Be a Ballerina
Listen here. Writers are ballerinas. Period. I was at the MLA (Modern Language Association) annual conference in Philadelphia this weekend, and I saw my college advisor and mentor. We went out to lunch and I very clumsily led us to the Reading Terminal Market across the street from the hotel. A man held the door open for us, asked if we were going to lunch, wished us well, and asked to come with us (so we could pay for him); as I processed his question-compliment combo, I wandered across the street and nearly got hit by a car without batting an eye and finally strode into the market while dodging around patrons who were exiting through the same door I was trying to enter— because I was coming in through the exit. My goodness. What a 30 second adventure. But my mentor was just following behind laughing and he said, “I forgot how quickly you pivot.”
I had no idea what he meant. I consider pivoting to be a graceful act and, though I kept moving forward, I wouldn’t call what I had just done “graceful.” He doubled down: “Yeah, when you see that something doesn’t serve you, you pivot and change course.” So I played back the scenario and watched myself from above. I turned from the solicitor, crossed the street (and kept crossing despite the car— do NOT do this) and went in through the closest door, turning sideways to avoid the outgoing patrons).
You don’t have to turn “away” to pivot. You just need to change the angle of your approach and keep moving.
As a writer approaching the publication of my first book, the ink of my words feels heavy. Permanent. The cover is done. The narrators are chosen and doing their thing. They have the manuscript. And then I decided to change Cassie’s last name because “Charleston” isn’t Haitian. Transparently, my editor told me this months ago, but I was too in love with her name as it was and with the “Charlesian Romance” series tag. So I left it and claimed authorial privilege. Mkay, girl. Well, about a week ago, I woke up and realized that I can’t represent a culture of which i’m not a part and decide to tack on whatever last name I please without a legitimate reason (that did not exist). So I changed her last name to Petit-Charles. And I asked the production company if that was okay; it was January 3rd, so I knew the voice actors would be starting soon if they hadn’t already. The company rep told me that the actors had already started and that she could ask but 1) it might not be possible and 2) that kind of change could cost me money and delay the projected delivery date.
Keep moving forward.
Just like when I stepped off the sidewalk while trying to process the solicitor’s words, I had allowed overindulgence in my inner world to put me in front of a moving machine that I did not control. I signed a contract. I delivered the manuscript and said I was done with it. I stubbornly refused to change Cassie’s name from October!
Moving through wrong is the only way to get right.
The sidewalk behind me and the sidewalk before me were equidistant by the time I even noticed the car. There wasn’t anything to be gained from waving a frantic apology and backtracking.
You can apologize and move forward at the same time.
So I asked the kind company rep to go ahead and see if the change was possible, despite the inconveniences it could cause. My decision, my consequence. The change was confirmed in a day.
The fact is, I really struggled with whether to email her and request the change, but I’d messed up and it wasn’t acceptable for me to stay in my head mulling it over. Writers, the weight of representation is heavy and creativity isn’t always a frenzy. Sometimes, it’s the slow act of decreasing self. Becoming smaller to slip through the door and make room for the people who have the right to walk through upright and standing straight.
Allow the people you write about to take up all their space and twirl your world around them as artfully as you can. When you stumble, stumble persistently forward.
Dr. Ernest Gibson aka “the mentor” and me at the MLA 2023 Conference (post-pivot object lesson)