Shitty First Drafts

As a writer, I’m both lazy and a perfectionist. I don’t want or think I have to devote a lot of time to writing, yet I’m frustrated when the outcome isn’t perfect. Not the best recipe for a

successful blog.

I’ve realized that both the laziness and the perfectionism are born of fear. Of failure. Of disappointment. Of disappearing. Of being misunderstood.

"Writing is not, for us, an art, but breathing." -Anais Nin

I’ve been a writer since my early years, when I scribbled stories in notebooks, poems in the margins of textbooks and entered every essay contest imaginable. I had no fear. I hadn’t learned it yet. Instead, I wrote because I loved it. Because I wanted to. Because I needed to.

As you get older, you learn fear. You learn excuses.

I’ll write more when…

I have more time.

I have a better (or any) blog design.

I get more followers.

I have better ideas.

I’m in the mood.

Which basically means, you’ll never write.

A few weeks ago, I realized that I needed to embrace the fear. So I did what I always do when I need inspiration. I turned to Anne Lamott. She describes the process perfectly. The excuses, the rituals, the bargaining, the terror. And then she introduced me to something powerful: the “shitty first draft.”

I’ve tried everything to circumvent the shitty first draft. Not writing one. Writing and not revising. Writing a draft and abandoning it in frustration. Writing at 2am and blindly praying for the best.

But there’s no avoiding the shitty first draft. It’s part of the process.

And Jon Morrow’s blog a few days ago drove that point home.

Writing is work.  Hard work.  And necessary work.

So, I’m embracing it all—shitty first drafts, the fear, the anxiety, the perfectionism. How about you?

Are You My Friend?

One of my favorite childhood books is Are You My Mother?  In this endearing tale, a lost little bird wanders around in search of his mother.  He happens upon planes, cows, trains and other random objects, asking plaintively, “are you my mother?”  It’s a really sweet story about finding your tribe, about belonging, and I think it is similar to situations some of us encounter online.  We all want to make friends.  We all want to connect.  Belong.  But to what extent are we building friendships and lasting relationships?  And how much of it is white noise?

I have a tendency to call everyone a “friend,” with no distinction between those I just bonded with about Glee on Twitter and those who knew me the first time leggings were popular.  My husband recently questioned my overuse of this word, saying [insert your social media guru and/or popular blogger of choice here] is NOT your friend.  Which, of course, prompted me to craft a smart-ass DM to one of the aforementioned gurus/bloggers, who replied that he did, in fact, consider us friends.

“But there’s a difference between ‘friends’ and ‘friendly,’” my husband insisted.

And he has a point.  Yes, I’m accessible and witty and occasionally overshare, but the several hundred people I know solely through the magic of the web aren’t all the same category of “friend.”  Only a handful of us have shared deep secrets and belly laughs over a bottle of wine or held each other in moments of grief.  To those special few, I am eternally grateful.

But what does it mean to be authentic--to be real and engaging and sincere--in a space in which public and private are so blurred?  To want people to know those things that make your heart soar (for the record: running, Anne Lamott, Manhattan, naps, wine, amazing food, Don Draper, show tunes and shoes), but without them thinking I’m wasting time (naps, running, the contents of my DVR), money (wine, travel, the shoes) or influence (talking about all of the above instead of super-important industry facts and trends).  What’s the difference between things I endorse and products and people I represent?  How do I use these tools effectively to promote myself and my business?  And do so with personality and grace?  And yes, maybe even find a few friends along the way.

Taking the Plunge

I've always had an identity crisis when it comes to blogging.  This is my fourth blog to date, and while it's the first one to bear my real name, I've realized that I'm still a bit intimidated by the blogosphere.

In person, I think I come across as poised, confident--a leader.  But when it comes to writing, at least publicly and especially when it comes to thought leadership, I am shockingly meek.  I thought because I've established this blog as a personal, confessional space, it wasn't the place to explore more weighty topics--particularly professional ones.  But I'm realizing now it's simply fear.  Because I don't have all the answers, and the questions change daily. 

I've been guilty of the same timidity when it comes to business.  Second-guessing myself.  Undervaluing my work.  Giving things away.  Fearing risk and failure.

No more.  If I'm serious about my dreams--writing, speaking, connecting with amazing people and promoting the heck out of my clients--I need to jump in the deep end, feet first, eyes wide open.  

Or, as some of my wise friends have written in the past few days: Strike while the iron is hot.  Burn the ships. Fight like hell.

2010 is my year. Stay tuned.

December 17, 2009

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about serendipity and perseverance.  How if you just make the effort and take baby steps (again, "bird by bird"), good things will come your way.  Little did I know that that particular bout of perseverance was coinciding with the swine flu--so perhaps, a little rest would've been in order.

And then, approximately two weeks later, I had a very similar day (sans swine flu), on a much larger scale.  So big, in fact, that I sent this email to a good friend:

Do you ever have one of those days when it seems like everything--every idea, dream, connection, thought--comes together?  Today is that day for me--put it on the calendar.  December 17, 2009.

And little did I know what was to follow.  So many amazing connections and opportunities and experiences that made every little misstep, every dead-end job, every ounce of blood, sweat and tears I've poured into this business worthwhile.

2010 is going to be a huge year.  Bring it.

Bird by Bird

It's December 16, and nothing this month has gone according to plan.

I was looking forward to December.  My birthday, my first marathon, my first real vacation of the year.

Instead, I got the flu (on my birthday), missed my first marathon after months of training (again) and spent most of my vacation sick with hives (and watching other people run the marathon).

Needless to say, I've been a little blue.  Maybe a lot blue.  And no amount of peppermint bark or wrapping paper or Christmas music was easing the pain.

At 2 this morning, two weeks deep into my personal pity party, I turned to an old friend.  As I picked up my worn copy of Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird and read the words that inspired its title--"bird by bird, buddy.  Just take it bird by bird," suddenly, the path became clearer.

It's not about the grand plans--the marathon, the business empire, the book I've yet to write--it's about the steps in between.  Getting out of bed.  Running a few miles.  Writing a few paragraphs.  Responding to a few emails.  Connecting with a few friends.  Sharing a few great ideas.  

The rest will come... 

Serendipity

Today was a quintessential weary publicist day.  I woke up slightly hungover from family visits, marathon training, birthday celebrating, good food and yes, perhaps too much tequila.  It was once again monsooning in Atlanta (seriously--when did this city turn into Seattle?), running on maaaaybe four hours of sleep and nursing some pretty nasty hives.  All I really wanted to do was go put on my flannel pajamas, curl up under the warm blanket and make it all go away.

But I fought the urge.  I promised myself I could take a nap once I finished up a 3pm call with a potential new client.

And then amazing things started happening.  Seredindipidous things.  The details of which aren't important.

The important thing is that I got out of bed.  I tried.  I strove.  I persevered.  

And the universe listened.

Dreams

January used to be the dedicated month for resolutions.  But it seems now that December is en vogue.  I've read quite a few blogs this week encouraging people to use the holiday season for self-reflection, planning and strategizing.

Maybe it's because my birthday falls at the beginning of December (I'm currently celebrating nearly 24 hours of being 34!), but this is also a natural time of year for me to ruminate and dream.

Note my use of the word "dream."  Substitute "vision," if you must.

Because I'm not a fan of resolutions.  Big lofty plans just seem destined to fail.  Maybe it's the free spirit in me, but I don't like to put boxes or limits or black ink on dreams.  Conceive them, believe in them and nourish them, but don't get bogged down by lists and tasks and metrics.

Dream big and dream often.