Swimming to Shore

When I attended my first writer’s conference, I realized I’d been tossed, not in the deepest part of a pool, but in the vastness of an ocean and told to find land.

Drowning—a strong possibility.

What’s a pitch? Does it involve a ball?

Tagline? Isn’t that a game?

What does an elevator have to do with writing?

I swam toward a shore that spoke a language I didn’t understand. When I reached my first “dingy” at the conference, I listened to all the dos and don’ts when meeting editors, publicists and others in the industry. Writing them down helped me as I completed (in one afternoon) all the don’ts and struggled to remind myself of the dos. After three meetings with editors and the drowning process well underway, I didn’t know my genre (fiction is not the answer) and tried to process that my writing fell into three categories—good, lacking, and awful.

In the evening session, one speaker shared the words I needed to hear.

“If you want to write, you must remember two things.”

I sat on the edge of my seat, pen poised, and waited.

“Writer’s must develop rhino skin. And you will still bleed.”

I rested my pen on my notebook and clung to the words tossed my way like a life jacket—words that changed my perspective.

I will bleed. Disappointments are unavoidable and certain realities in life cause me to hurt. But bleeding’s apart of life. Healing can only take place after I bleed. Difficult times aren’t meant to destroy me, but make me stronger. In the end, strength, like the skin of a rhino, develops.

Less than two years later, I attended another conference and relished the time I spent learning more about the craft.

“You’re glowing.” The director said to me after a critique session.

I nodded. I’m learning how to swim. The shore’s much closer.