Writers, Do the Things That Scare You

Over the weekend, I went with my family to Disneyland and California Adventure.

(Yes, I’ll give you a moment to be jealous . . . Okay, moment’s over. Back to reading.)

Most of you are familiar with the rides at Disneyland; they’re all fun, kid-friendly attractions. Pirates of the Caribbean, Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, etc. Being a Disney park, California Adventure is also family-friendly, but it has a few rides that are geared more toward adults. Or at least children that are way less chicken than I was at their age (or height).

I am also terrified of going on it basically every time. One of California Adventure’s thrill rides is called The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the ride, it’s a drop tower. It brings you waaaay up, drops you, brings you back up, drops you again. It does this a couple times, and it’s a blast. Seriously, I love this ride. It’s possibly my favorite between the two parks.

There’s a lot of suspense to the ride, as you wind your way through the hotel lobby, enter a room that plays a Twilight Zone-esque video, then wind your way through the hotel boiler room, and then even once you’re seated in the service elevator itself, there’s more theatre. Even the cast members are dressed like hotel concierges and speak in a spooky way. Disney doesn’t do things half-way. Everything looks and feels authentic to the setting.

It’s great! But the suspense just kills me. Every time, I think, “eh, maybe I’ll just skip it.” Because it’s easier than dealing with the nerves while standing in line.

This last time I went on the ride, it occurred to me that my response to the Tower of Terror is similar to the response of many writers on their path to publication.

You know you want to be published; you know it’s going to be Awesome with a capital A.

You know what’s involved on the journey to get there: query, agent, editors, etc. You’re not Lewis and Clark going West. Many have gone before you, and can offer advice and tell you how it works.

But it’s still terrifying, right?

So much could go wrong! Your query could suck; an agent might not be able to sell your book; no editor will take you; the ride might malfunction, causing the service elevator to shoot through the roof, thus crushing you to paste while other park guests watch, their faces framed with horror! OH THE HUMANITY.

Er, ignore that last one.

You might think to yourself, How much easier would it be to just keep my stories here, in the safety of my computer? After all, Google Docs won’t judge that vampire sci-fi you’ve been working on. Better not to try than to fail horribly, right?

To be an artist is to be at war with fear. Fear of failure, fear of judgement, fear even of self, of what you might uncover as you rifle through your subconscious, hunting for honest emotion. But you can’t let fear stop you from doing what you love. You can’t use fear as an excuse.

To paraphrase the immortal Captain Jack Sparrow, “If you were waiting for a sign, this is it, mate.”

Consider this your call to action.

And if we ever go to California Adventure together, I expect to see you in line with me for the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror.

But not for those Silly Symphony swings. Let’s not get crazy.