How to Succeed in Writing Without Really Knowing What You’re Doing

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Daniel Radcliffe and John Larroquette in How to Succeed on Broadway. Image courtesy LA Times.

Was that title pun a stretch? Probably. Anyway…

 

This past summer, I did a lot of nothing, to be honest. I decided at the beginning of the year that I would quit my retail job at the end of July, but I probably would have quit anyway since my availability was wide open and I got no hours. So I worked a little bit, did some freelancing, and – oh yeah. I wrote a book.

Let me say that again, with proper emphasis: I wrote a book!!! My first book ever. Granted, it’s only a novella, but I’m pretty proud that I was able to commit myself to writing 600 words a day, five days a week, to total my 30,000-odd words by the end of the summer. The best part about it was that I got to write about theatre. I got to create characters that get to audition for big shows and I got to study Sondheim as part of my research. Pinch me. If only I had a publishing deal and a big advance to go with it.

But here’s the thing – as I’ve mentioned before, as much as I love absorbing theatre, I’m not an actor. And I wrote about actors. I wrote about struggling actors and the audition process and I made up theatre monarchies that probably don’t actually exist to further the plot of my story. I’m trying to market this book to actors who probably know a lot more than I do. Yikes. 

Right now, I feel like I’m sitting at the kids’ table, ignoring my mashed potatoes and opting to eavesdrop on the adults’ way-more-interesting wine-fuelled conversation instead. How do I graduate to being able to squeeze my little plastic chair in at the big table? Will I know what to say when I get there? Or will I just make a fool of myself?

One day, a few years ago, my mom gave me a piece of advice when I really didn’t want to go to work (that same retail job, in fact). She told me to “fake it ’til you make it.” She told me to just keep smiling and eventually I’ll feel happy. So I’m taking this same approach with my book: I’m just going to keep faking confidence, and maybe eventually I’ll feel confident.

And hey, if someone tells me I have inaccuracies in my book, I’ll tell ’em it’s fiction: maybe it’s an alternate universe of New York. 

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