On belonging and rejection

The universe decided to test my confidence and intuition this past week.

I attended a workshop on how to write non-fiction book proposals. I'd been eyeing it up for months, patiently waiting until I felt ready to get the manuscript for my own memoir about my journey with k-nk and s-x, out into the world. I hit 55k words this month, with hopefully only about 25-30k words left to write in the next couple of months, so the timing felt great.

I was raring to go.

Part of the workshop was great and informative. And the other half, run by a posh junior agent? Well, it made me feel like I was conceited for thinking publishers would be interested in my story.

Did the agent say those actual words? No. But his choice of words, his lacklustre questions, and his condescending tone, made his position very clear.

In the past, this would have sent me into a month-long shame spiral about my worth and my capabilities. At the same time, I would have also questioned whether I'd imagined his attitude. Maybe I'd made it all up, somehow. Maybe I was the problem.

Does this train of thought sound familiar?

The silver lining to having this experience at this stage in my life, after all the healing I have done, is that I am too in tune with myself to ignore my own intuition. 

I did not make my experience up. I know what it's like to give and receive fair but encouraging feedback. I know how to validate people's experiences and give people fair hope about their work. I got none of that. And I deserved much better.

In the past, I would have also kept my pain to myself. This time, I shared the experience with one of my writing communities, and it helped me cement what I already knew to be true, but what felt all too easy to forget after that disappointing interaction with one of the gatekeepers of the book publishing industry:

My story is worth telling. My story is important. I am writing this book because I want other people like me, who feel like their experience of sex and romance is doomed, or that there's something wrong with them, to know that they are not broken, that they can find their place in the world, and that they can also experience a world of joy and pleasure beyond what they hoped.

So in the end, instead of discouraging me, my experience of this workshop has lit a fire under me about being my most authentic self as a writer, in all my neurospicy, queer glory, AND about supporting other creatives to be their most authentic selves.

In a world that's falling prey to fear-mongering, judgement, fucked up conservative values, we need stories from neurodivergent, queer, s-x positive voices. We need more late coming-of-age stories.

We need more truth, more authenticity, and more unapologetic art.

Go and make yours!

With love and big feelings, always,

Laurie xx