Will I Ever Write Again? Surviving My Worst Fears As A Writer

Will I ever write again? Surviving my worst fears as a writer

It was the morning of Thursday, September 20. I was in the train, headed back home to NYC from Maryland, after doing the introduction and in-author conversation at a friend’s book launch the night before. My heart was full for my friend; she had written a brave memoir. And my every cell was pouring with inspiration because of the magical year that 2018 had been.

Exactly 40 days ago, on August 7, I had won the “Voices of the Year” award (previous recipients have been Chelsea Clinton and founders of Women’s March) for my debut U.S. novel “Louisiana Catch”and work with female survivors of violence. A few months prior to that, I was invited at Twitter, NYC to be a part of a discussion about the role of social media in bringing social change. The female protagonist, Ahana, in Louisiana Catch uses social media to raise awareness of violence against women and organize a global, feminist conference. It was like my real world and fictional world had collided and met at a creative cross-section.

None of this fell into my lap. I worked very hard and was published by a small press. A lot of meticulous planning and partnership with my publisher had gone into the book launch. So, after 8-10 hectic months of working nonstop: managing my company, doing the book launch and tour, going to school, and juggling an enriching but demanding personal life, my husband and I took a trip to Central Europe, which we had been planning for years.

We spent three weeks in August hiking, playing tourist, learning about history, visiting museums, and swimming through delicious meals across multiple nations. After we returned from Europe, I headed to India on work in early September and made it back in time for my friend’s book launch. 2018: felt like the year of magic and checking off items on my bucket list.

I felt both grateful for all the good that had happened and also inspired. I wasn’t going to waste time in a moving train. So, I wrote down plans for the upcoming months. I was supposed to resume the book tour for Louisiana Catchby September end. Bookstores and/or book clubs in Boston, Baton Rouge, Chicago, San Francisco, Seattle, and India were on the list of places I was scheduled to travel to. A few book clubs even offered to cook elaborate meals based off the Indian-Cajun culinary theme in Louisiana Catch. I was scheduled to teach webinars to writers and bring creativity and wellness together in a classroom in India at a writing retreat. All these years of hard work had paid off and 2018 was continuing to dole out surprises.

The ticket inspector broke my reverie. After I handed my ticket to him, I dived into a bag of dates my friend had packed for me as snacks. Looking out the train window and munching on to dates, my mind kept going in so many different directions, including the theme of my next novel. What I didn’t know at the time that life was returning the favor and making plans of its own.

All of a sudden, I started to feel unwell. I must have been an hour or 1.5 hours from Penn Station, NYC. I texted my husband—fortunately he was working from home that day—that something was wrong, and I couldn’t explain. We went over what I had eaten. I had eaten only home cooked meals in the past few days—on the day of the book launch, I finished dinner by 5:30 pm. And instead of wine, I drank turmeric latte at my friend’s book launch celebrations because I was jet lagged and exhausted. I had practiced yoga before catching the train to NYC. And after masala chai in the morning, dates were my mid-morning snack. Between healthy meals and workouts, I couldn’t fathom what was causing the uneasiness.

I somehow made it home. But everything went south from there. First, it was fever. Then terrible stomach pain. Then I couldn’t walk or breathe or eat. My husband took me to the ER. The next thing we knew, I was in the ER all night. The only thing I understood was the shock in the doctors’ voices at how unwell I was. Shocked at how none of it made sense given I ate healthy, worked out 6 days a week, practiced/taught 6-8 hours of yoga every week, and was fit. Or at least looked really fit. How could I be so sick?!

When I was in the hospital room alone, I started to make notes on my phone. Writing is how I make sense of the world. Writing is a form of meditation. Writing helps me heal. And I figured that writing about the suddenness and severity of my illness would lessen my trauma. As the wise say, “Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.”

Once I got discharged from the hospital, I continued planning my book tour. There was no reason to believe otherwise. The doctors thought I would be okay after two weeks of antibiotics. But life is the biggest leveler. Slowly, my health started to deteriorate. As the doctors ran tests and MRIs and scans, my body turned frailer by the day. I couldn’t eat or sleep or get out of the house. Needless to say, my yoga and meditation practice suffered. I turned to my notebook, books, and laptop but I was too weak and in too much pain to write or read. Between the pain and the medication, my eyesight became weak.

No matter how many books you write or awards you win, most of us creative professionals suffer from FOMO — the fear of missing out. I missed out on every literary event, readings, literary festival, book launches etc. I missed writing. And people making suggestions, “Now that you are home, work on your next novel,” didn’t help either. I fought with myself; how did I manage to write a collection of poems, Saris and a Single Malt, inside of a week after my mom died? How could I not write now that I was in pain all over again? What did this break mean? Could I even call myself a writer if I wasn’t writing?

I didn’t know where to look for answers. One day, running between doctor appointments, swimming through unknown waters, and feeling agonized with status quo, an extremely well-mannered and pleasant Uber driver greeted me. Out of nowhere, he told me that he was in Kolkata, India recently. For those of you who don’t know—Kolkata is the land of quintessential Indian desserts, and I have a massive sweet tooth.

The driver was Bangladeshi, so I couldn’t resist wanting to know more about his story—how come India? He said that he was in Kolkata for one month, caring for a sick family member. But he actually took six months off from work and moved to Bangladesh for this person. Things eventually got better, and he returned to the United States. When I asked him if the break was scary…he said that he got back to driving Uber and he is still one of Uber’s highly recommended drivers.

I learned from him that a break does not necessarily mean an end; it can mean a pause. Also, emotional pain, though still hurtful, can lead to some incredible creative bursts—they first hurt but eventually heal. But that’s not true for debilitating physical pain. You can’t focus on writing when you can barely breathe.

After months of probing, prodding, and everything excruciating, we found out that I needed surgery. I will spare you the details of what happened to me. But what I will share is that my surgery ended up being complicated, which means this is the 5^thmonth of being home and the recovery will take longer than expected. I have run out of things to watch on Netflix and YouTube.

Last night, over dinner, my husband asked why I wasn’t writing again now that I believed I had the mental strength to get back to it. I said to him, “I don’t know if I can ever write.” Every year, I make a list of writing goals and diligently meet them too. But by fall of 2018, I found myself feeling uninspired—an alien feeling for me. In my entire life, I have never been out of ideas—I have written and traditionally published 12 books in 9 years. He looked at me, “Why don’t you practice what you teach your students and clients? Sit with your laptop and wait for the words. Repeat every day until words happen. This isn’t about a ‘dry spell’ as much as it is about inertia.”

Honestly, I am not always receptive to spousal feedback on my creative process 🙂 But…something about my husband’s suggestions stayed with me. I saw the sincerity in his eyes. And I had no better ideas to get out of my funk. While meditating last night, I went back to my yoga teachings; they reiterate that if we can’t control our situation, we need to adjust our attitude. Yes, my life is not where I’d like for it to be. But the universe has been kind and I am alive. “Louisiana Catch” was a success, and I couldn’t be more grateful for all the love it’s received, including a Pushcart Prize nomination.

This morning, by 8:30 am, I sat with my laptop in my lap, determined to write. No new ideas for a novel or poetry book trickled down. Of course, I checked Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, LinkedIn, WhatsApp and some YouTube work out videos and funky recipes for when I can cook epic things again. A friend or two called, and I let the conversation go on for long. There were other distractions too, including a nap. But, somehow, I kept returning to this essay. Instead of my usual two hours, it’s taken me an entire day to write it. But it’s now complete. I managed to break my shackles of fear “Will I Ever Write?”

I know that I am not alone—in that, so many of us have been tested and endured times when writing feels furthest from us. The fears and insecurities can make us question our very own identity as a writer. But here is what I’ve learned: No one can help you but you yourself. Don’t expect a masterpiece on day one. But keep at it. When you show up with dedication and devotion, your words do too. The Taj Mahal wasn’t built in a day.

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BIO: Sweta Srivastava Vikram (www.swetavikram.com), featured by Asian Fusion as “one of the most influential Asians of our time,” is a best-selling author of 12 books, five-times Pushcart Prize nominee, coach, holistic wellness entrepreneur, and a certified yoga & Ayurveda counselor who helps people lead creative, productive, and healthier lives. Louisiana Catch (Modern History Press 2018) is her debut U.S. novel. It’s was #1 new release on Amazon under women’s divorce fiction, featured on U.K.’s list of “Books to Read in 2018,” and nominated for the Pushcart Prize.

Sweta won Voices of the Year Award, past recipients of which have been Chelsea Clinton, for her work with Louisiana Catch and her tireless support of women who have experienced sexual assault and abuse. Born in India, Sweta spent her formative years between the Indian Himalayas, North Africa, and the United States collecting and sharing stories. She writes hopeful stories about multiculturalism and women’s issues with a healthy dose of suspense, reflections, wellness, and food. Sweta, whose work has appeared in The New York Times, amongst other publications, across nine countries on three continents, is an award-winning writer and graduate of Columbia University. She lives in New York City with her husband and in her spare time, teaches yoga to female survivors of rape and domestic violence.

Web: http://www.swetavikram.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/Words.By.Sweta

Twitter: http://twitter.com/swetavikram

Ahana, a wealthy thirty-three-year-old New Delhi woman, flees the pain of her mother’s death and her dark past by accepting a huge project in New Orleans, where she’ll coordinate the Annual Women’s Conference to raise awareness around violence against women. Her half-Indian, half-Irish colleague and public relations guru, Rohan Brady, who helps Ahana develop her online presence, offends her prim sensibilities with his raunchy humor. She is convinced that he’s a womanizer.

Meanwhile, she seeks relief from her pain in an online support group, where she makes a good friend: the mercurial Jay Dubois, who is also grieving the loss of his mother. Her work in the U.S. and the online medium brings the two men into her life, and Ahana learns that neither is what he seems. With their differing sensibilities on a collision course, Ahana finds herself in a dangerous situation—and she discovers a side of herself that she never realized she had.

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: Contemporary Women Writers, On Writing