“Because your skill isn’t up to your aspirations yet.”
… is pretty much the end of that quote. Happy Sunday, reader. I hope you’re having a slow morning and I’ve successfully clickbaited you. It’s worth it, I promise.
This quote is from Brandon Sanderson. I just finished watching his intro lecture for the creative writing class he teaches at BYU.
I’ve watched his lectures many times. Not only are they helpful, but they are also quite motivating. Plus, he’s just a really wholesome man, I find. I often pick out little things I wouldn’t have thought twice about previously. And that’s what happened to me this morning.
About the ugly babies
He’s talking about envisioning the novel you want to write. Your baby. You spend hundreds of hours on it and imagine it to be gorgeous and beautiful. It’s your baby, after all.
But he warns that your firstborn (or maybe the first few) might be ugly once they’re here. That’s because you have all of these aspirations, but the skill isn’t there to match. Yet.
And for me, it’s a great reminder to keep going. I don’t know; maybe I’m an easy Kool-Aid drinker. But I think he’s right. Maybe this first book I write will be an ugly baby. It’s more than likely, actually, that I’m making an ugly baby. But my aspiration-to-skill ratio isn’t going to improve by doing nothing aside from worrying I’m making a hag.
I’ve got to make a few ugly babies (am I losing you here on the “ugly baby” imagery yet? I’m laughing as it becomes increasingly mean-sounding out of context) to get where I want to be in life. And it’s intimidating!
I also thought about how it might apply to you, reader.
What were your past ugly babies, and how did they help you refine your skills? What kinds of ugly babies are you anxious about making now?
I can think of a few examples from friends. I have been a proud, loving aunt throughout many ugly baby phases.
My friend Janine is a talented photographer who runs a very successful business. I’m sure when she started out a decade ago, she had a few uggos on the hard drive.
My friend Amélie is a super strong and passionate runner, but I’m sure she’s had tough runs along the way. Those struggle days count as her ugly babies.
One of my siblings is a professional baker, and they’ve probably made a few ugly babies throughout their schooling or early days at the bakery to get where they are now.
And hey. What is this lesson, really? “Practice makes perfect!” and “Keep trying!” but re-packaged with funnier imagery? Kind of. Sanderson certainly isn’t reinventing the wheel here.
But I think the differentiator, for me at least, is that I want to keep reminding myself that these drafts, first tries, and practice sessions are still, indeed, my babies. They’re precious. Close to my heart. My most deeply rooted love turned into a realized thing. This isn’t about burning through a few ideas for a get-rich-quick scheme, a side hustle, or a group project at school that I couldn’t care about. It’s more personal. And that’s why it’s scary.
So I thought you might also want this reminder before heading into a new week. The baby you’re making might come out ugly because your skills haven’t yet matched your aspirations.
You’ve thought so hard about something and have envisioned it to be this beautiful, alluring, flawless thing. You were so sure that’s how the world would see it, too. But it doesn’t often end up like that on the first few tries. And that, my friend, is okay. It’s part of the process.
And for what it’s worth, I think ugly babies are still really cute. Keep makin’ ‘em.
My first book was definitely an ugly baby. I put a lot of time into it, I made writing it a big part of my identity, and I wrote it very much in public, posting about it on Insta and Twitter all the time.
It was very bad.
And all the books that came after were too. The one I just published is probably still at least *a little* bit bad, but I was happy to share that one with the world.
They've all taught me things, though — like how utterly stupid it is to hop back and forth between POV characters when writing a first draft — so I don't blame them too much. They're kinda like estranged children. I still love them, even if they don't show up around Christmas time.