Success, comfort, and other confusing things.

Sometimes I feel like the Rip Van Winkle of writing.

My first RWA national conference was 20 years ago, 1987 in Dallas. . . and I came away from those tumultuous four days with the distinct impression that everybody in this business knew more about it than I did. I had already published two books, but the newest pre-pubbed members seemed to know more about publishers, contract terms, and editor/agent relations than I did. And that was without mentioning the technical aspects of writing. . . story arcs, conflict, voice, research, scenes and sequels, "beats," and POV. What the hell was "POV?"

Boy, did I have a lot to learn.

This year-- 20 years later-- I came home from Dallas with a Rita and a delirious feeling of accomplishment. Which came crashing down around me like a leaky Macy's parade float the minute I opened my current WIP and realized how much I still have to do to make it presentable. Even so-- I'm still smiling. And for today, I feel like a success. Which is a feeling I intend to hang on to for as long as possible.


Which of course led me to ponder "success" and all it's ramifications. The most immediate of which is this blissful feeling of well-being that makes me want to do NOTHING! I want to sip champagne or Snapple and lounge around in the sun like a lizard. Which may be the karmic reason success never lasts too long for me. . . it wouldn't be good for me. I'd probably never write another word. I have discovered that discomfort is actually productive for me. Go figure.

Okay, I'm not talking buying size 8 1/2 shoes despite the fact that I wear a 9. . . just because they were out of my usual size. . . and then getting blisters. I am talking about the trap of emotional and mental comfort. Being too comfy to move. Or grow. Or create. The Comfort Trap.

I knew for some time that I needed to kick the writing up a notch and get back to the place in me where I really ENJOYED crafting stories and putting ideas on a page.

"The Book of True Desires," which won the Rita, was that book for me. While writing that book, I rediscovered what I truly love about writing. And it was glorious. I couldn't wait to get to the computer each day. I wrote pages and pages without a halt. At the end of the day, I felt totally satisfied. That, I said to myself, was WRITING. And I wanted to feel that passionate, that involved, that creative with every book I write. At the end of that book, I felt energized in a way I hadn't been in years.

That lasted about a month.

Until I started on my next project, and then another, then another. . . none of which seemed to be right somehow. I was comparing them all to the "success" of writing True Desires. Hmm. So I took a risk and decided to do things differently: I got a critique group.

My only real complaint about writing as a career is that it's so isolating. So why didn't I think of this before? I had a process-- big, sprawling, messing, sometimes incoherent, but mine-- and I didn't want anybody messing with it. Having critique partners meant I'd have to listen to them. And maybe change things I wrote. Out of my comfort zone. Clearly. But I was in real need of some productive change and this seemed. . . do-able.

As we get to know each other better and learn how to work together, we're really enriched by each other's ideas and perceptions. And I'm feeling less isolated and I'm forced to actually make pages for my partners to read. Sometimes I struggle with whether or not to take their advice, but I know when they really like something that it's good. It's just enough "discomfort" at the right times to keep me on my toes.

Maybe that's the key to an enduring career. . . challenging yourself to grow beyond your usual. . . never being too comfortable to look for better ways to do things. Because when we get too comfortable, the market will change, the "next new thing" will outpace us, and we'll be in Jurassic Park before we know it. As exhibits.

Now my hairstyle. . . that's a comfort I don't intend to let anybody mess with. Not even in the interest of growth. Oh, yeah, and the clunky Clark's shoes that Rex says make me look like I shouldn't be trusted with scissors. And of course those elastic waist shorts. . .

What about you? What areas of your life does your comfort zone rule? What do you do to keep yourself current and involved? What is your reaction to success? Do you ever get too comfortable for your own good?