Matthew Daley's Blog - Posts Tagged "http-www-matthewjdaley-com-blog"
Stage Fright, Writer's Edition
By the time my career is over and I look back on it with pride, I certainly hope that one of the characters I’ve created has a superpower unlike any other: the ability to not feel nervous. That might not sound like the greatest superpower of all time, considering how great it would be (at least temporarily, you know, for a test run) to have Superman’s powers or Professor X’s powers. But how many people get nervous about something? Everyone. Except babies. And certain elderly people when they cross a certain age threshold and stop caring what other people think. But even then, they might get a tiny bit nervous.
Would the ability to not be nervous be all that beneficial? It’s worth thinking about. Being nervous can be a good thing. It can prevent you from doing something stupid. And it can force you to over prepare for a situation. I suppose if you didn’t feel nervous you’d always be overconfident, which would lead to its own set of problems.
The only reason nervousness or the ability to not feel nervous is on my mind is because, big surprise, I’ve been nervous. The kind of nervousness that impairs my sleep, has me second guessing things, messes with my diet. The all-encompassing type. Externally, I’ve kept it cool. I haven’t chewed my fingernails off or forgotten basic hygiene. Internally, I’m a mess.
All because I have a new project launching in three days.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited. Ecstatic. Euphoric. Look up excited in the thesaurus. I’m all those words. Being on the verge of a new project’s launch is one of the most intense and rewarding times anyone can experience. I’ve been working on this project for two years and I haven’t spoken about it that often because I like things to be announced before spilling my guts. Call me superstitious. Or call me foolish because, hey, you know what?, maybe talking about it would make me less nervous. Doubtful, but maybe.
So if I’m all types of excited, why am I nervous? Outside of the fact that nervousness and excitement are quite similar, once the project is announced and once it’s out in the world, I can no longer control it. My work is done. If people hate it, I can’t change it. If people laugh at it, I can’t put up a forcefield to protect it. It lives. Just like Anne Bradstreet proclaimed in her poem “The Author to Her Book” (1678): “Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain”. Writers having cold feet isn’t new!
This is the writer’s version of stage freight. It’s certainly possible for us to go out into the world and make public appearances, read in front of an audience, interact with fans, and so on, but that pales in comparison to a release. This is our opening night performance. If something might go wrong, it’s bound to happen on opening night. The benefit of a performance is that things can be corrected and improved. With a book, every performance is opening night.
So what’s the advice? Get it right the first time? Easier said than done. So much work and rework goes into anything that’s ever published. It’s a minor miracle that anything is ever published, that a writer is willing to let go, to, as Bradstreet put it, “send thee out the door”. Writers want people to read their work - I’m sure there are a few out there that don’t, but that sounds like a reverse psychology marketing strategy that just might work - and when someone spends quality time with a book, they form an opinion about it. Writers do the same thing when they read. The sharing of opinions happens in so many different ways now that you are bound to hear them. It’s almost impossible to tune it out. It always feels wonderful when someone says nice things about your work, but the scathing remarks stick with you. You could hear 100 comments that praise you and the one that calls you a fraud or hack sticks with you more. That’s the way most of us are wired.
I keep telling myself I’m ready. And I’ll always have to remind myself of this. That this particular book - whichever one it may be from this point on - deserves to meet the world. It’s meant to be this way. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be nervous about it. Or that I shouldn’t be.
Would the ability to not be nervous be all that beneficial? It’s worth thinking about. Being nervous can be a good thing. It can prevent you from doing something stupid. And it can force you to over prepare for a situation. I suppose if you didn’t feel nervous you’d always be overconfident, which would lead to its own set of problems.
The only reason nervousness or the ability to not feel nervous is on my mind is because, big surprise, I’ve been nervous. The kind of nervousness that impairs my sleep, has me second guessing things, messes with my diet. The all-encompassing type. Externally, I’ve kept it cool. I haven’t chewed my fingernails off or forgotten basic hygiene. Internally, I’m a mess.
All because I have a new project launching in three days.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited. Ecstatic. Euphoric. Look up excited in the thesaurus. I’m all those words. Being on the verge of a new project’s launch is one of the most intense and rewarding times anyone can experience. I’ve been working on this project for two years and I haven’t spoken about it that often because I like things to be announced before spilling my guts. Call me superstitious. Or call me foolish because, hey, you know what?, maybe talking about it would make me less nervous. Doubtful, but maybe.
So if I’m all types of excited, why am I nervous? Outside of the fact that nervousness and excitement are quite similar, once the project is announced and once it’s out in the world, I can no longer control it. My work is done. If people hate it, I can’t change it. If people laugh at it, I can’t put up a forcefield to protect it. It lives. Just like Anne Bradstreet proclaimed in her poem “The Author to Her Book” (1678): “Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain”. Writers having cold feet isn’t new!
This is the writer’s version of stage freight. It’s certainly possible for us to go out into the world and make public appearances, read in front of an audience, interact with fans, and so on, but that pales in comparison to a release. This is our opening night performance. If something might go wrong, it’s bound to happen on opening night. The benefit of a performance is that things can be corrected and improved. With a book, every performance is opening night.
So what’s the advice? Get it right the first time? Easier said than done. So much work and rework goes into anything that’s ever published. It’s a minor miracle that anything is ever published, that a writer is willing to let go, to, as Bradstreet put it, “send thee out the door”. Writers want people to read their work - I’m sure there are a few out there that don’t, but that sounds like a reverse psychology marketing strategy that just might work - and when someone spends quality time with a book, they form an opinion about it. Writers do the same thing when they read. The sharing of opinions happens in so many different ways now that you are bound to hear them. It’s almost impossible to tune it out. It always feels wonderful when someone says nice things about your work, but the scathing remarks stick with you. You could hear 100 comments that praise you and the one that calls you a fraud or hack sticks with you more. That’s the way most of us are wired.
I keep telling myself I’m ready. And I’ll always have to remind myself of this. That this particular book - whichever one it may be from this point on - deserves to meet the world. It’s meant to be this way. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be nervous about it. Or that I shouldn’t be.
