Beyond the first draft
On embracing the process
As I wait to receive the feedback on the latest draft of my book, more than anything I’m scared. I don’t want to fall into the same hole I did a year ago when I submitted draft one. Somehow, I convinced myself I was ‘almost there’. That tweaks would be all that was needed.
It’s a classic recovering-creative-type trap, and excruciatingly naïve. But it’s what happened. What then? The deadline for draft two had to be extended by five months whilst I crawled out of the pit of shame and frustration and resistance.
The feedback that shoved me there: I had a decent first draft but it needed rewriting. Like completely rewriting. Aside from a couple of scenes and the prologue, which promised a book I didn’t deliver. Thousands of words were to be deleted - they were entirely irrelevant. Events I had skimmed over, needed to be dug into more deeply. My challenge: to transpose the whole thing up a key. To stop hiding. To get the joy, the grief, the glitter onto the page.
Have I risen to the challenge? I’ve tried my best to, but I don’t know if I’ve succeeded. It’s impossible to see what’s missing, what’s needed, where the gold is. I’m too close to it (again).
There are many lessons I’m taking from this process - enough to write a whole other book, but the lesson I’m sitting with this week, is how necessary it is to lean into the support of other humans. Whatever it is we are making. Whatever the path we are on.
And that isn’t always easy. The world is noisy. There is no shortage of people claiming they can help us achieve our goals and dreams. Or friends and colleagues we could ask for help. Or who offer their opinion whether we want it or not.
Where and how we seek support will be unique to our individual make up, backstory and preferences. This is some of what I know to be true about mine:
I need people to tell me the truth. To tell me what they see. But only when I have invited them to. Only when they understand what it is I am trying to make and why. When that is the point of the relationship or interaction.
That’s what my editor did last time. It was hard to hear, and it served me. It was triggering and and sent me into a pit of despair, and I needed it more than anything. Her calling me forth was a catalyst. Her being able to see what I couldn’t, is what has made the next step possible.
Is the fact I have such stringent conditions for receiving feedback a limit? Is it fear-based? Yes and yes. Too many times I have been stung and hurt and let down and shamed by people shoving uninvited feedback in my face. Discernment is the antidote if I am to keep creating. It works for me. That is what matters.
And I need a soft place to land. A place where I feel held and seen. Where I can lick my wounds and process the feedback. Where I can allow whatever I’m making to flourish. Places where I can offer the same support to others. I am grateful for the spaces that have allowed that this year. My women’s circle. My friendships. Here. All non-judgemental spaces. That is fuel. That is nourishment. It balances the challenge. If it’s all challenge I wither. The shame, the fear takes over. I grind to a halt.
As I look to what will unfold after I meet with my editor, there’s hope alongside the fear. Whatever happens won’t be as difficult as last time. Whatever the feedback is, I couldn’t have done any more, and I also have more to give.
I don’t feel depleted or exhausted. I feel energised and held by this whole process. Whenever the book is born, the process is changing me. It’s helping me know myself better. It’s expanding my capacity to create.
The pit of despair may be a place I visit, and if I go there I’ll let myself have a little wallow. I’ll splash about for a bit. I’ll spend the amount of time I need to spend there, then leave. I don’t need to make it my home.
From January I’ll be circling with another group of women - some I know, some I don’t - as we support each other birth our creative projects. Gathering the women together for that feels exciting, and perhaps even being in the pit will feel different with them. Perhaps more like a mud-based spa treatment than a cold, smelly swamp :)
It also feels even more necessary to source the right support, given the pain and grief in the world. We need to find ways to hold one another. To support each other to keep moving as we create beautiful things in our own small ways.
Here’s to being gentle with ourselves on the journey.
Here’s to choosing support that enlivens our souls. That honours our unique make up. What we need.
Here’s to remembering there’s no one way. That we find the way as we take one step, then the next.
Thank you for being here.
With love,
Claire
Find me elsewhere:
Instagram: @clairemackinnonwrites
Website: clairemackinnon.com
LinkedIn: Claire Mackinnon