Let’s Talk Process: The Holy Grail

Part of me totally wants to post the obvious Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade production still here but I won’t.  Okay, I would post except it but I can’t come up with an original, let alone good, caption, so I won’t.

The Holy Grail as it pertains to writing is different things to different people.  For some, it’s scoring an agent.  For other’s, the fat lady don’t sing until the contract is signed.  Maybe it’s opening the first box of copies, you know, the one you order for all your family and friends and hope they’re not the only ones shipping out that day and you get all embarrassed whenever anyone asks you for a copy but of course you have them and then they do something cheesy like ask you to sign it and…

I am getting the screaming jeebies just thinking about other people reading my stuff.  I know, I know.  It doesn’t make any sense.  I want them to read it.  I want them to love it.  But what if they (whoever they are) don’t?  What if they think it’s stupid or poorly written or a waste of time.

(I’m totally not watching you read my book)

Which leads me to my own, personal Grail.

It may not be earthenware cup simple, but is is understated and relatively quiet.  Maybe some raku glaze, but no need for jewel encrustation or gilding.

My Holy Grail is the day I don’t blush and stammer and try to hide when someone tells me they’re reading my book.  Like I said, I want people to like what I do.  I want them to wait excitedly for the next installment.  I want them to tell their friends.

Getting to that point, however, means I’m comfortable with what I’ve written.  With the book I’ve produced, with the way my words are arranged on the page.  That my characters are who I want them to be.

That the story is whole.

Envisioning the moment is hard for me.  Finding that place is one of the hardest thing attempted (easier than walking into my first ever patient’s room, probably less daunting than parenthood and marriage).  Harder than standing up for myself when someone else might be pissed off or have hurt feelings.  As I’ve mentioned on more than one occasion, I have clinical anxiety.  I have OCD.  I am a perfectionist to the detriment of my sleep and my peace of mind.  I am nether prone, nor given, to thinking anything I do is right or good or even the best it can be.  I’ve been battling this since I was 11 years old and I’m sure I’ll continue to do so until I’m 111.  Always reaching, never quite touching.  Searching, searching, searching, finding, but unable to make the final call.

My Grail is to love what I write.  Not right away.  Maybe not until 15 drafts in and a lot of primal scream therapy in the car.  Some cursing.  Coffee.  Chocolate.  Brie.  But to, one day, be able to walk up to someone holding a copy of one of my books, or catching a glimpse of a Kindle version over someone’s shoulder and being able to say, “I wrote that.  I love it.  I hope you do it.”

This is how I do it, baby.  How about you?