December: On Ambition

I've been thinking a lot about the pain of being close to something. About how ambition so often leads to failure before it can ever graze the lip of success. A few years ago, when I finished my MFA program, one of my professors embraced me at the reception after our graduation ceremony. It was a gorgeous June day, my family had all come to celebrate with me, and I was wearing a cute as hell dress with hot pink heels. It was during my farewells that this writer gave me a hug, then bit her lip in a kind of secret. "Courtney," she breathed. "I might be seeing you soon. But I can't say why. But I can say that we're all so proud of you. We'll see."

"Oh?" I laughed, but she just embraced me again.

Walking away from campus that night, I couldn't be present with my adoring family so much as I could obsess over the faint whiff of lottery. What was she eluding to? Was it an award? Was it a prize? I hunched over my phone, Googling and guessing and trying to reel myself back from the giddy high of possibility. When the professor e-mailed me a few months later, it was to indeed meet up and see her in New York, and it was about an award - but not award that I was going to get. She was inviting me to the party for the writers who did get the award. I had been nominated. She wasn't actually supposed to tell me that, or to be seen with me at the party, but she wanted me to have a chance to be in a room with other talented writers. We got dinner beforehand, along with another writer from my MFA program who had also been nominated. I attended the dinner and the reading and the party in a kind of quizzical stupor. What was the etiquette for knowing-you-were-nominated-when-you-weren't-supposed-to-know-you'd-been-nominated? The professor I forgive for being enthusiastic, and grateful that she would think so highly of my writing, along with some of her colleagues. The reading was superb--I still think of what each of the winners read, and wait for their names to pop up on dazzling books, some of which already have. But before you think I was all grace and gratitude, I'll tell you how the night ended. It ended with me fluttering around the party, vying for a chance to talk with any of the winners, to congratulate them, but also to examine them: why you? Why not me? As if literary accolades were a posture or a tone I could learn for myself. As if I lacked some very, shiny thing that made them win. The room was stuffy with people, so I soon made quick goodbyes and stalked up Sixth Avenue on my way to the subway. Halfway there, I could feel the sob choke up from my middle. I bent over, squeezed my eyes shut, and cried.

I had been so close. I had been so very, very close.

It would be dumb of me to be a writer in this world and not expect rejection and failure. It would be naive of me to believe that reward was a fairy wand plunking the heads of other writers and always ignoring me. I do believe that good work begets more good work. And I've struggled to believe in abundance, instead of scarcity. That there is not a finite amount of praise, or publication, or readers, or satisfaction, or luck in the world. One of my good friends has this wonderful attitude about envy. He says that when you envy someone, it's okay, because whatever you envy is now closer to you. They're closer to you, and thus you're in greater proximity of what you desire, and you can learn from the person you envy. I sometimes fail in this (me, shouting "OH COME ON!" at my computer when some other queer essayist is lauded for being talented), but my recovery time between outrage and acceptance has shortened.

What I'm not good at is acknowledging when I have, actually, truly, accomplished something. When I finished writing the first draft of my memoir, I hadn't realized it until my friend Anna and I were talking about revision. I was mile-a-minute worrying about how to begin revising the manuscript, when Anna stopped me.
"How many pages have you written?"
"Two hundred and seventy five. But—"
"Courtney," she laughed, holding up her hand. "Stop. Stop. You've written a memoir. Congratulations."
I don't know if I would've congratulated myself on my own.

Being the end of the year, everyone will begin to assess how this one went. They'll make resolutions, they'll swear off behaviors, they'll bemoan what they haven't accomplished. But what I'm going to try and do this year is acknowledge what I've done well. To let myself off the hook, and stop plotting and measuring and applying and working, just for a little bit, to take a breath and look at the last eleven months. I wrote as much as I could. I put myself out there as much as I could. I kept the faith, I did the work. I tried to be generous in encouraging and helping the other writers I'm lucky to know and love. The older I get, the less I care about publishing by a certain age, or getting somewhere by some appointed time. Someone I used to know always asked me: "Do you know how old you'll be when you finish writing your novel? The same age you'll be if you don't finish writing your novel."

It's gonna get done. I promise you. Tell me what you've done well this year. I bet we have a lot to celebrate.

xoxo,
c

P.S.

* It's Giving Tuesday! Before we all spend gobs of money on gifts and cheer, how about throwing a little money into the hat for a non-profit org? I'm chipping in $5 to a few places today (hey, work with what you have, right?): BinderCon (the awesome writing conference for women & gender nonconforming folks that I help out with), Willie Mae Rock Camp (my most favorite girls rock camp ever, celebrating 10 years!), Black Girl Dangerous (this site publishes outstanding writing by QPOC (queer people of color) that I'm very grateful for), and Planned Parenthood (because, Planned Parenthood).

* I rounded up the origin stories of 21 small presses for Lit Hub last month.

* My friend Katie Shepard is launching a new podcast called our unwritten books. They had me on as a guest, and are having a launch party this Thursday at McNally Jackson's Picture Room.

* Get ready for Emily's December bowtie count down to the new year! She wears a different bowtie every day this month for the fun hell of it. You can follow along on Instagram @corpuslibris.

* If you love a good calendar, may I recommend this aesthetically pleasing one from Dozi? I looked forward to each new month's artwork throughout the year.

* Holiday cards: I wanna spend a little time sans screen, avec pen this December and would love to send some cards. Send me your snail mail address by December 7th and I'll pop a card in the mail for you!

* Y'know the new Adele single? This cracks me up every time.