Changing Lanes
Feels sort of like starting over . . .
Many years ago, when I was just beginning to publish my work and talk about my writing more publicly I got some great advice from a friend. We were having coffee and she asked if she could share something that she noticed about how I talked about my writing. When I agreed, she explained that every time I spoke about writing I would glance down or to the side. Also, more times than not, I would offer some sort of qualifier about it: “just fun little beach reads” or “nothing big, just a weekly blog.” She suggested that work to interrupt both those patterns by looking people in the eye and saying “I am a writer.” Full stop. No downward glance. No qualifier.
Like many patterns we’ve carried for so long they’re habitual, I hadn’t even realized I was doing these things but as soon as they were brought to my attention I was aware of them ALL THE TIME. Sure enough, someone would ask the proverbial “what do you do?” and the simple answer about my day-to-day academic job would easily roll off my tongue and then I’d glance down at my feet and shuffle a bit before adding “I also write books.” With this new awareness, I started to hear my friend’s voice in my ear, coaching me forward, and I began the process of learning to hold someone’s gaze and say “I am a writer.” It felt wobbly and shake-y and foreign for a long time. But the cool thing about those habitual patterns, is that we can learn new ones. So I fumbled my way through it, until it felt true and real and became the new pattern.
Until recently.
My script about being a writer was centered around writing fiction. And so now that I’ve set that aside a bit, I feel a little wobbly again. I’ve noticed a slight questioning lilt to my voice when I talk about being a writer and I’ve caught a few of those downward glances, lately when I talk about my work. As if to say, “if I’m not writing novels, am I even a writer?”
Which of course is ridiculous. Writers are people who write— fiction, nonfiction, memoir, cookbooks, graphic novels, scripts, poems, essays, news articles, web copy . . . the list is infinite. If you stood in front of me and told me about the essay you wrote about the sleep habits of squirrels, I would not question whether you are a writer (and I would want to know all the things you now know about slumbering squirrels). Also, if you told me that you used to write mystery novels and now write a weekly nature newsletter I would absolutely not say “well clearly you used to be a writer, but are now no longer one.”
That would be ridiculous. And rude. And 100% not true.
And yet . . . it’s essentially what I’m doing to myself when I get all squiggly and shuffle-y when I talk about the writing I do now. “How’s the writing going?” has suddenly again become an awkward question, because I know the person asking is likely expecting me to talk about where I am in the process of writing, revising, pitching or publishing a novel. So when I answer that I’m writing a weekly newsletter about well-being, creativity, finding the tiny beautiful things in life, and squirrels it causes confusion.
Or does it?
While I feel like I’ve gotten some confused looks from folks, it could be that a) I’m misinterpreting a look of curiosity or b) they might just being trying to piece together how the three things I semi-nervously and very quickly spouted out go together (especially the squirrels) or c) they are looking at me totally normally and my brain is applying all these schemas about what they are thinking about my new writing venture when they are really just trying to decide what appetizer to order. While I’ve been asked variations of “so no more novels?” not one time has someone said “So you’re not a writer anymore.”
Because that would be ridiculous. And rude. And 100% not true.
I’m doing this to myself. It’s me. (cue that Taylor Swift line). I’m feeling nervous about changing lanes with my writing and what that means for me. I’m figuring it out as I go. I don’t know what it is quite yet and how it will be perceived and so I’m assuming judgement where there very likely is none.
So what to do about it? Here are a few things I’m trying:
Continuing to awkwardly talk about it. Resisting the urge to answer the “what do you do?” question with just my academic job because it’s easier. I know from the “I am a writer” days that it truly does get easier and more second nature with repetition. In other words— it’s awkward until it isn’t.
Refining the pitch. Related to continuing to talk about it is figuring out how to talk about it more succinctly. For example, I really don’t need to talk about the squirrels (shocking, I know). I’m writing a weekly newsletter about well-being for creatives causes far less confusion. Then if someone is intrigued and wants to check it out, well, the squirrels will just be a delightful surprise.
Finding support. I shared a link to an article from my friend Leah last week, where she talks about having a text conversation with a writer friend about liking this sort of writing: this chatty newsletter, slice of life, here’s how I’m seeing/navigating the world type thing. I was that writer friend and that conversation was super meaningful to me, too— because it helped me lean in to something I think I’ve had trouble acknowledging: this IS the writing I’m doing now and I DO really like it. I’m grateful I followed my prompting to reach out to Leah that evening. Ultimately we have to make the creative decisions that are right for us, regardless of what others think, but I also firmly believe that it’s good and healthy and reaffirming to know that someone else is feeling the same way, too. Embrace that.
Starting things is hard. The first time you hang a piece of art on the wall for others to see, the first time you show up to that makers fair with your handmade mugs, the first time you hit publish on a piece of writing. I think a lot about showing up, about the bravery and resilience of it and how to cultivate that.
But it’s only recently that I’ve begun to realize that creative shifts can also be hard. They aren’t the same sort of starting from scratch, but there’s a re-defining and re-tooling of how you are showing up in the world that certainly feels akin to brand new. And in that I think it’s important to give ourselves grace and stop thinking it should be easier than it is. Sure, hopefully we have some solid scripts to draw on from back in the Brand New days, but standing up and delivering the lines still takes courage.
And so that’s my hope for anyone feeling the pull to do something new and different— may you have the courage to change lanes even when you aren’t sure where the turn signals are it feels awkward and squiggly and new.
I’m right here cheering you on!
Beautiful Thing of the Week
Just one little something I found inspiring this week (read last week’s longer list of tiny, lovely things here):
🐿 Siberian Flying Squirrels. I mean, the cuteness is almost just too much, right?
How are you this week? Have you ever switched up what you’re creating? Are you in the middle of a change now? Would love to hear your thoughts? Also, are there other incredibly adorable types of squirrels I had no idea existed? Tell me all about it:
Thank you! I loved this! In fact, I do believe you were talking about shuffle-y me;) Wonderful perspective and advice, as always, from my favorite well-being and TOTALLY LEGIT WRITER!
Every time your writing lands in my inbox, I immediately open it to read it. I love reading what you write and today’s topic is especially important for creatives to read. :)