FEAR AND INSECURITY, BE GONE! I’VE GOT BRILLIANCE TO CREATE.
“The assumption that art is a regal robe which falls upon your shoulders magically, bestowed upon you as an heir apparent rather than achieved through slinging the pickax across your shoulder every morning and making off to the mine, was revealed as the greatest hindrance of all to artistic work.”
—JANE LAZARRE, AUTHOR OF THE MOTHER KNOT
This is a story about discipline. And about quaking in my boots.
In the run-up to the release of E-Squared, Hay House FedExed a book called Platform. They insisted it was required reading. Social media, a marketing bonanza of which even the smallest of authors can take advantage, can be leveraged through daily blogging, says its author, Michael Hyatt.
I’d heard this before. Popular author and marketer Seth Godin claims blogging is one of the most important practices of his profession. He says it clarifies his thoughts, forces him to notice things, and gives him a forum for talking to his fans.
To commit to writing a blog a day was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
Thrilling because, my gosh, I’ve wanted to be disciplined enough to write daily for as long as I’ve been able to hold a pencil. It’s the linchpin that holds a writer together—consistency, daily attendance to the muses, and well, the simple act of applying the old rear end to the chair. I’d used it countless times when writing the 18 books that have my name on them.
However, when I’m not on assignment or expected by some editor to deliver the goods, I don’t always write. Even though I know the only way to truly call yourself a writer is to write. Even though I know the importance of showing up for the muses, day after day.
I faithfully showed up, all right, but only when editors gave me deadlines, only when my bank balance needed heft.
That’s why I was terrified. Blogging every day felt like streaking in front of a crowded arena. Granted, my subscriber list at the time amounted to my mom and a couple friends, but I knew if I did it right, I might create a following. That’s a scary proposition.
Hunters call it buck fever—that unexplained paralysis that sets in when they’re face-to-face with the big one.
Why would anyone want to follow me? Who am I to command respect? Yes, I suffer massive insecurity even though I’m what the world might call a successful writer. I’ve sold and written 18 books. I’ve been on big TV talk shows. I write for the kind of national magazines you find in dentists’ offices. Yet, I’m still terrified.
But when was terror ever a decent reason to cut off your brilliance? All terror really means is you’re listening to the wrong voice.
Both voices, always there. Your Inner Salieri? Or the voice of your true calling, your magnificence?
