When Non-Writers "Just Don't Understand"
Don't let it defeat you
When I told my boyfriend I was developing an online writing course, he looked at me in all seriousness and asked, “are you good enough to do that?”
To be fair, he doesn’t read my work. But still. I just looked at him for a moment not sure of what to say.
After the shock wore off, I responded, “Uh, yeah. Yes, I am good enough.”
I mean, it felt smarmy vocalizing a dose of the ego out there, but I wouldn’t even think of developing a course if I didn’t think I had something to offer. I told him that I was keeping it to a very specific niche and that, oh right, I am also asked nearly every day by other writers if I offer memoir writing classes. So there’s that.
Am I the smartest cookie in the jar? No.
But I identified a new goal that I want to take on, how to go about putting it together, am excited enough to start talking about it, and—bam zoom—a little dose of reality gets spat in my face.
I know it wasn’t meant to be mean. And you know what else? It isn’t the first time someone has questioned me about my writing ability. I’m not even sure what an appropriate volume it would be to scream, “have you forgotten that I write, edit, and direct other writers for my day job as well?”
It all makes me think I must not be the only writer to go through this.
It’s the curse of being an artist, you know? People naturally have a difficult time understanding what they deem as abstract. Personally, I think writing barely even qualifies as “abstract,” but I suppose anything born from talent and raw emotion has that element.
What Is the Answer?
The answer is patience, buttercup.
We can’t change others any more than they can change us. I believe petulant questioning of our talent is merely their frustration in trying so hard to understand. I can’t for the life of me figure out why anyone would want to be a mortician. But they do and it’s often a calling, if not a family business. And I have friends who are and who have been in that field. It’s baffling to me and frustrating that I feel like I can’t ask a ton of super stupid questions. I don’t. But I’d love to.
Even if it feels humiliating or hurtful, just tell yourself to breathe and practice that patience. Someone may just be trying to understand a world you’re coming from that they have no concept of.
When it comes to memoir writing, there is a whole planet of additional crap that goes along with it—you know the drill. Questions about your memory did that really happen, how could you write about others like that, how could you put yourself out there like that…and the best one of all, “aren’t you afraid no one will want to read your work? It’s not like you’re famous.”
Patience. Just patience.
Think of it like a course you’re creating in your mind. Answer their questions as nicely as you can and maybe someone will learn a little something about your passion and why you not only love to do it but believe you do it well.
And now a little something for my paid subscribers….a special writing worksheet to help inspire and refine your memoir writing.
(Not a paid member? One of the benefits will be front-of-the-line seats with a free subscriber courtesy code for my course once I have it off the ground.)
Paid subscribers gain access to “The White Space” exercise.
