Writing Through the Terror

I'm almost done with my novel.  As far as I can tell, I have about three to four more scenes to write.  When that times comes, I'm sure I'll feel elated.  A finished first draft is a tremendous accomplishment.

But I'm not at that place of elation.  I'm in a place of terror.  Now, it's not a mother's terror of trying to survive in a war-ravaged country on her way to market to get food for the day.  That's one kind of terror.  What I'm experiencing is a different kind.

There are so many things about this process that terrify me.  One, it's that finished draft thing.  The key word here is "draft."  As soon as I finish the first draft, the editing process begins.  Editing itself doesn't bother me.  I edit myself all the time.  But I've never done anything on the scale of a 300-page manuscript.  We're not talking about a three-page article or even a forty-page report.  In those cases, it's easy to see what's missing, what needs to be rearranged, what should be rewritten.  I can keep all three pages (or even forty, in the case of the report) in my  head and see the flow and connection, or lack of it (we are talking about editing).

Next, once I get past the editing piece, then it's the marketing:  writing query letters, finding an agent and/or publisher, willingness to do what I need to do to market the thing.  Many writers say the writing of the book is the easiest part of the entire publishing process. 

Sigh.

Because here's the real core of what's terrifying me:  the writing hasn't been easy.  Along with writing, I've also started a new company, continued as COO of another, provided care for my children, tried to have a life.  Creating a writing life is a little different for an entrepreneur-business owner-mom than it is for a single guy or gal. 

But that's still not the problem.  It's what I'm writing.  Before I wrote this post, only four other people in the world knew what this book is about.  Deep breath.  Here goes.  My novel is about a young girl named Isabella who lives with abusive parents.  To save herself, she writes a fantasy story in which the main character of that story, Ilsa, is brought to a strange world to save the race of creatures who live there.

There are parts of this story that are disturbing and very difficult to write.  It's a solitary activity, writing, and so I've been on my own.  My fault, probably, as I could have reached out for support.  I'm almost done, and I've just now figured out that I could have done it differently.  Oh well.

This terror came crashing down on me a couple of weeks ago.  Knowing I was a presenter at the Virtual Publishing Conference, my local eWomen Network director asked me to get up in front of our group and put forth that I'm writing a book.  No big deal.  I've done that, talked about how I'm writing a book, to several people.  I just haven't gotten more specific.

Then I went off to Barnes and Noble to look for the newest Anita Blake book.  I had a great conversation with an B&N employee about fantasy books.  He left, and another guy came up to me.  He asked me if I was a writer, and I said yes.  (That right there is a hard thing to say, but it's getting easier.)  He continued to ask me questions, including, "What's your book about?"  I was starting to feel uncomfortable, but I didn't know how to gracefully walk away.  I stuttered something about a girl who grows up in an abusive family and she writes a fantasy story to... He shook his head vehemently and interrupted me with "I don't like it."  He pointed to a classic knight-dragon-king fantasy book and said, "This is what you need to write.  Write about kings and queens."

I found my feet, said a quick "I have to go," and left Barnes & Noble, without my Anita Blake book, I might add.  The guy was a little weird, but he didn't do anything harmful.  It was the second time an acquaintance (not someone whom I love dearly and feel safe around) had asked me specifically what my book was about.  It's my problem that I feel uncomfortable answering that question.

Away from Weird Bookstore Guy and on to another bookstore.  I really wanted that Anita Blake book, dammit (Northanger Abbey is NOT one of Jane Austen's best).  I went to another Barnes & Noble, and no Weird Bookstore Guy was to be found.  I found my book, and, as I do any time I'm in a bookstore, I picked up lots of books, perused the covers, read the author's bio, glanced at the first page.  After a few minutes, I noticed I was almost hyperventilating, and I felt sick to my stomach.  I beat feet out of the store (with my paid-for book).  Driving to my chiropractor for my monthly appointment, I wasn't feeling any better.  After I got there, I was still feeling awful, and I burst into tears in the waiting room.

Dr. Tedesco came in and immediately said, "You're energy is all off.  What's wrong?"  (She isn't a typical chiropractor.  She's helped me with energy stuff and all sorts of healing, especially around my eyes.)  I told her about Weird Bookstore Guy, and she adjusted me as well as some myofascial release.  What I got after she was done was that all of what I was feeling was wrapped up in writing.  It was terror, physically realized.

Having to tell a complete stranger what my book was about started it.  Heck, it might even have started at the eWomen Network meeting, although I had felt fine afterward.  Then, at the second Barnes & Noble, I felt bombarded by writing and words.  It was too much, and terror took over.

I'm still a bit terrified.  Weirdly enough, the terror in no way pushes me to stop writing.  Rather, it seems that it's a validation that I'm doing what I should be.  You know, going out of my comfort zone, growing as a person, and achieving my soul's desires.  No one said it would be easy.

So here's to the terror and doing it anyway.

Comments

[Cindy Hillsey]

Dawn,

OK, now our conversation makes more sense. ;> I respect the fact that you recognize the terror and that you don't let it stop you. Thanks for sharing this. I can't wait to read what you've written!!

[Stacy]

You are one of the bravest souls I know. This is huge, so it's got to feel huge. Keep doing huge things...you were meant for them!

xoxo
A

[Antonette]

I know A said it first, you really are the bravest soul I know. You are my role model. Thanks!

Love you more! AA