Into the deep
On plunging outside one's comfort zone
Dear friends,
I'm mixing things up a bit and switching from Mailchimp to Substack. No need to do anything but read and enjoy. I think Substack is better suited to conversation and community, and I like those things. In this issue: stepping outside one's comfort zone. First: my return to scuba diving after a two decade-long hiatus, and how diving is much like writing. Second: I'm launching a publishing company with a friend! We are aiming to shake things up in many ways, and we would love your input via a fun survey. (I swear, people have told me it's fun to fill out.) And of course at the end of this newsletter there will be some arty treats.
Last weekend I spent four hours at a refresher class for open water diving. I haven't been diving in 19 years. My older child is 18. Draw your own conclusion. I was nervous about scuba diving in 1999 when I first got certified (in Hawaii! Among sea turtles!), and I'm just as nervous now. Breathing under water feels just as abnormal. And while technology has changed a lot in the past two decades, those tanks of compressed air are just as heavy. The pool I practiced in was the same pool where I first took my open water diving classes, and it looks like they may not have changed the water in twenty years. I encountered some giant floating hairballs the size of Antarctica down at the bottom. I kind of wished I hadn't de-fogged my mask.
Anyhow. I took the plunge. Quite literally. Out of my comfort zone. With a big ker-plop. But it got me thinking about the parallels with writing, especially launching into a new book in a new genre, which is what I'm doing with my writing time. I'm (for now) leaving historical fiction--with its reassuring skeleton of history on which I can hang my story--and writing a novel set in contemporary times (on Cape Cod), where I have to make everything up and I can't avoid writing by claiming to have to do some research. (Well, there is a bit of research, because part of the joy of writing a book, for me, is how much I learn on the way. And how much I then want to share with my readers. Today, for example, I researched how a cesspool works. Doesn't that just make you want to read the book right now? Turns out it's just as icky as you think. I'll leave out the links on this one. But it’s important for the infrastructure of Cape Cod, and the impact of rising ocean levels.)
When diving, I have to think about which of the dangly things is the regulator, which is the air pressure gauge, which is the secondary regulator in case I need to share my air with someone (I'm not going to think about that too much, except of course that we had to practice that eventuality). How much air I should have in my buoyancy jacket at ten feet below the surface versus 20 feet or 50 feet. What to do if someone's fin knocks the mask off my face, or if I get a leg cramp, or if I accidentally find myself in a runaway ascent. (There was a time off the Costa Brava in Spain that happened and my husband yanked me down by my foot just in time for me not to get decapitated by a passing boat. I was completely oblivious to the danger at the time. He and I have different memories of that dive.) There's a lot to sort through in order to get to the point where I can just float around with neutral buoyancy, gently flapping my fins, breathing slowly and regularly, and looking around in awe at the fishies and the coral and other wonders of the under-sea.
Getting into a state of "flow" in writing is pretty much as hard. At least for me. Starting a whole new book feels like this vast open ocean of possibilities, through which I have to navigate character arcs and story arcs, rate of revelation, inciting incidents, ratcheting tension, dialogue, back story, and much more. All without anything to hang onto. No giant hairballs, though, so that’s a plus. So every day brings some discomfort, and yet it feels like that's the point. When writers create characters, we spend a lot of time putting them outside their comfort zone. That's how we create tension in stories. That's what makes them interesting, what makes us feel invested and hopefully makes our readers want to keep reading.
It's what kept me reading Migrations, by Charlotte McConaghy, a truly mesmerizing, atmospheric book in which a young woman carrying heavy secrets embarks on journey to track the last three Arctic terns on the planet as they make their final migration in search of fish. It's heartbreaking and beautiful, and even unexpectedly hopeful—an exquisitely written ode to the natural world. [Arty Treat #1]
Which is a perfect segue for my question to you: would you be so kind as to fill out this survey on reading and book-buying habits? Because here's the other way in which I'm leaping into the unknown at the moment: I'm launching a publishing company, Galiot Press, with Henriette Lazaridis. And we would love your input as readers. And if you leave your email address, you will be entered into a drawing on February 17th, 2023 for a $50 gift certificate to Bookshop.org. The survey has more information, and we’ve also launched the Galiot Press newsletter to document the process of launching a publishing company that aims to re-write author-publisher and author-reader relationships. Thank you!
And Arty Treat #2: On a recent trip to New Orleans, I was lucky enough to discover Glen David Andrews, an amazing singer and trombone player. He's on tour now on the occasion of Mardi Gras, and if you are in the Boston area, you can catch him on Feb 18th at The Porch Southern Fare and Juke Joint. I highly recommend it! He has incredible energy and soul. If you're on Instagram you can check out a bunch of his video clips.
(I don’t want to sign off without acknowledging the disaster in Turkey and Syria. Two local Turkish friends have advised sending donations through Bridge to Türkiye.)
Warm wishes,
Anjali
Thoughts on pushing oneself outside one's comfort zone? Feedback on this new format? Topics you'd like to see here? Please feel free to leave a comment and join the conversation.