The stages of meeting someone whose work you admire...
Okay. Some of you may not have this experience. You can meet someone who you think is, ahem, balls to the wall, if you will, and be completely cool. You're confident.You walk away feeling great about you and never think a thing of it again. This is not me.
Whenever I meet someone incredibly talented my first thought is, 'of course they want to be my friend. Just look at how well we get along.' I feel accomplished to have made it in their presence and to be able to have a conversation that isn't dominated by hums and ha's. I feel successful by association.
Don't worry, this rubs off in 2.3 seconds after my mouth closes and I walk away. I turn confused. Wait, I just talked to someone I admire. Someone talented. Someone accomplished. Why am I not accomplished? I wonder about this on the entire walk away from them.
Then before I start to panic, I tell myself it's not real. There's no way they are that big of a deal. Obviously. I then research the hell out of their career and figure out just how big of a deal they are. The constant fan groups/awards/love for them is shoved down my throat and all denial dies in the pit of my stomach. It's about the next morning before I move on to the next stage.
No, JB, it's not you. You're busy. You work full-time. You go to school full-time. You're a great writer, you just don't have enough time/money/resources to put together a best selling book. It isn't your fault. You're still young. I baby myself. I fill the next day with all the things my life consists of. I've even gone so far as to write down all of my activities to prove my excuses. I check my bank account and the costs of publishing over and over, pretending they are absolute facts and are the only possible things that can propel my success, which by looking at them, is the exact reason I'm failing.
Then I take a breath.
Time for a side note.
I'm writing this because this happened this weekend. I met the author of one of my top ten favorite series in the world, Red Rising. His name is Pierce Brown and he is 28.
TWENTY-FREAKING-EIGHT.
He is a NY Times #1 best selling author and has sold book rights to Universal for his book Red Rising. [You can learn more about him here]
AT TWENTY-FREAKING-EIGHT.
I, my dear loving friends, am 27. I will be 28 this year.
I have published one book and one novelette. I have not had a #1 book-- forget movie rights!
Meeting this author has probably done more of a number on my brain/motivation/self-confidence than any other has in the past. It has made me seriously question things-- and there's been a whole lot of whys and hows I've thrown around about my writing. About other people's writing. About success. Failure. Reality. Probability. And a horde of other issues I'd rather not talk about.
Here's the real rub of it: when I started the books, I didn't know a damn thing about the author. It could have been a 65 year old woman that had written hundreds of best sellers. I read the summary, decided it looked good and read. and read. and read.
I loved them. In a moment where I was struggling with finding something to read, these books were like water. I seriously couldn't get enough. Darrow is one of the most honest, heart-breakingly real characters I had come across in years. I could see myself there. In every moment.
And this past weekend, the person who wrote something that had broken my heart and made it whole again, stood in front of me. A 28 year old, goofy guy, and for a few good hours I wasn't sure how I felt about me.
He is practically the same age as me. How can he be a successful author and I'm still, well, just me?
Back to the stages.
I don't want you guys to think this is about Pierce Brown, because it's not. It never has been. This is about me. About how I am affected by those around me and what I can do with those reactions. I have been completely gifted with the ability to work with and talk to several amazing writers, artists and editors that I am completely in awe of every, single, day. Jealousy is an ugly thing and I am ashamed to say it can get to me too. I see others that I am so completely enamored with and I compare. I compare myself, my writing, my characters. I compare my work ethic, my lifestyle, my choices. I try to make sense of something just to make myself feel better, so that the world I live in seems more at fault than my mind is. I struggle. A lot. And in the face of happiness, in the presence of success, my struggles only tend to become that much more real. My faults become red marks in a world of white. I can see who I am and who I am struggling so hard to be.
Then, my dreams come into focus.
Pursuit. That's the only defining characteristic I can label the last stage as. I am in pursuit of my dreams. After everything I feel, after all the self-guilt, I can remember why I'm writing. That the way I feel when I've read a book, and the way I want to become something bigger than I am at this moment, is a gift, a reminder, that I want to bring this companionship and emotion to readers, the way these authors bring it to me. My mind comes back to all the colors. The love I have for my own stories. How I know if I push myself just a little bit further and continue moving towards my goals, I'll get there too.
And someday, someone, somewhere will go through the stages. I'll shake their hand and smile and set their mind on a path I've been down oh so many times before. I'll remember then like I remember now, that it's worth it.
So, the next time you find yourself in the presence of someone great, someone whose art makes your breath catch, know that you too, can be that. Maybe not in the same time frame, same mode, same anything. Realize that it isn't about them. It's about you. You're good enough, strong enough, beautiful enough to create something that speaks to someone else. You can become successful, in whatever way that may mean.
For me, I'm going to write a best selling novel. Starting with today.
<3JB
