I Survived my Worst Nightmare (A Love Letter)
There are writing lessons and life lessons here somewhere
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Dear lovies,
My worst nightmare came true last weekend and I lived to tell about it.
I tell this story because: we writers all want acknowledgement, right? We want people to read our work. We want people to like our work. And yet with all that comes the terrible fear that people will acknowledge us, will read our books, and then might not like them. Or worse, not like us.
My experience was but one aspect of that. So here goes:
I’ve signed up for a year-long mastermind about Substack with Sarah Fay because this newsletter/blog means a lot to me and so do you, my readers. I want to find ways to better serve you on your writing path. In this group, we’ll be meeting monthly and besides a ton of great info, we’ll also have the chance for a hot seat.
Now if you’re not familiar with that term, it means this: you and your work (in this case, the newsletter) are put on the spot and the leader of the group reviews it. This is a common feature of coaching and mastermind calls. And it’s always been a oh hell, no for me. Nothing is more horrific for me than the idea of a whole group of people focusing on me. Me, me, me and only me. I like people focusing on me about as much as I like going to the dentist, and I’ve mastered the art of deflection when people ask me about me. But I figured that I’d just wouldn’t volunteer for a hot seat and could happily lurk and fly under the radar and all would be well.
The first meeting on Zoom was last Saturday. Now, we are five years into using Zoom and I’m on it constantly, conducting writing classes, participating in them myself, and doing one-on-ones with clients. So I’m very used to it. Yet I’m still always fixing my hair when I first appear on camera, angling my head for a better shot, and worrying about how my messy house looks in the background. But last week I figured I’d just keep my camera off. Because: Saturday. I threw on an old shirt, didn’t bother with make-up and did nothing to my hair.
The Mastermind proceeded apace, a wonderful, helpful presentation. And then Sarah announced that we’d go into break-out rooms. Which I hate with the passion of Kate Middleton watching the new Meghan Markle series. Grudgingly, I turned my camera on. My hair stood on end but oh well. And this one wasn’t so bad, only two others, and they were kind.
So then we go back to the full group (which, truth be told wasn’t that big, maybe 30-ish people. And fearless leader Sarah says randomly, “Charlotte, would you mind if we look at your Substack?” Gulp. It’s not only that I’m make-up less and my hair is standing on end but having a whole group of people looking at this newsletter is the terrifying equivalent of talking to a tech guy on the phone while he expects me to instantly react to his commands. And she proceeded to rapid-fire questions at me and this Substack. I mumbled and tumbled and stuttered and flushed bright read and tried not to notice my hair sticking up on end.
But dear reader, I survived. The help in focusing this newsletter (more on that soon) was incredibly beneficial and nobody posted anything about the way the handle of a basket on a shelf behind me makes me look like I’m about ready to take off for outer space. So it was a win all around.
When the call ended, I realized I’d just had a hot seat. The thing I’d sworn never to do, and dreaded the mere thought of. And I survived.
I tell this story in the hopes that it might help you. Perhaps you have a worst nightmare, a thing you swear you will not ever do. Maybe that comes in the form of staying away from writing something tender and hurtful to you. Or perhaps it’s a fear connected to putting your work out in the world. Or that age-old fear that you’re not enough and you are so not enough that you’ll be cast out of the tribe and left behind to die.1
The only way out is through. And for us, as writers, the way is to go to the page and write, damn it. Even when you don’t want to. When you don’t feel like it. When you’re scared to.
You’ll survive, trust me. And you may even end up feeling good about it. Please do share any nightmare moments you’ve survived.
Love, light, and good writing,
Charlotte
P.S. I’ll be in L.A. next week attending AWP, the largest writing conference in the country. If you’re there, look for me in the bookfair area. I’ll be behind the Let’s Go Write booth and you won’t be able to miss us (hopefully) because we have snappy aprons with our logo on it, a fake Eiffel tower sculpture and cool photos of our travels. Come say hi.
P.P.S. Also because I’ll be working hard from Thursday to Sunday, you will most likely not receive a love letter. Unless I manage to pull one together, Receipt From the Bookshop style.
Articles and Resources
I loved this feel-good story.
Should you use alpha readers?
And since we are the topic of readers, here’s a post on how experienced novelists can use beta readers.
Submit short-form books to Spotify for publication.
Books
I am having the most discouraging run of DNF books. It happens to me periodically, does it happen to you? Honestly, sometimes I think I’m just too old. I’ve read it all. But no, I cannot think that way! There’s always something new to discover, right? Here’s this week’s report.
The Courting of Bristol Keats, by Mary E. Pearson. This is one I hope to read or at least start this weekend. As Bristol and her siblings struggle to support themselves, they receive word that an aunt wants to help. This leads Bristol to face a world of gods and fae and monsters. Fingers crossed this is a fantasy I’ll like. Update: I love her world building and cited a paragraph of hers as an example in my post on writing setting. Another update: I’ve set it aside with hopes of picking it up again in the future. There’s so much I love about this book—the setting, the characters—but it’s just too long for my taste. I’m not even halfway through and my interest is lagging.
The Lost Bookshop, by Evie Woods. The jury (moi) is still out on this one. It’s fast-paced and decently written, but I keep getting the timelines of the two stories confused. One is in Paris in 1921 and the other in current-day Dublin. So you’d think I’d be able to keep them straight. And, okay, I rolled my eyes when Opaline, the 1921 heroine, gets a job at Shakespeare and Company bookstore because I’ve read a gazillion books where that happens. I was about to set it aside and then re-read glowing reviews and thought maybe I’m missing something? We’ll see.
Workshops in England and France
Life is crazy here (and everywhere in response). So why not shuck it all and go to England (think swans and the gorgeous garden in which they live and an ancient cathedral with sort of magical Evensongs and a high street bursting with people of all ages and dogs and pubs with fish and chips and mushy peas) to write for a week? I think it’s an excellent idea and I’ll be there to hang out with you. Tons of info, including dates and cost is here. England is easy because they speak the language. Ish.
But there’s also France coming up! We may not speak their language but as long as you give it a whirl (Bon jour is easy to say) you’ll be fine. Find out more on our France page. And seriously, give it a ponder. We’d love to have you accompany us for either workshop.
And if you want a taste of the adventure that awaits with our overseas workshops, you can read my posts about this year here, and here, here, here, and here.
Other places to connect with me:
My website (badly in need of an upgrade)
Our workshop website
My original blog (now for archive purposes only, no longer updated, but damn there are a lot of articles on it)
I kid, but this is actually a deep-seated primal fear at the root of a lot of our self-judgement.
I’ve never done zoom. There’s no proper internet here on the farm … tried a satellite dish for a while but that service was even slower than patching through my phone, and nearly completed uploads kept getting lost when the connection passed from one satellite to the next. Or however that magic is supposed to work.
Anyway I use all of the above as my excuse not to offer zoom sessions, or to participate in them.
That works, for me.
Bravo, Charlotte! I would have been terrified in the same situation. Thanks for the reassurance. We will survive!