Crisis of Faith (in my own Writing)

I recently read a novel that was so compelling, so well written and engaging that it made me want to hang up my typing fingers.

I ruminated over the fact that I’m not Kaliane Bradley. (Her novel is The Ministry of Time.) I lost faith in my own abilities.

Admittedly, I’m a fan of good time-travel stories. This one had Barack Obama’s blessing as one of his picks of the year. It has a definite British slant in language and in setting. And it has a rather fresh take on the time-travel genre.

But reading it also made me feel sad. I compared my writing to that of Bradley’s and found it wanting. One of the publishers who read the novel I’m shopping called it – essentially – thin. Not short but essentially not literary. Too casual. Bradley’s writing has depth and so does her story, landing in different centuries.

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” ~Theodore Roosevelt

Years ago, an editor called one of early manuscripts a “beach read.” He meant it as an insult but I took it as a compliment. He said he liked the story and actually finished the whole book but didn’t want to publish it. “We don’t publish beach reads.” Well, there’s nothing wrong with a beach read in my estimation. Many authors’ work could be described that way and readers enjoy their books. And I think the most recent critique meant the same thing. Thin = beach read.

So what am I upset about?

In his book, The Creative Act: A Way of Being, legendary music producer Rick Rubin says an artist needs to create for themselves, not for an audience.

“The expression is ‘the audience comes last.’ And I really mean that. It’s not that we don’t care about the audience — it’s that if we want to make the best thing we can, we can’t care about the audience.”

Rick Rubin

I had to spend some time thinking about why I am writing fiction in the first place. It isn’t to become a best-selling author. (That’s out of a writer’s hands.) It’s not to impress Barack Obama or anyone else, or to compete with Kaliane Bradley. I started writing fiction because of a need to write and to create.

My novel doesn’t travel through centuries and develop a complex government system as well as characters from wildly different eras. It’s not the same thing as The Ministry of Time. It’s not the same as anything else. And that’s why I’ve spent so much time writing it. It’s entirely my thing.

So, you might advise, don’t publish it then. If publishers don’t want it, just keep it for yourself. But if writing is art, art is meant to be shared. Whether five or five million people read it isn’t the point. I didn’t put that kind of thought process into making it. I wrote it to make myself happy. Rubin says, release it to the world.

“One of the greatest rewards of making art is our ability to share it. Even if there is no audience to receive it, we build the muscle of making something and putting it out into the world. Finishing our work is a good habit to develop. It boosts confidence. Despite our insecurities, the more times we can bring ourselves to release our work, the less weight insecurity has.”

Not New Territory

For goodness sake, I’m not shy about showing what I’ve done. I’ve publicly released my paintings, created non-fiction for publication, refinished furniture that I’ve sold – sharing the results of a creative journey has never been an issue for me. This was a new kind of vulnerability, of self-consciousness, that I’d never experienced, or not for a very long time.

Unless she’s an awful person, and I’m assuming she’s not, Kaliane Bradley wouldn’t want me to dim my light in the presence of her bright beam. I’ll turn this around and into fuel for myself. My novel about sisters Felicity and Mitzi will one day arrive, likely self-published, and two more will follow. That is, once I’ve shaken off the last of this insecurity dust that’s covered me for the last week or so.

I’m not vying for awards or expecting anything beyond a demand to myself to follow through with this project. For me. With any potential audience firmly out of my mind.