Call it an invictus.
An invictus, in case you were wondering, is a Latin word meaning “unconquerable.” When I use it, I’m referencing the daring, courage-in-the-teeth-of-fate poem written by William Ernest Henley. (It’s worth a read!)
My invictus came at the top of the steps at the Book Festival. I had just been to a workshop in which anxious authors-to-be plied several of Those Who Have Made It with questions about how to get their start.
As per usual, (I’ve been to a few of these talks before and read articles following the same bent) we got to the incredibly disheartening odds stacked up against us new, innocent little storytellers with our arms full of dreams and knees that knock at advice of every “expert.”
Truly, it is a jungle out there, and everyone will tell you something different as far as what your plan of attack should be. The wise ones know that it will vary for every person. But what all of them will tell you is that it’s very hard to become a bestselling author and that the system is brazenly rigged. Sorry. It’s a cruel world out there, and there are apparently a lot of big fish with a taste for storyteller, the fresher the better.
So as we wrapped up the typical Ghost of Back When I Was Poor and Insignificant Like You reveries, the authors gave us a few last words of advice, and one piece kept coming up and made me pause. The authors and publishing company representative who were there urged us all to figure out what we were in it for. What do we want from the enormous, vague idea that is Publication?
That, too, will be different for every one of us.
After we’d said our goodbyes, I wandered away, deep in thought, and found myself a spot overlooking the first floor of the festival. I love seeing all the action from a comfortable nest high above it, and it’s a good place to think. That last question had really sunk its teeth into my mind and heart.
The answer rose from deep inside me, a forceful voice which had always been there and which, once noticed, did not need to be summoned for it to present itself. It was like those rare times when you’re writing and the story just wells up inside you, when letting it out is as impossible to refuse as birth.
I scrambled to get out my phone and make note of what I thought and felt, for though the conviction was powerful, I wanted to remember this moment and have a record to revisit when I needed it. This is what I wrote:
“My dream is to become a published author, and I will. I don’t care about the money. I want readers; I want to converse and have them love my characters. Not me, my characters. I want to make a change. I want to be world famous – correction: I want my stories and their characters, more importantly, to be.”
That’s it. That’s what I wrote that day. But the idea was so deeply rooted inside me that it grew up until it became a dream so powerful that I don’t care what comes my way, I don’t care who stands between me and my goals, I mean to become the author I believe I was born to be or destroy myself in the attempt. It should be a fantastic ride.
It takes daring to dream something that big, and even more so to commit to it when you have no guarantee and a very low possibility of success. Though I’ve always been pretty firm in my beliefs and opinions, I’m new to being brave when life calls upon me to step out of safety and dare the winds of fate.
The questions which plague me are probably ones which you’ve heard in the depths of your own heart before: What if I’m not meant to do this? What if I never make it? How can I possibly accomplish what I’m dreaming of? How badly will it hurt to try and fail? What if I spend my whole life at this and it all comes to nothing?
You’ve got an invictus when the answer to those questions isn’t, “But the bad things won’t happen!” with bravery forced into your voice. It’s when you glance up and down those odds and give them a sincere, “I don’t care!”
Sometimes, dreams can be pursued even with these questions still echoing within. But then there are other dreams, ones which leave it all behind, ones which declare, “Yes, I could fail. Yes, I could be wasting my life at this. Yes, I could be a fraud and a fool. But I don’t care. I’m going to try it anyway because this feels like why I’m alive.” It’s not a dream you spend your life trying to keep afloat; it’s one on which you will continue to ride even as it goes down.
Gina Fiametta
It’s not a dream you spend your life trying to keep afloat; it’s one on which you will continue to ride even as it goes down.
To be clear, I’m not trying to insult any of the authors who graciously agreed to speak with us that day. In general, they’re all just like us, still feeling like the little starry-eyed dreamer who was told they never make it; it’s just that now they’ve made it, and often aren’t sure how.
I’m sick and tired of being told how unlikely it is that anything will come of this dream of ours. Guys, I’m with Han Solo on this one: “Never tell me the odds!” Seriously, don’t. I’m going to do this until either something comes of it or I fall over dead (not to be morbid), whichever comes first.
There is something to be said for preparing for the long road ahead, but then there is weighing yourself down with odds that, in the end, aren’t really more than a bunch of numbers. Whether you’ll make it or not isn’t written in the stars, nor is it printed on a sheet of paper in someone’s office. It’s emblazoned on your courage and pressed against your soul. It’s in the hands of God and everything you sacrifice to get there.
The strongest dreams aren’t the ones you’d give anything to protect. They’re the ones for which you’d tie yourself to the mast and dare destiny to sink you both, and truly be at peace with any fate.
That’s why I call it an invictus.
