I started rock climbing about five or six years ago, and have met some of my favorite people in the gym (where I now also work as a yoga instructor). One of them is a local artist who made the painting that sits above my desk.
I spend a lot of time looking at her, and drawing inspiration, even when I don’t consciously put it into words. But as I reached the halfway mark on No One Loves An Angry Woman this month, I realized the Woman of the Stars is also halfway up her climb, and thought deeply about what drew me to her.
I didn’t receive a large advance for my second book, but I knew I wanted to mark the accomplishment of selling No One Loves An Angry Woman. I wanted to gift myself something substantial for staying the course. The publishing process is long and arduous and sometimes really demoralizing. I spent countless hours writing and putting together the book proposal with my agent, and then spent seven months on submission before signing with Beacon Press (even with an agent!). I was turned away by all the big five publishers, which stung in the moment, even if it eventually led me to the indie publisher of my dreams.
In short, it was hard work. The writing of the book is also hard work. I maintain that I deserve many little treats, and the occasional big treat like an original piece of artwork.
The first time I saw this painting it was hanging above the yoga studio, and I immediately texted Blair to ask her to hold it for me so I could buy it with my book advance. I loved how it reflected the writing experience to me: dark and exciting and mystical and frightening. I often think of climbing as a metaphor for the writing life. The way you must reach for the next hold, even if you cannot see it. The way you have to trust your ability to move through fear. The way the journey changes you far more than the summit.
Climbing has significantly changed my relationship to fear in the creative process. I used to like Elizabeth Gilbert’s description of putting fear in the backseat as you write, like a child on a road trip (no touching the radio, no touching the map). But I think fear is a companion that deserves more respect than infantilization. When we pretend there is no intelligence in fear, we ignore how intertwined it is with our experience, our humanity. Fear is not an idiot that does not know the difference between being hunted by a predator and responding to an email. It’s an intelligence that knows that predation takes many forms, not all of them animal.
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