When It's Time To Swim Away From The Shore

I’ve never been what you would call a strong swimmer. When it comes to bodies of water, large and small, I’m more of what you would call a potential drowning victim. Maybe that’s why a scene from the movie Gattaca has always stuck with me.

Do you remember that movie? Uma Thurman, Ethan Hawke…came out in the late 90’s… No?

Well, let me just tell you about the scene I’m thinking of then. There’s these two brothers. And like most brothers, they’re very competitive. For example, they like to play “chicken” and see who can swim the furthest out to sea. The first one to turn around and head back for shore loses. As you can imagine, the weaker of the two brothers always loses.

Until one day he doesn’t.

One day he finally outlasts his stronger brother and wins. Of course, the stronger brother can’t believe it and wants to know how he did it. The answer? This time the weaker brother didn’t save anything for the swim back to shore. 

Side note, I haven’t seen this movie in close to twenty years, so I may not recall it exactly as it happened. But you get the gist. 

When I first started dabbling in the waters of novel writing, I made sure I could always swim back to shore. Other than my family and a couple friends, I didn’t tell anybody I sat at home writing stories on my days off. Occasionally I wondered what it would be like to wade a little further out, maybe show some of my writing to more people, but then…well, that was a little too far out of my comfort zone. I wanted to be able to make it back to shore before I put myself out there and, you know, drowned. 

Then around a year and a half ago, I read about a contest. An author whose blog I followed said she entered a contest through the American Christian Fiction Writers organization when she was unpublished, did well in it, and drew the attention of an agent because of it. She also said it was a great (and inexpensive) way for less experienced writers to get unbiased feedback on their writing. 

Huh. The contest was completely anonymous. Nobody would know I was the one who wrote my entry. I wouldn’t even have to tell people I entered. In other words, the shoreline would be within swimming distance should I flounder amongst the waves. 

So, after receiving some encouragement from my brother to give it a shot, I entered. What did I have to lose—other than the thirty dollar entrance fee? While I awaited the results, I went on writing more stories, still splashing around in the surf. After a few months went by, I noticed a voicemail on my phone one night. I listened to the message, then ran into the kitchen and stared at my husband.

“I can’t believe it. My entry made it into the semi-finals.” 

I honestly couldn’t believe it. Just the day before, I’d read an article about how authors should never write a scene where their characters sit around a table, drinking coffee and talking, because that’s so incredibly boring. 

Well, guess what my characters were doing throughout my entire contest entry. Exactly. Sitting around a table, drinking coffee and talking. 

But apparently it must not have been too boring. The first round of judges liked it enough to send it to the next round. Wow. What if it made it to the final round? My mind started spinning. What would that mean? 

Would it mean I should go to the ACFW conference in the Fall? Put up a website? Get ready to pitch to agents? Tell people I write novels?

Oh my. Now things were starting to get serious. Too serious.

Maybe it was time to swim back to shore. The waters were getting too deep. What was I even doing here? I’m not a writer. I’m a nurse. 

So when I found out I didn’t make it as a finalist last year, though part of me was disappointed, part of me was relieved. 

I didn’t need to worry about spending money on a conference I didn’t feel ready for. I didn’t need to put up a website I had no idea how to design. Most importantly, I didn’t need to tell anybody anything.

Nope. I could go back to what I felt most comfortable doing—quietly writing stories from the shoreline without the risk of getting any saltwater up my nose from the ocean. 

And I might have been content with that for the rest of my life…except for one thing. 

I’m too much like those brothers in Gattaca. I’m competitive. And I couldn’t stomach watching my fear of failure beat me each time I tried to outrace it. Plus, whenever I wanted to quit and swim back, I could feel God beckoning me further out to sea, saying, “This isn’t as scary as you think it is. Trust me… I’m not going to let you drown.” 

So this year, I entered the contest again. And when I made it into the semi-finals, I told myself there was no swimming back to shore this time. Before the announcement of the finalists was released, I sat down at my computer and registered for my first writers conference. Signed up to meet with agents. Started figuring out what to do about a website.

Then when the finalists were announced, and I learned I was one of them, I took an even deeper breath…and started telling people I write stories.

And guess what.

I haven’t drowned yet. 

P.S. If you’re interested in joining me on this terrifying wonderful adventure in writing, be sure to sign up for my newsletter on my website. I promise you won’t be bombarded with emails because let’s face it, I have very little news to share so far. But someday…I just might.