Recovery From (Something That Tastes an Awful Lot Like) Shame
By Therese Walsh | January 4, 2022 |
Some of my friends know the whole story, but not many do. I’ve kept details to myself from the start, including the size of my first book deal (major, 2-book) and the expectations of my agent and acquiring editor (also major). In Germany, a thrilling foreign auction fueled all of our hopes. Then the 2008 crash obliterated the global economy, and aside from one other sale that was all the foreign publishers wrote. The splashy Big Five Publisher luncheon that had been scheduled in honor of the book was cancelled (though it had always felt surreal that it had ever been planned). It became clear at some point that my marketing team’s tone had changed—that somewhere along the way we’d moved from genuine excitement to the crossing of fingers to the bracing for a harsh reality, which I now know was probably based upon a clear view of preorders. The book released, but it far from sounded the bell, and then the trickle of disappointment everyone felt turned into a wave.
My debut, the one I’d worked on for ~five years, was a sales dud.
I spoke about it all with a trusted author-friend, who advised me to fight, question, push—get more PR, something—because the numbers were maddeningly unreal to her when I shared them. I purchased ads and a book tour, and wrote more articles, but nothing seemed to move the needle. And I did speak with folks at my publishing house, to see what–if anything–might be done.
Then someone in power delivered a few ominous words that landed like a threat—about the sales threshold that needed to be met for a book to move from hardcover to paperback, about how my book would be published in paperback despite not meeting that threshold only because of the size of my publisher’s debt over my book. About how this was the sort of scenario that killed careers, but wasn’t I “lucky” that I had a two-book deal in order to attempt a recovery.
I did not feel lucky. I felt petrified. That feeling amplified when my editor left, my imprint was shuttered, and I was inherited by another imprint–one that was not invested in me or my story. I came to believe, and not without reason, that I was viewed as a tax write-off.
Might not surprise you to know that I struggled to write what became my second novel. I battled block, wondered if I’d fail at finishing and have to pay back my advance, and had a great deal of doubt about the worthiness of both my story and myself as an author.
But I did finish it–a story about the pursuit of an impossible goal while maintaining hope. It took some astute book clubs for me to recognize the irony of what my subconscious did there.
The Moon Sisters was published in hard cover in 2014. It was awarded starred reviews and close to zero marketing dollars. It did not sell well out of the gate, and so a few weeks after it was released my publisher decided not to publish it in paperback. The End.
I don’t have anything to be ashamed of, right? I did my job and did it well, said my (genuinely wonderful, 4th) editor, delivering the news. It wasn’t personal; it was just the way it was because of economics.
But it did translate into something that felt an awful lot like shame, with a giant dollop of disillusionment that seemed only to become magnified when the book went on to be named on a few ‘best books of the year’ lists.
I wanted to push on, write something new right away. I had an idea I loved, an entire outline, and hundreds of index cards. I had the support and encouragement of family and friends. But I stalled out time and again. That something like shame feeling had rooted in me and spread like poison. My editor encouraged me to take a break, and I did do that. But after what seemed a significant stretch of time had passed, I wasn’t able to return to the writing habit–or the story, consistently.
Just write, I’d tell myself, one word at a time. Otherwise you’re a hoax. A fraud.
These unhelpful messages-to-self did not inspire.
In kinder moments, I’d tell myself it was burnout. That I just needed time to recover. Burnout after a big disappointment was human. I was.
I did do some things. I set about getting the rights back to my novels. Once I’d accomplished that, I put the paperback for The Moon Sisters out on my own. Julia Whelan and I teamed up to release the audiobook, too, which continues to find new readers. I began another project, and another. But I was only able to push so far before hitting that wall of resistance again.
I learned something about myself as weeks turned into months into years: I could live a life that did not involve writing. I’ve heard before that if you can resist the call, then perhaps you shouldn’t be–or fundamentally were not–a writer. But the fact was that not writing didn’t feel anything close to good, even if I could do it. Sometimes it felt like holding back a tide, an effort that actively fractured me from the inside.
“Broken things can be repaired” isn’t a particularly unique idea, but “broken things can be repaired in such a way that the final product is yet beautiful” is behind the art form called Kintsugi. And while the term is most often applied to pottery and making repairs with liquid gold, it’s also an idea — a philosophy — that can be applied to a wide range of broken things, including people.
When I look at Paige Bradley’s Expansion, today’s featured photo, I feel joy and hope. And it strikes me that maybe this is my first real step toward recovery–to be public here with all my broken parts glued back together, to let you see me with all of the visible battle scars that I usually hide.
What I’ve realized these many, many days away from writing is that no one can fix this for me. That guiding light that will drive my drive has to come from within. And if the flame has gone out utterly, it’s up to me to restart it. And I–a child of upstate New York winters–know how to start a fire.
(1) Sweep out the wood stove; (2) light a starter or some dried kindling; (3) add thin pieces of wood–easy burners–in a way that allows the air to circulate and the flame to catch on all sides; (4) don’t rush the process, or overwhelm the young fire with more and/or bigger pieces of wood until it can sustain them; (5) protect the flame, which can be easily ruined by bad methods and neglect.
I’ve thought deeply on my motivations as I prepare to try again. They have nothing whatsoever to do with the industry, salvaging my career, or proving anything to anyone. Rather, I am motivated here in 2022 to do what I can because I can–and because I can, I must. I must try. I must continue to try. Because knowing that I can do this thing, that it is in fact the best thing I know how to do, and that I am not doing it because I’m afraid to fail or deliver a product that won’t succeed hurts me. That simply can’t continue.
So.
(1) I’ve put my mountains of notes away–all but a simple stack. My starter (2) is this post; it’s my truth-telling party. I will proceed with care here at the start (3) with no more than a simple daily ask; my fellow writers in the trenches say even 15 minutes a day is enough, and that feels like a thin-piece-of-wood request that I can manage. (4) Until the urge to write comes on its own–until it haunts my showers, walks, and the minutes before I sleep–I’ll continue the slow, steady feed of my flame. And I’ll try to do as I counsel others who stall or feel doubt: Just do it. Persevere. Write on. (5) Never stop breathing on that fire.
Has a hard truth held you back? Has something disabled your confidence in yourself, in your skillset, or even in your potential? How might you rehabilitate those broken parts? What will it take for you to breathe on that fire again, and to keep breathing–to write on? BYO tales of perseverance.
Happy New Year, friends.
Therese Walsh (she/her) co-founded Writer Unboxed in 2006 and is the site’s editorial director. She was the editor of WU’s only book, Author in Progress, and runs the Writer Unboxed UnConference.
Her second novel, The Moon Sisters, received starred reviews and was named one of the best books of the year by Library Journal and Book Riot.
Learn more about Therese on her website, and sign up for her newsletter to be among the first to hear about any new projects.
Once again, Girlfriend, we seem to be on the same path. Self-doubt be dammed. Full speed ahead in 2022. We can do it!
I’m sorry to hear that you are on a similar path, my friend. But I am 100% with you on damning all self-doubt. Here’s to a better year for us all–and let’s connect soon!
Oh Therese, I feel every word of this. This is so similar to my own story, minus the major deal and the hardcover; I can only imagine how much additional pressure this investment added to the situation.
Last week, when a friend gifted me an online class that sparked ideas like the kindling you speak of, I realized why my consistent efforts had resulted in an emotional flatline: I had been trying and teaching, trying and teaching, but 1) not refilling my own well of inspiration (thanks, Covid) and 2) I’d stopped seeking out learning opportunities.
What I always have loved most about the writing life is its mandate for lifelong learning, and as my life swelled with unfulfilled trying, the fresh learning got squeezed out. (Here I’m not talking about my constant stream of learning from other writers’ work, but about discussions of craft from a fresh perspective that spark my own creative work.) While so much of what happens in publishing is circumstantial, tending to my creative soul is purely on me. The inner fire is one that’s too dangerous to let languish in any aspect of life, especially in times as trying as these.
Here’s to fresh inspiration and fresh learning in 2022, my friend. Your voice is rich, and we’d all be the poorer should we lose it.
If we are always expending energy, there’s none left for us and that sacred creative act. I’m glad you discovered this, Kathryn. The world needs your voice. xo
Big thumbs up.
That’s so sweet of you to say, Heather, thank you. xoxo
“While so much of what happens in publishing is circumstantial, tending to my creative soul is purely on me. The inner fire is one that’s too dangerous to let languish in any aspect of life, especially in times as trying as these.”
Brava!!
We must try to control what we can, right Julie?
Kathryn, there’s so much wisdom here, and I couldn’t agree more about the importance of filling the well. What I hadn’t considered before was that the well perhaps needed to be filled with new tools. But that makes a lot of sense, if the old tools are no longer trusted or are broken, or we simply need a new way to hold them in order to believe that we can build something different/better this time around. You’ve left me with a lot to think about, and I’m so grateful. Here’s to sharing our well–filling adventures as we find them.
“NEW tools”—great way to think about it as I sit on the swing beside you, holding your hand…
I was talking to a friend yesterday about this very subject. She was ready to quit, because a HUGE publisher dumped her. There not only is no mid-list in NY anymore, there’s not any ‘almost best-seller’ anymore. The only reason they take new authors is the hope of best sellers. If not, you’re on the street.
Her agent suggested her moving to a genre she didn’t love. Hey, if we’re not doing this for a living, WHY would you not write what you WANT to write?
I reminded her that after X number of books, she has a solid following. I encouraged her to indie pub. (her genre does fine, indie). She can sell 3x less that her NY books, and make more.
I’m not a NY or die author anymore. I’m not indie-only. Genre may dictate, but I’m just saying, do the math before you decide.
Dearest Therese, you are so brave! Go forward at a kind speed and one day the story will trot and then race… we all know that the writer’s gift does not generally translate into market profit. So go and write something gorgeous, a book that only can come from you! Xx
Stephanie, you are wise and kind, and I very much appreciate your encouragement. Thank you, friend.
Laura, thanks for your comment. I have a draft rattling around somewhere titled “death of the mid-list author.” It remains a draft, because the only upside I could imagine was publishing under a different name. But it is truly wonderful that there are so many options for authors today. Write on.
I think that would make a really interesting piece. I was talking to a successful writer friend who I admire in the days after my debut came out during the pandemic and she said that publishing companies used to give an author anywhere from 3-5 books to build a brand and an audience. Now, they only give you one or two. It’s really disheartening.
It is. I’ve thought a lot about the number of authors out there and the books they never wrote because they lacked support, and oof. But I also know of many authors who have found a path forward–a traditional path, a small-press path, a self-publishing path (all potentially rewarding, and not one better than another).
What I’d say to anyone reading this who is newly ‘slumped’ is to try to keep writing anyway. As Dr. Seuss so famously said, ‘unslumping yourself is not easily done.’ What he didn’t say is that a slumped writer will remain a slumped writer until something comes along to unslump her. That was Issac Newton. (I’m paraphrasing. ;-) )
Don’t buy into someone else’s estimation of your worth–not even (or especially) if they’re telling you that you’re brilliant. Hold to your center, and keep that part safe; it’s the most important part of who you are as a creative person. I think that’s why I’ve struggled so hard. I bought in, for better and for worse, and I never should have done that.
Dearest Therese, I can’t begin to tell you how brave and powerful and beautiful your post is. You put into words what we all feel, in one way or another, though the details will vary. I think shame is the hardest emotion to write about—but you have. I wish I had time this morning to write more, but for now I will just say: YES. Kindling and air and time and room to breathe—because what will come next, what lies on the other side of despair and pain, is not known until we arrive. xxxxxxx
“…what will come next, what lies on the other side of despair and pain, is not known until we arrive.”
A thousand times yes. And thank you, Barbara.
Thank you for bravely sharing this part of your journey! As a overly metaphorical thinker I easily get lost in the little pockets of my life and work where the air is alluring but insubstantial. I catch myself waiting there, turning in circles, trying to catch another whiff. Meanwhile, the feast that I was so enthralled by has surely passed and likely waits laid out in an unlocked banqueting room where there is a place set with my name as I shuffle through vestibules never designed for dining. My only goal for 2022 is to quit hanging out in the back halls of my journey. Cheers to you and your fire building!
Wait, there are “overly metaphorical thinkers”? Say it isn’t so! I consumed your buffet-of-a-comment hungrily, Nell, and very much hope that you find your way out of the back halls of your journey. Because yes, ma’am, you can write.
Thank you for this. I have a long track record of calling myself a writer, but being too scared to do much (at all) about it. Except take classes, read books, and engage in countless podcasts and videos to help with the invisible craft with which I’m supposed to be in love.
Your analogy of starting a wood stove is perfect, for me – I work for a wood stove manufacturer, and my whole life right now is a struggling, dying flame, particularly in the area of motivation. My job, my family circumstances, my mental health, all of it is in a very fragile state right now.
So maybe the answer for me is to follow your lead and put those small pieces of kindling on, 15 minutes at a time, if even just for good ol’ therapy. Thanks again.
Todd, I hope that when you see a wood stove from now on, that is brings you back to the image of your personal flame–and that every time it does, you notice that it’s a little higher, a little stronger, until it’s blazing. I’m sorry for your struggles. This has been a long stretch of winter, hasn’t it? I try to remember that every season eventually comes to an end. Keep the faith, and I hope to see you back here soon. Write on.
Todd:You’re living the life of a wonderful metaphor–one who works making (directly or indirectly) wood stoves. I often thought, in 2001, sitting in my little flower-ensconced guest house in Ojai, that my home lacked only a wood stove. Perhaps this thread and these comments will inspire you. I’m a believer in writing workshops. And Julia Cameron and workshops based on “The Artist’s Way.” I once felt a need to do wood-carving and made little plaques with haiku or Celtic knots, just for fun. Hobbies are part of my process. And reading. I’m currently reading all the Oscar nominees for best screenplay. Therapy is good. If you need it, there’s no 100% substitute. And massage, when the current panicdemic permits.
I share you pain, Therese, and agree with Kathryn (similar story, but without the major deal and the hardcover!). I’ve spent five years rebuilding my shattered writing confidence, and it wasn’t a journey I could rush. But I like where I’ve ended up, I believe in my new manuscript, and I’m prepared to go down fighting. The best part? I’m writing for me again. Keep the faith, my friend. xo
I believe in you and your beautiful writing, too. Sending out all the good vibes for you, Barb. x
Barbara, I love hearing tales like yours, because they give me a lot of hope. And that you’re writing again for you is the best news of all. Thank you. <3
Therese, I could tell a very similar tale. I had the major deal and the hardcover and the disappointment and the next two books out in paperback, and then….. I love and appreciate your honesty here and it is the most inspirational thing I’ve read in a long time, as in I feel as though you’re showing me a path forward back to my own writing. Big hugs and thanks to you for this.
Kathleen, if this post inspires you back to your fiction, that makes me so freaking happy; you’re such a talent. I’ve thought a bit recently about how writing is like a muscle, and how we need to work that muscle to keep it strong. But what about ‘physical therapy’ for a writer’s muscle that has atrophied, that is no longer trusted? There must be ways to test, grow, and learn to trust that particular muscle again before contemplating the triathlon that is writing a novel. Because that sense of overwhelm can be enough to set down the pencil all over again, at least for me. Anyway, I’m mixing my metaphors — fires, muscles — but I do think starting small and building trust through consistency is a way to go. Write on, my friend.
Oh, my heart. Therese, I’m sitting here as tears gather in my eyes. I had no idea. And I understand the shame/feeling like a failure. That wanting to give up. That fear and loss of sense of self. I also have struggled to write for the past 3 years, struggled with wondering if I was even a writer anymore (if I ever was one).
I also know how to start and tend a fire and I will join you in that 15 minutes a day.
A few years ago, I wrote a poem for a friend. It strikes me that I also wrote it for me, for you, for all of us who struggle. {{{{{hugs}}}}}
Kintsugi
“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” -Leonard Cohen
The wheel squeaks as it spins, the platter
catching on the splash guards as I wrestle
a cold, wet lump from shapeless mass
into a symmetrical cone. It is harder
than you realize, this process of centering;
first your body, then your mind, then the clay.
The thunk, thunk, thunk of the wheel is the heartbeat
of the studio. My own heart settles into its rhythm.
I am not perfect. This is not effortless. I create
a four-pound mess. Over and over I recycle the clay,
pounding it with my frustration until my hands
find their own wisdom and a round form blooms
beneath my fingers. A tea bowl, a coffee mug,
a serving platter. Some days I spin magic. Other days,
disasters. Later, I will glaze these hard-won treasures.
If the overlapping colors craze, I will wipe the broken
surfaces with ink and watch the cracks spiderweb
across each piece, a reminder of what it means
to be beautiful, what it means to be whole.
–LJ Cohen, May 2014
Beautiful, Lisa. xx
Kintsugi
“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” -Leonard Cohen
That’s exactly what went through in my mind. I also loved your poem.
Why do I get an orange color and a sorry you didn’t like this when I click on the thumbs up? I love it…So embarrassing
Silly internet! Thank you. :)
Lisa, I love your beautiful poem. <3 You absolutely are a gifted writer and author, and a wise and generous soul. I’m so glad that so many years ago you found your way here, and that you stayed. Thank you.
p.s. Now you know what my next mug request will be. ;-)
Lisa, that’s a beautiful poem. Thanks for posting it and inspiring us all.
Therese, thank you for the gift of this post. Your vulnerability and your story are healing to me, too. I’ve come to a similar place of calm beginning — writing for the story, not for publishers or agents or sales or editors, or my fantasies about their unbridled enthusiasm for my work. I may never heat a big publishing house with what I build in my little stove, but I can fill a story with fire and light.
Lloyd, thank you so much for this comment and for sharing a piece of your journey. “Fire and light” is the phrase going above my keyboard. Write on.
Brava,Therese, for this honest and brave post about the publishing shame so many of us have felt. May your fire leap to life in 2022!
Thank you, Lori. Right back at you.
I wrote a post here maybe two or three years ago about shame – with my last published novel. The Lightning Charmer was supposed to be this Big Hit Novel, according to my publishers, because I had a great idea and if I just listened to them and wrote it in a certain way, boy would it take off and take off fast and well! It has been my biggest disappointment. First off, never ever should I have written something trying to please my publishers. They weren’t wrong, but it was wrong for ME. I don’t write novels like their other writers write. I don’t work like that. And that novel was a weird strangeling of part me and part them. If I had followed my own SELF, I would have been really proud of that book because I know what it could have been, for ME, no matter how well or not well it had done. It did not do well. It did worse than ever expected. I reread that book a while back and I saw exactly where I faltered, and how I could have fixed it. Too late. And that “shame” feeling or whatever feelings I’ve had over that and all the expectations and then floppy feeling just overwhelmed me all over again as it did each time I read that book–yeah, not smart but I can’t help myself it seems from wallowing in what ifs!
And I’ve not written a book since. It’s not just because of TLC. It’s many things in this industry and money and not money and feeling trapped in some weird between world. But something happened inside of me that grew solid and black and covered up the joy. I used to scoff at writers who stopped writing. I’d smugly think “Seriously? Suck it up!” I couldn’t imagine my life without writing! I couldn’t imagine it in any scenario at all–writing was my life and that’s not a cliche – I sacrificed friends and family and time and my life to write. It was the greatest part of me, so I thought.
My first book a few years before TLC came out in 2009, at that bad time you wrote about. It impacted a lot. Ebooks were just becoming a big big thing and I didn’t get that, even when my book went to Number 1 on Amazon, I ignored that and didn’t take advantage of opportunity (silly me). But when it didn’t continue to be on the best seller list, I still soldiered on – I wrote another and another and another. And I wrote short stories. And I wrote articles for papers and magazines. I even did restaurant reviews here locally. Man, I was LIVING the writer life, even if I wasn’t making a lot of money. And my royalties grew smaller and smaller as time went on. And then TLC happened and something in me just withered.
I’ve been on here lots of times declaring my return to writing. I’ve told friends and family and my readers: SOON! I’m ready! SOON! I’m so excited: SOON!
And nothing. And you know what? I know in my deepest of my blackened toughened heart that if I began a new novel (or finished one of the three I’ve started), some of that char would release from my heart and I’d let loose some air I’ve been holding. I’d feel that joy again and breathe freely again. And yet I keep resisting.
Maybe we are punishing ourselves Therese? Maybe we think this is some kind of penance. Maybe we are afraid of failure. Maybe we are just sick of the roller coaster emotions of writing and publishing. Maybe we are chicken (bawk bawk bawk!) Who knows? But, maybe all we need to do is to sit down and to remember the feeling–you know, that one from waaaaay back when we didn’t have a clue what our books would do, we just NEEDED to write. To find out where that character was going and what they were going to do and what would happen next!
Well, I just wrote a novella here – ha! But, okay, yeah, it doesn’t count. Thank you for this post. You are amazing.
Kathryn, why doesn’t your novella count? It all counts. You’re writing again. We all stumble and fall. I keep thinking of babies taking their first steps. How many times do they fall and yet never give up. They keep getting up. You are amazing, too. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. Have a great year!
Diana & Kathryn: novellas are a very under-appreciated art form. I hope for a resurgence someday. One contemporary example: “The Uncommon Reader,” a delightful short work that sold quite well, based, of course, on the author’s name.
Kathryn – I feel you pain. I am currently finishing a write-for-hire book and the edit is determined to remove everything of me and render my deeply felt main character as a caricature. I was in despair over this until I did something radical and fun, just for me and my family.
Every year one of the three families (Me/Hubby in CA, Son’s fam in Oregon, and Daughter’s fam in New York) is responsible for setting up Advent Calendars for everyone. This year was our year. Hubby and I had chosen a host of Swedish candies to fill the days, but it didn’t feel like enough somehow. After our plague year – we wanted something more – something that connected us. On November 14th, I said “We should write an Advent story – one that unfolds day by day. That was a ticket into madness as the story idea spooled out into an epic adventure in space with the Daughter’s family living on a space station. the Son’s on a terraforming planet and we Grandparents flying between them in our trusty ship.
Each day there were 3 installments of about 500 words each spinning out the three individual storylines which all came together on Christmas. On November 14th this was genius! On November 25th as we prepared the printed pages to Fed-ex to the kids – it was madness! My husband wrote 1/3 of the entries and I wrote the rest and edited them all for consistency. 48,246 words in a little over 10 days. The project was a great success and each family recorded the daily entries so we have a record of it.
A funny thing happened to my attitude as we worked on this monster crazy task – I was writing for fun again. No agenda, no consideration of a market, no worries about mistakes or plotting dilemmas – just adrenaline fueled writing in a collaborative effort filled with joy. I remembered WHY I love crafting words into worlds, honing emotions into scenes, and exploring strange territory through my fiction.
I have since gone back to those hated edits with a new realization – if this book-for-hire is not the book of my heart, it doesn’t matter. All I have to do to get the $5000 payment is finish. If they get what they want and sell it to film (which is their real goal) great – money in my pocket. If not, then it won’t really matter because I will be writing other things. The number one thing I realized is that even though it FEELS like the story in front of me is ALL THERE IS – the fact is I am MADE to tell stories and I have a million ideas. I will never let one problematic book derail me again!
My final take-away – I think I might set up a ‘just for fun’ writing project every time I hit a slump. But here would be the rules: 1) Limited Scope 2) Timed finish (Do or Die seems to really motivate me) 3) No expectation of sales or public acclaim attached – these projects will be passion renewal projects for me – a reminder of how it feels to write for the sheer joy of it.
I love that you made an Advent calendar of stories! It sounds so fun. Definitely stealing it.
Eddie, I just love your Advent Space Adventures story! Brilliant. And what you’ve said here reminds me of something. Back in the day, pre-pub, I kept my wip in a folder on my computer labeled FUN. (Really.) Then there was WORK, which was jam-packed with health articles, where the money was made. After my book deal, all of my book-related stuff (and there was a lot of stuff, from contracts to editorial letters, etc) went into that same WORK file. Clearly I need to re-invent the FUN file.
What a brilliant way to make writing fun again! :-)
Kathryn, I read your comment earlier today and I could not let the day close without a reply. I DO think it’s some massively f’ed up form of penance, though I couldn’t tell you why it sticks so much, why it simply will not go, and why we hold ourselves back from a remedy. Because this — “I know in my deepest of my blackened toughened heart that if I began a new novel (or finished one of the three I’ve started), some of that char would release from my heart and I’d let loose some air I’ve been holding.” — is true for me as much as it is for you.
Listen, I am here for you if you need a buddy. I am in the charred little boat just a wave over.
Also, your novellas are welcome here anytime. Any. Time. <3
Therese, thank you for this honest and helpful post. Makes me remember when I got my heart broken (the first time), as a tender teenager– my dad said something that has stuck with me all these years. He told me to try to think of how lucky a thing it is, to have the chance at a broken heart. That is, that I was out there trying to love and be loved, and how sad it is when someone lives in such a way as not to risk it. Something like that. We have to keep risking the broken heart, right? Paradoxically, that’s the only way to mend it. Maine, girl, here, and I will take your fire-building metaphor to heart and join you. Thanks again.
Thank you for sharing your wise father with me, Susan. Blaze on, and stay warm!
My darling friend, I nearly stood and cheered reading this. It has been a road, hasn’t it. But look at you! You’re STILL ON THAT ROAD, and you’re finding your way. No one walks this path–or any– without falling and becoming scarred. It’s all about finding that inner light and strength that we all see in you. You shimmer with it. If you are the source of your own joy, they can take nothing from you, just remember that. I, too, love this photo. I wish it were something I could mount on my wall. Write on, T! xxx
“It’s all about finding that inner light and strength that we all see in you. You shimmer with it.”
Amen. So true, Heather. It’s so vital to remember as one reads this incredible story, that through it all, T has been such a guiding light, for all of us. Says so much about not just her wisdom, but her huge heart.
I’m not sure what I did to deserve such kind, generous friends, but I know how lucky I am to have them. <3 Thank you for your enduring support and encouragement, Heather. You inspire me with your might, your perseverance, and your big heart. I wish I could mount this photo on my wall, too! xo
Thank you for your courage, Therese. And for the deep wisdom about coming to terms with what holds us back. It’s different for each of us, but the same in its crippling effects. Working through the blocks is necessary work for any of us who want to stand up and shine. Here’s to lighting new fires.
Hear, hear, Susan! Write on.
Keep going. It may seem like the journey is fractured, but the fractures are part of your path. Use the molten gold you’ve acquired along the way to repair these parts so that you may continue the course of your travels. Soothe yourself along the way with the beauty of life enhanced by the molten gold. That molten gold is YOU, Therese. Blessed be your new year. Blessed be your journey.
Thank you, sweet Bee. There is a screenwriter Sean and I respect, Meg LeFauve, and she has a wonderful podcast. In it, she speaks often of “lava” and how writers must “go into the lava” when they write–by which she means to write your pain. It strikes me that the kintsugi gold and Meg’s lava are in many ways one and the same. <3 Happy New Year, my friend.
Your inclusion of “lava,” Therese, adds yet another layer to your vulnerable and oh-so-relatable post. I’ve come to believe that it is not one thing that gets in the way, but a constellation of them: shame, yes, and fear of failure, and on top of that, you’re right, a reluctance to enter the pain once more. More besides, but I’ll stop there. As Julie Duffy said in her post yesterday (6 Jan 2022), among our most powerful resources are our friends: your friends here, we who are affirming and encouraging you, and this community which you have created and nurtured and which supports so generously all of us who find our way here. Thank you. Bless you. Keep going. <3
I agree with your “constellation” assessment, Barbara. Don said, as a part of this thread, that what holds me back is psychology, and he’s right. But it’s complex psychology, because deeply felt “negative reinforcement” was at play every day that I worked on TMS (if you don’t write/finish a solid book, you will lose your deal/advance/reputation/career). In other words, the primary motivation to write was fear of not finishing. For years. That goes a long way in explaining why I struggle to put those acid associations behind me, to scrub the slate all the way clean, and why I haven’t finished any of the fiction works I’ve started since completing that book. It isn’t for lack of want.
On the flip side, I doubt I could be prouder of a work, because I know what it took to reach The End.
This community is the best. Thank you so much for your support and encouragement. It means a lot to me. ❤️
What I think we all need is courage. Courage to face our fears and doubts. I wish you all the best.
Thank you, Stephanie. Maybe this is my version of the cowardly lion’s speech (Wizard of Oz) and will mark a turning point. Here’s to hoping.
That certainly sounds like every writer’s nightmare… That something like shame feeling is horrible to live with and I know you will be able to get that fire going again. I wouldn’t even pretend to have wise words of advice, but when I was really struggling emotionally with writing anything and even if I should keep writing, I read a book called Fearless Writing: How to Create Boldly and Write with Confidence by William Kenower. It was very helpful to help me reorganize my thoughts and perspectives on MY writing journey and really helped me re-find the joy of writing. It also helped me to get a better perspective on publishing and my fellow writers, too. (put a wry smile emoji here.) I wish you the best for 2022 and getting that fire smoldering soon.
Thank you, Lara! I have never heard of Kenower’s book, but you’ve sold me on it. Much appreciated. And all best to you, too, here in 2022.
<3 <3 <3
To me, what’s terrible is that WE feel shame when these things happen instead of the major publishers that screw us. It is they who should hang their heads. My story is eerily similar to yours. My first book went to auction. I had John Grisham’s agent. Due to MY efforts and money, the book (which is awful and unworthy, BTW; that’s not false modesty, it really is) became a bestseller. But the experience was so demoralizing and I was treated so poorly, I woke up every morning feeling sick. The 2008 crash derailed a second book project, but then the publishing industry is always in a state of turmoil. Just a few years ago, I wrote four books in ONE YEAR to satisfy my contract with another major publisher and none of the books sold (Kindle Unlimited has been great for Bezos; not so great for us), even though one of them was a major collaboration with name-brand authors and Publishers Weekly declared it a “Top 6 Summer Reads.”.
I hate the business with the heat of a thousand fiery suns, but I don’t believe “the business” bears us any malice. It’s not personal. It’s just the way of the business world: dollars first, and f*** you. What I do hate is the way authors are afraid to say anything about the way they get tooled around. Never point out that the Emperor has no clothes. My boyfriend, a renowned jazz musician, sees much the same behavior in his industry. But guess what? If people like us don’t speak up, then the issue remains shrouded in mystery and shame. So my hat is off to you and to all of us who say, ENOUGH.
Don’t be sad. Get angry. Let that anger fuel your next book. I won’t let those ass clowns steal my voice; neither will you. I don’t write “for the market” anymore. I write what I want to write. All I have left at this point (in a world where books are an antiquated medium, and readers get their stories from Netflix, not from the bookstore) is my legacy as a writer. I’m not letting some bean counters in New York decide what that legacy is going to look like.
God, I love your strength. And I’m happy to report that they did not steal my voice, only my battery. But I’m at the recharging station now.
Here’s to legacies, sister Stacey.
We are in this together. I wish more writers knew that. I am here to give them a hug and to shake my fist at an entire world, publishers included, that fails them on all levels. You are a remarkable human, Therese. So happy to be in the fight with you.
Thank you for having the courage to be vulnerable and share your story with us. As other comments prove, you are not alone in letting the highs and lows of this industry cause doubt, shame, and a host of other crippling emotions. I also appreciate your sharing the wisdom earned from your own experience. It’s been an especially difficult time for many of us thanks to Covid-19 causing isolation and the loss of in-person writer events/community building. It’s nice to know that we can count on WU and its contributors to bring us together and boost us. Happy new year. May it be your best yet!
Thank you, Jamie! Happy New Year to you as well. Write on.
Your courage in posting your truth inspires us all…. A warm thank you on a cold northern Vermont day. (We too know how to light those fires…)
It’s good to see so many of my sisters from the Northeast here to represent. Stay warm, Jodi, and thank you!
This article so resonated with me. It’s the pushing through that requires belief in oneself, even if no one else seems to believe in you. Thank you for setting me straight.
I think I needed the “believe, believe” reminder, too. Thank you, Rae.
“‘Broken things can be repaired in such a way that the final product is yet beautiful’ is behind the art form called Kintsugi. And while the term is most often applied to pottery and making repairs with liquid gold, it’s also an idea — a philosophy — that can be applied to a wide range of broken things, including people.”
This passage struck a chord with me. I’ve seen Kintsugi vases, and they are indeed beautiful. Most of them I’ve liked more than I would’ve liked the original. The meticulous reassembling of the pieces is a craft unto itself, and shows the love and dedication of the artist to their work.
You and I have spoken at length about aspects of our brokenness, and I feel every word you’re saying. I’ve always looked to you for strength and guidance, because I see the beautiful Kintsugi masterpiece that you’ve become, in spite of it all. There is no shame in that, my dear friend. <3
Sometimes, when I wallow in my own perceived shame, and feel like the messiest of messes, I repeatedly sing the first line of that Gordon Lightfoot song, “Carefree Highway”: “Picking up the pieces of my sweet, shattered dream…” and somehow, it gives me motivation to keep going… to keep going until I’ve reassembled my life and have crafted it into my own Kintsugi masterpiece.
You’ve got this, my friend, and there is an entire community that *you’ve* gathered and nourished for over 15 years to help you weather whatever may come.
Thank you, dear Mike. Guess what my Echo is playing this very second? Mmhmm. Stealing your song. ;-) And can you believe it’ll be 16 years on the 21st of this very month? Neither can I. I’m so glad for all of the scribbling, whistling travelers I’ve met along the way, with all of their broken parts. Love you, brother.
“…I am motivated here in 2022 to do what I can because I can–and because I can, I must.” – wiser words never written. You feed the universe of us writers, That includes you. Thank you, Therese, for sharing your story and planting new seeds for our community!
Thank you, Melanie.
Therese, thank you so much for sharing your difficult journey and innermost thoughts. The Last Will of Moira Leahy is one of my favorite reads over the last few years and such a clear indication of the depths of your writing talent. But I also want you to remember how many writing lives you have touched with Writer Unboxed and the UnConference! You have given back to the writing world and encouraged all of us who are aspiring and trying to get words on the page to tell good, good stories. The world is a better place because of your efforts. Thank you.
Gratefully, Gaye
Thank you, Gaye. <3
Teri, I wish I felt as deeply as you do; it’s a limitation on the depth of the stories I tell. But there are stories I’ve read that touched me in unanticipated ways, and The Moon Sisters is right at the top of that list. Thank you for that, and for the next story you’re going to tell.
Thank you for your kind words about The Moon Sisters, Ray, and for helping me to see that all of this feeling might just need to be harnessed differently in order to make it work for my story. I’ll be thinking on that. Write on, friend.
Powerful and beautiful. Build that fire. You blaze so bright.
❤️
So proud of you, my friend, for such an honest and raw essay. Even more proud of how determined you are to shelter that flame. That image is gorgeous and so apt — may you shine even brighter in the broken spots.
Thank you, dear Liz!
Somewhere is a scrap of paper, a news clipping, a memory, an odd thing, a feeling…wherever it is, whatever it is, it holds a fragment of your future novel. Trust that.
Whatever holds you back is not narrative, which is powerful, but is only psychology. I have faith in you. Someone so anchored in her heart, so smart and so good with words is not done. She is only waiting for the right tale to tell. Looking forward to that.
Thank you, Don. I agree that what has held me back is psychology. Hopefully all of this daylight inspires lasting change. Write on!
What a gift this is for all of us! Bravo, my friend!!! Can’t wait to see and read that fire!
Mary, thank you for all of your great guidance along the way. ❤️
Thank you so much for writing this, Therese. In my group we were talking about this very thing last night, sparked by a question from a writer at a much earlier stage of the process than you, but still with tears in her eyes: should I really be writing if I haven’t [insert manufactuured-and-probably-external expectation here]? It’s so hard…”
It’s so painful and debilitating. And yet we need to feel safe before we can do the very vulnerable work of writing (without it feeling like torture).
Society is very quick to say, with writing especially of all the arts, that “success=best seller”. As you’ve pointed out that kind of success is incredibly luck-driven. It can’t be our personal measure of “why I’m doing this”.
I always have to look for the small daily wins: I feel better when I’ve been working on my fiction (time disappears! That’s a clue); I’m easier to live with, when I’m writing (and that’s a reward, because it positively impacts people I really care about); I learn things about the craft when I’m writing (more even than when I merely read the amazing craft articles here); everything else in my day seems easier when I’ve written (even if the writing was hard or the word count tiny).
Letting go of expectations and allowing writing to feel like play is my goal, for now (which is not to say “only when I feel like it” because I only “feel like writing” about 300 words in to a writing session!)
Having other goals and ambitions is fine, but they have to be put away in a box (and the lid sat upon) when it’s time to write ;)
I recently expressed a similar brokenness with my group and the courage to show the cracks made an immediate and healing difference. I hope this post will do the same for you and I look forward to seeing what’s next for kintsugi-Therese !
Thank you for this generous comment, Julie. “Look for the small daily wins” is a great tip. Whatever it takes to keep the fuel burning. Write on!
I had no idea, Therese, how much you’ve suffered. I just finished Yuvi Yalkow’s book A Brilliant Novel in the Works and what a gift it is to writers. I don’t know how he managed to pull off such a meta novel but he’s so honest and raw, just like you are here now, and for this reason alone, I’m glad you’re continuing to fan the flames of writing. I loved the concept of Kintsugi. And how perfectly it captures you–broken and treasured, a gift to us all. Thank you. God bless us all with health, happiness, hope in all we do.
Vijaya, I’m so glad you discovered Yuvi’s truly brilliant novel, currently on my keeper shelf. (I can’t wait for his next novel.) Thank you for your kind words, friend.
Well, crap. Therese, so sorry for the pain and the distancing and the self-cracking. These are unprecedented times, and the weight is heavy. I haven’t written any fiction in a couple of years; I have a story idea that has snored for so long—it’s all become fuzzy and halting, and shaming too.
You have done so much for all of us, and your pain, though zeroed in on your consciousness, is our pain too. Though it’s not clear when, I believe your starter fire will light in time, and the warmth will work. Know that you are loved.
You’re such a wordsmith, Tom–genuinely one of my favorite people to read here at WU for the way you express yourself. Here’s to waking your sleeping beauty of an idea, so that more people can discover your gifts. ❤️
This is such a brave and ultimately hopeful post. I share your pain, in that my most recent novel was what I thought was my best, ever, and it has fallen flat. Of course, it came out during the pandemic (I had 2 pandemic releases), but that’s not the reason – which I still cannot fathom. But next step. And then next. And…Writer Unboxed is itself a huge accomplishment of which you should be proud. I read it every day. This is one of the best posts. Thank you.
Janet, so sorry to hear that. It It’s so hard when the world doesn’t love the book we love. Onward anyway, as we’ve taken to saying in my house!
Janet, I’m sorry for the disappointment you feel, especially given that you believed your best work had been released — and ignored. I have an 8-year-old niece, and I think she’d love Carry Me Home (assuming that is the book you mean); I plan to gift that to her. Thank you for being a part of the WU community, and for your kind words here. Write on!
T, imagine my hearty virtual hug right now. Seriously. I hear you, my friend.
Then, dust yourself off. You have NOTHING to be ashamed of. Your stories have touched plenty of hearts, and your faith in writing as an art form has encouraged and supported hundreds, perhaps thousands of other writers to touch even more hearts. You are the pebble that ripples liquid gold throughout the writing world. DON’T EVER FORGET THAT.
Writing is much more than ass-in-chair. We all know that. And you, my friend, share all you have on so many levels. Take pride in that.
I, for one, am immensely proud of you.
Hugs
Dee
Thank you, Dee. ❤️
I love your writing with or without traditional publishing and the market’s support. I love you as a person even more, especially for this raw honesty that will help diminish shame among many, many WUers. Kudos to you for refusing to assume the responsibility for events beyond your control! As for the future of your writing, I hope you’ll allow yourself to chase your passion once more. Chase the fun.
And I’m going to endeavor to take my own advice when I’m not entertaining a puppy trapped indoors by today’s -41 temperature–the first day of the seven to come.
Thank you, my friend, for so many things. “Chase the fun” here is similar to “chase the fun” at your house — and involves a furry creature who’d really rather be playing in the sunshine but may instead be mouthing a slipper. Love you back. ❤️
Oh Therese, as others have said, this is so honest and brave. I’m in tears. Your writing is wonderful and I hope for a chance to read more of it.
As an unpublished writer in the soul-sucking query trenches on MS #3, I’ve looked writing despair in the face and am now starting again on a new project, but so slowly, bird by bird, so to speak.
By the way, the novel I’m now querying is titled Embracing Damage, after the Japanese art of kintsugi. We all are broken but, God willing, unbowed.
Wise words, Mary. I wish you all the luck in the world with Embracing Damage. How ironic that it ties to kintsugi! Thank you for your kind words, my friend. Write on!
Lady T,
of the two points it occurs to me to make, the most important is that we, the Unboxed warriors, are dedicated to help protect your fire from the wind. After all, its heat will warm us all.
The other regards the structure of our society. It places creative souls in the position of thinking (no, into religious believing) that we must alter, rebuild, or even despise our innate passion–that wisdom fire–in order to please accounting ledgers. That belief opens the door to shame when accounts fall into the red.
But let’s be clear. Success baffles agents and publishers too. So it is not a matter of filling in blanks properly. Those authors who become famous, yes, they are driven. They labor skillfully. But they cannot predict the reception of their work either. I will be posting Robert Gottlieb’s article (Trident Media Group) on Sinclair Lewis on the public side of WU. His success brought deep pain and even madness.
So, write what you write with the deepest love. Enjoy that you can do it. And when it is polished, we’ll bring kindling and perhaps society won’t be in a downpour. But the work… the work is its own excellence. And it affirms your heart.
That first paragraph is perfection, Tom.
Thank you, dear Tom. ❤️
And I’ll look for that article.
You asked us to tell you that 15 minutes a day is enough, the thin wood to feed the flame. And it is. it truly is.
A dear friend and gifted astrologer, Deborah O’Connor, wrote this week of the Capricorn new moon: “The energy coming off today’s moon asks that we stop beating ourselves up for not having accomplished enough of whatever it is we think should be done by now. It supports the ability to carry on with something resembling grace.”
I am astounded that throughout all this, you have worked so hard, with such commitment, to create and nurture the WU community. That, my friend whom I have never met, is grace.
Fifteen minutes a day is enough.
❤️ Thank you, Leslie.
We never know what really goes on in people’s lives, and while we’re busy being envious of their success there are stories like this under the surface. Very brave, vulnerable post that we obviously all appreciate.
I too had to get my rights back this past year, for over two years of nonpayment of royalties on books that were selling every month. I must not have done it right, because a) I received no back royalties, and b) the smug bas**rd continues to sell inventory of my books on Amazon, now happily collecting sales income without the bother of having to fight me for payment!
There must be a universal consciousness at work over the concept of kintsugi right now, because I also referenced this practice in my memoir which was completed last year and is currently being edited. When we emerge from the damage that was done to us I think we’re all kintsugi.
And finally, I loved The Moon Sisters and hope you have many more books in you that will see the light of publishing day.
Thank you, Deborah. I think you’re right–most of us probably are kintsugi-people in one way or another. Wishing you all the best as you work to reconcile those payments with an unscrupulous, immoral publisher.
I must create a Japanese-American character somewhere, sometime, named “Kent Sugi.”
I love that idea.
You know, Therese, there should be a support group for anyone who debuted in 2008 :) I feel ya! And the only worse year to launch a new book was maybe . . . um, last year? Here’s hoping you find your way in a much brighter 2022.
Kelly, this is true! I’m sorry you were that year’s victim, too. And very true about pandemic-release authors, who have had challenges above and beyond economic ones. Here’s to better times for us all. Write on!
I knew as I read this one that it was going to strike a serious chord with many of us, Therese. I also just had a well-reviewed but pallid-selling release.
Thanks for being so vulnerable and honest. This business can be so brutal and incomprehensible and riddled with vicissitudes, and there’s something peaceful and freeing about knowing that, to me. Something that I hope allows us to let go of what’s beyond our control (which is really mostly everything except the work, if we’re in trad pub) and stay focused on why we pursue a creative path. Hopefully that allows us to take what we want from it, no matter what. But it’s hard.
I’m sharing this in my next FoxPrint newsletter, as a must-read. And I hope your spirits are brighter, friend.
“Vicissitudes” gives me happiness shivers.
I have work to do in that arena, Tiffany, and I know you’re right. Thank you for your wise words, and for sharing.
I knew some, but not all of this. Oh, my dear friend…I can only imagine how much trauma that would cause to be built up like that only to be knocked back down. Sure, it’s a business, and business isn’t personal. However, there is a human being on the receiving end of such decisions, and that human being has put her heart and soul into her project for years. There’s no way it won’t FEEL personal. There’s no way to walk away from that with confidence unshaken. No wonder you have been blocked.
I relate on a lesser level – lesser in that the industry has never built me up. I dealt with it much better when I’d knock on agency doors only to have my hand slapped away. Now no one even comes to the door and I’m simply invisible. I know why this would be from a business perspective, but from the receiving side it can be difficult to see a point in continuing to knock.
I’m always here if you need/want a healing buddy. We could form a group called WPA (Writer Paralysis Anonymous) and form our own 12 Step Program. After all, Writer’s Block no longer seems a strong enough term.
Writers Blocked Anonymous.
Writer UnBlocked
Love that, T
Thank you, Kim. You’re incredibly talented, and I don’t think I’ll ever understand why a door or seventeen didn’t open for you yet. But here’s to hoping you will forge your own door, because your work deserves to find its readership — and it will. Write on, really.
This is my story. Big first book. Last book was over before it ever released. No paperback. My problem, though, isn’t shame, it’s anger. All encompassing rage that isn’t directed at anything other than the fates, I guess. I have been stuck with this rage and not the first clue how to break it into manageable parts. This post has given me my first glimmer of hope. Maybe I can burn out the rage 15 minutes at a time.
I’m sorry for the treatment of your last book, Tracy. These are such hard times. But I have a feeling that redirecting that fire you feel will work for you! The good news is that it hasn’t gone out. So I hope that you’ll use it! :-) Write on.
Thanks for your honesty. And I can’t wait to see what you write next!
Thank you, Carol!
Thank you for sharing your journey. I’m so sorry for your pain, Therese. But totally understandable. Seems you got caught in some publishing vortex only to be hurled out unceremoniously. But I’m so glad that you’re on the mend, and wanting to write again. And also glad that you put out Moon Girls yourself. Publishing is a strange business. The cream doesn’t alway rise to the top right away. Some good books don’t find their audience until later. Wishing you much success with your writing.
Thank you, Diana! All the best to you as well. Write on!
Thank you so much for the honesty and heart in your post. Shame is such a huge obstacle in my own creative life, especially around my “career” that I have self-funded with my day job for my entire life. The act of writing saves me. Other writers and reading saves me. And finding essays like yours that fill me with hope and make me know I’m not alone save me. I’m looking forward to reading your novels!
Comments like yours fill me up, too, so thank you. I remember pre-pub guilt — money spent on the dream. But what a precious gift to yourself, knowing you’re living a life that satisfies you to the core. I wish you well on your journey!
Reading this through tears of familiarity, from a similar experience. Been there. Done that. Hated it. Started anew. Anew again. Finally found it. Love it. 15 minutes – whatever you choose – is enough. You’ll soar again, T, in new, more powerful ways. “The past does not equal the future.” T. Robbins.
Thank you, Kathy! I’m so glad that you found it — gives me hope.
This is such a brave and heartfelt post. And for what it’s worth, I loved both of your novels. I’ve gone through similar emotions, wondering if I will ever get published. But, for me, it’s about the writing. I will still write as long as I can breathe. I hope you will keep writing because you are an exceptional writer and you have helped so many fellow writers. May 2022 provide the kindling and the sparks to ignite your creativity. All my best to you and Sean.
Therese you shine brightly in my eyes. You inspire and encourage me with your honesty and strength.
Thank you for your kind words, Beth. (Looking forward to your post tomorrow!)
Thank you so much, Chris. I hope that 2022 brings good things your way, too — new stories, new opportunities. Write on, friend.
Therese,
We are young, even though our children have grown, and writing is one career that we can carry on nearly to the grave. There is time, and whether you write a little or a lot, I wish you joy of it! Upthread, in response to Kathryn, I wrote how I had recently rediscovered joy in writing. Whatever way you choose to find the path back, know this: the community you have created with WU has deep roots and has touched even those of us who are mostly lurkers. You could not be held in higher esteem – even if you had 10 NYT Bestsellers at this point in your career.
You are not your output. Paradoxically, your output can be you. Maybe if you pull some of the energy you put into WU and allow that to fuel your writing you will once again find your mojo and let out all those stories inside you that are clamoring for their day in the sun.
I wish you bountiful words and refulgent creative energy.
What a beautiful thing to say, Eddie, thank you. And you’re right: We have years and years of potential writing ahead of us. Please lurk less, and write on.
Therese,
Since no one else has said this, I will: 2008 was a major bummer. There’s no shame in having your career shattered by one the worst financial crises in U.S. history. And despite the cyclical economic recoveries in the years since then, no industry has remained unchanged. The entire structure of the economy shifted in 2008 and it continues to shift as a result of what happened in that year. Not convinced? Ask a few newspaper reporters. Or mortgage brokers.
When I get stuck in my writing, I ask myself: would plumbers worry about this? Or would they just lumber in with the toolbox, lift the lid off the toilet tank, stick their head under the sink, crawl under house and get on with it? When that’s not enough for me to move forward, I know I need a break. Oftentimes, it is enough. Maybe it will be enough today.
Marcie
Marcie, I love your plumber-test so much that I need to steal it. And you are right; chaos is chaos is chaos, and it’s rarely personal.
It’s a shame, a shame that the economy was driven into the ground at the worst possible time. A shame that corporate decisions trampled the writer who did everything she was supposed to do. This touched me on so many levels, but none more so than in reading your bravery and steadfast determination. You may not hear it, but I do. It’s loud, it’s clear, it won’t be denied. I’ve not had a publishing contract, but I know about extraordinary misfortune striking again and again. I’m still here. I’m running out of time, but I’m still here and building upon the trials that led me here. You’ll build upon these experiences, too.
❤️ I hear your determination, too, Christina; it, too, is crystal clear and won’t be denied. Misfortunes be damned. Write on, friend.
Struggling with the same psychological terrain for many of the same reasons, Therese. I know, in this instance, not being alone is no great solace, but it does mean your struggles are not the result of same great failing on your part. The business is brutal and oftentimes blind. But if we are not creating, then what? The hunger needs to be fed, and it needs to be fed something substantial. I’m finding that, as I return to my manuscript, the words that inspire me most are “Tell the truth” and “Mean what you say.” That alone has helped my focus not just on what I am writing, but why. Much love to you, and best wishes in everything.
“Tell the truth.” “Mean what you say.” Writing these on my forehead, David.
“Tell the truth” and “mean what you say” can breathe a lot of life into a writer and into a character and into a scene and into a novel. I will take these words of yours and use them as I can, David. Wishing you–to steal from Eddie Louise’s comment–“refulgent creative energy.” Many thanks.
Thank you for sharing, Therese. Really important for us to hear this. I can relate to a lot of what you experienced. It’s inspiring to read this. ❤️
Thank you, Yuvi! I hope you noticed the love above for your novel. ❤️
You, your novels, your essays…all you offer the world is wise and beautiful. And thank you for you raw honesty. xxxx
Thank you, Randy. ❤️
Therese, thank you so much for your honesty. Build your fire, one tiny kindling at a time. Feel the heat as it catches. We want your voice, your stories. TMS is one of my favorite books. I am looking forward to the day we can all be together again, in Salem, talking craft. It feeds my soul, as do these WU essays with all their comments.
Thank you, Linda. Dreaming of the next gather, right along with you.
Therese you were the first “writer” to encourage me to pursue writing a novel and I have always treasured your encouraging words. Thank you for sharing his the beginning of your publishing journey unfolded. How hard this has been for you and obviously for others in similar situations. I hope you will find your way back because I have so enjoyed not only the prose of your novels but the spirit of hope. The world needs your books!
Thank you, Cerrissa! Write on, friend.
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for writing this. So many of our “failures” are not ours to own, but yet we internalize each and every one of them. You are so brave to share your story, but even more fantastic for getting back up again!
❤️Thank you, Maggie. To be honest, I didn’t think it was brave to post this. I was too nervous about it to have had that thought. But here on the other side of it, I’m glad that I hit publish. You’ve all made me feel that, and I’m so grateful.
There’s a lesson for me here, I think: Maybe feeling terrified is simply the backstory to being brave.
Write on.
Therese, I can honestly say that I don’t know where to begin in saying that this resonates enormously for me. To reply in full, I think I’d have to write too much. Suffice to say that I think this is one of the best things about/in publishing/writing I have ever read. It’s vital for us writers to be honest and open. The business is too mysterious enough as it is (and I mean business in the industrial and creative sense). Being honest and open about the obstacles and despairs and disappointments–and, yes, shame–that come along with so many parts of this work we do (is it work? How’s that for shame?): it’s crucial. I’ve been where you’ve been. I’m not there now, but I think once you’ve been there you’re never totally free of those thoughts and feelings. That notion of: huh. what if I just quit. It’s not terrible to quit, or to stop and move onto some other phase of life, rather. It might not feel good, though. In which case, we go on :-)
I’m so glad you’re on the other side of the trauma you went through, Henriette.
There’s an underlying philosophical thread in The Moon Sisters that keeps coming back to me as I read through comments, and it involves the existential thinker Albert Camus. Camus was very much in the spirit of “life is random, and bad things will absolutely happen, and oh f’ing well, you need to do your best to make your minutes matter anyway.” (Not a direct quote, just to be clear. ;-) )
He’s right, I think.
I feel this SO much and can unfortunately relate. It’s good to hear that I’m not alone. Thank you for putting your story out there—you continue to be an inspiration. Here’s to starting fires and protecting the flame this year. xox!
I’m so sorry that you’re experiencing this now, Alison. Let’s stay in touch, and compare notes on fire building. ❤️
Oh, my dear. It hurts so much to “fail” in a fickle marketplace.
But really, you’ve only failed if you let a fickle marketplace stop you from writing.
I have six well-published, often translated novels to my credit–and six more unpublished ones in my attic.
In fact, I’m thinking of pulling the best characters from each and building a new world for them to cohabit.
I know of a few things that help dispel that sense of shame.
1. Write a poem every day.
2. Found a collaborative small press.
3. Exercise daily.
Joyce, I love your tips. It used to be that I’d write one haiku a day. Maybe that habit needs to be resurrected.
Go and write that favorite-character world; that sounds like a blast.
This means so much to me. My three books have been sales failures. I don’t know that I’ll get another book contract. And although I’ve come to a peace with that, your line – ‘I learned something about myself as weeks turned into months into years: I could live a life that did not involve writing.” is where I’ve been for a bit.
I’ve tentatively started back in on a new project and last night, for the first time in I can’t even remember how long, I had to get out of bed to write down some notes on a story breakthrough I had while falling drowsy. I don’t know if I can sell this, but if I can make it to The End with something I’m really satisfied with, it’ll be a win.
Thank you for this essay.
Jamie, I am rooting for you and that newborn flame! Go, go, go! ❤️
Thank you, Therese, for this post. It really spoke to me–I feel all of this, having been there too with my book. So helpful to know we’re not alone. And I love your metaphor. (Being a NH girl, I sometimes have to start the woodstove too. Those thin pieces are key…) “Protect the flame” is something I’m going to post above my desk, to remind me of your five steps.
🔥You’ve got this!
Just here to add another love stone to the pile. <3
As you know, I had my crash in 2011. Then I got a phoenix inked on my arm and started again. Here's to you and your phoenix.
I knew I should’ve gotten a tattoo back in 2014. Thanks for inspiring me on, as ever. xo
Therese, it is clearly so helpful to so many for you to share your experience and your journey. I’m a huge fan! Sending love.
Christina, thank you for being such an inspiration on so many levels. I’m a fan right back.
So many of us right there with you. I have even withdrawn from most of the social media interaction I used to enjoy so much because it’s just a painful reminder of a) the sophomore slump and b) that I’m not writing. The noise was making me feel even more shame than I already was. If I write another book, I’ll need to basically start from scratch on any self-promotion, or, ideally, I’ll be that one in a million writer who stays in her cave and lets the book speak for itself and actually gets traction doing it! Ha! Much love to you and cheers to the golden olden days and those yet to come. ❤️
Julie, I’m so sorry to hear that you’re suffering right now. Good for you for tuning out social media when you need to; I do that as well, and I find it makes a difference. I hope you are able to slip into that cave soon and find your mojo again. Sending hugs! ❤️
I’m so sorry that happened to you. It sounds painful. I’m sure you’ve been told before that the failure was theirs, not yours, and you were just the victim of it. But knowing that and believing it are two different things, I imagine. I hope 2022 brings you new confidence and new opportunities for creativity and healing. And thank you for sharing your story. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.
❤️Thank you, Linda.
Oh Therese. I have read and loved both THE MOON SISTERS and THE LAST WILL OF MOIRA LEAHY. So many feels upon reading this post and others her have echoed words I wanted to say to you so I will just share the following:
1) What sadistic “person in power” would tell a debut author that the size of her publisher’s debt is an issue? So what if you didn’t earn out your advance? Only 25% of books earn out. (https://www.macgregorandluedeke.com/blog/ask-agent-book-doesnt-earn/)
2) A former publishing exec once told me “If you sell thousands of books, you become a bestselling author; if you reach and affect one reader, you are a success.” And also that some bestsellers are literary pablum whose sales help them fund the books they truly love.
3) The best advice I ever got from an established authors was that publishing is a business. Don’t take things personally.
It’s been 10 years since I began on the publishing journey and the conclusion I’ve reached is that an author’s ability to move the dial on book sales is zero to negligible and most of the time even their publisher’s efforts can’t do much. We can’t control those external factors or the market’s whim. What we can do is write the story we want to tell and improve our craft each time.
You’ve done so much for the writing community, dear Therese. Your work on WU alone pays it forward multiple lifetimes. Goodness will find you.
❤️ Janie. Thank you for every word of this.
Amen Sister.
Of all of the WU posts I’ve ever read, yours is easily the most meaningful. My experience is like yours except my crisis involved an initially-fortunate deal between my publisher and Amazon Encore. I had been so excited when my debut (Please, Pretty Lights) was published in 2014. Very proud.
Too proud?
When my publisher went under, I lost my book manager, designer and editor. I wasn’t allowed to promote my own book for six months.
Since then I have half-written seven or so novels, but haven’t had the confidence to finish anything. Intellectually, I know it’s stupid yet I still can’t seem to get past it. Cue the shame storm. I’m drenched.
Every false start makes it even more daunting and so I write and write – and the joy is there. But I don’t pitch. I don’t even share.
Thank you for your honesty and for the starting-a-fire analogy. You’ve given me great hope.
“When my publisher went under, I lost my book manager, designer and editor. I wasn’t allowed to promote my own book for six months.”
Oh, Ina, I’m so sorry.
Your barrier sounds a lot like my own. It is so frustrating, I know, when you want to do something and cannot seem to push past the mental block. That gap — the one that lives between what you want for yourself and the life you’re living — can wear you down mentally, too. Let’s each look for small ways to try; 15 minutes per day seems like a good place to start.
Sending you lots and lots of kindling thoughts. Write on!
Thank you for sharing, Therese. I hope your fire burns bright again soon. ❤️ 🔥
Thank you, my friend! ❤️
I enjoyed The Moon Sisters so much I gave a copy to my daughter, who also loved it.
When I confessed my shame story to a friend she said, “that’s how you know you’re a real writer.
Thank you, Deborah, for sharing TMS with your daughter. I’m so glad that you both enjoyed it.
Your friend sounds wise.
Write on!
Dear Teri— this gorgeous and vulnerable piece of writing underscores your talent. Keep on, friend. Please let me know if you ever need to chat around the campfire. 💕
Thank you, dear Lynne. I always enjoy our fireside chats and look forward to the next one. ❤️
I don’t know what I can add other than that I also got derailed by shame and fear, and to say how much this post touched me, and how all the responses touched me too. I get really shy writing here but this was too important too ignore. Thanks Therese. Thanks everyone.
Fear is such a devil; I hope you’re on the other side of it and writing again, Cassandra. And it’s wonderful to see you here. I miss your lilt.
Reading your post and the comments stirs up a lot. And reading the comments really bring home how often it is people are going through things we just have no clue about. That’s certainly something I’ve always known but needed reminding.
You’ve done a lot for others and your novel was terrific. Thank you for sharing your story, and plenty of folks above have said wonderfully eloquent and true things. I hope you feel the love.
Take care of the fire. Take care of you.
Thank you, Marta. I do feel the love. Hugs to you, my friend.
Such a powerful essay! Thank you.
Thank you so much for your support, WU community! I’ll continue responding in comments this afternoon, but I want you to know how much I appreciate all of you. Write on!
As a writer attending many conferences and believing all the stories about the publishing industry, I had completely bought into a fantasy of what my journey would look like when I landed a deal. But it looked a lot like your journey and the depression that followed was crushing. Thank you for this honest essay. I wish every writer I know would read it. I will send it to them now. xoxo
I’m sorry you’ve had a similar path, Gale. I hope that you were able to get to the other side of the depression and that you’ve reclaimed your creative life. Write on!
Most folks think I’ve got it going on. But seriously, I don’t. I’ve faked it til I made it in almost every job and creative endeavor I’ve tried. The truth is I am an adult child of an alcoholic with a lot of anxiety, shame and possessed of a very shaky confidence structure. I’m horribly self-conscious about most everything and when I’m hurt or feel threatened, I run and hide until I can gather the strength to confront whatever bedevils me at a particular moment. I’m the queen of procrastination. I’ve tried to give up writing many times-without telling anyone I’m actively doing that. I’ve even pursued other art forms trying to find that comfortable place to land. I ignore my half wrote, half broke stories. I hide all my little notes of story ideas. I don’t plop my buns in the chair. And then I’ll dream a story. Or something comes to me while I’m doing chores or working in the garden. Or I accidentally talk shop with a writer buddy. Or I attend a writer workshop because, heck, it’s free and then the instructor loves! My work. Do more!! Keep it going! Call me!! Or I’ll unthinkingly take up a writing prompt on a quiet Sunday morning and next thing I know, I’ve got three characters, a plot and their problem to fix. I recently read something about the Beatles and how Paul went on to form a new band and write more songs because when you stop too long, you lose forward momentum. Well that’s what I’ve inflicted on myself. So the slog is ever so much harder now. But is it easy to give up writing? No, darn it!! Because the bottom line is – I love story. It’s all about the story. I might die an unpublished, unsuccessful writer, yet writer still remains in the sentence. I think every century has its Depression Era. Things have been crappy since 2001. Technology hasn’t helped us, ironically. Even my anxiety has ptsd. At this point, I’m too lazy and not hungry enough to chase fame. I’m still mightily struggling with self consciousness and revealing my true thoughts and dark experiences through my writing. I need to stop being my own unreliable narrator. It requires so much strength to rise from my hiding places and find the story. And write the story. And let the story be free of me. Anyway, I’m off to do chores and have some lunch. Do some real work and dream my stories. And maybe write one more sentence. Remember, you are light years ahead of me, Ter. xo
T, we really must talk soon. Because and because and because. Your stories must be told—they simply must. Let’s connect. xo
Thank you so much for sharing your experience. It’s given me encouragement to continue with my writing. What’s my story? After two self-published novels, I had a third novel published by Lake Union (an Amazon imprint) and thought I had it made. Not so fast. Lake Union rejected the next novel citing poor sales for the novel they’d published (only 40K copies sold) and a concern that the time period wouldn’t attract readers. That novel (Paris In Ruins) and another one failed to attract publishers, despite much positive feedback. I self-published Paris In Ruins in March 2021 and I’m now on a path to self-publish novel 5 this year, and to turn my focus to being successful in that domain.
Writing is the toughest career I’ve ever had, but when the words are flowing or readers are sending positive feedback, it’s the best feeling in the world.
Best wishes with the “slow, steady feed of your flame”.
M.K., it IS the best feeling in the world, isn’t it? I’m glad that you’re on a path that includes writing, and that you released your ‘rejected’ book into the world despite those closed doors. I’m sure your readers appreciate that as well. Good luck with novel #5!
Thank you for this. My “career” has been similar, sans the big advance. Even selling through the tiny advance on the first book wasn’t enough to keep the third contracted book from being sent back, after edits, unpublished. I had to self-publish that thing and limp the series over the finish line. I have felt the shame you describe here. I still write, but I honestly can’t say I’ll ever publish again. I love the process but hate the biz and what it does to my soul.
Vivien, I’m so sorry for the damage you’ve sustained while on your publishing journey. But it’s wonderful that you *are* still writing, and you never do know what the future might bring. Even if you decide never to share your work with a readership again, I hope that your stories sustain you. Write on.
Oh, I am soooo mad on your behalf. I’ve wondered how much of second book slump is, “My publisher blames me for everything that went wrong and takes credit for everything that went right, down to the last one-star review, and nobody warned me about any of this toxicity,” slump. It’s crazy making, to be shamed for holding up your end of the deal, for submitting your best efforts, and going above and beyond. That close-to-shame feeling is betrayal. You were betrayed, by a publisher that got too greedy too soon, by a publisher that doesn’t know how long it takes to build a brand, by a publisher that wants to ride the coattails of your brilliance without adding any publishing brilliance to the equation, by the trad PR and marketing people who really do not know how to think outside the same old box.
But you will not be betrayed by most of your readers, if you just keep writing your words, your way. The build may be glacially slow, but the brand will be honest and the readership loyal.
Write, you. Sitcha ass down and write for the joy and the truth. Don’t you dare let those clowns steal your fire. We need you to write. I will do ANYTHING–CP, plot-storm, pep talk, sprints, swear jar, ANYTHING–to get you back on the horse. Not for the sales, not for the neener-neener to the trad house, but because you and your stories are worth supporting.
Hugs.
Grace, your wise words, compassion, pep talk, and offer to help re-horse this far-flung writer are much appreciated. I will remember this and reach out the next time I’m sitting in the dirt and need a hand–or a neck brace. It’s a tough business, but what you say about readers is very true; ultimately they’re the reason we do this. I do think the PR and marketing folks for TMS likely did the best they could under the circumstances.
Thank you for sharing. It’s amazing how self doubt sabotages us when we’re not looking or even when we are. I’ve been wrestling with the idea of indie author and what that means and stigmas around it. I’ve also been thinking about the popular tiktok song “It Cost That Much Cause It Takes Me F*cking Hours” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGR20B2cEBQ and of all the arts (novelist) how little people want to pay for a book or an ebook and how many ARCs we give away for “exposure.”
I guess I want the world to know it takes us f*cking hours to write a novel, and that’s not including the researching it, keyboarding it, editing and re-editing it, marketing the manuscript, revising it, re-revising it, reviewing the copy edit, proofreading the typeset galleys, slogging through interviews and writing essays to promote it, and finally showing up and autographing copies. You are worth, we are worth, so much more. Hugs, light, and love.
So glad to be introduced to the song; thanks for sharing. And you’re right–it does take a long f*cking time to write a book (and etc), which is why we have to love it. Good luck to you! Write on!
Thank you so much for this — and the comments are great too! I’ve felt like quitting so many times in the last three years. Felt it to my core, but then I start writing again, though not with the same sense of inevitability (of all good things) that I had before. Now I’m jaded, and sometimes bitter … I keep telling myself a shitty story that I’m not *really* a novelist anymore since I’m not on contract, have been sporadic, and so slow … I’m a dilettante. It’s awful, this voice inside my head telling me my career went bust before it truly had a chance to start. All I can do it write, though, right?
Thank you for your honest — it’s refreshing and inspiring!
Lisa, I had no idea you were going through a similar journey–I’m sorry. I think the answer to your question is YES, because the alternative is awful: denying your talents, abandoning your dreams, and smothering your fledgling stories. Write on, my friend.
I have quit the biz twice for reasons like yours. I’ve never had a job in which how hard I work and what I produce has so little to do with how “successful” I will be. It’s maddening and unfair and shame-inducing. But then there’s that feeling of loving the work that I can’t seem to get away from. I’m trying to define success as writing a story I’m proud of, and let the rest be icing. Sending you lots of mental kindling, Therese! xoxo
Juliette, I love that definition of success. Perfect. And I’m so glad you didn’t quit for good. ❤️
Therese, I’m so grateful for your honesty, articulating something that obviously hits a nerve for so many of us! And I’m grateful for the community you’ve nurtured through WU, which has inspired and sustained me in so many ways. Wishing you joy and hope in those 15 minutes a day.
Thank you, Mary! I’m glad to know WU has helped you on your journey, and I appreciate your kind words. Write on!
Therese, What a deep rich vein your post has touched. Thank you. For your complete honesty and vulnerability. Such good writing(wink)! I related to every word. After both my books went “out of stock,” I wrote a piece for Cynsations about books going out of print faster and faster in publishing. The average time a book stays in print is four years. Writing the four part post (https://cynthialeitichsmith.com/2019/02/guest-post-lindsey-lane-on-reframing-the-reality-of-books-going-out-of-print-part-1-the-facts/) was part of my healing from the shame of having terrible sales and going out of print. I saw very clearly that I could do all the promotion in the world but without stars and ‘best of’ lists” and the publisher’s muscle, it wouldn’t matter. If I was a writer, then what I needed to do was write. Right? But I felt scared and ashamed. The joy of writing felt so unattainable. I felt confused. Like I had given my source of joy away. It belonged to editors and agents who may or may not deem my work worthy. (Cue Lucinda Williams: You took my joy.) Word by word, I am taking it back. But it’s hard. I may never meet you but my heart joins you on this journey. May we source joy every day in our words.
Lindsey, thank you for sharing your piece with us; I look forward to reading about your journey. I’m so glad that you’re in a recovery phase, even if it’s difficult. Hopefully it’ll get easier with every word, especially if you make it a daily practice. Keep going! I’ll be cheering you on.
Thanks so much for being open and sharing your journey, Therese! I was at a library event once and heard a very similar story from the author sitting next to me. It’s unfortunate how often scenarios like this happen – a big deal, lots of fanfare, and then somehow, for whatever reason, it falls apart and doesn’t go as planned. Unfortunately, I like you have discovered I can live a life without writing. Even though I’ve written sentences here and there – and WU posts :) – it has been a long time since I’ve been in the zone and excited about a project, not afraid of failure, etc. And like you this life without writing doesn’t necessarily make me happier than when I was writing a lot (and failing but still happy)! I hope this year I can get back into it with gusto, and do it even if I am afraid!
Deanna, I hope so, and that 2022 will be a great year for us all. Good luck finding the zone, and finishing your next story. Write on!
Therese: “… the irony of what my subconscious did.” They say all first novels are autobiographical. Truth is, all novels are autobiographical. Our “subconscious” just gets better at disguising ourselves from ourselves. Carl Jung said: “…The question arises: ‘Has the Unconscious consciousness of its own?’” He also said, “In each of us there is an ʘther whom we do not know. He speaks to us in dreams . . . ” Most relevant here: That “ʘther” is, among other things, our creative engine. Any decision regarding writing or not writing should take the ʘther into consideration.
Study has led me to conclude that our ʘther is. to varying degrees, autonomous and sentient. If you’re not a little afraid of it, you should be. If you have a large one, alcohol can let it take you over. It has no conscience.
“I thus drew steadily nearer to that truth . . .: that man is not truly one, but truly two.” –Robert Louis Stevenson
Thanks for your comments and bringing some additional psychology to the page, J. I’ve come to believe that I write partly to help churn up all of that sub- and unconscious stuff, so I feel you (and Jung) here. It’s why I think it’s a mistake (at least for me) to attempt to plot a novel out completely beforehand — but that’s another blog post.
Beautiful Therese, as are you. Thanks for sharing. I think we all have more in common with each other than we’re willing to admit.
Thanks so much, Kerry.
Therese, thank you for your courage in sharing, and for challenging me to own my own experience. And for giving me a quote I will use from today, my line-in-the-sand day.
Your journey mirrors mine – one that I’ve almost been in industrial-strength denial about.
I had a contract with a big publisher (my dream house) and it felt surreal – the only Aussie at this big US publisher. My debut novel earned out before winning a key award as Debut Book of the Year in 2019. This earned a two-book deal and the trajectory was promising. Then I had the same publisher conversations as you did, and their interest seemed to drain away with book 2. Book 3 was launched on Black Square Day in 2020 along with warnings about the sensitivity of social media. Then Covid bit harder and I was, in the words of my agent, done. And avoiding all the articles trumpeting how fiction was going gangbusters during Covid.
I haven’t written another word with any serious intent since. And I feel it in every cell – I failed when I wrote, now I’m failing because I don’t write.
While your entire post spoke to me, it was this quote that was like a lightning strike: “Because knowing that I can do this thing, that it is in fact the best thing I know how to do, and that I am not doing it because I’m afraid to fail or deliver a product that won’t succeed hurts me. That simply can’t continue.”
From today, on my journey, that simply won’t continue.
So thanks. Sincerely.
David, thank you for sharing your story. I’m so sorry for your bad luck but especially for your agent’s harsh and unhopeful words, because you are not done. You are not done, until you say you are done. And even then… It’s inspiring to hear you call this your line-in-the-sand day. I hope you’ll come back often to let us know how you’re doing on the other side of that line. Write on.
The No Sales Gremlin lurks around all writers struggling to stand out from the pack. Publishing is a way to keep score, sales keep an even more accurate score, but neither of these are the only rewards. As one person said, ‘write to taste life twice.” Keep you pen in hand. Stuck with writing— then read. That’s also a joy.
“write to taste life twice”
Thanks, Nancy. I’ve never heard that phrase before and I love it.
Write — and read — on!
Thank you for your candor, bravery, and strength. My literary life followed a very similar trajectory at more or less the same time as yours. Back then, publishers got buzz by paying ridiculous advances that no writer could ever hope to pay out. (Read this, for anyone who doesn’t believe me: https://nymag.com/nymetro/news/media/features/n_8972/) It came at a time when I needed to be home with my young kids, so the opportunity changed my life for the better. But when my debut novel didn’t quite reach the required heights–no surprise–my editor rejected me (with grace and appreciation, at least) and my agent abandoned me. I found myself agentless again a few years later with two polished but homeless manuscripts. I’m still searching. But in the meantime, I founded a creative writing center that thrives and serves countless aspiring writers in my community. I still work every day for a second chance, but in the end, I want to believe that the impact I am making with my writing center makes deeper ripples and more positive impact than any bestseller I could ever write. It’s small comfort, but it helps.
Judith, thanks so much for your note. I’m sorry your career as you knew it was derailed in that same area. The article you referenced reminded me that my debut was actually mentioned in “Page Six” after the deal — completely forgot about that additional hype. I agree with you that finding a way to stay involved with a writing community, even when your own writing has stalled out, can play a positive role. I’m glad that you continue to write on, and I wish you all the very best with your many writerly adventures.
Hi Therese, What a brave and well-expressed article! I was with you every step of the way because I signed a two-book deal with a big publisher in 2000 and was dropped in 2002 after failing to set the bestseller lists on fire. It feels horribly shameful, as if it’s your failure alone – but it’s not. The publishers messed up. They gambled on offering you loads of money because they loved your book and thought it would be commercial. You did your bit in writing it and they failed at their part in the process, i.e. selling it. It took me years to understand that. I wrote non-fiction for the next nine years, which was a good training ground, then ventured out with another novel in 2011. I got a deal, not a huge one, but I’ve kept writing and being published ever since, slowly building readership. I hope your next experience in the publishing world is a very happy one. I’ll be watching out for your novel! Good luck, and thank you so much for writing this very honest piece.
Isn’t publishers’ policy not to consider self-published works a tacit admission that their ability to sell books is not much greater than ours?
Thanks for commenting, Gill. I’m so glad to hear your recovery story, and that you never stopped writing — even when you changed gears. I’ve finished a few self-help-style workbooks, and maybe I should look at those as a sign that the flame hasn’t died entirely. And since I published this post, I have been able to approach a stalled out work again. Fingers crossed. Write on!
The ways I have been broken from March 2019 until now are many and I won’t detail here. But this post – goodness. This post.
Thank you.
I hope you see much better days ahead, Tasha. Write on, friend.
Dear Therese,
I read your essay a number of times now since when it first came out. Each time I thought about commenting or reaching out, and then I didn’t because I told myself I couldn’t find the right words. But that was just an excuse. The truth was, I didn’t think I was worthy of connection. It’s embarrassing to admit that. But if you’re brave enough to spill your guts, I’m going to honor you with authenticity. What you went through—what you continue to go through—is soul shaking. A lot of people would say f*ck it, get a new career, and walk away. But you, my friend, are programmed to go deeper. You search for meaning and healing and then you share your experience and insight. Yours is ultimately a selfless kind of searching. You do it to heal yourself, but also to heal a corner of humanity. I’m deeply moved by your generosity and kindness, your resilience and perseverance. Most of all, I’m inspired by you. You have my deepest regard. I’m honored to know you. Let’s set a timer for 15 minutes and write.
xo,
Melissa
(((Melissa))), I’m touched on many levels by your note. It’s so good to hear that this piece has stuck with you, that you’ve revisited it, and I hope that it’s helping you, if you need its help. It means more than I can say that you pushed through your personal doubts to leave this generous, beautiful message for me. I want you to know that your voice is welcome here any time, my friend, as it’s as authentic as they come. See you soon, yes? And onward we go, for another 15 minutes. Thank you.