Publishing a book is scary. So is painting a portrait or singing in front of a crowd. Any created thing meant to be shared will mean navigating minefields of self-doubt, ego-shattering opinions, and not nearly enough caffeine or rum.
But, in the eight years it’s taken me to write my first two books, I’ve learned a crucial lesson about the process... damn the naysayers.
We all have our things. Singing on stage, publishing books, or painting a portrait, we all have that one thing we strive to complete, but so many never do.
Don’t be one of them.
Do the... thing.
Despite what others might say, despite the obstacles thrown your way, do that thing.
Do it now.
Do it fast.
Don’t give up.
Listen to friends and family who support and encourage you. Cherish them. Cling to them. Don’t let the naysayers win.
I met a young woman this month via discussions on writing, and she broke my heart. She was giving up on her stories after receiving criticism from a family member who said she couldn’t write. Yes, she can. I read what she offered and thought it was nicely done. Commas and grammar suffered a little, but nothing an editor couldn’t tweak out.
And she’s hardly alone in butchering the written word. After a decade of writing SEO for shifting algorithms, I can’t tell you where to place a comma anymore. I can’t tell you which words are compound or not. And I detest semi-colons with the fury of a million raging suns, but still... I write.
I do it.
I do that… thing.
The young woman received left-handed compliments and blatant insults like, “Is this why you didn’t want to go out last weekend?” and my favorite, “I don’t have time to read it.” The last was given without being asked to read anything.
These comments, among others, shattered her confidence, so she set down her pens. Literally. She’d consumed every insult and buckled beneath the weight of the words. Meanwhile, deliberately and with clear intent, those who threw them dined happily on her decision.
If I’ve learned anything in nearly sixty years, it’s this: Damn the naysayers, and don’t let them dine on your will. Get old if you must, polish your pennies, wait for more time (not long, for time is brittle and thin), but do that thing. Whatever thing moves you, drives you, or brings you joy... do it.
Sing on the stage. Warble loudly and with as much force as your vocals permit.
Paint the portrait with all the confidence of a five-year-old wielding crayons.
Write the book. Splice the commas, dangle the participles, and split infinitives as much as you like. Editors are going rogue, and thousands have jumped their publisher ships looking for writers in need. Hire them.
And make no mistake, no matter your attempts or the glories you gain, naysayers will laugh. They’ll doubt you. Hamstring you. Insult you. They’ll criticize—not critique, that’s different and justified—they’ll attack you. And some will happily and deliberately aim their remarks. Let them.
Sing anyway.
Paint anyway.
Write anyway.
Do it… anyway.
I can’t find the post from the young woman who set down her pens. She may have deleted it, or I’m searching on the wrong writer’s boards, but it doesn’t matter. Her comment is universal and felt by many who attempt to do… things.
Wherever that girl is, I hope she reads this.
I hope anyone with the courage to throw their souls into rings of social assessment reads this. I hope anyone who wants to write, sing, or paint will read this.
Pick up your pens, music, or brush… and do it.
Do… the thing.
Damn the naysayers.
Don’t let them dine on your will.
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