THE DOCTOR IS IN

WHEN I GROW UP

Like many writers, I have a novel making the rounds. It has garnered its share of rave rejections from fine houses. My wonderful agent assures me that we are nowhere near the bottom of the barrel. At 6 months in, I am trying to believe her.

Writer friends frequently attempt to commiserate with or console me. “You must be on pins and needles,” they say, or “The only thing to do is to throw yourself into the next book.” I appreciate their concern (and am always happy for attention) but I’m really not frantic.

I’m not just saying this. Of course I’m invested in the book; I spent years writing and honing it. I think it is terrific, and I want it out there for others to read. But I go for weeks at a time without checking in with my agent. I don’t exactly forget that it’s out there, but I forget to obsess about it.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been through this before, more than once. My first novel was also greeted with enthusiasm by a fine agent who was confident that she could place it. I was too excited to eat and could hardly talk about anything else. I flew home from work on my lunch hour every day to check my email. This went on for nearly a year, and it wore me out before we finally admitted that the novel wasn’t going anywhere.

Then, a book contract fell into my lap—not for my novel, but for a book I had not even thought about writing, the book that became Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued. My friend Andi Buchanan quoted this column on her blog; her editor clicked through and read some back columns, then asked Andi for my contact information.

After that, I had another idea for a nonfiction book. A publisher accepted my proposal. At least, I thought that was what happened, since I got an email saying, “We are committed to publishing this important book.” But then they stopped returning my calls. It turned out that the conglomerate which had swallowed them up was less enthusiastic about my book than the small publisher was, and since there was no formal contract, there was no deal.

So I know that this is a precarious and unpredictable business. I don’t put all my eggs in one basket anymore, or count my chickens before they’re hatched, or have anything much to do with poultry at all other than ruffling feathers.

That’s not all of it, though. Between the submission of my first novel and the present lie about five years of intense life experience.  I have survived a life-threatening illness which spurred a decision to make changes in my life, to take advantage of my second chance to live fully. As a result, I have flown in a helicopter (twice), held on for dear life while traveling 100+ MPH in a racecar, ridden the Coney Island Cyclone, and sung solo for an audience, among other adventures I would have avoided, from fear, in my earlier life. And each experience has changed me, and prepared me for the next challenge.

When I was young, people always asked me what I wanted to “be” when I grew up. And I always had an answer, complete with imagined costumes and props: first a fairy godmother, then a nurse, then a writer. Then an actress. Then a writer again. Then a psychologist. Then a writer. I assumed that any of these roles would define me; that I would grow into the sort of person the vocation demanded.

What I want to “be” now is a fully realized person. I want to live an engaged, productive, and loving life. Writing is part of that, but a bunch of people I don’t know making decisions based partly on personal taste, partly on business considerations, and partly on magical thinking is not. I will be thrilled if my novel is published, and I want to do everything I can to make that happen—but life now feels too short to spend a moment of it on unproductive worry. The stakes just aren't that high.

Writing has afforded me invaluable opportunities to meet fascinating people, visit interesting places, and engage with other thoughtful writers about the things that matter to us. Every week I communicate with you, and with the readers of Inside Higher Ed, and readers often respond in ways that surprise, inspire, and move me. I have read from my book and from stories and personal essays at bars and bookstores up and down the East Coast. Once a month I participate in a five-way, book-related conference call, broadcast from London, with writers who are so smart and funny I sometimes miss half of what is said because I’m laughing so hard.  And in between, I work with great clients, travel, sing, hang out with family and friends, and write my stories. Do I hope for more? You bet. If it doesn’t happen, will I be crushed? Sorry, I no longer have time for that.

Neither do you.

Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog. Send your questions to her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

Comments

[Susanne Dunlap]

Thanks for that reminder, Dr. Sue. Life is too short to be consumed with negative energy.

[stop dreaming start action]

good and informative post

[Dory Adams]

Excellent post, Dr. Sue. In the past several years I've had a few heart-breakers with an anthology I've put together. It came incredibly close to being accepted by enthusiastic editors at several university presses and then suddenly there were no more phone calls or e-mails when the marketing departments became involved. For now, I've put it aside until publishing stabilizes a bit, and I continue to work on other writing projects. It's the writing itself that brings me the most joy, and one of the things I love about blogging is its immediacy and being able to connect directly with readers.

[M.J.]

Great post, Sue. Just wonderful. The Dalai Lama would be proud:) (Guess what you'll be reading next?)

[angie]

Found you through a link on a site from a blog through the woods over the river...anyway, I stumbled in.

This blogging/tweeting stuff sure is a time suck, hunh?

Hugs from an old MW friend. :)

[Jessica]

Wonderful, post, Sue! How lovely that you found this balance for yourself. Hard-earned, and heartfelt.