The Moment of Truth

I collect stories of artists who’ve been told by industry professionals that their novel, or their play, or their song just isn’t what people are looking for. Every editor in New York except for one couldn’t imagine a book about a seagull wanting to perfect flying having an audience, yet Richard Bach’s Jonathan Livingston Seagull eventually sold 44 million copies. Garth Stein’s agent said she couldn’t possibly sell a novel from the point of view of a dog, but The Art of Racing in the Rain spent 3 years on the New York Times bestseller list. An NBC executive told Charles Nelson Riley no one would want to watch a gay man on TV, and by the mid-seventies his appearances were so ubiquitous he wondered, “who do I have to sleep with to get off of television?”

The list goes on. These tales always give me a little lift, and serve as great reminders that industry types know a lot, but they don’t know everything. They certainly don’t know the future. Nor do I, sadly. There are days I wish I did. This is part of why I love these stories. I enjoy picturing that moment when the artist is being told they have no chance, all the while aware of the success that is coming their way. Oh, how those doubters will rue their decision.

Of course, Garth Stein and Richard Back and Charles Nelson Riley didn’t know what was coming. All they knew was that they liked and believed in what they had to offer. Stein fired his agent and Riley sat in the NBC lobby and told himself, “That man’s perception is inaccurate.” These are literally moments of truth. Which one will you believe? Someone else’s, or yours? As a writer, you have no doubt spent a fair amount of time seeking the feedback and reassurance of teachers and editors and agents. What do you do when these people, well intentioned though they may be, cannot see the value of your work?

If you cry, or throw a chair across the room, or have another drink, or complain to your best friend, that’s okay. Most of us start there. But we can’t end there. It’s not actually hard to believe in your own work. It’s quite natural. All it takes is a moment to remember why you wrote what you wrote, why it moved or thrilled you. That knowing is enough. I know it doesn’t always seem like much, just a little flame flickering in your imagination, but it is in fact sufficient, with your continued attention, to light a fire in a likeminded soul when you find them.

Check out Fearless Writing with Bill Kenower on YouTube or your favorite podcast app.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com