Posts Tagged ‘photography’


There aren’t many things that are more revealing than art. Whether writing a story, painting a picture, or singing a song, we put ourselves directly into the things we create. Knowing this, many people tend to keep their creations to themselves for fear of judgment from others and/or having their work rejected outright.  The good news about never disclosing your inventions is that you eliminate the risk of being criticized. The bad news however, is far more considerable. First, if no one sees your work, you will never get any feedback. This will limit your potential because we are biased, either negatively or positively, toward our own art. Second, if no one sees it, no one can buy it. And last, but not least, whether you have a natural talent for something, a burning desire for something, or both, you owe it to yourself to take it is far as you can.

The other day a friend of mine asked me how I “overcame” the fear of rejection. It was a subject I hadn’t given hardly any thought to for a very long time. I stared at him and gave him the best answer I could – “I don’t really know.” That question prompted me to give a little more thought to it though. Truth be told, I rarely suffer from any distress over whether or not someone will or will not like my writing. However, that certainly wasn’t the case ten, or even five years ago. So, to the best of my ability, here is the story of how I got from there to here:

When I was young, I often wrote little poems and stories that no one ever saw. As I got older, I kept writing, but still kept it to myself. In my twenties, I took a temporary interest in photography. Photography was much easier to exhibit because I could hide behind the models. I still never became entirely comfortable with displaying my work though. After a few years of taking pictures, I reached a point where I felt I’d taken my photography as far as I wanted to. It was like walking off a cliff. I was left wondering, “what now?” I spent a great deal of time and energy looking for a more powerful sense of purpose, and all the while, only one thing kept happening consistently: I kept writing.  At this point, I was writing mostly poetry, and no one except a very few carefully selected folks were allowed to see it. I was terrified of what might happen to me if someone didn’t like it.

As my seriousness in writing grew stronger, so did my need to expand my confines. I vividly remember the first time I ever posted a poem on MySpace. I put the poem up and took it down three times before finally deciding to let it linger on my “blog” for a while to see what happened. I checked my MySpace a dozen times that day, waiting for the hate mail to flood in.  By the end of the day, an amazing thing had happened: nothing. No one seemed to notice whether or not I posted my poetry, and that is what gave me the self-confidence to keep doing it.

Over time, I accrued a cute little following of poetry readers who liked my work. I also made friends with some other poets and eventually I was featured on several radio shows and some online magazines. I was at the height of my career as a poet! But I was restless and had fast grown tired of the limitations of poetry. That’s when I started writing novels.

I paired up with my friend and mentor, Kim Williams-Justesen, took some writing classes, devoured every book I could get my hands on about the writing process, and above all, I wrote my ass off. In the meantime, I attended writing conventions and workshops, signed up with the local writer’s league, and began to meet all kinds of writers, big names and little names alike. I didn’t have time to be terrified of what people would think of my writing.

Then, the first literary agent I ever met took a strong enough interest in my book to request my full manuscript. I was both elated and horrified. I sent her the book and for the next five months, I obsessed. When she finally got around to letting me know she didn’t feel the market was quite right for my story, I felt as if I had been dropped like a glass ball, and shattered into a thousand little shards of the man I thought I was. It wasn’t fun and it wasn’t pretty. But I had a lot of helping hands putting me back together, and was very quickly back on the wagon, acquiring rejection slips from agents far and wide.

Today, I take criticism and rejection like they’re candy-coated Klonopins, and somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, I have (for the most part) seemed to have misplaced my fear of judgment and rejection. After analyzing it a little, I’ve decided that the answer to that question, “how do you over come fear of rejection?” is that you don’t. You just plug along and take the necessary steps despite the fear. There are however, a few things you can do along the way to soften the blows.

The first, and most important thing you can do to combat the fear of rejection is to be damned good at your craft. Learn everything you can, utilize that knowledge, and experiment with it openly.

Second, give yourself permission to suck. You don’t have to be perfect. You aren’t even supposed to be.

Third, read the works of your contemporaries. I assure you that therein lies much suckiness. The point to this however, is not to scoff at your friends. The point is to stop comparing yourself to Charles Dickens.

Fourth, read the stories behind the success. Stephen King acquired enough rejection slips he was able to wallpaper his office with them… and he did. “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” was rejected over one hundred times. “The Wizard of Oz” was called stupid and unimaginative by critics. No matter what an agent or anyone else tells you, art is subjective. No one has the facts on what is good and what sucks. They never have and they never will.

Fifth, accept the fear. Oh yeah… I said it. Accept that you’re afraid and that being afraid is part of the game.

Finally, one of the most important things one can do to combat fear of rejection is to just keep writing. By focusing your attention on your craft and away from the opinions of others, you are putting your energy into the only thing you can control… which is you. Also, by continuing to attend writer’s events, critique groups, and submitting to agents, over time you’ll naturally build an immunity to the scathing reviews.


     I have two choices in life:  I can either be a nobody… or I can be a writer.  I know myself well enough to understand that there are no in bewteens for me.

     I spent the majority of my late teens and early twenties trying to figure out where I fit, trying new things and wishing that I could just kind of happen upon something that sparked my passion.  I always figured I would just take an interest in something, go to school, get a degree and land a good job.  But that never happened.  I never found the thing that set me on fire and I certainly never found anything I was willing to go back to school for.  The jobs were easy enough to come by… however, of the passion, there was none. 

     I tried photography and found a little release there.  For several years I pursued it with lukewarm passion.  It pacified my artistic disposition enough that for a while, I considered actually making some money at it.  But I never took it that far. On a fundamental level, I knew that photography wasn’t the thing, and when I realized this on a more conscious level, I was devastated.  All I’d ever wanted was to find one thing that I loved, one thing I was good at.  So accepting that I’d never be fulfilled as a photographer was a heavy disappointment, but I put the lens cap on and considered myself back to square one.

    However, there was one thing that, through all of my soul-searching, I did consistently, passionately and meaningfully:  I wrote.  I wrote poetry, stories, all of it… anything I could, any time… all the time.  I look back now and see that even in my photography, especially towards the end, I regularly photographed words… the human models I used would be written on in black marker, eyeliner and whatever else I could find that would sustain the scribbles on their skin long enough to get the shots I wanted.  Writing was such an intrinsic part of who I was and who I’ve always been, that I overlooked it entirely. 

    Then, in 2005, I had a kind of “moment of clarity”.  It was one of those brief moments when you somehow seem to acquire a nearly Divine kind of insight.  They don’t happen often but when they do, there’s really no ignoring them.  So yeah, I had one of those moments, and in that moment, I realized that I hadn’t really overlooked writing so much as I was intimidated by it… so intimidated that I ignored the desire to pursue it on a professional level altogether.  I didn’t want to face the hazards of what little I understood about the writing business:  the rejection, the criticism, the mental illness that is so commonly (and erroneously) associated with the craft.  But I was twenty-eight years old and I knew that nothing else on this planet would ever make me happy.  Then and there, I decided I would do everything in my power to become the best damned writer I could be.  I decided I would learn the technical side of writing.  I decided I would absorb any knowledge I could come across, and that I would use that knowledge to empower myself in the one thing that fulfills me.  

     I am thirty-three years old now.  I’ve taken the educational steps towards reaching my goals through schooling, and as well, through meeting and bonding myself to a local published writer who has since become my personal writing coach and mentor… at no cost to me, (the story behind my mentorship is a long and fascinating one… but I will save that for another blog), and, probably most noteworthy of all, in October of 2010, I finished my first full-length fictional novel.  As I write this, the manuscript is in the hands of a New York literary agent that I met at a writing conference in Salt Lake City, who after hearing my pitch, asked to see the work in its entirety. If you know anything about this business, this is a pretty big deal.  I realize that the odds are against me.  The chances of meeting one agent, one time, after writing one book and getting signed on, are dismally slim.  But still, I’d say the past six years have been quite well-spent.

   If I know nothing else, I know this:  regardless of whether or not the agent accepts my manuscript, I will continue writing and submitting.  I will try as hard as I can not to accept rejection and criticism as permanent failure.  I will try to remind myself, even in the darkest routes on this road that I am doing what I love… what I was born to do.  Having spent the past twelve years doing a mediocre job for a mediocre company and living a mediocre life, I already know what it’s like to be a nobody.  I know I will never find anything else that satisfies me the way this does.  Nothing will ever use every detail of who I am like writing does.   It’s a tough business.  It’s cruel, rigid and very scary.  But still… it’s not as scary as feeling like a nobody, which, when I am not following my natural path, I may as well be.