The last eight weeks, I’ve been head-down, working diligently on my novel in preparation for the Appalachian Writers Workshop (AWW). This workshop has been on my bucket list for two decades.
Why the Workshop Matters
Open to published and unpublished writers alike, AWW is one of the U.S. South’s premier literary events. The traditions and folkways of the region influence and guide the writers and the writing that gets done there. Sense of place is also central, which is a primary reason I want to attend. I hope to transform the setting of my novel, the fictional town of Kent Creek, North Carolina, into a real place in the minds of my readers. I want the language to be rich with the regional characteristics I grew up with.
Mountain people are often stereotyped in books and movies as one-dimensional, stupid hicks, and I want to push against that with characters who are complex and nuanced. I want to show that all people who hail from the same place are not all the same. This workshop offers a space where I can lean into all of this and be supported by other writers who want to do similar in their stories.
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From Self-Doubt to Submission
I hadn’t applied to this weeklong residency before because I always felt woefully unqualified. Until this year. I don’t know if it’s a matter of increased confidence or that, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve purged some of the self-judgment that’s held me back. But I went for it and now, in less than week, I’ll head to the Hindman Settlement School (the venue for the workshop has some really cool history behind it).
Through this process, I’ve been observing myself, curious about how I’m navigating it all. When I finally submitted my application, reflection letter, and writing sample, I did have pause, wondering if I’d sent manuscript pages that would be “good enough.” Of course, I’d revised them umpteen times before submitting; they had to be “perfect.” But once I hit SEND, I let go of any attachment to the outcome.
While waiting for the decision, my unconcerned attitude bewildered me at first—so unfamiliar! (My family has a long history of worrywarts.) Upon reflection, though, I think I wasn’t totally stressed and obsessed about it because I believed I’d get in. When the acceptance email arrived, I was overjoyed but not surprised. I say this not out of hubris, but merely from a feeling that the time had come and so it would be. After that acceptance point, though, I’ve been riding the peaks and valleys.
My Reaction Rollercoaster
I know I’m not alone in having been a target of judgment from other individuals in the writing and publishing community—traditionally published, academic, and otherwise. The stinging moments, even when grossly outnumbered by positive ones, always stick with us most, right? And I’ve heard about similar experiences from other writers, particularly novices.
The feelings those stinging moments invoked for me when they happened resurface from time-to-time, particularly when I’m in a position that invites comparison—such as a gathering of writers I don’t personally know. Perhaps ‘triggers’ is the better word?
For the last two months, all sorts of questions have roiled in my brain: Did the judges, after reviewing my submission, check out my social media platform or website? Did they see all the ways I show up online in my writing and otherwise? If so . . . must be cool; they accepted me, right? Does that mean what they saw is “acceptable”? Or rather, that they never looked at all? My logic tells me to stop these are self-absorbed questions, but the rollercoaster of reactions twists and swerves.
What about the other attendees? Will they look for me online? Are they all published and thriving? Are they traditionally published? Will they (and my instructor) wonder how I could possibly call myself an editor, a writing retreat leader, host of a writing podcast? “Who does she think she is anyway?”
Mainly, I’ve wondered (feared?) whether they’ll look down on the unconventional ways I’m sharing my writing. None of the things I’m doing—especially, posting draft chapters of a novel-in-progress on Substack—would typically be recommended to (or by) someone who is “serious” about writing and publishing.
My self-doubts and comparisons to these people—who I don’t even know yet—rely partly on an assumption that they’re on a traditional publishing track and that they wholeheartedly believe that to be the “right” and only way. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m right. Does it matter? Moreover, does the assumption reveal an aspiration for myself that I’ve denied? Oof. Let me sit with that one for a hot minute.
Hang On: The Ride Isn’t Over
Preparing for the workshop, I hoped to find someone who’s already been there, to get tips or insights about what goes on. I noticed a book on Hindman’s website written by an author I’d met four or five years ago when I arranged a meeting between her and my dad; he knew her grandfather. Since her book was for sale in their online store, I took that to mean she must have attended. I reached out to her on social media.
No response. Weirdly, I’m unable to find the string of our previous messages. We’re no longer friends on Facebook either. Was she hacked and had to start new profiles on Facebook and Instagram? Did she unfriend me?
Nonstop, the questions and stories in my head speed along: Did I somehow make a fool of myself when we met that one time? She probably doesn’t want to connect with someone like me (whatever “like me” means… unpublished, a novice at fiction, a general dork), blah, blah, blah.
Failing to connect with her, I decided to seek out my workshop roomie to see if she’d attended before. Turns out, I’ll have two roommates: one a poet, the other a poet and novelist. Both are published. Eek. Only one is on social media, and she’d recently posted about the workshop. She mentioned the other one as also getting in. Gulp. They know each other. They must be friends.
Setting aside that thought, I ‘friended’ the novelist/poet. Radio silence. A week went by with stories zipping through my brain: They’re best buddies already. They’ll think I’m crashing their party. They won’t want me there. Shut up, brain; let me off this ride.
Finally, I messaged her, explaining we’d soon meet. We’ve since had several exchanges and she’s given me helpful advice. Come to find out, both she and the other woman have been to Hindman before. Yikes, they’re deemed worthy to return. Why did they stick them with this novice first-timer?
Last weekend, an email from my workshop instructor provided the names of everyone who’ll be in our novel-writing group of 15. Amongst the list is that first author I reached out to—the one I’ve met before. Now, she’ll be reading my work. Gulp again. I’ve since received a kind and helpful message from her, but that hasn’t stopped my brain from the comparisons.
Tripping Around the Triad of Writer Woes
As the workshop nears, I’m considering how every stage of this journey so far has evoked and provoked what I refer to as the triad of writer woes, three miseries that afflict nearly every writer I know:
Comparisonitis
Imposter syndrome
Perfectionism
My podcast co-hosts have their own names for them: KimBoo York has dubbed them The Tribulations; Melody, A Scout calls them the Bermuda Triangle of writing. Whatever you call them, their first appearance nearly coincided with the birth of my desire to write.
I didn’t have names for them at first. All I knew were the associated feelings:
For perfectionism, an electrified hum in my body that bound me in a fit of never-ending revision and inability to finish.
For imposter syndrome, the hopeless and deflated sense of not being good enough and never going to be good enough.
For comparisonitis, a spinning, unfocused brain voracious for concrete answers to its own baseless questions (as fully illustrated in all their laughable glory in the two sections above). Please note, my brain considers the questions entirely reasonable and justified in the moment, baseless and laughable only in hindsight.
Once I could finally put names to these responses, I practiced noticing them when they showed up. Once I learned to recognize them in the moment of happening, I worked on cultivating my ability to objectively view how I manage them, whether for better or worse.
That’s where I am now: observing myself and how the triad shows up; being curious about my actions and reactions to them; seeing if they serve me in a helpful way or send me on another rollercoaster ride. I’m beginning to discern which thoughts and behaviors I should keep and continue versus the ones I need to release.
Inspiration for Building My Author House
In a recent NY Times interview, author Emily Henry told how—despite the standard marketing advice that writers must have an online platform—she refuses to get on TikTok/BookTok and most other social media. She has only an IG account because, she says, she enjoys that platform. She’s mostly, head down, writing at home. Isn’t that what all writers wish for? Just to write? Imagine!
She talked about dreaming of being a writer before social media came about, not knowing or even caring what her favorite writers looked like. She went on to say, “It’s strange to dream of writing when it’s one thing, then come of age when it’s something totally different.” That really hit home for me. That’s my story, too.
Something else that resonated with me recently was an episode of Becca Syme’s podcast in which she talked about building an author house you want to live in, being an author in a way that’s fulfilling and sustainable for YOU. That seems to be what Emily Henry is doing. It’s what I’m striving for, too, with all my experimentation and out-of-the-box attempts to share my writing.
I may get judged at this workshop. It might even sting. Maybe my skin has thickened, so it won’t. I really don’t know. But I do know that, right now, I need to be among writers where I’m not the leader or guide, where I’m learning and growing as a writer myself, where I’m gaining momentum to finish this novel. I know that I want to spend my days focused on the stories that are inside me and getting them on the page so I can share them with readers. I know that I want to have engaged readers who love and support my work in all its future forms. These are vital aspects for me to include in the author house I’m building for myself.
Perhaps there’s some incurable nostalgia among writers for how things used to be, but Emily Henry is demonstrating that it’s still possible. Truthfully, anything is possible. There are so many different ways to be a successful author these days. We each get to define what success looks like for us. So we shouldn’t care what others think about us and our approach. And yet we do.
Novel and Other Updates
Woes and tribulations aside (oh, if it were only so easy to swoop them away!), my recent head-down focus has brought great insights about my novel Dancing at The Orange Peel, which hopefully, you’ve been reading in draft, serialized form here on Substack. I understand where the inconsistencies and holes are, and what has to be thrown out. I can see my characters more fully now. I’m developing a way forward (and toward finishing).
The draft currently stands at 79 scenes (or episodes) and approximately 130,000 words. Through revision and editing, that will get distilled to a more standard novel size (90,000-ish words) to eventually become a print book. However, if you want to see all of it—the entire messy work-in-progress—please stick around. Whether you want to participate as a kind of “beta” reader by providing feedback and encouragement or you’d rather sit back and simply enjoy the story, you are welcome here.
This week, I owe you Episode 10, “Half Mast” in Dancing at The Orange Peel, but you’re getting this update instead. I promise you’ll still get “Half Mast,” but not until I return from the Kentucky workshop and have processed what I’ll learn there. Please stick around!
Exploration and Discovery in Asheville
With future stories in mind, a research side trip is on the itinerary as I make my way to Hindman, Kentucky. Tomorrow, I’m off to the University of North Carolina-Asheville special collections and archives, then Tuesday to the Buncombe County (NC) Special Collections.
I’ll get to see the entire Fred Kahn vintage postcard collection (Oh, how I love old postcards, and you’ll hear more about this later), old photos of my hometown of Asheville, a few items related to George Masa, the Japanese photographer who, along with Horace Kephart, was instrumental in establishing the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Can you say: Rabbit HOLE!!!?
So, I’ll see you on the flip side of this research/learning/working/pleasure trip. Or follow along with my trip check-ins over on Instagram.
Thanks for reading! Please also check out my serialized novel Dancing at The Orange Peel, one story in an evolving collection of THE KENT CREEK CHRONICLES. Here’s the story Directory. Watch for new episodes monthly, as well as extra backstory, research tidbits, and writing updates in between in Behind the Stories. Don’t miss a thing by subscribing.
I just finished the first draft of my novel, and am looking forward to learning about your progress!
Congratulations! I know you will enjoy your workshop experience--not only receiving the wisdom and guidance from other writers but also in sharing your own amazing wisdom. Looking forward to hearing all about it when you return!