“The edge of normal”
Dear Friends,
You know me better than anyone. You know that I’m a confident, self-assured woman. You’ve seen me walk into a room full of strangers and make friends within minutes. You know I have a mind of my own, and that I’m comfortable in myself.
And all of that is real.
However, there’s another side to me that you don’t know.
Secret destruction… we all do it.
Including me.
You see… when I am alone, I destroy myself. This is the artist in me, the sensitive side of me that enables me to turn experience into art. And that side of me thinks too much sometimes. Sometimes, when I’m alone, my thoughts turn to what I did and said wrong in that room full of strangers. I think about the opinions I heard in that room and wonder if I should hold the same too. I tut and roll my eyes when I think about the awful impression I must have made – who does that writer think she is? Then comes the worse thought… I’m wasting my time by writing at all.
When I’m thinking logically, of course I know I’m not wasting anything. My heart drives me forward and that can never be wrong. Still my mind punches me in the gut and laughs at my stupidity for ever thinking anything will come of it. Who am I? I am nothing. I’m just one of the millions of other writers out there fooling themselves into thinking they’re any good.
So I tell myself to stop playing the fool – go do something that will actually make some money, provide for my children. That’s when the tear ducts in my eyes pinch and I know the moment is about to go one way or another.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
That’s when I phone my husband and he tells me that, yes, I am stupid – for being so tough on myself. He tells me to open up any story I’ve written and start reading. He waits until I do it. After a few paragraphs I feel better. I’ve led a fascinating life and my stories reflect this. All writers destroy themselves. Then we pick ourselves up, or someone does it for us, and we get on with it.
It’s not just writers who do this of course. Who doesn’t have moments like these?
It’s just that writers do these moments incredibly well and have them really, really often. We take ourselves to the edge of normal, then tell ourselves that we don’t even belong there. We stare at distant objects. We listen to music that reaches deep inside us and twists things around. We analyse every detail, especially about ourselves. It’s what makes us who we are; it makes us good at what we do. But it’s also hard to live that way… in secret.
So I just wanted to tell my friends… the next time we go for coffee or chat on the phone, and I wave you goodbye with a smile or say a cheery farewell… just know that as soon as I’m alone, I’ll be ripping myself to pieces again. Most writers are like this, and I’m no different – despite the confident, comfortable real me that you know.
Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m incredibly happy with my life – so privileged, exhilarated by it even. I consider myself lucky. It’s just that sometimes, sometimes… I’m a typical writer.
And sometimes I feel the need to tell you: this is the life I lead.
Thanks Zena. Your story is refreshing- because yes- it is so familiar. I beat myself up about my writing and lean on my partner for the certainty I can’t find for myself.
I doubt my words, my thoughts yet present a ‘happy, confident face’ to the outside world.
Brave of you to put this out there. And a common trait among writers. I’ve heard many successful writers talk about their doubts even after several of their books have been published.
Thank you.
Good to hear from you Susanna. I must admit, I wrote this post a week or so ago, then decided I wasn’t going to post it – it felt too raw to risk. And a bit exposing. But it feels honest to have shared it now, and letting friends closer is always a good idea, right? At least, I hope so…
*starts ripping self to shreds over decision to post*
Eek, I recognise so much of this. So thank you for posting, because it is good to know I’m not alone, and also for linking it to the writing/art thing.
But also, I want to give you a huge hug through the internet and tell you that you are amazing. I have always been so impressed with your social skills, and with the way you seem to effortlessly make friends – and I think you know how I feel about your writing, but I’ll just spell it out here: you are a wonderful, thoughtful, talented writer, and every story I read from you makes me want more.
Aw, shucks. Thank you so much! That’s just what I needed to hear today. What am I saying – that’ll keep me going for weeks! 🙂
Zena, thank you for being so open about the darkness that tries to pull us down – I suspect that your story is echoed in the experiences of many, many writers and creatives. But particularly writers, I think. Your story made me reflect on my own experience and what drives self-doubt and distructive criticism. I often move through a similar arc with each piece I write: At first, I’m struck by some inspiration and I actively enjoy what I am writing, the world I’m building, the characters I’m getting to know. When I’ve got the first draft done, I turn on it, looking for ways to improve it – this is healthy self-criticism and I can still feel quite positive after the first or second re-write.
But if you’re serious about your writing, you may not stop there and will continue to go over it. But each time you do, the joy is eroded. The freshness evaporates, the language becomes familiar and jaded; there are no surprises and the humour falls flat. Finally, as the piece is ready to go out into the world, I re-read it and think: Why would anyone want to read this? What was I thinking when I started? And about a moment later: Who am I kidding, pretending to be a writer?
And that’s every story – you have to be made of stern stuff to then send it out for comment. Thank the heavens for friends and betas who preface their responses with “I loved this! You’ve made a wonderful thing.” Otherwise, we might all quit!
Anyway, I wonder if the process of serious writing, where we work and re-work, can actually blind us to what beauty we have wrought… at least until a partner or some kind other reminds us of what originally moved us to write!
(I wonder what Hemmingway (or some other consumately self-confident author) would think of all this? He’d probably get all gruff and tell us to “Man up, princesses!”)
I hear you, Rob! Perfectionism has its side effects, but also benefits we should acknowledge more often!
And I reckon Hemmingway would have identified… in secret if nothing else. If I hadn’t admitted to my inner artist, most of my friends would never have known she existed. But you simply cannot be a good writer without self doubt. And Hemmingway was a good writer, right?! 🙂
Yessirree, this all rings true to me. I even start questioning things when I’m in the room (before I head home). It does seem to be a writerly trait. Perhaps that sensitivity to others’ emotions is what makes us good writers — and the ability to observe closely too. But I’ve also become well aware that we don’t mean nearly as much to others as we think we do (in a good way). While we’re agonising over what we said, those we said it to probably forgot it straight away (or they were too busy agonising to notice!).
That’s soooo true. Of course they’re too busy agonising to notice! Next time, I’m gonna remember that 🙂
This post touched a nerve and I ‘agonised’ about replying. I sometimes doubt I’ll ever get on this social media if I have to go a thousand times over everything I ever write. But I still had to say that your writing is definitely worth reading and I enjoy your stories every single time – so don’t you dare stop!
With comments like that Zoya, you can definitely get on social media more often!! Thanks for your kind words. It’s good to know I’m not the only one 🙂