Sometimes you think when an opportunity
presents itself, it's the universe telling you that you need to make
a move, take a chance. I had that sort of moment two weeks ago when I
found an ad for a press looking for chapbook manuscripts. Since I had
just come off of a month of putting together a poetry manuscript, I
thought I would make the most of it—pick out the best of the
original to create a chapbook. And it seemed like a good, cohesive
collection. I felt proud to have made it.
But I flaked. Over the past week I kept
going, “oh, I'll submit it later tonight.” I convinced myself I
had one more day, one more day, wait, just one more day—then I ran
out of days. On the last day before the deadline, I decided to reread
the submission call. It wanted stuff that was experimental, surreal.
And I quickly decided that my poetry didn't fit within those
parameters, and convinced myself it wouldn't be the right fit.
I should have submitted anyway.
It wasn't the fear of rejection. I
think I need a recent rejection under my belt to get me back in the
swing of things. It was the fear that I may actually succeed. I
thought about all that may entail, and I was worried about a lot of
things. I have anxiety about sharing my work, which has really only
developed over the past six months. I will let absolute strangers
pour over my every written word, but there are maybe ten people on
this earth that I don't want near my work—I don't want them to even
know what I write. And it's the fear that this tiny group of people
could get their hands on my work, could confront me about it, could
potentially ridicule me that's done more that keep me from submitting
my work. It's inhibited my ability to promote the stuff that's
already out there for fear they may come across it. It's prevented me
from completing as many posts on this blog as I would like. In my
mind, the threat is circling and I feel like if I make the slightest
move, everything could crumble. It's stupid, but it's hard to argue
with anxiety because it's irrational. And you know it's irrational.
But you buy into it just the same.
I used to freely be able to talk to
people face-to-face about writing, even going as far as talking about
projects I have in mind. I used to be able to immerse myself in new
submissions. I've been putting together a list of publications for my
own use, cobbled together from some of my monthly writer newsletters,
and I'm starting to see some publications I've already submitted to.
Then my mind wanders back to five, six years ago. That's when I
wasn't afraid to submit my work to place far and wide. I wasn't
afraid of the rejection. I also had the mindset that everything I
sent out had a real potential of making it.
Obstacles to publishing don't phase me.
It's just the irrational fear that's left. Even if no one wanted it,
I could get work out there and take no pay. But I'm still convinced
that the best of my work hasn't touched the light of day and still
has earning potential. I can't give it all away just to prove
something to my own anxiety. My anxiety doesn't really care. If I get
over this obstacle my anxiety will just find something else to latch
on to—it always does.
Each morning I get to start over. I get
to face whatever hangups I seem to have, and I get to try and work
towards a better situation where I don't have to feel as anxious
about every little decision I make (or fail to make). If this post is
published, it must mean that I've been able to conquer the first of
many battles to get back to the full-fledged writing career I'm meant to have.
