So far March is turning out to be a season of flashbacks. I’m dragging out thoughts that have been left in that box in the back of the attic for a while. It has to do with going back to school.
This comes in the form of three timely coincidences. A high school friend of mine contacted me and we met up last week. That was very cool, and it brought back a flood of memories generated more than twenty years ago: time travel in a coffee shop. If I could go back and reassure my 18-year-old self, I’d tell her: go for what you want and don’t worry about being afraid. Ask out the cute guy with the dark hair; he'll say no at first, but the two of you will end up getting married. Go into archaeology; you'll start off doing fieldwork and end up writing novels. Really.
That 18-year-old self would probably eye me askance, say, yeah, whatever, and crank up the B-52s.
Another school moment: I’m going to be the guest artist at a local high school literary evening next week. I’m excited and nervous about it. I want it to go well: I respect the ambition and energy of the students who are putting together the event and don’t want to let them down. As I jot down my notes, I fret over what I can say, but the thing to I need remember is that it’s exciting to talk to other writers about the process. I'm sure I can give the students something to think about in terms of craft, and I know I'll get insights from them, too. The thing is, talking to writers can also be very scary, especially showing them new work (which may be a part of the literary evening). You’re laying your guts out on a plate for the world to pick apart, and it can be agonizing. But the reason we writers finally end up writing is that we want to share our stories more than we're afraid of being made vulnerable. Getting over that fear teaches us.
In my own working world, I'm going back to school as well. My new book is not about Emma and archaeology, it’s not historical, it’s not a mystery, it’s not something I've ever tried writing before. I’m learning a new genre, and in some ways, that's like starting out for the first time. It’s hard work, but I’m so in love with the idea of this story that I’m willing to sweat it out, to sacrifice huge chunks of ego and self-doubt to get it done and then make it better.
I know other writers who’ve been in the game longer, and I get the impression that you never really stop learning, and you never really lose that feeling of vulnerability. You just learn better skills and better tricks to deal with the new, scary, fun experiences you create for yourself. For me, this means turning my first draft over to people I trust as friends and writers and critics to help make the book better. In Good Will Hunting, the characters talk about how someone is perfect until you start getting to know him well. Showing a new work to someone is a leap of faith and I find it always helps to think: these folks aren't here to rip me down. They're helping me improve something that I love, they're helping me make it a better story. You can only be grateful for that, and squash the inhibiting little imps of pinched ego as best you can.
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