I Am Afraid of Being Rejected

As far as I can remember I have always wanted to be a writer. I loved the ability of writers to create worlds and break mental constructs with nothing more than a playful phrase or a wayward word. A well-written piece could entertain, educate and touch you on multiple levels. Not to mention give you the ability to run, jump or fly away from whatever is chasing you. I would not have survived my life if not for a loyal book at my side. I coveted this ability to be the opiate of the masses who wish to escape life’s harsh realities.

I went from reading as much as possible to writing at any chance I got. Every stray thought and observation had to be chronicled. You would think with all the chronicling, I would take to social media like a fish to water or some other aquatically inclined animal. But when it comes to social media I am like a sloth waking up from a nap in the middle of a tidal wave and without my morning coffee. Good or bad what separates authors from writers is not just writing ability it is also the courage to open yourself up and let the world see you. Something every twitter warriors knows, nothing reveals you like your words and the world’s you create. But no, I just didn’t have the courage to put my thoughts and observations out there to be judged.

Writer’s Paralysis

Writers dread writer’s block but for me, there are worse terrors than writers’ block. Writers’ paralysis (as I call it) is one of them. The inability to write and publish for fear of judgment. I wonder how Terry Pratchett, Douglas Adams, Margaret Weis, etc, the architects of my childhood constantly and consistently write and create without fear. I don’t know if this is something all authors have. I’m just scared I’m either, not ready or worse, I am not good enough to join the only group I ever cared to be part of.

I have helped publish a few articles but every time I start writing, I have to battle this fear. Will it be good? Will it resonate with anyone? Will people laugh with me or at me? As a writer, I didn’t have to show anyone my work and I never had this fear but now that I want to become an author it is an ever-present frenemy egging me on while pushing me down.

I have always had a habit of writing down my thoughts no matter where or what I was doing. I would even use serviettes as my notebook. If after death our deeds are used to calculate our life’s worth then these thoughts are the integers and equations of my life. A friend of mine once made a joke that I was trying to be Eminem. His joke made me question myself, it made me think I was being pretentious. This self-prejudice made me believe what I had written was not worth the grease-stained serviette it was written on. His simple joke made me take a sabbatical from writing. Well, I say his joke did it, but deep down I know it was my own lack of confidence. That day showed me the power of one’s surroundings on your dreams and self-image. He went on to become a world renown DJ while I am still playing hide and seek with my fears and teaching ESL.

The lesson I learned from this is you should always be your toughest critic but you need to give yourself a break and praise.

My harsh self-criticism has made me a slight perfectionist with a hint of an inferiority complex and a dash of arrogance, making for a beautiful albeit disjointed picture. I know for a fact I can write good (see what I did there? grammar nazis your welcome.) Yet am worried about the quality of my work based on some scale, that I too do not know. I am petrified that I won’t write something good enough. I am paralyzed at the thought of embarrassing not only myself but my family and friends. Worse yet they will see me for the fraud I sometimes believe I am.

So I don’t write or if I do start, I don’t finish. As you can imagine this can make becoming a published author difficult.

This fear comes from the idea an author writes for an audience. If your audience rejects your work, are you an author? So it’s comforting to say you want to be an author and not finish. Then you are in a locked state, they can’t hate it if they never see it. You can keep living in that sense of desire but you don’t need to risk rejection. You can always say “hey I was a good writer, I just never had the chance”. You can pile excuses on top of each other until the mound of excuses is so high you cannot see your dreams anymore. Too often I find myself in the valley of fears surrounded by the mountains of excuses and aborted starts.

Write for an audience of one but prepare for a million eavesdroppers.

Most people who read my work act like they enjoy it. Yet that is so difficult to believe. Have you ever been so insecure about something, you think every compliment is just to spare your feelings? There is no rational reason for this belief but anything makes more sense than, they liked your work.
At some point, I accepted I would never become the author I wished to be. I accepted my fate to be stuck in a cubicle somewhere helping others achieve their dreams.
After all, I had responsibilities, I am the eldest son of a separated home and a lot falls on my shoulders. Following my dreams was not an option and I accepted it. I decided to get a sane money earning degree. One I could do, get enough money to help my family and be only slightly bored and soul-crushingly miserable. I chose Information Systems.
Moving overseas as an ESL teacher was unexpected and it gave me escape from a soul-leeching job to a soul-sucking one. A major part of writing is educational. So being a teacher gave me that element, at least. For 40 minutes a day, my students could be anything they wanted and my students revealed in the worlds I created for them. And I taught them the finer points of a dream deferred. Even as I settled into an ESL life I still had that sinking feeling.
I knew I wasn’t doing what I’m meant for or what I really wanted. But the teaching paid well and the life was easy enough and I could hide how much pain I was in. I kept writing for myself too scared to share my work.
I had resigned myself to the life. I was taking care of my responsibilities and that was the most important thing. I had almost stopped writing completely. What was the point of trying when I knew I wasn’t good enough? I was lonely, unhappy but putting on one hell of a show. Until I met someone who saw through it.
Long story short, my friend read my stories and it was through seeing myself through her eyes, that I started to write again. But most inspiring was watching her follow her passion unapologetically no matter the obstacles.
So like a baby duck testing out the water for the first time I waded back into writing. My friend swooping in and vanquishing the demon, reversing the spell, is a nice fairy tale, but this is life. Here you have to work through your issues. Even if she gave me the kick in the backside I needed, I was always the problem, not the world. I have to work on myself. I still feel like an impostor and not good enough to try being an author sometimes.
We all have problems, how we choose to deal with them is the issue. Either we wear our problems as millstones around our necks or as armor. I have done both in my time, and it is definitely a choice. But it’s a choice I have to make constantly. Many times I win and sometimes I falter but I always get up.
I have been rejected for being, not pretty enough, not tall enough, not white enough, not being masculine enough, the list is as long as my…nevermind. These rejections are all cosmetics but as a young author in training, a rejection of my writing feels like a rejection of my thoughts and fundamentally my soul. I am not sure I can take having my soul rejected. And that’s the crux of my fear. But by not writing, I myself am rejecting my soul. I can’t think of any sin worse.

Experienced authors say it is perfectly normal and that the only cure is writing and publishing more. So I persist because I have to write.
Finally, after decades of hesitation, I finally decided to self-publish. I am sad to say my first book didn’t do as well as I would have hoped. However, I took it better than I had anticipated. I realize It was my first and I made many mistakes. Some easily fixed, others terminal. But I am glad, I did it. It may be a bit of a failure but at least I got into the race. I just wish I had done it earlier.