GRIT + PEARL is my monthly letter about all the annoying stuff that goes into writing books and being a person who writes books (or other stuff, I don’t know, I’m not your boss). You can sign up here. Here’s November’s letter.
No. 0 – INTRODUCTIONS SUCK
The really horrible thing about being a writer is that if you ever introduce yourself as a writer, someone will say: “Oh? Prove it.”
Or some variation on that. “What do you write?” “Have you published something?”
For me, there is no doom greater than this sort of honest, polite inquiry. Most people will never know the menacing, blood-lusty critics that roar to life in the head of any writer when they hear the question: “What’s your book about?”
I personally black out every time I’m asked this, usually waking up hours later crossing the border to Canada with a tasteful scarf knotted at my chin, big glasses hiding my face.
Anyways. What I mean is: intros suck. Introductions are one of my small evils. A bit of my grit. Anytime I am about to meet someone new, I wonder who I am, and I usually don’t find out until I’m halfway through an introduction best described as a best guess. And I’m 27. And I’ve been a writer this whole time! So, like???
And THEN, because I cannot bare to disappoint a single person, I almost always say something mean and funny about myself to break the tension. To let the other person know: don’t worry, I don’t take myself seriously! And you don’t have to either. Phew!
Which sucks! So, I got to thinking: why? And: how? How do I show pride and confidence in being a writer when it matters most, during an introduction?
Well first of all, this isn’t where it matters most. Proving you’re a writer to some person at a bar is…a trap you set for yourself, seeing if you can overcome the sad person you are and leap towards the bold thing you’ll become. But that’s a fantasy of how people grow, and not an actual process. So, realizing this, I divested myself of the requirement that I tell every single new person I meet about my writing, which is a huge relief.
Second, understand that there is no universally accepted criteria for being A Writer. The dreadful pressure you feel to rationalize your own identity as a writer typically reflects the profound expectations you put on other people who claim the same thing. Ease up on them, and you’ll ease up on yourself.
And finally, the simple answer: rehearsal. The panic I feel about my writing has little to do with my own writing, and everything to do with the fear that I won’t be able to do my writing justice. Or even come close to a coherent sentence. And so, like any completely balanced gay man, I sat myself down and interviewed myself. I listened to podcasts like Write or Die and First Draft, and imagined my answers. And then I literally practiced introductions for different audiences. Mine are:
- For new friends I am meeting quickly: I’m a writer. I write fantasy books. Nope, nothing on shelves yet. Publishing is very slow!
- For people who are actually asking: I write YA fantasy books. Yup, I’ve got a book coming out in a bit over a year, actually! It’s about a gay kid fighting a drag queen sorceress. No, not autobiographical. And I can’t share anything else because I’m very mysterious and profound. Do you know how royalties work? Here, I’ll tell you.
- For other writers: I’m in edits. I’m so dehydrated. Please, help.
And that works for me. Knowing my cards ahead of time, and specifically knowing how much I’m going to share, defeats the spiraling feeling of abyss that looms at the end of those dreaded open-ended questions. What do you write about? What’s your book about? All of these are valid questions, and any writer can answer them. But do you have to? No. So rehearse your explanations if you want, or rehearse your evasions. Just have something ready, and you’ll feel better whether you use it or not.
Homework
A great place to make up lies about yourself is inside an uber. The next time someone asks you what you do while you’re sharing their ride, attempt the art of senselessly improvising an identity. Get good at this after a few rides, then slowly resolve your lie into the reality of the life you’re trying to lead: I’m a writer. Nope, nothing on the shelves yet, but soon! Publishing is very slow.