The world suddenly seemed so vast, and I felt so small. The situation was laughable; how could I possibly have believed I was ready for this?
This year I’ve challenged myself to take risks and put my novel out into the world. But I wasn’t prepared for just how strong and all-consuming the wave of self doubt that crashed over me would be.
I wasn’t even sitting there on the brink of hitting ‘Send’ on a submission email. I was simply on an agent’s website looking at the other authors they represent and concluding that they’d be a great fit for my book.
But it was like their headshot had reached out of the screen and slapped me.
For a few panic-stricken hours I felt paralysed. I questioned everything about my writing, from the core concept of the novel to whether I’d read enough books in my life to even have a sliver of an understanding of what made a good one. Was I even sure I knew all the letters of the alphabet??
Then I got back to work – back to the task of getting my book ready to submit to that agent who terrifies me.
How? I challenged the legitimacy of my fear by remembering five vital things.
It’s not my job to say whether my work is good enough
It’s not my place to reject myself. Self-rejection is a paradox. Rejection requires another person. Trying to reject yourself is like trying to swipe left on your own Tinder bio.
And look at it the other way: I’d never dare try and tell this person that they think my novel is amazing. So why choose to reject my work on their behalf? I am not an expert in the value of my own work to others.
Let’s not forget in today’s internet times there are more than enough people who’ll tell me my work is shit. Many without ever reading it.
The world is oversubscribed with people who’ll hate what you do. May as well be on your own side.
Some super-talented author’s debuts were…bad
There are some writers I admire, who are both talented and successful, whose first published works were less than awe inspiring. The publishing world isn’t looking for perfect, it’s looking for promising. And that promise can be buried under a lot of crap.
And let’s be honest – we can all name writers we think are terrible at the craft who have legions of adoring fans and huge sales figures. So even if I am right and my book really is terrible, that still doesn’t necessarily mean it couldn’t be a successful debut.
You can’t theorise your way to success
Here’s something you’ll never hear a super successful person say when asked a question on how they became so successful: ‘Oh, you know, I just sat around hoping and making plans and one day woke up a millionaire with a bed full of awards.’
If I’m not prepared to face rejection, then I’m not prepared to succeed. I don’t accept the idea I’ll never achieve my lifetime goals (remember the previous section: there are plenty of naysayers already).
Which means the only option left to me to get on with it. I already know that the pain of rejection is nothing compared to the pain of regretting never having tried when I had the chance.
Imagine if my worries weren’t true
Catastrophising is the process of imaging the worse possible outcome to a situation. It’s five minutes past the time your partner usually gets home from work? They must be having an affair, or they’ve fallen into a ravine while playing Pokémon Go, or a bear’s eaten them, or they’ve joined a cult.
It couldn’t possibly be that they’ve just hung back to ask Grace if Stranger Things is worth a watch.
Catastrophising is a habit. But luckily it’s one I know that I have, so I’m getting better at spotting it.
And because I spotted that my thoughts around the quality of my novel were all towards the catastrophically bad end of the spectrum, I challenged myself instead to think about the possibility I may be wrong.
So I said to myself: ‘Look, if you’re going to start imagining outcomes, at least imagine the good ones too.’
So I did.
I don’t need those fears to go away for me to carry on
For a brief while – let’s say a few hours – the fear did its job. It put me in a mindset that could very well have seen me deciding that, you know what, the book really isn’t anywhere near ready. Submitting to agents in 2023 was a ridiculous idea. That’s me off the hook then. Phew.
But then I realised that I was thinking about this as though my options were either to stop being afraid, which would mean I could do the thing, or carry on being afraid and not do the thing.
But there’s a third option, and that’s the one I’m taking. Which is the classic ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ approach.
If I wait until I’m not even the slightest concerned about sending out my work into the world, I’ll be more than a little bit dead. I’d prefer to be alive, afraid and, possibly, a little bit successful.
Cover photo by Brian Kelly on Unsplash
