The Suck

When you have a dream that won't quit

This weekend, I opened up a computer file that contains old essays I wrote between 2018  and 2020. At the time I thought they were good enough to send to big publications, and I was surprised to get rejected or ignored.

I read one of the essays. It was terrible. Disjointed, unclear, muddy. What I thought was good in 2018 is different than what I think is good in 2024, yes. But what surprised me is how much better I write now than I did then. I don’t know why I was surprised; I’ve been working my ass off. But in my mind I was like, wait, just doing a thing makes you generally better at doing the thing?

When I was heavily pregnant with my daughter I applied to go to graduate school for my Master’s of Fine Arts in creative writing. I didn’t get in. I applied again at another school a few years later. Rejected again. I carry it with me, that shard of insecurity. If I was actually good, I’d have that degree, I think.

For years, I wrote fiction anyway. I have the undergrad degree, and I know how to work hard. Three novels later, I couldn’t even get an agent. I self-published one novel, but did nothing to market it so it got no attention and few sales. Of course, you can put in your proverbial ten thousand hours and without talent still not be any good. And, you know, I wonder. How do you know? Where does determination turn into foolishness? I keep thinking of that Ani DiFranco song Swan Dive and the line

‘Cause they can call me crazy if I fail
All the chance that I need
Is one-in-a-million and they can call me brilliant
If I succeed

The Dunning Kruger effect is the theory that people who are good at something judge themselves harshly, and people who lack skill or talent often overestimate their abilities. While the data behind it isn’t entirely convincing, as a theory I like it. It gives a name to something most of us have observed in ourselves and others. The terrible singer who tries out for every talent competition on one hand, and the talented painter who doesn’t even apply to art school on the other. What Dunning Kruger doesn’t address is that our understanding of our own skills can evolve over time. Because our skills can evolve over time.

What’s the thing you want to do, the thing you think you’re good at or could be good at, the thing that gives you joy, the dream that won’t quit?

I write to be read. I have enough fiction languishing in the cloud. I got tired of writing novels that I couldn’t get sold. I don’t write short stories, that’s not how I create, like those sprinters who have more fast twitch muscles. I’m a slow twitch fiction writer. So, I decided to move to non-fiction, where I have some fast twitch muscles. A very long time ago I was a journalist, and it was my job to write articles quickly, accurately and with whatever skill I could muster. I have that muscle memory. I have written lots of non-fiction content for work, from RFPs to bylined articles, and I can write quickly.

Writing about my own experience isn’t something that comes naturally to me, I’m a very private person. But that’s what people want to read. I wrote a memoir. A couple of agents said no one would want to read a book about a dead kid. In spite of the fact that there is actually a thriving little sub-genre of dead kid books.

I wrote a number of essays and submitted them for publication. None were picked up. I wrote some opinion pieces for the ad trades and some of them were picked up. I did a story for the Moth, about the dead kid. That one did very well.

I decided to start this Substack, in July of 2022. I tasked myself with putting out 1000 words a week, every week. Which I have mostly done. With that quantity, I can’t get too picky about wordsmithing, or too precious about rewriting. Some of my newsletters hold up, others read like mediocre LinkedIn posts. I just keep going. I’ve started writing for some new publications, I’ve written a whole book that’s non-fiction in the past year.

My advice? Do the thing. Throw it into the world. I don’t have a huge following here, but damn you all are loyal. 50-60% open rates every week. Which is a boost to me, every week. You all make me a writer who has readers. And I would write this if only one of you actually read it, if it was helpful to you, if you appreciated it, if you thought about it later. And there are many more of you than one, so thank you.

The second thing is to continue to get feedback and input. I’ve been trying to get an article published and racked up some pretty impressive rejection stats. So, I sent it to Eugene, my podcast co-host, writer, and old friend. He’s been reading my stuff since the 80s and he’s been a journalist and editor for most of that time. His edits were brilliant, ruthless and helpful. I rebuilt the article entirely. Nothing that he suggested was beyond my abilities. I just hadn’t thought to approach it in that particular way.

What does any of this mean to those of you who aren’t writers? I assume many of you have things you’d like to accomplish. Maybe it’s a new skill, like playing the piano or speaking Mandarin or ice skating. Maybe it’s an extension of an existing skill, like someone who has deep technical proficiency as an individual contributor who is now moving into a management role and figuring out how to effectively manage people. Maybe you just want to get over your fear of public speaking.

Embrace the discomfort. Bitch about it to friends, or in a newsletter. Take a break, but come back. The next five years are going to pass. In five years, if we’re lucky, we’ll be five years older. If I keep writing like this my writing will be five years better. If I stop writing the same five years will pass and I won’t be more skilled or practiced.

Reframe your narratives. I realized I know a number of people who did get their MFAs from fancy schools. They wrote well-received first novels, then coughed up a couple more novels about writers who teach writing and treat their lovers badly. And then they disappeared. Nothing. Writing makes me come alive in a way I don’t want to give up, even if this is as good as it gets, my tiny town of newsletter readers. Every time I get an email notification from the people who actually pay for this when they could get it for free it makes me happy.

This, this newsletter, that you’re reading now, I think it kind of sucks. But it’s Tuesday night and I nursed a sick grandkid and a stomach bug of my own all day so this is all I got. So I’m going to close with another Ani DeFranco verse.

But I've had a lack of inhibition
I've had a loss of perspective
I've had a little bit to drink
And it's making me think
That I can jump ship and swim
That the ocean will hold me
That there's got to be more
Than this boat I'm in