Learning to fall
I recently got my own pair of roller skates after starting to learn to skate in December. (this will tie into writing and creativity in a minute—promise)
One of the biggest beginner lessons for a new roller skater to learn is how to fall. People are pretty upfront about it—you’re gonna fall. Unless, that is, you’re my mother who, when I asked her if she did tricks back when she skated, she simply told me “My trick is that I never fell.”
SO. Aside from my mom, you will fall. Falling is part of the learning process, and even extremely skilled skaters fall all the time.
The trick is knowing how to fall. It’s getting used to falling correctly so that when the time truly comes and you lose your balance, you fall safely, you get back up, you move on.
I smell a metaphor…
Writing, and the creative process in general, involves a lot of falling. A lot of failing. And in the same way as roller skating, if you work yourself up over the possibility of falling, then it makes the falling that much worse. If you accept it as inevitable and part of the process, it’s easier to view it as learning.
But I’m also wary of getting too comfortable with falling. Back when I was an actor in New York (shortly out of college), I had to face a lot of rejection. A lot of auditions that went nowhere, a lot of opportunities where I maybe received a call-back but rarely got the role. I’d gotten so used to the failing part of acting that I stopped caring anymore when I walked into an audition room. My train of thought: if I didn’t care, the fall wouldn’t hurt.
But you have to care when it comes to your creative endeavors, because if you don’t no one else will.
So that’s the dilemma. Accepting that you’ll fail but not resigning yourself to fail, and certainly not forever. Putting yourself out there and getting hurt, and then soothing yourself. Using failures to improve, but also retaining your creative integrity (aka understanding that it won’t be for everyone).
It’s a constant balancing act, and boy, is it exhausting. But as with skating, perhaps the trick is knowing how to fall. Here are some things I’ve found to make the whole process a little less tiring (as always, it’s writing-specific, but certainly applicable to other creative fields):
Find creative partners in crime. For me, I am sending first drafts of my next novel to my critique partners on a weekly basis. Sometimes I know what I’m sending them needs work, but other times I send them something that I think is downright brilliant, and let’s just say their feedback keeps me humble. I trust them and I value their opinions, so when they point out ways I can improve, I listen and look for how their suggestions can enhance my writing. That’s something I’ve come to understand more as I’ve gotten older—that great writing typically doesn’t happen in a vacuum or on one’s own. It’s a group effort of critique partners, editors, beta readers, and more.
Go at your own pace. When I see other writers succeeding in All The Big Ways, I sometimes get that sense that I’m behind. Behind on my dreams and my goals, and I’m withering away like an old crone at the keyboard.
Luckily, there’s no age limit on writing, and while plenty of people get into publishing while they’re young, plenty get into it when they’re older, too. I’ve been trying to focus on a writing practice that’s designed for longevity rather than rushing to some imaginary finish line.
Feel the feels. As mentioned above, apathy is what I like to call a NAGL—not a good look. If I’m bummed about something with my writing, I give myself permission to be bummed about it. But I also have a plan for stepping away from the pity party. Set a timer, call your cheerleader (see the next bullet point below), go for a walk, whatever you need to set your mind back on track. If you find that you’re becoming numb to failure, I highly recommend taking a break from whatever it is you’re working on and returning to it whenever you can be invested in a healthy way.
Have a cheerleader. I know that I can turn to my husband to always have something positive and uplifting to say when my confidence is low. Most recently, I received a query rejection and was feeling a little sorry for myself, so I told him, “I really wish somebody would like this story.” His reply was “A rejection says nothing about liking it.” He’s infuriatingly right about that, and his response helped put things in perspective and boost my mood. He’s not the type to wax poetic so I know I can go to him for grounding advice, but he also knows I’m a sensitive flower and sometimes just need to hear something nice to feel better.
Stay true to what you’re working on. This is a tough one. How do you know when to incorporate feedback? How do you know when the number of falls and fails you’ve had aren’t merely part of the journey, but instead are a message that something needs to change? I personally struggle with this because I’m stubborn, but if I revisit my writing then I will know in my little bones if something is truly off or if I want to forge ahead as is. Ultimately, you must have a deep familiarity with what you’ve made, very clear goals on where you want to take it, and the ability to look at your work with fresh and unbiased eyes. Sadly, save for, say, genre requirements like word count, there are no right answers here and only gut feelings.
Believe in yourself. Ugh, I realize this is easier said than done, and advice to “just be ~confident~” isn’t particularly helpful. But know that if you’re turning to others for validation of your own skill then it will feel really, really personal when you fail. What I mean is: I’m not sending my writing off to critique partners or beta readers or agents for proof that I’m a good writer. I know I’m a good writer. That alone won’t get me an agent or a 5-book publishing deal or guarantee my book gets optioned for a film, so I can’t use those as markers for my skill and neither should you. Trust that you’ve put in the work. With this thought, at least every little wobble on my writing journey doesn’t send me into panicked Does This Mean I’m a Terrible Writer??? mode.
Celebrate! It’s easy to hyperfocus on failures, so celebrate any and all wins along the way. I have suggested many a let’s-celebrate-by-eating-out nights for my successes, big and small.
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