Do you even trust that you HAVE talent?
I feel like there's a conundrum at the heart of any creative endeavor: on the one hand, we're profoundly fragile people, sculpted out of spun sugar and butterfly wings, ready to fall apart at the first breath of whispered criticism.
A portrait of the artist.
On the other hand, we're arrogant enough to try to create something in the first place, assuming people will want it, even (maybe) want to pay us for the privilege of it.
Sure, there are folks who walk around telling you what an amazing talent they have, and how they just refuse to waste it on less-worthy forms, and how everyone is dying to work with them, and how they would never get out of bed for less than $Large#.
But I'm not those people. I don't even like to be AROUND those people.
Still, you have to believe in your talent SOMEWHAT to keep doing this, especially in the face of 4,297 rejections (and counting).
So how do you know when to bank on it?
I've faced my share of major crises-of-talent in my "career" so far. The first time, someone said to me "I want you...just not the you that you put on offer. Can you do this other thing?"
I said "sure, anything, please just want me," and proceeded to totally throw myself into writing a book I'd never planned to write.
By the time I was done with it, this guy had his own crisis of confidence. I sent it in, and he responded "oh, didn't you notice I wasn't sending you monthly updates from the agency? I've dropped 3/4 of my client list because I'm just not sure I can sell people's books in this market."
Uh, no, I didn't notice the emails I wasn't getting from a new acquaintance whose patterns I haven't learned.
There goes THOSE four months.
Was it worth it? Meuh, who knows. I did at least learn one important lesson: if someone's not interested in what you have to offer, you're probably not going to be able to offer what they're actually interested in. (This advice also applies to love, and pet-selection).
Most recently, I had someone show interest in the thing I wanted people to love; the first door on the traditional path to publishing was being held open, just a crack, to let me through.
But--without going into any details--there were some red flags. I wasn't feeling totally-excited, I was feeling just-regular-excited, and simultaneously deeply nervous.
So I banked on myself and said "I'm sorry, this isn't the right fit."
I'm gonna have to wait a while to see if I made the right choice. I'm terrified I didn't, and sad because it was never a black-and-white thing, anyway, just a level of grey-scale that was too much to ignore. Maybe I was wrong, and I should have just dived in, head-first. Maybe no one else will ever be interested again.
I'm hoping someone will. Apparently--though I don't feel like I feel this way--I'm (subconsciously) confident enough that someone else is going to see what this person saw, someone with whom I'll feel totally awesome about saying "let's do this thing."
That part of me is hiding just behind the one that's screaming "you effing idiot, who do you think you ARE?"
So how do you know when your gut is right and when your more-cautious-mind is? When can you trust that your talent will get you there and when should you just jump at an opportunity--any opportunity?
Do you EVER get to a point where you know--absolutely know--when to say yes, and when to say "sorry, no?"
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