The Bridge Experiment -The Novel Version

Are you familiar with the old bridge experiment? Where people walked across a super tall or rickety bridge and halfway across were met by a potential romantic partner? Was the pounding in their chest the rush of excitement or the beat of anxiety?

Writing a novel has become my bridge experiment. Every step of the way I’ve needed to convince myself that I’m feeling excitement not panic or overwhelming anxiety. Sometimes I succeed better than others. 

First you have to allow people to read what you write while you’re hopeful they’ll love it. Generally, you discover that even if they love the idea early drafts could always be improved on. 

Eventually you’re able to take the harshest critiques or beta feedback on a novel with the intention they are given as help for you to improve your book. Each time, no matter who the person is, or how nice they say my book has problems, it takes me hours or a day or two to process everything they say in the right frame of mind to move forward and either make the changes as or decide they didn’t understand what I was saying and to clarify instead of rewriting a character out or whatever. 

Why did I think that even the decision to self-publish, would be an easy bridge to cross? Each step, from feeling good about the book title, choosing a cover designer, deciding on the best cover for my book, to asking for advice, have all been anxiety producing. When I finished the first draft I celebrated with writing “the end.” 

Yet, after finishing the last edits, after so many, many critiques and edits, I felt emotionally paralyzed unable to send the manuscript off to the interior designer. Why was I afraid to send the damn document, all 101,000 words to someone who would dress it up and prepare SS2040 for their big day. I had to tell several people to kick me in the butt to just send it. And after I did, I felt relieved. But I’ve relied on my friends, neighbors, and writing buddies to get me over the finish line time and again. 

I feel the same way about sharing the cover design, or most anything about my novel on social media. I have a difficult time sharing anything on FB, Instagram, and Bluesky. I force myself to share pictures of happy times with the kids and my dog Lucy, because I know people need to know I’m still alive and happy. 

I’m clear, that this isn’t excitement its full-on anxiety. I considered not publishing my novel, after years, over decade, of learning how to write well, simply because of the emotional toll of doing so. But I know this is part of learning a new skill, in this case publishing a novel, and I must force myself out of my comfort zone and do it. I don’t know if I’ll ever publish another novel, though I have plans to write sequels and prequels.

My first impulse is always to share what I’ve done or others said with my friends and neighbors. Occasionally their feedback helps me get back to work quickly. Other times, I wallow in indecision for days, weeks and months. That is truly why this last book has taken so long to finish. 

I’m sharing my feelings, hoping others who might share them, will keep going too. There are no guarantees I’ll ever recoup financially what I’ve spent learning to write the two books I haven’t published, let alone the cost of publishing this one. However, I know writing has given me a sense of purpose for the last decade and I’ve thrived because it. I wouldn’t be as physically and emotionally healthy as I am now, without the perseverance to keep going, keep writing, keep learning, and keep loving what I’m doing, even when making the difficult bridge crossings.