I realized when we were making Angie’s short film that there is something wonderful, in life if not in story, about low stakes. For me, film is like my dog, while writing is like my children.
I love my dog—way more than I thought I would when we got him “for the kids.” But I am not worried that in ten years he’ll need therapy and it will be all my fault. I know that he didn’t inherit his jumpy reaction to opening and closing doors from me, and it’s not because I growl that he growls. He appears to love me unconditionally, or rather, his conditions are clear—food, walk, cuddles—and mutually agreeable. Easy. Film is like this. It doesn’t have to be or do anything but what it is—a creative experience, an experiment, an opportunity to learn. My identity is not all wrapped up in it. It’s just fun—clear and easy.
My writing and my kids are a whole other story. The stakes are so high and my identity so entangled, it’s hard to get through an hour—a page—without fear arising. And fear—if you listen to it—is the enemy of creativity and really of love. If you listen to it. But it’s hard not to listen to fear when the stakes are high.
I think I need to pretend the stakes are low. To care—as I do about filmmaking and my dog—but in a very in-the-moment way. To unhook from the outcome and enjoy.
Are there places where high stakes have taken the play or the pleasure out of something you came to from love? What do you find helps to bring back the pure joy of it?
I’ve been swamped by fears. Recently I gave the fear monger a name. Felicia Pumpkin. She raises her voice when I’m afraid. She raises her voice when I feel as if I’m a failing. She raises her voice when I’m tired. Now I say to Ms. Pumpkin, “I’m going to call a friend.” I’ve set up a system to contact several friends via email all at once. One or more will get back to me with “friendly” advice to keep me moving forward. Saving my writing life, that’s what I’m doing. I need a ton of positive feedback as antidote for the negative screaming Meemees hunkered down waiting for me to exhibit the slightest degree of insecurity, let alone fear. I appreciate Ms. Pumpkin. (After all one must love oneself.) When she shows up it’s a wake up call. (In the past it meant I was going to, not only fall, but lay down and roll over and get stomped to death with ugly self-criticism). No more. For now this system is working. Tons of positive feedback from my writing group and friends. Daily if need be. Hourly if I’m on deadline. So far…it’s working. Shout out and eternal thanks to my wonderful community of writers and friends. Thanks for the question Elizabeth. (Another great antidote, people. Elizabeth Stark. Editor extraordinaire,)
Thank you, Felicia, and thank you for sharing this honest description of the struggle and the way forward. I love that you’ve named that fear and even embraced her–without giving in to her, without letting her drive. Bravo! Keep writing your AMAZING book.