if i fail, please don't judge me

revising, applying, and losing my mind

I spent last week revising my manuscript, and also, going insane. I decided to apply to a few summer workshops, something I wasn’t planning to reveal here for fear of consequently feeling obligated to update you on the result of said applications once I receive them, and thus, setting myself up to endure the highly likely crushing embarrassment of public rejection. But more on that later. Revising the first two chapters of my novel consumed my life, to the point where my ADLs were compromised. Most days I ate like, a cracker until dinner at 5pm, and my dry shampoo was working over time. My eyeballs were literally sore. I was brain fried by bedtime and so sensitive that if you looked at me the wrong way, I’d cry.

It was not good.

I was propelled to go hardcore on the revisions because I had an application deadline. The deadline was both a blessing a curse—it pushed me to go the extra mile every day, but also, I’d already run like, a bunch of miles (i’m not a runner idfk). An unexpected result of the whole thing was that I had a lot of fun talking about the process with my friend

Erika Gallion Velasquez

, who was working on her app at the same time as me. We commiserated about the feeling of going crazy, but we also shared our projects with each other, exchanged pages, gave notes, brainstormed, provided encouragement. Once we submitted, we each felt a little sad to have that burst of manic connection come to a close.

After applying, I scrolled through Stories and saw Erika posted a photo of her “Success! You’ve submitted!” screen. I was taken aback. I sat there thinking, She posted that?! But what if she doesn’t get in? Won’t everyone know that she tried and she failed?

Instead of just…allowing my brain to interpret the situation that way, I texted her. I told her that I have this thing where I feel like I can’t post about writing risks I take until after I’ve learned I’ve been accepted, I’ve succeeded. If I post about the risk and then end up getting rejected, I’ll feel so embarrassed (this is, of course, assuming that anyone who saw me post about the risk will return to that thought in several months and think, “I wonder if she ever got into that writing workshop,” then will google the workshop and see the list of attendees and will not see my name and will think, “Wow, that’s so embarrassing for her.” Because everyone is obsessed with me, thinking about me all the time, etc!!!!).

Erika very kindly normalized my neurosis. She said she was fighting off thoughts that she’d look like an idiot if she didn’t get in. Then she said, “But I love the idea of being an authentic voice about what it’s really like to be at this stage we’re at. I’m trying to believe, every second of every day, that I am no longer an up and coming writer. I’ve arrived.”

Something about that shift in identity, she said, makes her not give a fuck.

And I was like, fuck! I want to not give a fuck!

At the end of the day, I think we stop giving a fuck by deciding not to give a fuck. Being so fr with myself rn, if I get rejected there’s like, no way in hell I wouldn’t write a dear diary post dealing with that feeling, lol. This has come to be my space to process all things writing, and of course I’d process that here.

So what am I really protecting by not sharing with you now that, yes, I put myself out there, I took a risk, and I very well may fail! In fact, it’s extremely likely I will! I’m just protecting my ego, I’m just back in that space of fear, and it actually hinders the connection I’ve made with you all, the readers of dear diary. I didn’t make this newsletter to try to convince you I’m a cool, successful writer. I did it to honestly and authentically express the emotional experience of being a writer on a publishing journey (and also, a human being with weird sex stuff etc). I would guess that this honesty is the reason most of you are here.

So this is where I’m authentically at: I’ve applied to two workshops. I think I will apply to two more. I am weirdly nervous about admitting that publicly. I am afraid that I will get rejected from all four, and then in the spring, I will be left to continue revising a manuscript that has been rejected four times, and I will interpret that as evidence that no one likes my book and no one will want it so I should just give up. I’m afraid that you all will think my novel must suck if I don’t get in. I am afraid that I think I am doing this because I want to go to workshop, but I’m actually just doing it because I want to feel legitimized.

Aside from the obvious benefits of the actual experience, I do think a lot of the appeal of getting accepted to something like this is the feeling of legitimization that comes from it. I was journaling about it and realized that yes, I am attracted to the idea of having a competitive workshop in my bio that makes me look more legitimate in the eyes of others, but I think I am maybe even more desperate for the way it might help me feel legitimate to myself.

When I read my novel, I think it’s good. But my own opinion isn’t enough for me to convince myself. I think that’s kind of sad. Like, why isn’t it?

This week, I will take a few days off from revising.

And then I’ll return.

Now that my applications are (mostly) submitted, I have to think about a more sustainable way to revise. When I was drafting my novel, I committed myself to writing at least 200 words a day. But even on the days I wrote more than that, I wasn’t usually writing for longer than, maybe, an hour and a half? I would just kind of tucker out. But revision has been engaging a different part of my brain, the part that thrives off logic puzzles and problem-solving. The part that can get hypnotized by Scrivener, pulled into the perfectionistic possibility of finding just the right word. And then suddenly the sun has gone down. I don’t notice the hours pass, or I do, but I’m almost addicted to revising.

Maybe it feels this way because I’m getting closer. The faster I finish revisions, the faster I can query my manuscript. Sometimes I see people’s Publisher’s Marketplace screenshots with their pub date slotted for like, two years in the future. I start doing these mental calculations, like oh my God, I still have to get through this whole second draft, and then probably a third, and then who knows how long querying will take, and then if that goes well, who knows how long it will take to submit to editors, and then if that goes well, who knows how long before a publishing house buys it, and THEN the book is still not going to be available for another two years?? Am I going to be fifty years old by the time this happens??

But I feel very strongly that this is just the energy of fear, which triggers a sense of urgency. I know where that leads: to a half-cooked manuscript in an agent’s inbox. I know my project does not deserve to be rushed along. The best way I can honor the work I’ve already done is to continue building a sustainable relationship with it—one that is balanced, curious, committed but open to change. A sense of spaciousness is required for that.

So there’s my manuscript update, which is also a plea for any advice you might have if you’re someone who is currently revising or has already made it past that point. Any tips to make the whole thing feel more…tenable? Harmonious?

Sending love to you all <3