened up the door for me to think about my fear in a new light.
Suzanne, what a thoughtful reply! I agree that I want each book to be a thing of beauty, it’s own special self, with me as mother and midwife doing my very best.
I suspect you are stronger than you think. Publishing is only a business, not a monster waiting with open jaws to devour us. You are going to be just fine.
After a recent experience that gave fear a new face, I had to face, I don’t think I can agree with the Elizabeth Gilbert quote, and mind you, I only saw the quote, “Fear is boring.”, so I don’t know if it’s out of context. However, the quote to me, is dismissive of a deep well of emotions to the point of being shallow, and is flippant to the point of callous, in the wake of what someone else may be experiencing.
Fear is real. In addition, no one ever truly laughs in the face of fear, let alone yawns with ennui, when caught in the grip of it.
Fear is a mother*@%*#*.
But, fear also has a powerful offspring, one that can change the world.
My courage is born of my fear.
Love that last bit, B! You are brave.
Barbara, you moved me nearly to tears. My fears are very much like yours, but I wasn’t brave enough in my younger days to push through them, to put my work out there. In truth, it was far from good enough, and something in me knew that.
So now I’m retired from my editorial career and finally fear-free enough to write my stories and put them out in the world, and the response has been very gratifying. A few indie-world honors have even come my way. Am I over my fear of not being good enough? No. I never will be. But I keep on writing.
My second romantic thriller will be out in a month or so. I’m waiting for the rest of the beta reader reports right now. Even though the initial reports are excellent, I’m still afraid the next reader won’t have such nice things to say. But I don’t let it stop me from working on the next book.
Thanks for this wonderful post. Your comments about fearlessly tackling other genres also resonate with me. I also have a YA fantasy and a work of literary women’s fiction in progress. I just hope I have enough years left to write all my stories, now that I’ve found the courage to put them out in the world.
Jane, so happy you’ve committed to the work now. Congratulations on the new publications!
I love this post. It’s probably one of the most ‘useful’ pieces of writing for writers to read.
Before this, I had written another comment about 3 paragraphs in length giving my fears, thoughts and opinions before hitting ctrl+A, delete. What for? No-one here knows who I am, nor probably ever will. All I’ve done is quash my own voice and weakened my writer’s muscle. Having deleted so impulsively and then reflected on it, I’m left dissatisfied. An utter waste of word use.
The style of writing I enjoy the most and feel I have any natural talent for is memoir. My fear is that the world will know every minute detail of my life. The way that my mind works. Every thought that I know marks me as insane on an institutional level.
The flip-side of this dilemma is that I simply cannot write a journal; that is, I cannot write knowing that absolutely no-one will read it. It just feels so pointless. I know many will disagree – it’s usually the first piece of advice a writer gives to those who ask.
In any case, it is a wonderful thing that this post was written.
Oh look, I clicked ‘Submit’!
My core fear is like yours when you were starting out (because I’m starting out): fear of being an ordinary, forgettable human being. The desire to be known, to find people out there who really track with you, to inspire and challenge and get other people to really see, to notice…I guess that’s why I write. And yes, that fear of being just another nameless persona on this earth, it drives me to work hard, to continuously improve, to push myself when it seems like nothing’s moving as fast as I’d like.
I appreciate this post.