Creativity, Exceptionalism, and Bearing the Discomfort

Here's a topic I wrote about last year but is still relevant to my life. I've met so many creative people in RI meetings: musicians, writers, actors, and artists of all types. Many earned their living in creative fields, but many more were probably like me: dreaming of having some kind of creative career. I imagine they all had symptoms when putting their work into the world, which is something you have to do if you ever want to get published (or reach any type of audience). 

Years ago, before joining Recovery International, I never imagined a day when I'd even think about entering a writing contest. Even though I earned my B.A. degree in English with an emphasis in creative writing, I never submitted any of my writing anywhere. Ever. Between nervous symptoms and extreme doubt in my writing abilities based on instructors' opinions of my writing in undergraduate writing classes, I gave up on writing completely after graduating from college.

A couple of months after joining RI, I drove by a local community college and had the impulse to enroll in a journalism class. Ever since high school, I had wanted to major in journalism in college, but fate steered me toward business, and when that flopped (and it did so in a big way), I took what seemed like the easier route as an English major. Heck, I loved reading, so what could go wrong? A lot, it seems, when you're taking a medieval English literature class. Or poetry interpretation. I gravitated toward the creative writing classes, mainly because it had been my second favorite class (second to journalism) in high school. 

So on that fateful August day more than 20 years ago, I signed up for a grammar class for journalism majors. Maybe if I could learn all the grammatical rules of writing, I could enter the journalism field as copy editor and never have to bear the discomfort of interviewing a single person. 

I loved the class. I loved it so much, I received an A (my first college A ever, I think). I became the college newspaper's copy editor for a few semesters, which was the most fun I ever had in college.  

But creative writing? That was different. Sure, I could write a decent news feature piece and maybe even a human interest story. But a work of fiction? Once again, I put my pen away and followed more practical pursuits. Then, a few years after my son was born, I met a homeschooling mom who was a writer. Through her, I learned about an event called National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I met a few more writing moms, and one year, I decided to participate.

Writing a novel that no one but your closest family members will read is one thing, but trying to get a short story published by a magazine, exposing your "baby" to merciless editors who could care less about your feelings, is another. 

After writing and rewriting the same story several times, I submitted it to a flash fiction website. A few days later, I received the dreaded rejection letter (or in this case, email): a short note saying that they get lots of submissions and my story didn't get accepted for publication at this time. Ugh!

I felt embarrassed and could feel tension creep into my shoulders and neck. I started to spot. Spotting the angry temper was easy. Of course I had angry temper at the editors of the site for not choosing my work (exceptionalism). But the fearful temper was even stronger. Doubt, shame, worry, embarrassment: all swirled in my brain. Talk about a threat to the social personality! Even though editors and their publications are outer environment, and we can't control it, at least I did "the thing I feared and dreaded to do." And I had "the courage to make a mistake" (several of them, if you really think about it).

But the most difficult things for me to untangle were the comparisons I made toward the people who did get published. How can I not compare? I know that "to compare is to despair" and "comparisons are odious and should be avoided." I have to work on not comparing my writing to other writers' stories. It's difficult to spot that outer approval is a want not a need because if you don't get the approval of an editor, you won't get published. Editors, publishers, publications, and readers are all outer environment. 

We can't control it--no matter how beautifully we write, no matter how vivid our metaphors, no matter how active our verbs. Even the timing of who sees our writing is outer environment. And wanting to get your work published is a form of exceptionalism. Who wants to be an average writer (or painter or musician) or do an average job? Average doesn't get noticed in the creative world.

Since I first wrote this post in 2019, I've submitted other short stories to various contests and websites, all without success. I continue to spot the temper and the symptoms, which will only end if I decide to stop writing (and will bring up a whole new set of temper and symptoms). But I keep writing. And endorsing for my efforts. And if you've read this far, don't forget to endorse yourself, too.