It's really about me

I wish I could just sit down and rip out a story that everyone will love, or at least be prepared to have long-and-winding-road conversations about.

But a wish is really only an unfulfilled want, an impotent desire, so wishing isn't going to make it so. 

At the moment I'm caught in headlights of insecurity about the quality of my fiction. Having submitted my first novel to two publishers I'm second-guessing myself about its value and standard. It's not so much about the quality of the writing as English, or my ability to turn a reasonable phrase or two. If I'm honest, it's more about me. 

When someone asks me what I do, I will say I'm a teacher because I am. That's how I earn my living. It's the work I do that adds value to my community. I have never once said that I'm a writer. Curiously, now I'm thinking about this, I've never once said I'm a stage performer although I've done that, on and off, for nearly 40 years.

No. It's the work I do for money that first comes to my lips. This is the work that sits squarely on its foundation and carries weight in my mind. I'm good at what I do, I make a difference, at least sometimes, and I can be depended upon to carry out my duties with care, foresight and a smattering of courage.

However, I'm at a transitional stage in my life when that occupation is coming to a close and it turns me to reflecting about what is important and what I value. I realise that both performing and writing are not regarded as "real jobs" in Australia (even teaching is not that highly regarded by many) so why should I immediately burst forth with: 'I'm so glad you asked. I'm a writer.' I run the risk of a reply like: 'Oh. That's nice,' or 'A writer? But what's your real job?'

So my wavering at the moment is the result of becoming a little too self-obsessed and precious. In addition, there's probably more than a hint of my past habit of trying to be good at something but without the acceptance that for that to happen I have to fail. And fail often. Someone once said that it's only when you're failing that you know you're trying.

I thought the novel was at the stage that I could submit it to publishers. I've completed a number of rewrites and drafts, had a range of people read it and offer reactions, criticisms and suggestions, some of which I've followed up. I've let it sit in its folder on (or is it in?) my computer for a few months to let it mature. I've even printed it so I could hold the nearly 200 pages in my hands. Great! It felt good. It felt like the landscaper who has just completed a retaining wall and stands back to admire the result of his planning and skilled work.

I guess that the only thing for it is to continue to press <SEND> and trust that 'work' can mean many things and that honest work with a purpose will bear its fruit, ripe and tasty.

Yum!