Woman on the Edge

"Write drunk, edit sober." - Ernest Hemingway

I wonder if I should down a cocktail before diving into a chapter to unclench my fingers and loosen my brain.

Writing this book has been harder than I thought.

I’ve been writing since I could hold a crayon. I majored in English. I’ve published articles. Written blogs. Crafted all the content for my website. Writing has come easily.

Until now. This is different. This is new. I haven’t created this way before.

It’s exhilarating. And utterly terrifying. Most days I can’t tell the difference between those feelings, as they both manifest as a clenched stomach and desire to run into the hills.

“You had a determination to challenge yourself with hard things,” said my mother, when I asked her if scaring myself with the unknown was a pattern.

When I was ten, I finally screwed up the courage to learn how to ride a bike. I watched my younger siblings jump onto bikes without training wheels and zip around the neighborhood. I was jealous and, feeling superior, knew that I could learn the skill faster and better. That launched a process of smugly mounting the bike, falling, and screaming. At the bike, at myself, at a Universe that would allow me to fail. Then I’d return, wipe away the tears, and try it again.

Because humans learn things, I learned how to ride the #$%^ bike. But it was messy. And I think my mother still has bruises.

“You challenged yourself," said Mom. "I’d watch you climb the ladder of the big slide at the park. You’d get all the way to the top and then decide you couldn’t do it. Then you’d inch back down, pissing off the kids behind you. But you did this over and over until finally you made it down the slide.”

Note – I’m still scared of heights. But I keep facing the fear.

“Play wasn’t random for you,” my mom continued. “There was a purpose and a plan. You had goals at the park. Your Barbies had jobs.”

Having a plan is good. Having purpose – even better. But play is all about the random. It’s about holding things lightly, experimenting and testing. And failing and learning and trying something new.

My editor, a patient and generous woman, keeps telling me we’re in draft zero. Just get the thoughts on the page.

“You’re creating something that’s never existed. No one has your unique voice, perspective, and experience. There is no set path.”

I’ll say it again. Writing a book is messy. It took me a while to find my way into and out of a recent chapter. I avoided, I cried, I screamed. As ideas rolled into insights, and research opened new paths, I kept deviating from my outline. Leaning closer to chaos and away from order.

My editor assured me this is right. “You’re connecting dots only you can connect. You’re linking ideas in ways you haven’t before. Of course you’ll outgrow your outline.”

But the outline represented safety and structure. As a child, I told my beleaguered mother that someday I’d have matching furniture. My Scarlet O’Hara moment – “I’ll never be unmatched again!” Things in their place. Order.

"Chaos is the soul of creation. It plows the ground of intuition. Without chaos, nothing will grow." - Michele Cassou, painter, author, teacher

As an author, I’m playing with the chaordic edge. Figuring out how close I can get to chaos without flinging my bike or losing my marbles. Finding the balance and getting into flow.

It’s going to be messy. And require playfulness. Or at least enough cocktails to unleash my inner child.

Tina is writing her first book about how to invest in leaders at all levels. She's bringing her humor, practicality, and reality-tested wisdom to the messy process of creation. Subscribe to this newsletter for more updates. Learn more about unleashing your inner child, finding your flow, and unlocking your purpose at her WorkJoy website .