Blog 4.18.24

This blog post is going to sound a little whiny, but I need to get it out before I start writing today.

I met with one of my writing partners early this morning for our regular exchange/feedback sesh, and her feedback was fantastic. But as usual, after receiving feedback I feel like I’m just terrible at this whole novel-writing thing.

I sat down to journal afterward so I could sort out what was making me feel so crappy. What I came up with is this: when I get constructive feedback it feels like I’m not being understood. And being misunderstood is one of my biggest triggers.

For as long as I can remember people have called me weird. I remember being 3-4 years old and adults telling me I was a weird kid. I remember trying to tell my parents things and having them either laugh at me or get angry because they didn’t understand what I was trying to say. What’s stupid is that I never went out of my way to be weird. I mean, I’ve always had personality and a distinct sense of style, but I didn’t ‘own’ my weirdness like a lot of people do. In fact, I tried really hard to fit in as best I could, forcing myself to shape-shift and adapt so that other people didn’t think I was different or strange. They always did, though. And they always told me. Parents, peers and all kinds of adults. They would tell me I was smart, but weird.

The point is, I’ve spent a lot of time feeling like people don’t understand what I’m trying to say. I’m naturally very blunt which got me into trouble at an early age, so I’ve spent a lifetime going the other direction– using indirect language, relying on obfuscation and omission, and generally hiding from my own self. What’s fascinating is that the main character in this book I’m writing is – not coincidentally – also this way. She’s emotionally stunted, has attachment issues, and doesn’t feel like she belongs anywhere. That’s me. (Of course, there’s a lot of things about her that are NOT me – but these hangups of hers are definitely mine).

So, as I’m writing her and receiving feedback about her, I’m starting to recall a lot about my own experiences, socially and professionally. My beta readers tell me this character is flat, hard to relate to, and her motivations aren’t clear – even though I feel like I understand her completely. It’s wild to realize that my own fear of vulnerability is making it hard for me to write a vulnerable character that other people can relate to. It’s bringing up a lot of emotional discomfort that I simply wasn’t prepared for.

All of this is on top of the actual technical struggles of crafting a novel. It makes me wonder why I thought I could do this in the first place.

And yet.

I can’t stop. I don’t want to. It’s so hard, and I feel like a failure half the time (actually more than half the time). But I want so badly to be understood, and I want to tell a story that means something. So today, I’m pushing myself to be vulnerable as I re-write some things.

Send the good vibes, please.