The Humiliating Audacity of Having a Dream

Rolf & Daughters is a small restaurant with tiny tables that book weeks in advance, and since Patrick and I were too lazy to make a reservation, we grabbed two seats at the bar. It was 2016. At the time we had no children. (We were footloose! Fancy free!) That night, Patrick and I struck up a conversation with the couple seated next to us. I can’t remember much about them, now. Maybe they were on vacation. Maybe they were colleagues in town for a meeting. But I do remember this — when they asked what we did for work, I told them Patrick worked in real estate. Then Patrick squeezed my hand, and with a bright smile, said, “Claire is working on a novel.”

I crumbled where I sat. No. I smiled. But inside, I was absolutely mortified.

“Oh my God, never say that ever again,” I told Patrick on the way home. “It’s humiliating.”

“What’s humiliating about writing?” he asked me.

I just looked out the window at the city passing us by.

No one told me how humiliating it would be to openly admit I had a dream. I worried people would think my writing ambition was cute at best, or pitiable at worst. It seemed much easier to have dreams when I was younger and the years ahead stretched out before me like a road of endless possibility. But as a 28-year old woman, I was beginning to feel aimless. When Patrick told these strangers I was working on a novel, I heard a little gremlin on my shoulder whisper, “you’re wasting your time.”

Almost ten years have passed since that night at the Rolf & Daughters. I published the hypothetical novel. It did well. Now, when we’re at a bar, Patrick doesn’t say “she’s writing a novel,” he says, “she’s a novelist.”

As if there’s a difference, the gremlin says.

These days, life is full of all the normal things: children, errands, bills, laundry, a car with a busted side mirror. A mortgage. A basement full of six inches of water. We rarely eat out at fancy restaurants. But despite the time that has passed, it’s still hard to admit my not-so-secret dream.

I ran into someone at the grocery store the other day. She was checking out, buying a case of sparkling water, raw chicken, a bag of grapes.

“Are you still writing?” she asked me.

“I am,” I say. I swallow down the fear and plaster on a smile. I published one book, and still, this question brings on a tsunami of doubt. It’s been six years since my debut novel was published.

You’d be better off bagging groceries, the gremlin says.

Growing up, my favorite movie was the 1985 classic, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. In the opening scene, Army brat Janey (played by Sarah Jessica Parker) has just arrived to her new Catholic school in Chicago, and when the teacher asks her to introduce herself to the class, Janey stands at the blackboard, awkwardly bouncing on her toes, searching for something interesting to offer. Here’s what she says:

This is pretty embarrassing. I guess I’m pretty boring.

Let’s see, what I like to do?...

I like listening to the music. I like doing gymnastics. And I love to dance.

Army bases are pretty dead, unless you are in the Army. So I always had a lot of time to daydream... And my daydream was always the same: That some day I was gonna get to Chicago. Because that’s where they make Dance TV.

My sisters and I watched this movie over and over again on repeat. Was it the music? Was it Sarah Jessica’s Parker’s acting or her best friend, played by Helen Hunt? I don’t think so. I think it was this opening scene. There is nothing more humiliating (or more endearing) than when a person admits their secret dreams out loud. And by the end of the movie — you guessed it — there is Janey, spinning and twirling on Dance TV.

Most of the time, I don’t feel as brave as Janey. Life is not a movie. And a montage of effort set against a great soundtrack doesn’t always result in victory. (Especially not in publishing.) But in the last few weeks, I’ve been taking steps toward the finish line. (Remember when I said I was finished? Now, I think I really am.) And this past week, I was thrilled to return Sirenland, a writer’s workshop in Positano, Italy, where once again, I stood in front of a room full of my peers and admitted this true thing about myself.

“Hi, I’m Claire. And I’m writing a novel.”

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Recent Favorites

Read — Hot Air by Marcy Dermansky. I’m about halfway through this rollicking, hilarious, and unsettling novel by Marcy Dermansky, who has quickly become one of my favorite writers. Her books are weird, quirky, and propulsive, and I always trust her to take me on an entertaining and illuminating ride. (This particular story features a hot air balloon crash, and a chance encounter between two couples that changes their lives forever.) Fans of Kevin Wilson will love everything by Marcy Dermansky.

Purchase — Just bought the rubber Birkenstocks for my kiddos for their Easter baskets. (I never know what to put in Easter baskets! Any tips?

Watch — Paradise (HULU). James Marsden and Sterling K. Brown star in this high-wire murder-mystery set in the most mysterious, eerie setting. Must watch!

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Coming Up! (I’m teaching a class!)

Have you purchased your tickets for The Porch annual fundraiser May 2nd? Set in the beautiful surroundings of Juniper Green at The Old School Farm, this special evening will feature an engaging conversation between two hometown literary luminaries and bestselling authors, Margaret Renkl and Mary Laura Philpott. GET YOUR TICKETS HERE!

And speaking of The Porch… I will be leading a one-day workshop on May 17th, called Publishing 101 For Fiction Writers. This 3-hour workshop focuses exclusively on the needs of fiction writers looking to find an agent and take the next steps toward traditional publishing. You’ll leave this workshop with: (1) A polished query letter, ready to catch an agent's eye, (2) A compelling elevator pitch for your novel, along with practice delivering it, and (3) A personalized spreadsheet to track your agent submissions and responses. There will also be time for a Q&A to address your specific questions.