When Dreams Become Work

I'm a dreamer. I've dreamed of greatness since I was able to form discernable thought. When I was really young my dream was to become the next Dolly Parton. Hey, don't laugh. Back then she was better known for her music than her boobs.

I would sit and listen to her for hours on end, my voice blending with hers. I would sit in the tub at bathtime and drive my parents crazy singing my full repertoire of songs that I knew by heart. I'd sing them at the top of my lungs while splashing Barbie's head under the water. Outside the tub I'd hide in my room and grab the nearest microphone resembling object and belt out "Jolene" or "Don't it Make my Brown Eyes Blue" (never mind that my eyes were nowhere near brown to begin with.)

It was after the awkward childvoice stage that my mother decided that I actually had a decent voice. Having grown up in a singing family herself, she decided that I needed to start singing in church. So I did. I sang solo's, duets and choirs. I trembled inside at doing so in front of a crowd and though I had a loyal following consisting mostly of relatives I got to the point where I just couldn't hack it anymore. I stopped singing solos in church when I was 22. In fact, up until my sister's wedding in June, I hadn't sang in public for nearly 4 years. It scared me just as much then as it always had, but more than that, what I hated was the recognition and the pressure to persue singing that followed. The very next Sunday, after my sister's wedding, I was asked if I would mind my name being given to the music minister to sing solos when needed. I respectfully declined. Not a month later I was contacted yet again about leading the children's church choir. This too I respectfully declined.

Do I still sing at every opportune moment? You bet your sweet little butt I do. In the car, on my front porch, while I'm washing dishes or vacuuming. I've got a whole new repertoire. Do I still picture myself on stage as the next big thing? Of course. In my head, I'm bigger than Shania Twain.

So why don't I sing in church or join a band or audition for the next American Idol? The same reason I haven't ever finished a manuscript. That's why.

I hadn't ever thought about my reasons before. I always thought the whole "not wanting to sing in public" thing had more to do with stagefright than anything else. And there's always been the lingering doubt in my mind that perhaps my voice isn't so great. People will lie to you. American Idol auditions have taught us that in spades. I mean, SOMEONE told William Hung he could sing. Otherwise, why would he have put himself through the torture of standing in line to audition knowing he would be laughed out of the audition room? He couldn't possibly have forseen the fact that people would actually get a kick out of his Ricky Martin routine...COULD HE?

And yeah, those things are real issues that lurk in the darkest part of my singer's soul. But something else lurks there as well. Some dark nasty vile thing that takes over my life and hoists me far away from my dreams.

Fear of succeeding.

Why this fear of success you ask? Because success leads to work. Work drives all the fun out of dreams. I've always heard that you have to put your heart into it and really work hard to make your dreams come true. If there's one thing I've learned through my many years of dreaming it's this: The instant something becomes work its no longer any fun...and fun is what drives me.

I don't sing to get attention. I sing for the sheer pleasure of singing. The attention is nice, so long as it's positive and doesn't lead to any further commitment. So why do I dream of being Keith Urban's opening act? Well, loving Keith Urban aside, I dream because it's fun to imagine millions of fans screaming my name and it's a kick to think that I might actually bump Martina McBride out of Female Vocalist of the Year. Not that my voice is anywhere NEAR the calibre of Martina's but you get the idea.

So the whole writing thing...it's the most recent in a long line of dreams and currently right up there with singing as one of the most pleasurable activities and stress reliefs. Writing sooths my soul in a way that only singing has done in the past. It's the surefire (and quieter) way to knock all bad emotions and tense feelings out of my head. For me it's the proactive flipside of reading...just like singing is the proactive flipsided of listening to music.

I write for the sheer pleasure of writing. Creating whole other worlds in my head is like nervana. I can manipulate characters and situations in any way that suits me. If I don't like someone I can kill them off with a few key strokes and not have to worry about the FBI knocking down my door.

But recently inspiration has left me. My muse has left the building people. Why? Well, besides the fact that she's a tempermental creature, she saw the word "work" and fled. Yep. I had been encouraged to try to be published and I realized that being published was something that I wanted. What I didn't anticipate is that I know zilch about writing for publication. All my writer friends talk about polishing, critiquing, wordplay, synopsis, queries, editing...all these things that sound like a big fat headache. Did you know there are rules to writing? The same way I lose interest in an activity that looks like work, I lose interest in reading anything that resembles classwork or homework. And that's exactly what I found myself staring down the barrel of. If I wanted to become a published professional writer I had to learn first how to write.

The words, characters and scenarios that used to slip so easily from my fingers now rest somewhere inside my head refusing to come out.

And then I began to think...Do I want this as badly as my writer friends do? I mean, they eat, breath, live and sleep writing. They struggle through CP's, submissions, rejections, writes and rewrites. They agonize over the amount of pages they write in one day.

Me? I write when the muse strikes. Whether it's a mere paragraph or ten pages, it's all good. And submissions? I haven't even ever completed a full manuscript. What's to submit?

Self doubt is as heavy has the fear of success. It wasn't until I MET these friends that I even thought of myself as a writer at all. Before I always just considered it something that I played at. Am I deluding myself into thinking that I can actually do this? If my first thought upon waking isn't excitement over the possibility of getting more writing done does this mean I'm a fraud?

Do I still want to be published? You bet your ipod, I do.

So what do I do? How do I get past this hurdle that seems to be holding me back? How do I coax the muse out of hiding and tamp down the doubts?

Honestly? I don't know. I do know this: I'm willing to work at it. I'll beg, scream, cry, whine, moan and make promises I can't keep...ANYTHING to get my writer's shoes back on.

You may never hear me singing "She Bangs" to Simon and the gang but hopefully, muse willing, one day you'll see my name on the NYT best seller's list...or at the very least on a bookshelf near you.

Jana