Short story diaries: Vol 3. On reviewing my own work and ideas

Last time I wrote about my short story collection, Austin was in the midst of an ice storm that would power down our terrain for a full week. It was shocking and disorienting, despite my own personal safety. And yet it threw me off the path of my own pursuits, and then of course the business of planning a wedding now does too.

But just last night, I was combing through my work on my Google Drive, scouring through my notes to find what I had onced called my “idea vault” and I was surprised to find it so good and so well thought out. In that instance, I thought “these all need to be written!” And they do. And it was arguably the most kind I’d ever been to my mind and my ideas in my entire life. Imposter syndrome gets overused and played up so much these days, but I’ve always felt like my creative pursuits were a bit of a sham. My life hasn’t been colored by much of interest, fortunately never overwhelmed with difficulties. I’ve considered my fortunes dearly, stuck to my ordinary life slipping back and forth between a safe suburban home and a safe nearly-urban one. But always so safe, so void of danger, which I for so long thought you needed to be a great writer. You need pain and misfortune and a good go at life’s adventures. That’s what I was so sure of, at least.

I’m not sure I’ve had much of that. Again, I’m glad for it. I’m a hermit, tidily living my life nested in my own home and oh so glad for it. And yet, I was so shocked to find that when I went through my idea vault, there was a pile of stories I would want to read and that I felt had to be written—or else. What a delightful feeling, and a new one at that! On top of that, I read through the prologue of my short story collection and loved it. It’s genuinely very good and it’s very me. 

I’m not trying to be arrogant, but give myself the objectivism I never have given myself prior. A bit of it comes with age and experience I think. But I think after I read the opening prologue of  A True Novel, I realized that whatever I write will be a forgotten drop in the vast pool of literature, I also felt a bit more free to ease up on my dreams, and oh what a relief. At first I was sad and defeated, and decided maybe it’s best to distance myself from my creative writing, make sure I really love it. But I think there’s a passion for the arts that is unsettling and makes you want to distance yourself from it. Unlike a sport or career, there is no neat line of precision creating your success. It’s all a concept, a belief. It’s magic, frankly, and I found myself avoiding it.

I think seeing another creator admit to avoiding her passions helped me a bit too. I do it all the time! As a person driven by growth and development and numbers, storytelling had lost its luster. I’m not sure I’ll dive right back into my short story series yet. All I know is I read my own writing and my own ideas, and I felt a brilliant confidence in myself I’ve always lacked. It was really refreshing. I’ve got so much going on now, I’m trying to ease up on my dreams of my childhood. They will be there, waiting for me, while I explore more of what life has to offer. And maybe being a creator is just letting time lay itself out long enough for you to walk to what you need to say.

It was nice to say all this, for example.