A Word about Quitting

Why can’t I be more of a quitter? There are days I really want to desert this road to publication. The

temptation to bail hits me hard. I convince myself I’m not cut out for the life of a writer.

Things get particularly daunting when I have to make the difficult decision to move on from an agent, or a close friend receives a drool-worthy offer, or I read my stuff and seriously consider shredding it and feeding it to the dog.

Eventually, a powerful message rises to the surface and riptides my thoughts.

You aren’t a soccer player but you are a writer.

Now, if you’ve visited my blog much, you know I’m far from a mathematician and you might be scratching your head trying to work out the logic behind what I just wrote. There isn’t an A + B = X (or whatever) equation that makes sense of the soccer player/writer sentence. There’s just life.

Let me explain.

I played travel soccer for my entire childhood. I was a teenager when I made the spontaneous decision to quit playing. I loved soccer. I still love the sport and have a blast cheering on my kids when they play. I can honestly say quitting soccer is one of the few regrets I have in life—regret squared because I quit for the wrong reasons.

I took my eyes off of the most important thing—my experience with the sport. I stopped playing because my older sister was better. I’m not making this up. She really was. She was All-American, met Pele, got a full ride scholarship for her skills, and eventually went on to play against Mia Hamm in college. She was a soccer rock star. I was solid. And I should have stuck with it. For the love of the sport. Sometimes I wonder what would have been. . .

Fast forward several decades and you have me, a writer, fiercely dedicated to my craft, though still facing that familiar temptation to bow out. It’s so easy to get sidetracked, believing others are better, garnering more attention, that they have something I don’t. They do have something I don’t. And I have something they don’t. The stories inside me. In the way that only I can tell them.

Right at the moment when I feel like the biggest writer schmuck on the planet, I tend to find some humor-filled way to immerse myself in my current project. I coach myself in Star Wars talk, “Stay on target” or I Church Lady-myself until I get in my word count, remembering all of the positive affirmations that I’ve encountered along this Yellow Brick Road (paved with flying monkey poop…it’s funny to me. Writers have a bit of an absurd and well-timed ability to entertain ourselves. We’re alone a lot…it’s part of the gig).

And when the humor wears off and the word count is complete and I’m left with my Tilt-A-Whirl brain, I’m met with a choice. Day in. And day out. Ride the self-doubts? Or hop off so I can get busy doing what I love?

I decide. Every day I decide.

I’m not a soccer player. But I am a writer.

*Pic is of me in my glory soccer days. P.S. It was the 80s. That’s how everyone wore their shorts! ;-)

7 Things That Will Destroy You as a Writer

Entertaining Doubt

The only thing I remember about the cult movie The Little Shop of Horrors is that gigantic Venus flytrap that eats people whole. Point made.

Copycat Mentality

They did it and it worked for them so I’m going to do it. Will cut you at the knees every time. I know some people promote mimicking an author you admire until you grow your sea legs, but I’m not a huge fan of that. We are constantly infusing author influences into our work without even trying to. More important to carve your own path by testing and experimenting with your own voice.

Calling Yourself a Writer without Writing

I come across this more often than you’d think. Label must be earned.

Giving Up Too Soon

Mature writers understand that the true beauty of the craft isn’t discovered via rewards, awards, and reviews. It’s found in quiet moments when fingers are tapping away madly at the keys, when the mind has slipped subtly into the zone. Think journey, not destination because, as with so many things, once you reach one landmark of achievement you’re likely to set your sights on the next one.

Believing There’s Only One Way to Be Successful

Especially within the past five years there’s been a surge of new ways to go about finding success. I’ve made a commitment to encourage fellow writers no matter which path they choose to go down. And I’ve witnessed these same authors celebrating career milestones having traveled north, south, east, and west on the publishing track.

Wallowing in Your Stuck-ness

It’s almost guaranteed to occur. A lull. A blocked dam. Brain freeze of the imagination. Changing perspective when this happens can make a world of difference. Instead of allowing this slow time to eat away a massive hole in your progress, alter the way you encounter this time. View it as time for your story or characters to develop. Invest in another creative project. Don’t waste the stuck hours. We only have so many here on earth.

Overconfidence & Attitude You’ve Arrived

Always a journey. Pride looks ugly on people and authors who act like they’re superior come off like fools. Adopting an attitude of learning and humility transforms the writing process into an incomparable enriching experience beyond anything the ego could possibly produce.

Can you think of anything else that could destroy you as a writer?

 

Throwing in the Towel

Sweat-soaked and spent of energy, I toss my damp towel on top of a mountainous pile in the hamper labeled Towels.

“Excuse me. You can’t do that.” A lady rises from her hunched over position, where she was apparently conspicuously reading a novel. She picks my towel out of the pile and extends it out to me in her arms like an offering.

“Can’t do what?” I’m late and in no mood to argue.

“You can’t throw your towel in there.”

“Why not? It’s clearly marked towels. I’m throwing in the towel.”

She’s still holding my sweat-stained towel. “No can do.”

“But obviously many people have before me.”

“But they’re not you.”

Disgruntled, I scratch my neck, hoping to distract myself from the irritation crawling over my skin like ravenous red ants. I huff, “Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

“Take a guess.”

“Seriously? I’m done. I’ve worked out, put in my time. I’ve got nothing else to give, lady. And I’m not really in a guessing mood.”

She blinks. Suddenly, I notice something decipherable about her. Her unusual eye color and the twinkle reflecting off the stud jewel in her nose. “Okay, I’ll bite. You do look a little familiar.”

“Ha, that’s funny.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“Because you made me.”

“Okay, this has officially gotten weird. I’m throwing in the towel and taking off. Nice to chat.” I flip around. As my hand slaps the glass door marked Exit I’m flooded with recognition.

“I do know you.” I turn around to face the lady head on.

“Yep.”

“So why are you here, at this gym—by the towels?”

“I had a feeling you’d show up someday. You need me here now.”

“Are you going to spill your name or am I going to have to guess that, too?”

“That’s a little tricky.”

“Right. Tricky because…” I wait her out hoping she’ll fill in the blank.

“Because I’m all of ‘em.”

I stare at her unruly auburn hair, the sharp slope of her nose, even the way she’s standing, as though her hip might jump from its socket and she needs to hold it in place. She’s not kidding. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Neither did I—seeing you, that is. I confess I’m a little in awe of seeing you for the first time. I don’t know whether to thank you or to run from you. But instead of thanking or running, I think I’ll just give you this for now, then call it a day.” She pushes my towel into my hands. “It’s yours. You’re not finished yet. In fact, you’ve barely just begun. Now get out there and write me well.”

I press my face to the damp towel and rub my eyes, still shocked at our exchange. When I turn around to thank her she’s gone. But the enormous pile of towels has grown even higher. Surrendered stories. Writers who quit before their time.

Not me. Not today.

I intend to thank her after all, by honoring her request…to write, and write, and write her well.

Have you ever had an unexpected person remind you not to quit?

*photo by stock.XCHNG