The Plague of Inadequacy

Victoria Schwab

I've been so absent. But then, I knew this was coming--there is a vastly different feel to writing TOWARD the hope of publication and writing AFTER you've signed a contract--and your editor has set a date. It's odd, really; I'm doing the same thing I've been doing for thirteen years, but the underlying pressure of knowing it's already sold and I-have-to-get-this-right is a reality I'm learning to embrace.

Victoria (V.E.) Schwab recently posted the above quote on Instagram. I read it and it stabbed me deep in my belly, because THIS IS EXACTLY HOW I FEEL. The encouraging part is that the feeling of inadequacy isn't paralyzing me. I simply keep pressing ahead, writing my 1000 words a day, learning to multitask story restructuring with continued drafting (definitely a new place for me). And I'm learning that pressing through the underlying belief that I don't know what I'm doing and every word on the page is dung is making me stronger and more capable.

Mind you, there are always the unbidden bouts of angst that grab me by the entrails and shake my world for a time. That's when the tears come--those moments where I truly and utterly believe that I CAN'T DO WHAT I'M ACTUALLY DOING.

Think about that. I'm DOING it, but I don't believe I CAN do it. Even though I've DONE it before.

Are you feeling it? Nodding vehemently, maybe? Fighting your own tears?

What we create is always bigger than we are, because that's what art is, in all its forms. BIGGER than us, to draw us out and encourage our minds and hearts and spirits to expand. It's also bigger than us because it really does take a village to create a book. We all know that writing doesn't take place in a vacuum, and that the input from our beta readers and critique partners and agents and editors is a huge part of each story's development and final state.

Yet the feelings of inadequacy persist. So I fight through them every day, enjoying moments of sparkle and moments of hope along the way (though it's not unusual to have many days in a row without any hope at all). Sometimes I actually say out loud to myself, "Why am I doing this?" or even "I can't do this."

Seriously. That's called SPEAKING LIES TO YOURSELF. And I know better.

Anyway. As soon as I read Victoria's words this morning, I knew I had to share them. My brain screamed THIS THIS THIS THIS until I saved the file and opened Blogger. Because always, always, always, there is someone who desperately needs not to feel alone. Someone who feels so inadequate in the moment that quitting feels easier.

Don't do it. Don't quit.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading back to Scrivener and my hot mess of a story (that, deep-down inside, I'm excited about, despite the first draft slog and the constant I-can't-do-this), and I'm going to SLAY the sense of inadequacy today.

And so are you.

The Noble Princess, by Molly Boehme

It's probably no surprise that I have some offspring who write. Many of you already know that my oldest daughter Maggie recently signed with Danielle Burby (we share an agent!). But it's my youngest's work I want to showcase today.

I'm not sharing this because of any special level of talent--there isn't one. Yes, she's bright and well read, but what I love about the story is the fact that she quite unwittingly wrote a badass YA heroine.  See for yourself:

The Noble Princess 

Once upon a time, there lived a charming princess whose name was Autumn. She lived in the most beautiful castle with splendid rooms and a lovely garden.

Autumn was learning all the proper things a princess should know, like dancing and curtseying and many more graceful things. Autumn did not enjoy it, though, for secretly she wanted to fight with soldiers and lead battles--very surprising behavior for a princess. 

One day she had a talk with her best friend--and brother, too--Forest. Forest was two years older than Autumn (who was sixteen). They both had raven black hair, and while Autumn had brown eyes, Forest had forest green eyes. Autumn pleaded with her brother to teach her to fight and defend herself, and reluctantly, after many tears from Autumn, he agreed. So every night they crept to the training chamber and practiced.

A year later, Autumn was doing her princess things when the alarm bell sounded. The castle was under attack! Her mother tried to usher her into the safe hiding spot, but Autumn pulled away and started running to her room. She pressed a hidden panel in the wall where she had been keeping her training armor and hurried to put it on.

The soldiers tried to stop her as she went running past them to the front doors, but she would not stop. With a battle cry, she launched herself at the leader of a giant army--the greatest and most feared leader of the seven seas. She stopped suddenly as she realized who she was facing, then charged. The soldiers, encouraged by her bravery, yelled and fought. What seemed like hours later the war was over. Autumn's kingdom had survived.

What I mostly want to point out is that I have never sat down and taught Molly how to write a strong female character.  She knows the premise of my upcoming novel, but I haven't allowed her to read it yet (she's not quite 11, so I'm making her wait; mom's prerogative). I'm sure my storyline of girl-dresses-as-boy-and-runs-away-to-the-army inspired Molly's story in some way (and she did steal one of my character names!).

I'd also like to think, though, that she unconsciously drew from her own life. She has two brothers, so in addition to growing up with dress-up and Barbies and ballet, she has also climbed trees, played "war" with her (mostly male) neighborhood friends, and learned to shoot an arrow with the miniature bow her hunter brother gave her one Christmas.

My favorite part of Molly's story? This: The soldiers, encouraged by her bravery, yelled and fought. Not only is our heroine strong and brave, but she ENCOURAGES OTHERS TO RISE TO THE MOMENT. A true leader!

In her little-girl way, Molly has touched on the beauty of a strong leading lady who isn't harsh or angry or trying to be something she isn't--she just knows what she wants, works hard, and then leads others to victory, going against everyone else's expectations of her.

I'm a proud mama. And yes, I did ask Molly's permission to post this today. She says she is honored. Good thing, because I'm honored to be her mom.

Thanks for indulging me. Here's to raising up the next generation of writers, one pink-inked, scribbly story at a time!

Talkin' Heads Critique Guidelines

Here you go -- 15 dialogue-rich excerpts for your sharp eyes!

Is the dialogue natural-sounding (do people really talk this way)? Is there distinction between character voices? Does the dialogue move the scene forward?

Have at it!

Guidelines for Critique on MSFV:

• Please leave your critique for each entry in the comment box for that entry.
• Please choose a screen name to sign your comments. The screen name DOES NOT have to be your real name; however, it needs to be an identifiable name. ("Anonymous" is not a name.)
• Critiques should be honest but kind, helpful but sensitive.
• Critiques that attack the writer or are couched in unkind words will be deleted.*
• Cheerleading IS NOT THE SAME as critiquing. Please don't cheerlead.
• Having said that, it is perfectly acceptable to say positive things about an entry that you feel is strong. To make these positive comments more helpful, say why it's a strong entry.
• ENTRANTS: As your way of "giving back", please critique a minimum of 5 other entries.

*I can't possibly read every comment. If you ever see a comment that is truly snarky, please email me. I count on your help.

Talkin' Heads #15

TITLE: Invisible Me
GENRE: YA Science Fiction

(no lead-in provided)

“I wonder who that is.” Mom washed her hands and dried them on her apron as she headed to the door. “Oh.” She sounded confused. “Hello, officer.”
Officer? My stomach tightened and I slid off the barstool.
“Are you Mrs. Roberts?” a male voice said.
My eyes widened. Didn’t I know that voice?
“Yes.”
“And is that your Volvo?”
I definitely knew that voice. What was he doing here?
“Yes, it’s the one my daughter uses for school. Why?”
“Was she driving it recently?”
“She only got home a few minutes ago. What’s this all about?”
“Well, Mrs. Roberts.” He drew in a breath. “The station received several complaints of that car in town, apparently driverless.”
What? But the raincoat. I was so careful.
I felt the top of my head. It was hot. Of course. I was sweating during that intense drive.
The sweat from my head must’ve gotten to the hood. What a fool I was. I pressed my hand against my throbbing chest.
Mom snorted. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
“There must be some mistake. That’s impossible.”
“Whatever the case, I’d like to speak with your daughter.”
“Okay.” She sounded skeptical. “Let me get her for you. Ana.”
What do I do? He can’t see me. I tried to flatten my messy hair. But he literally can’t see me. I bolted up the back staircase just before Mom reached the kitchen.
“Ana?”
I crept along the upstairs hallway and struggled to slow my breathing. I was about to press my sweaty palms against the wall behind me but stopped myself. It wouldn’t help matters if I made part of the house disappear.

Talkin' Heads #14

TITLE: Elvish Has Left the Building
GENRE: Adult Hard-boiled supernatural mystery

(no lead-in provided)

I stood when she walked into my office. Regardless of how I felt about Eleanor Steele, she was a lady.  I’m too much the Southern gentleman to disregard my upbringing.
   “What can I do for you, Mrs. Steele?” I managed to ask without snarling at her.
   “I’d like to hire you, Mr. Drago. Again.”
   We sat. “You have a tribe of government spooks, and I do mean spooks, already on the payroll. What do you need with me?”
   “We often use outside contractors. It helps us keep our hands clean.”
   “Aside from me and a few vampires, nobody has a clue the Supernatural Investigations Bureau even exists, much less has hands to worry about keeping clean. Not even whichever department it is that your funding is hidden in. Who is it this year? Agriculture?”
   “Housing and Urban Development,” she answered. “Would you be willing to come out to the house and discuss this opportunity with the Colonel?”
   I snortled. “At least this time you did ask beforehand.”
   “That was very considerate of us, I’m sure you’ll admit.”
   “If forced to, yes.” I checked my chin for stubble and decided I could go one more day before changing out my razor blades. “My rates have increased.”
   “That shouldn’t pose any impediments. Chances are good that we’ll be sub-contracting you out to a third party at some point.” She twitched a brief smile at me. “That will save the tax-payers some money.”
   “As if that was ever a consideration,” I said. “For you, anyhow. Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced that mummy I helped you reanimate last fall.”
   “As far as I know, Kha-Set-Mespha is safely hidden away, exactly where we put him.”