By many accounts, I’m a writer who should have never gotten a book deal.
I have no bona fides, per se. I am not the offspring of a sparkling (and connected) literary couple. I did not intern for some famous magazine editor. I do not have a trust fund (or spouse) that will carry me as I travel, participate in prestigious writing workshops, or sit home and churn out pages. Truth be told, I didn’t even go to school for writing. I’m a science nerd, for goodness’ sake. So it’s fair to say that I’m a bit of an outlier in the writing world.
When I started my writing career, I felt stuck. I was living in Europe, not working for the first time, and going a little stir crazy at home with a new baby. I had always wanted to write—but had foregone any attempts at a writing career because I was more inclined towards security. But, like I said, I wanted to write. I felt drawn to it. And now I had nothing left to lose, exactly. So I took a risk. I started to write essays about my experience as an ex-pat and a new mother. I began connecting with other writers and journalists online to learn how to hone my craft (and a writing business). I started attending conferences like ASJA to extend my knowledge and my network. I took a risk—and continued to take risks, big and small, as I figured out how to successfully work a freelance career. And, with a lot of hard work (and more than a few mistakes), it all eventually paid off.
Fast forward 10 years. I had published a book with a major publisher, collected some amazing clips, and garnered a stable of regular clients. But again, I felt stuck. My work life simply wasn’t where I wanted it to be. Newly divorced and raising my son on my own, thoughts of college and retirement were fixing me with terrifying, not-good-enough, you’re-going-to-die-broke-and-alone type stares. So I started to court safety again in my writing. And, safety, as you may know, can be tedious. Yet tedium seemed to be the required trade-off for getting the mortgage paid each month.
The key word there is seemed.
As I held fast to clients who paid on a regular schedule, I started ignoring opportunities that would challenge me and help my skill set grow. I let publications that might have become newer, better bread-and-butter clients slip through my fingers. I stopped attending as many writing conferences and networking events. And my writing, for all of my clients, was suffering a bit. You see, the safety I was cultivating as a writer was, sure, safe, but it wasn’t helping me achieve the things I wanted to achieve—as a writer, a small business owner, or an individual. I soon realized that I needed to go back to the beginning of my career and remember what a willingness to take a few risks had given me—and how those risks had helped me find a path to success.
Now, am I saying that you should kiss off all your regulars? No. That would be ridiculous. But what I am saying, as you become more entrenched in a regular writing career, is not to be afraid to say yes to some long shots and passion projects. Work on some great content for that corporate website—but leave a couple hours each week for your screenplay. Meet your deadlines, but make space for poetry slams or literary events. Meet up with other writers, try new things, allow yourself some room to fail, and learn what you can. Doing so will make you more engaged and thoughtful—and it will help you improve in all of your endeavors.
Risk isn’t the bad guy we’ve made it out to be. It is not just the stuff of extreme sports and billion dollar business deals. It’s simply about opening yourself up, every now and again, to unbridled possibility. And, in doing so, you can learn, grow, and thrive in ways you may never have imagined.