That was the poignant typo in the “letter to myself in a year” we were encouraged to write at the end of the Spring Writers Festival hosted by UWM last weekend. I forgot the “t” to make the sentence read, “It will happen.” The comment was in the context of landing it as a writer. It was a simple mistake, but it revealed something of significance to me.
It changed, shaped and corrected my notion of success. What I intended to write revealed that there was still a part of me that views success as a writer as something that happens to me. That part of me rode the roller-coaster of emotions throughout the weekend as I heard mixed advice such as: “You can do it,” versus “Prepare for rejection,” “Be persistent,” versus “Be prepared to wait,” and “Stay true to your writing and what interests you,” versus “Find an idea that’s marketable.” Despite my reeling hope, all of these messages are important in certain situations.
But the most vital advice, the heart-beat of the conference, wasn’t realized until I picked up my pen and quieted myself to write in the presence of my distinguished peers. It was floating weaving itself seamlessly throughout the closing address delivered by writer Anthony Flacco. The meaning I took from his speech that came out by accident in my letter is this: success as a writer is living the writer’s life. That’s it. That is all. If in one year I can look back and say I’ve used all the resources at hand and given my best effort toward that end—that would be success for me. I’m sure I’ll stumble, but I’ll continue to get back up—more and more quickly each time.
Those of you who’ve been following my blog know that making writing a lifestyle has been a struggle for me. Those of you who know me deeper know that I sometimes struggle with depression. I believe a large measure of this struggle stems from the acknowledgement that I as born to be a writer pitted against my fear of failure—my fear of not being able to “make it” as a writer. When you ignore your passion, there is little wonder that you begin to feel a sense of purposelessness to life. I have to note that I returned from the conference with a little bounce in my step. Before too many words were exchanged upon my return, my wife and I exchanged a look in which we both just simply smiled brightly. I’ve begun doing what I was made to do.
I am still afraid, but after this weekend I am letting go of the standard benchmarks of success as a writer. This will actually be a process that goes on each time I pick up my pen or laptop. It is a decision—an exhaling. I will happen. I don’t know how but it’s out there waiting. For the first time ever I’m taking those bold steps onto the path of the writer that lead into the unknown. I am still afraid, but I have learned from those who are brave that courage is not the absence of fear. I will happen. And if I could look ahead and see myself in a year, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to recognize the man, the writer I’m becoming.
