I think a part of me does buy into this idea that I haven’t “made it” until I’ve published an actual book. Since I haven’t done that, I haven’t “made it” yet. But recently I had an experience that made me rethink this framework.
Some months ago, I traveled back to China, where my family is from, to see my grandfather, who was very sick. It took two connecting overnight flights and about thirty hours to get there. At the immigration gate, in the course of scrutinizing my passport and entry forms, the Chinese immigration officer asked me about what I did for a living. Without thinking—I’d barely slept on the plane and I was exhausted—I said I was a lawyer and writer.
I guess it was the wrong answer. The officer frowned, flicking through my forms and passport. After a moment, she asked me to wait. She said they had to double-check my paperwork.
Surprised, I asked why. She demurred. She handed my papers off to another, male officer, who strode away to locations unknown. The female officer told me to stand to the side and called the next traveler over to her station.
I waited for the next twenty, thirty minutes, silently freaking out. There was no reason for it. I was barely published in the States, and what I had published had nothing whatsoever to do with my homeland. But I was exhausted, and I had never been stopped like this before, so my mind went to some unpleasant places.
After half an hour had passed, the male officer came back with my passport and forms. The woman officer conferred in undertones with him, then stamped my passport with a cursory thump. She looked at me for a moment, then announced that I was fine to enter the country.
I asked again why they’d had to check my papers, when they’d let everyone before and after me in without a problem. The woman officer didn’t answer. She just waved me through, looking annoyed.
Who knows why they kept me, even for such a brief time? It could’ve had something to do with my being a writer, or it could’ve had nothing to do with it at all. But afterward, thinking through the event, I realized that one of the possible readings of the interaction was that I was stopped because I meant something—because I could do something, write something, that a government might not like. Even if I never had before. Even the possibility meant something real. I think that made me realize something about the power of an artist’s expression, about the power of my expression, that I hadn’t really understood before.
What were some of your biggest challenges along your writing/publishing path?
Crippling self-doubt, fear of failure, and a tendency towards procrastinatory avoidance—a typical trifecta of neuroses, probably. There’ve been years where I didn’t write because I avoided it—I didn’t want to try and fail at this thing I loved so much. Then, even when I’d gotten myself back into writing, there were years when I avoided submitting my work because I was terrified of rejection. Even now that I’ve gotten a few pieces published and received some recognition for my writing, I find myself constantly having to negotiate with my panic-self before I can start my work. It’s just constant mental jiujitsu between myself and my fear.
The fear’s gotten more impersonal, though. I understand that ultimately, my fear’s trying to keep me safe. It serves a function. It’s a built-in self-protection mechanism. I’m not always successful, but I’ve improved at working with it and through it. I can more easily sense now when to back off and call it a day, when to press through, and what things I can do to talk it down when it’s particularly flared. It’s an on-going, daily negotiation.
Ultimately, I’ve found that overcoming my fear depends on building a loving, attuned relationship with my creative process, and also with my body, which is where my creative process lives.
What advice would you give to writers/artists today who are "moonlighting" in order to support their art?
For creatives, there’s nothing more important than sitting down and doing the work. If you’re trying to write a novel, make a film, record an album, or create any sizable project, then you will likely have to dedicate hundreds of hours to the creation of the work, probably over many years. Of course, there are a million things in life that are always eroding away at that time, most prominently the jobs we all have to work to pay rent. My advice is to create strong boundaries around your creative time. Reserve regular blocks of time in your day or week or month and then say no to things that would impinge on the time. No to doomscrolling the apps, binge-watching TV, shitty relationships, everything. Cut out every single bit of bullshit from your life. Be strict about it. Do what’s necessary to protect your energy and your windows of workspace.
