On Writing for Eternity
I have always been terrified of failure. There is a word for this: Kakorrhaphiophobia. The Greek Kakos means bad and evil, and Phobos refers to fear; an abnormal fear of failure. I don’t want to fail at something I love and want to do well. I’ve always believed that diligent effort leads to success as defined by that particular industry standard, whether it’s from solving problems for clients or writing a book. Failure used to mean I didn’t work hard enough. I wasn’t persistent enough. I gave up.
Yet, creative work doesn’t always pan out this way. Many innovative and talented musicians, unique and visionary artists, and brilliant writers never achieve great success as defined by society in name, fame, or wealth. At least not in their lifetime and I’m not sure how much posthumous success matters to them. At this time I’m still trying to figure out what will provide an overall sense of accomplishment for me. I’m not brilliant or unique; just a girl with a story. If my book or a favorite essay never gets published, can it be enough to create for myself? To be pleased with my work values and feel my purpose is fulfilled? I think so.
Why do writers write? Because we are compelled to.
Yes, but to what end? For money and fame? Well, that would be nice. We all like a little money and fame, don’t we? But that isn’t key for me and probably a lot of others. Sometimes we simply need to record our thoughts in order to make sense of things.
I also believe we write because words are eternal. Our written thoughts offer a type of validation of a life, because they exist. Or, as my 97 year-old father stated: if I lose my memory tomorrow I’ll still know that I existed. This from a man who has his life events and travel memories painstakingly detailed, recorded, and noted with written words, pictures, video, and voice overs. His cabinets are filled with neatly catalogued photo albums, CDs, and written travelogues covering almost a lifetime. Missing are the years before and during his stint as a WWII POW, and begin upon his release in 1947. He has never wanted to formally publish any of it. His legacy exists.
So that begs the question: why did I write my story, the book?
Because I felt compelled to. And my aunt wanted me to. I felt the story was profound enough to record in some manner. For four years I traveled, researched, interviewed, wrote and rewrote, worked with two developmental editors, and a line editor (a writer friend who took hours to tweak and make my writing better, thank you!), completed a book proposal, took multiple writing classes, viewed webinars, bought the best books on the craft of creative nonfiction and memoir, wrote, submitted and published several companion pieces, worked with two website developers, got on the social media platform merry-go-round (for a while), enlisted precious Beta readers, (thank you, thank you!) researched and queried agents, submitted to contests, submitted to Indie publishers, joined the Author’s Guild when I received my first contract offer which fell through after weeks of attempted negotiations.
Every day I got up with only one true purpose for the day. Until one day I didn’t.
I’ve shed the unrelenting determination to get this book published. My stooped shoulders, between-the-eyes crinkles, and set lips are easing back to what they once were. How did this happen? After years of immersing myself into the writing and publishing world with one main purpose in mind—to get my book into the world through traditional publishing—the realization gradually came to me what I didn’t want: the stress. It took months of on again/off again resolutions. What kept me on was this fear of failure, this Kakorrhaphiophobia. What took me off was a lot of self-talk; as I approach my 68th year I want to do things on my terms.
Maybe I’m just tired. Or too old. Or maybe I want to spend this precious time enjoying my home, family and friends, pampering myself and doing some travelling. Publishing a book and getting it into the world is hard, intense work. Writing is not. My creative essays and articles will satisfy the need to record my thoughts.
This quote by author and publisher Jen Knox sums it up nicely:
Storytelling is about exploring the nuances of life, the anguish within beauty and the wisdom without pain. When we hold our stories inside, they weigh us down. When we release them, we find not only voice but also perspective.
