Why You Shouldn’t Give Up

Play along with me for a minute, will you? You like grilled cheese sandwiches. You also think everyone in the world knows how to make grilled cheese, so yours is nothing special.

(5 Tips for Writing a Foodie Romance Novel.)

But then you visit France. And you discover a cheese that has a great awakening effect on your tastebuds—now, every sandwich you make must employ this cheese. And then you visit someone’s house in the countryside, and they put sage in their grilled cheeses. Revolutionary stuff. And then at a gourmet restaurant in the city, you find one with apples in it.

At some point you accidentally use a different kind of butter, and it transcends the experience. Everyone who tries your sandwich adores it, so much so in fact that you open a restaurant. Now, you find yourself in possession of a sandwich made up of a mosaic of experiences that only you have had, of ingredients only you thought to put together.

This is not about grilled cheese, by the way. The sandwich is your writing.

But—in a slightly more accurate analogy—have you ever slit open your chest, peeled your heart out, and positioned it on a page for someone to cast a critical eye over? It’s an incredibly vulnerable practice, and the siren song of quietly letting go of your dream is dangerously seductive. Better to give up than be embarrassed, right? You might hear its call in the mouths of friends, family, strangers on the internet who don’t see the value in your work, or worst case, take pleasure in making confetti of it.

Our utilitarian world will urge you to wave goodbye to your dreams in favor of ‘being realistic,’ but even in the creative world, you’ll still hear whispers of it in beta readers who are perhaps a bit too harsh, in agents who reject your query, even editors who pass on your submission. The world is not kind to creatives, and it’s heartbreaking to think that some of the most incredible stories might never see the light of day.

But on the flip side, creatives emerge as some of the toughest people out there. Each book on the shelf represents a writer who felt that despair, and still refused to give in. Receiving rejections or criticism is not a sign of failure; quite the opposite, it’s a rite of passage that every aspiring author must face. In my opinion, this is the main difference between an abandoned manuscript in a drawer and a book on the shelf: persistence.

And now more than ever, we need art in all its forms. Art is escape, sure, but it’s also healing, passion, freedom. It’s rage and peace and beauty and pain, a tangible echo of this puzzling experience of life. Art is a voice that speaks truths we can’t say; it’s a balm that soothes those bleeding in secret. It’s the quiet voice that whispers in your darkest nights that you are not alone.

But what gives meaning to art isn’t the medium; it’s the creative behind it. The person who was brave enough to put themselves on the page, on the canvas, in the music. The person who cared and believed and was patient enough to keep knocking on doors, until one opened.

A dear friend of mine—whose writing can run circles around mine any day of the week—queried several books over a 12-year period, and within one month, she’d landed an agent and sold to a Big Five publishing house. Another friend sent well over 1,000 queries before signing with a top agent, and going on to publish multiple books. Can you imagine if that first writer had given up the month before landing her agent? Or if the second one decided to call it at the 1,000 mark?

In the years before my first book sold, I nearly put down my pen a dozen times; in fact, I came the closest to quitting the week before we sent it to publishers. Less than two weeks later, we accepted a US preempt ahead of a seven-house auction, with separate deals in the UK, Germany, and Italy.

Between us, I have to get out the smelling salts when I think about what could’ve happened (or, not happened) if I’d given in to the self-doubt, and quit. You never know what’s around the corner. You don’t need a master’s degree in writing, a connection in publishing, or a social media following to sell a book. You just need persistence, and a willingness to never stop sharpening your craft.

So the weird, secret parts of yourself that you’re not really confident in? Lean into them. Dig into everything that makes you you. That’s what you have that no one else has or ever will. No matter how many times an idea is told, it doesn’t appear the same twice, not really. You are the only person in the world who has had your specific constellation of experiences, and who can spin a tapestry out of all of the different threads life has given you.

So much in this life is out of our control, but you can learn to let yourself flow onto the page, to write so honestly and specifically that your words resonate in the hearts of others across time and place. The only thing that’s left to do is be patient, be persistent. And remind yourself that the rejections are proof that you are, in the bravest sense, a writer.

After all, the only failed one is the writer who gave up.

Bookshop | Amazon

(WD uses affiliate links)