As Cool As I Am

ironic for a post about how very uncool I am

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Last year I was messaging someone I’ve known for years, but only peripherally so— we’d never really hung out and were making plans to fix that, when I dropped this doozy: I’m learning how to take up space. 

I immediately wanted to unsend it. How pathetic, like flashing lights: I’ve got issues! I’m working on them, but apparently not my poor boundaries! I mean, who throws out something like that in a casual text exchange to make plans? Me apparently. Want to be texting buddies? J/k. 

I’ve been thinking lately about how publishing work is a form of taking up space. Maybe the act of writing is too. But consider: we write something, then have the beautiful audacity to send it for someone else to read. Let’s say we have the good fortune of them wanting to publish it. We’re giddy with excitement because if we’ve gotten to that point, we’ve probably been rejected what feels like a thousand times. No no no no no, until that miraculous little yes. 

My old friend Doubt is a constant companion throughout this journey— as I’m drafting, revising, sharing my work with first readers, and as I submit. But it looks a bit different at each stage. The joke about it being my friend is true during parts of the process. Not when I’m writing— that stuff is lethal, killing my creativity dead in its tracks. But it can be helpful when I’m revising, questioning if that word is conveying what I want it to— doubt helps me reach for another that works better. 

It’s the kind accompanying the publication process that I’ve been thinking about. Because no joke, last month I was scheduled to talk to an editor about something I’ve been trying to publish and I literally had the thought: If I publish this actual people will read it. And probably hate it! What was I thinking?!? ABORT MISSION! 

I have that terror and doubt about everything I publish. Even book reviews make me question the act of unleashing my thoughts into the world. What if I’m misunderstood? What if someone takes something I wrote the wrong way? What if my hot take gets misconstrued and everyone hates it, and in extension me, and my friends and family all disown me and I die miserable and alone?!

Yes, I’m dramatic. I do write fiction for a reason.

But doubt is real. I once had a very successful New York Times-bestselling novelist ask me after an interview if I truly thought the new book was any good, really? And when I said yes, there was an audible sigh, followed by: Did I think others would like it? Really? Be honest now. 

When Amy and I were coming up with questions to ask in our author interviews we wanted to ask about doubt because of how inescapable it seems to both writing and publishing. I think only one author has ever said they didn’t doubt. And Rebecca Makkai said you never get past it, and previous success means a bigger audience to potentially disappoint. 

I met a goose who wasn’t shy about taking space, plopping inside this flowerpot

Here’s where I’ll come back to the idea of taking up space. Because I’ve realized maybe that’s a way to quiet the doubt— to look at the act of publishing as part of learning how to metaphorically dig my feet in the ground and say, here I am, like it or not, this is me. 

It’s terrifying. I’m sweating as I type. Anytime I send one of these out I have heart palpitations as I hit the publish button. Maybe my body is trying to tell me to stop this madness— I’m clearly too sensitive for this whole publishing nonsense. Time to take up knitting. I don’t think knitters deal with rejection. No one is going to peek so deeply inside anyone’s soul when they look at a scarf someone made. 

But you’re seeing inside me as you read this. I’m putting myself out there. I’m taking up space. Online and in your inbox.*

Have I mentioned it’s terrifying?!

I picked this post’s song for one lyric in particular: “I want somebody who sees me.” It became my anthem when I first heard it. I FELT that line as I’d belt out the song— it was all I wanted back then, to be seen. Really seen. And almost thirty years later I pretty much want the opposite: to hide. Which is very contrary to taking up space. 

As we get older we’re told we shouldn’t take up space. Too many selfies and we could be seen as narcissistic. Too loud and we’ll be told to quiet down. Shrink, we’re told. And I have. Oh, have I. 

But I stand by that quasi- mortifying profession I made last year: I am learning how to take up space. It’s hard. I’ve forgotten how to do it, like I once could when I was younger. If you have too, I hope you join me and try to again. It’s time to get our work out into the world. 

* This post got longer than usual, which I feel the need to apologize for, but won’t because I’m using this as practice– taking up space, baby!

Reading Recommendations

Online: I need to come up with a better system for keeping track of work I find online and love because I know I’m forgetting some great stuff, but here’s one thing I loved: Melanie Faranello’s beautiful, heartbreaking narrative essay, The Shape of Grief. 

Recently read: Kaveh Akbar’s Martyr! was every bit as good as I knew it’d be— no, it’s even better. I can’t do a novel like that justice in a few quick lines, but I’m completely obsessed with it. 

I’m trying to keep poetry in steady rotation and Hala Alyan’s The Moon That Turns You Back was a lovely read. 

It makes me very happy when someone I know publishes anything, and one of my oldest writing friends, Rohit Sawant published his debut story collection The Endless Walk, which was such a fun read. I read early versions of some of these horror and suspense stories many years ago and it was very cool to have the chance to read them again. 

Currently reading: Hanif Abdurraqib is my all-time favorite nonfiction writer. I’ve eagerly anticipated his latest book, There’s Always This Year, because I’ll read anything he writes, but also because it’s about basketball. Except if you know his work, you know it’s about much more than that, including home, pain, joy, and ascension. Absolutely a knockout of a book. 

Up next/ preorder alert: I recently discovered Karla Cornejo Villavicencio’s work, thanks to her incredibly moving National Book Award-finalist The Undocumented Americans. I received an ARC of her debut novel, Catalina, which, while slim, promises to pack a punch. 

Here’s the song I mentioned in case you too want to belt out about wanting someone to see you:

Wishing you a joyous week sans doubt. Please take up all the space you need. <3