Not so long ago, I was a slave to my anxiety.
Afraid to leave the house. Afraid to stay home.
Afraid to write. Afraid not to.
Afraid to take care of my kids. Terrified of what it meant if I didn’t.
At times, I was afraid of eating and sleeping.
I was afraid of being myself. Of breathing. Talking. Doing.
So I sat on the couch, knees to my chest, and worried until I thought I would throw up – and sometimes I did. Yet I did nothing about it.
My husband ran the house, paid the bills, and generally worked his ass off. Meanwhile, I was paralyzed by fear he didn’t understand, have time to digest or energy to explore. The man was just trying to survive.
If there is a place further away from ready or able to take care of yourself, I don’t know what it is.
By degrees, I had morphed from an independent, confident professional journalist into a borderline catatonic lump on the sofa.
So when he said, “We’re going bankrupt,” and “I can’t do this by myself anymore,” and “We need to talk about separating,” I sort of freaked. But not at first.
No, at first, I pretended it wasn’t happening. Any of it. I ignored being broke and the state of my marriage and my fear. Because I wasn’t ready yet.
I couldn’t get up in the morning and take a shower without having a panic attack. How the fuck was I going to make money, work on my marriage and get a grip on anxiety?
I mean, couldn’t this shit wait just a little bit longer? Perhaps in a year or so – when I may have had time to figure out how to get back to being me?
The universe has its own timeline. More often than not, some of the best things – relationships, job offers, even kids – come before we think we’re ready.
I had to figure it out. Turns out being backed into a corner was divine timing. Because I’m here – 17 years later – telling you this story.
I decided writing was the thing I should stick with. It never failed me. I found my way onto the internet. I launched a blog, then this website, then a business. I found courage, and ultimately myself, by feeling the fear and doing it anyway. Even though no part of me felt ready.
- That ONE decision to do something before I was ready launched a successful career.
- That ONE decision to start before I was ready brought me back to myself.
Was it easy? Hell no. Was it worth it?
Every fucking gut-wrenching millisecond.
Plus, I learned something critical: We never feel ready to make a major change, leap into the unknown, follow a dream. That’s human nature.
Guess what?
You must find the courage to do it anyway.
I’m telling you this because I’m working on hosting an online event for you.
It’s going to be big, as in jam-packed, substantial and fucking major league.
It’s going to be fun.
It’s going to be balls-to-the-wall-we-are-doing-this-get-out-of-the-way.
And it’s entirely up to you whether or not you’re invited.
Bottom line: You will show up, show off, own who you are and love it. You will be at the best you are capable of being. I will make sure both those things happen.
Because that beats the hell out of watching Seinfeld re-runs in your green Victoria’s Secret bathrobe, wondering what happened to who you used to be.
You may never be ready
Not so long ago, I was a slave to my anxiety.
Afraid to leave the house. Afraid to stay home.
Afraid to write. Afraid not to.
Afraid to take care of my kids. Terrified of what it meant if I didn’t.
At times, I was afraid of eating and sleeping.
I was afraid of being myself. Of breathing. Talking. Doing.
So I sat on the couch, knees to my chest, and worried until I thought I would throw up – and sometimes I did. Yet I did nothing about it.
My husband ran the house, paid the bills, and generally worked his ass off. Meanwhile, I was paralyzed by fear he didn’t understand, have time to digest or energy to explore. The man was just trying to survive.
If there is a place further away from ready or able to take care of yourself, I don’t know what it is.
By degrees, I had morphed from an independent, confident professional journalist into a borderline catatonic lump on the sofa.
So when he said, “We’re going bankrupt,” and “I can’t do this by myself anymore,” and “We need to talk about separating,” I sort of freaked. But not at first.
No, at first, I pretended it wasn’t happening. Any of it. I ignored being broke and the state of my marriage and my fear. Because I wasn’t ready yet.
I couldn’t get up in the morning and take a shower without having a panic attack. How the fuck was I going to make money, work on my marriage and get a grip on anxiety?
I mean, couldn’t this shit wait just a little bit longer? Perhaps in a year or so – when I may have had time to figure out how to get back to being me?
The universe has its own timeline. More often than not, some of the best things – relationships, job offers, even kids – come before we think we’re ready.
I had to figure it out. Turns out being backed into a corner was divine timing. Because I’m here – 17 years later – telling you this story.
I decided writing was the thing I should stick with. It never failed me. I found my way onto the internet. I launched a blog, then this website, then a business. I found courage, and ultimately myself, by feeling the fear and doing it anyway. Even though no part of me felt ready.
Was it easy? Hell no. Was it worth it?
Every fucking gut-wrenching millisecond.
Plus, I learned something critical: We never feel ready to make a major change, leap into the unknown, follow a dream. That’s human nature.
Guess what?
You must find the courage to do it anyway.
I’m telling you this because I’m working on hosting an online event for you.
It’s going to be big, as in jam-packed, substantial and fucking major league.
It’s going to be fun.
It’s going to be balls-to-the-wall-we-are-doing-this-get-out-of-the-way.
And it’s entirely up to you whether or not you’re invited.
Bottom line: You will show up, show off, own who you are and love it. You will be at the best you are capable of being. I will make sure both those things happen.
Because that beats the hell out of watching Seinfeld re-runs in your green Victoria’s Secret bathrobe, wondering what happened to who you used to be.
Want to know more? Go here. Now.
YOU are the story. Write now.
by Ranee Dillon
The story goes that some U.S. Patent official resigned years ago because everything already exists. His alleged reasoning was since every idea has already been generated, no one needed a patent office.
Though this rumor still exists – and I giggle at the thought – it reminds me of something a college professor told me.
“Only eight story lines exist in the history of the world. No story is ever unique. Therefore, nothing new is ever created. We’re simply regurgitating when we write.”
Being the 28 year old smartass I was, I raised my hand. “So, you’re telling us there’s no point in writing anything,” I said.
“No, I’m bringing to light the fact that you will never create something new,” he said. “So don’t break your back and obsess about writing anything truly original.”
End of discussion.
Back then, I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know enough about commercial fiction to form a comeback. But some twelve years later, well, I can. And there’s a critical difference between what that professor said and what it means to writers everywhere.
Yes, only so many plot lines exist. One way or another, the majority of stories we write fall into a category. (For reference, John Lescroart compiled a very basic list here.) So plots can be interesting and twisty, but they’ll eventually fit somewhere.
Does that mean we’ll never create anything original?
Um, no.
The part of a book that makes it unique, that makes it wholly original, is you. Your voice. The way you phrase things. The life you put into the characters. All of it is unique because no one else has lived your life.
Or as Becky says in THE Guide: “One of the things that sets you apart from every other writer is your story. No one else has lived your life or shared your experiences. Use that. Share your thoughts, opinions and hard-earned lessons. Trust yourself. We like other people who are like us.”
While we can mimic other people’s styles and voices, mostly because we’re afraid our voices won’t be well-received, the plain truth is no one will EVER write the book sitting in your Word document right now.
No one will describe a scene exactly like you. No one else will create characters who have the same hang-ups and insecurities, most of which are formed from your personal life experience.
Sure, plenty of books have similarities, but they don’t have what your book does: YOU.
And that comes through in every word you slap down. It pours out of every chapter like the tipped crevasse of a drunken pirate. When we don’t hedge, when we rip off the straightjacket confining our words to a slow death of monotony, that’s the moment our kickass conjurer of worlds comes out to play.
Remember, every time a reader picks up a book, they’re not buying just another story. They’re buying part of you. You are the product, so don’t leave your readers short by making a hasty exit out of your own freaking book.
Give them a reason to come back for more. Make them care. About YOU.
Ranee Dillon is an Amazon bestselling author and writing coach in our Write Raw classes. Her specialties include helping you take back your voice, laser-focusing your plot and kicking the ever-loving shit out of writer’s block.