My First Critique was not Without Drama.

Ryan Edward has been out of town for the last three days and I had big plans. One of my goals for January was to deep clean and repaint our master bedroom. The three days Ryan would be out of town seemed like the perfect time, cereal for dinner, dishes stacking up in the kitchen, me with no time for hygiene of any kind. I was up until the a.m. hours painting for two nights straight. Mix in the needs of four kids, visiting teaching appointments and a middle school newsletter deadline. It was an experiment in psychology!
I wasn’t even daring to think about the upcoming writer’s group meeting when I took a break to check my emails and facebook. I was hoping for a little contact with the outside world. A funny video clip, an inspirational song, a hint that there was still life outside of the paint fumes and the stark colors I had been staring at as they left the roller and clung to the wall (and were desperately scrubbed from drips on my carpet).
I wasn’t prepared for a reply to the first chapter I had sent out to this new critique group. It was from a man that I immediately respected at the first meeting. He’s a man, mind you, and he writes (probably among many impressive things) articles for fishing magazines. He writes beautiful, funny, manly, crass-in-a-good-way articles about the outdoors and life. He’s far from my target audience, but he’s brilliant at writing and critiquing. I knew right away that I wanted to impress him and I knew that he’d be one of the most helpful people I would ever get to read my work… if I was tough enough to handle it.
I wasn’t. *insert weak, weak shrug* He had a million genius suggestions for me. He told me about rules I was breaking that I didn’t know existed. He had a blunt but funny way of critiquing and I found myself laughing and snorting through tears. I suddenly needed Ryan and he was out of town. I suddenly needed to climb into my bed and not have to weave through wet paint and drop cloths to get to it. I suddenly wished I was well rested and at my most sane.
I wasn’t upset that my work wasn’t as good as it could be. I knew that. I was upset because I had deemed myself good enough to go and become a part of this group, and the truth was they knew a lot more than I did. I was a newbie, wet behind the ears, making mistakes that they shake their heads at. I didn’t want to go to the next day’s meeting. I knew they’d all tell me the same things that the email had. I could suddenly identify with those unfortunate American Idol try-outers who are so hopeless it’s embarrassing and nobody ever told them until they “out”ed themselves, publicly, to strangers.
I would find a way to justify missing the meeting and never going back. I would tell myself that I needed a few more years of practice before I was ready for a writer’s group. I would hide, make excuses and somehow find a way to live with my cowardice. I would give up my dream of writing. I would donate plasma for an income when my children would all be in school full time.
My husband would tell me that he understood my decision, but I would know deep down that he was disappointed in me. When my Dad passed away, Ryan told me that I was brave. He said that he saw something in me that he didn’t know was there.
I got to thinking, all writers get critiqued and the only difference between a critiqued writer who fails and one who succeeds is that the one who succeeds doesn’t quit. I’m a beginner. I’m starting out. There’s only one way to learn most of these techniques, and that’s to make the mistakes and have someone point them out. To swallow your pride and own your inexperience and humbly say, the one thing I can definitely keep doing is trying.
I cleaned myself up. It was tough after three days of no hygiene. No sleep +crying= puffy eyes. I scrubbed the paint splatters from my arms. I changed my clothes three times. I said hello and goodbye to Ryan and turned the kids over to him. I walked into the meeting ten minutes late.
It took forever for it to be my turn. The guy who had sent me the email critique was sitting next to me. I made a little joke about how he had baptized me into the group by fire. Everyone chuckled. Then everyone, especially he, encouraged me! They told me what was promising about my writing and about my book. They gave me ideas. They discussed and debated what direction I should go in. Two of the girls whom I adored at the first meeting and who write in the same genre as I do approached my friend and me about having a secondary, smaller, critique group. It was what I’d been hoping for!
On the way home I realized it. I’ve never been closer to being a writer than I was in that moment. That moment when I laid it all on the line, accepted the fact that it wasn’t good enough yet, decided that one day it would be and stared down the challenge of making it so. The reality is I’ll be re-writing a lot. The reality is being a writer is hard work. The reality is that it will all make me better and that’s what I want. The reality is I was really proud of myself… and to think… I almost quit.

Baby Steps

You know how on TV and movies you'll see someone who's afraid or in a crisis say, "I can do this." I say that every day in real life. All the time, I whisper to myself, "I can do this." Even more often I grab two handfuls of my hair, close to the scalp and say, "IcandothisIcandothisIcandothis!"
Today has been the pep-talky, whispering kind of day because it could be a big day for the writer in me. There is a local group called the League of Utah Writers. I don't know much about them, but tonight I'm going to find out a lot more. I feel a little like Nancy Drew... or more to my liking- Veronica Mars. I've been watching that show on DVD. What a cool, stylish and snarky sleuth she is.
I kind of like that I'm documenting this. Other writers are totally experienced in sharing their writing with others, getting and giving critiques, but they had to start somewhere. They were all here once, and everyone who wants to get to where they are, will be here at some point. Tomorrow you'll read one person's take on this experience!
Shhhh. I can do this.

A Little Thing Called Self Control

Have you seen this hilarity? I've been thinking about this comedian's material because I'm guilty of it. Life is so easy and convenient. When I get tired from exercise, or overwhelmed from cleaning my house... I get SO put out! This stuff isn't supposed to be easy, Amie! Not everything is easy! Not everything is fun! It hurts to have a cavity filled, but is it good for you? Yes. You lift weights, you're sore the next day, but is it good for you? Yes! You go without chocolate, you crave it and get grumpy, but is it good for you? YES!

I'm so used to everything feeling like fantasy land that I don't even want to struggle anymore! I wouldn't give back one convenience of modern technology, but this is me being tough on myself in the name of my New Year's Resolutions.

Amie, the idea of failing at getting a book published is scary. The idea of succeeding at it is scary too. Honestly, the picture of me sitting at a table eventually, signing my name on books for people and trying to make myself believe that I'm worthy of someone wanting me to sign my name on something? Terrifying. And crazy. I know. I think most authors dream of people wanting their autograph, and that idea is scary to me. But you know what? So is getting a cavity filled, so is working out hard, so is going without chocolate... oh that's just too horrific- let's not go there. My goals are hard for me. If they weren't, they wouldn't need to be goals. Being tough on myself is necessary sometimes.

Life is so wonderful that we could almost believe that being the least bit uncomfortable must be a bad thing. Truth is: discomfort makes us grow. I sorta wish I had my own personal drill sergeant. Run soldier! RUN! Clean soldier, CLEAN! Edit soldier, EDIT! I'd hate him so much... and he'd be so good for me. Ryan Edward is probably willing to do the job, but I'm thinking that wouldn't be great for our relationship. ;)

How are your resolutions holding up? And are you ever afraid of success? Or am I unusual and in need my own personal therapist as well? I have suspicions I might be. (You know, I would LOVE to hear your comments even if there's bad grammar or misspelled words. Or just one word. "Like!" I'll know what you mean, because I facebook. :) It doesn't matter that this is a writer's blog at all. Your comments are really just for interaction- or encouragement. :) "LIKE!"!!!!)