Trusting Life is Scary, But It Got My First Book Published

This ends with one of the most profound quotes about the creative process.

Recently I published my first children’s book, Veronica Saves the Balloons. (Click here if you are interested in checking it out) The picture for this article is the cover.

This book is the first in a series of three stories about Veronica and her friendship and adventures with her balloon friends. The stories take place in Patch Quilt Cove. I have several other stories in various stages of development that also take place in Patch Quilt Cove.

I love reading books set in shared worlds where many different characters with their own stories cross paths with one another across multiple storylines. I wanted a dynamic universe like that for my own stories.

I could easily write full-time for many years and not run out of Patch Quilt Cove stories.

I wrote the first Veronica story twenty years ago. The story came to me fully formed and I wrote the draft in one sitting. In addition to the story itself, I included descriptions of the illustrations I saw in my head as I wrote it. That process proved to be at least as involved as writing the story.

Then I turned away from it. I turned away because I had no faith in my writing.

One of the banes of my existence is a compulsion to pick the most -insert positive adjective here- person in any given situation and compare myself to them. The fittest person in the gym, the better guitar player, the better singer, the more skilled martial artist, the more masculine guy.

And, of course, the better writer.

It never ends well for me. I never feel enough, or worthy. I’m pretty sure that is the whole point of the exercise from my ego’s perspective; to confirm what the little child inside me already feels about myself.

I (my ego) set the rules for comparison, so I will always lose. Which is a win for my ego, keeping me in what my inner child must have learned was a safe space.

I compare my writing to my favorite writers and find it less than. It’s not worthy of sharing with the world. Why expose myself to ridicule and humiliation?

My damaged inner child won battle after battle.

But, except for a time period I’ll explain below, in spite of not really understanding why I still found myself writing.

At two different points in my childhood, living in two different states, I would write a little neighborhood “newspaper.” I would handwrite multiple copies, and staple the pages together.

Then I would ride my bike through the neighborhood, putting the copies in people’s mailboxes. I was under ten years of age. I don’t remember ever talking to anyone about it. I would just sneak them into the mail, like a pre-pubescent literary ninja.

When I was in middle school I wrote a short story for a youth writing workshop. We had to put a cover on it, creating a mini-book, and leave it out for people to read.

I was so awkward and unsure about my writing that I didn’t even put the title on the cover. Inside I felt like it didn’t deserve to be read, so why go to that trouble? Of course, no one picked up.

I took a creative writing workshop in college taught by a well-known author, I read one of his books for a high school class. My writing was not the best, I was well aware of that, and it was very hard for me to share with the others in the workshop. The instructor was neither kind nor encouraging.

He was confirming my deepest fear. I did not write again for 10 years.

Eventually, I couldn’t ignore the call. I started writing again. My mom was the only person with whom I’d share it.

A few years after I wrote the draft for Veronica Saves the Balloons, my mom, because she is totally and completely awesome (in case you hadn’t picked up on that yet), had a family member illustrate the story and had a few copies printed through a vanity publisher.

On Christmas that year, I opened her gift to me and there was my book. I was totally unaware she had done that. Did I mention I have a cool mom?

Unfortunately, that still wasn’t enough to motivate me to do anything else with it. The mind of someone who has adopted unworthiness as part of their identity will go through a lot of mental convolutions to keep the state of unworthiness true for themselves.

But, the need to express myself, the part below my conscious mind, continued to press forward. I kept writing things.

Then, in spite of nearly debilitating stage fright (that goes hand-in-hand with unworthiness), I started playing music with someone I thought of as a great musician.

He approached me about playing as an acoustic duo. He was a great guy, pretty laid back, but musically I was intimidated by him. I would never have approached him.

Playing and singing at the same time has been a big challenge for me requiring a lot of work. And while I had been playing with another band for a while, I didn’t do much singing. I came to find out that he approached me to play together because he mistook me for someone else he had seen playing.

We ended up playing together for well over ten years.

I remember a conversation with myself when I was hesitating to start playing with him. I acknowledged to myself that I knew I would end up regretting it if I didn’t at least try.

Five years later I started writing songs for me to sing. I had written several songs before, but never with the intent of singing them myself.

Here’s the first song I wrote for myself and also the first song I recorded. Interestingly, the person who did the marker illustrations for my mom also sang backing vocals on the recording.

One song turned into two, then three. Eventually, I had enough for my first album.

I was so uncomfortable going into the recording studio, almost as uncomfortable as I was performing in public. But, there was stuff that still needed to be expressed through me.

Eventually, that turned into a second album. I’ve written previously about how bringing family and friends into the recording process on both albums really made it even more special for me. You can read about that here.

Gradually, on what felt like a geologic time scale, I started becoming more comfortable performing. Not comfortable, just more so. Just a little less sick to my stomach and shaky before standing in front of a microphone.

I’m not sure if some of that crossed over to my writing, but I published my first piece on Medium a few months before releasing my second album. I think I had started becoming more focused on sharing and less on caring (what people think).

At least a little. But I will take what I can get and be profoundly grateful for it.

Looking back, having lived through all the self-judgment, unhealthy comparisons, and just overwhelming anxiety, I really don’t understand how all of these things have come to pass.

I write and I continue to get better. I play and sing and continue to get better. At 53 years of age, it is empowering to see myself continuing to expand and explore as a creator.

In fact, when it comes to artistic creation, I don’t ever see that slowing down.

One of the main messages I’m getting from the life path I’ve walked so far is the need to trust life. Even though I still do, I’m not here to judge my work beyond ensuring it is the best I could do at the time.

I have not found a better encapsulation of the tension of creating and sharing than this quote from Martha Graham:

“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”