You’re writing. And it’s going along fine. And then what happens? You ask yourself: Is this even good? Or is it crap?
All of a sudden, you’re not in the story, you’re outside looking in, and you’re wondering, what are people going to think? Will they love it? Will it sell? Will anyone read this? Will people laugh at me?
Your Monster Me has shown up.
You are no longer a servant to the story, or leader for the reader. You are the WRITER. And your ego is all that you can hear right now.
This happens onstage too. When you’re speaking or acting. Nervousness is all about the fear of being judged. Will they like this? Is this good? Does this pose show off my best side?
And it interferes with our ability or willingness to make videos. My hair is no good. I look old… or fat… or peaked.
All of a sudden, you care less about your audience and more about what your audience might think or say about you.
Your Monster Me has invaded your brain and removed the writer, performer, dancer, speaker, artist who cares only about the audience and their experience, for their sake. Your Monster Me thinks about MMEEEEE.
Do they like me?
Am I good?
Am I pretty?
Am I great?
People always ask me how to get over block, get unstuck, remove doubt from their work. More often than not, they don’t want to admit their Monster Me is driving the bus. And whenever that monster is at the wheel, the work will suffer. That bus will grind to a halt, or go way off track.
People say to be “authentic.” Be “yourself.” There are many ways to be yourself. Which self do they mean? Any offering of art for an audience – a book, a play, a song, a stand up routine, a video, or a speech on a stage – needs the self that is usually buried in polite company. The self minus the Monster Me. The self who is devoted to the experience of the user. The self who is in service throughout the performance.
For a writer, the “performance” can last a year of more, whenever you sit down to write. There will definitely be times when your Monster Me shows up and ruins a writing session or a huge section of copy. It is dispiriting – to say the least. And in order to spot that glaring gaffe, you need again to chase away that Monster Me long enough to read your work and determine if it remains true to the mission it is there to serve – the reader, listener, singer or audience member.