We're Not Robots

FOMO on your own inspiration

sunrise walk a few weeks ago

Can we all agree that it’s weird how much we’re supposed to be like robots right now? 

I’m sure there are jobs where it’s useful to pretend to be a robot (assembly line worker, maybe). But as creative book-makers, it doesn’t make any sense. 

It has been a few years now and I’d like us all to come up for air and look around and see what a silly notion this is. How inane it is for us to be told by large corporations that we have to be on their platforms in order to sell our works of art. That, not only do we have to be on the platforms, but we have to post regularly in order to be recognized by the algorithm. That we need to strategize. We need to create the right mix of content. We need to be engaged and constant and creative, yes. Not creative at our desks, necessarily. Creative on the platforms. See how funny other people are being! See how many cool things they’re making for you to see! You should be like that. 

Above all, be productive. Because part of feeding the algorithm is having new content about the books you’re writing.

Um, you are writing those books, aren’t you? The robots want you to write them.

We’ve been told we should be on social media. We’ve been told we have to be on social media. 

We have this Fear of Missing Out because we have seen other people get something from posting on social media. We’ve seen people get agents, book deals, movie deals. We’ve all seen what happens when Colleen Hoover goes viral on TikTok. And even though it probably won’t happen for us, it might. There’s always that promise of maybe with the feed. Maybe your post will go viral. Maybe a celebrity will see your book pitch. Maybe a movie producer will happen upon your enjoyable X thread and will ask you to write the screenplay. And so we keep posting.

Here is the FOMO that I’m worried about, though: what about missing out on your inspiration? What if you have book ideas trying to get through to you, but you don’t notice them, because you’re creating content?

I want you to imagine a line of people. They are in front of you and they are all shouting. Some of them are yelling at you, some of them are just yelling in general. You see something moving behind them, a glimmer of a flash on the ground behind their ankles. What is that? A bird? A snake? It seems like it’s trying to get your attention, but you can’t hear what it’s saying over the noise. IT’S YOUR BOOK IDEA. That fragile glimmer is your inspiration, and you can’t hear it because of all these people shouting. 

Thank you to Canva for letting me put together this ridiculously low-fi version of this metaphor.

So you realize what’s happening and guess what, here’s a cool thing, you can make the people go away by closing whatever app they’re living in. But just like how the desktop computer I had at my first office job in 1994 needed a screensaver of flying stars, the people have been in place so long that there is an afterimage burned onto your eyeballs. You shut the app but you can still hear them. They are still loud. You try to figure out what your inspiration is trying to tell you, and all you can hear is someone who isn’t even there anymore yelling memes and outrage.

Eventually you give in and open the app again, to see how right your brain was about what the people have been yelling in the 7 minutes you’ve been away. 

At this point, it’s hard to stay off, because of all the stuff where you think you have to be on there, and also because it’s a habit. 

I’m not going to blab on about the power of habits. You know it. But it’s fascinating to me how there can be something like writing that I: a) want to do, b) need to do (it’s my job), and c) love to do, and still I don’t do it sometimes. And if I take any time off, usually because I’m doing something else I have to do for my career (or at least I think I have to), it is so hard to go back. If I don’t write for a week, that first day back to the book is painful. If I’m in between books and starting something new, the first day makes me think I lost my ability to write, like I left it under a bench at the bus stop, and now I have to root through lost-and-found bins and still might not get it back.

The key (and I admit this is not easy!) is to know I can do it if I keep doing it. A day can be made of habits. Know you can do it. Keep at it.

We are human, and so we can’t expect ourselves to be able to robotically perform, be robotically productive. AI doesn’t get inspired, but we do. And it’s up to us to figure out how we, as unique creative individuals, are inspired.

For me, it has to happen far from social media, and, increasingly, away from the internet in general. This wasn’t always the case. I have a book coming out in Fall of 2024 that was inspired by something I saw on what was then Twitter! But a lot has changed. Not only is that not happening for me anymore, time spent on social media was making me annoyed, angry, and anxious. Time spent on the internet can be productive, but also sometimes I feel antsy. There’s too much information. And I’d like it to be interesting and inspiring, but most of the time it’s just stuff thrown at my brain, which eventually forms itself into some version of the line of yelling people. 

I am here to tell you that if you put in the time, pay attention to your inspiration, you’ll be able to hear it loud and clear again. 

I am here to tell you that you do not, at all, have to be on social media. I’ve probably sold a book because of my social media posts. Like, one copy of one of my books. (I don’t have the stats on this, but if someone was able to get them and told me that the number of one book is correct, I wouldn’t be surprised.)

I am here to tell you that stepping away from social media can be like giving up Mallomars. You decide it’s not good for you, you stop consuming it, and then, if you’re presented with it again, you take a bite and think, “Oh gross, why did I ever like this?” (No offense to Mallomars, but you get what I mean.) I still do have social media accounts. Honestly, mostly it’s because sometimes I am curious if I should buy a sewing pattern, and looking up the hashtag on Instagram shows me all the real world people who have sewed it already. I post on there every few months. But I don’t scroll anymore. It tastes gross to me.

I know there can be real social connection on social media. But I also know that I was not able to pull apart honest lovely social connections and what the feeds did to my brain.

I wrote a new picture book manuscript recently, and I noticed that after I’d finished maybe the third draft, I had an overwhelming urge to send it to someone. To my critique partners, my agent, my editor. Anyone! And it wasn’t because I had taken it as far as I could and was ready for feedback, it was because I wanted a gold star. I wanted someone to say, “Good for you! Look at what you’re doing!” Plus there is always that hope, like the hope of going viral, that someone will say “This is not only the best thing you’ve ever written, it’s the best thing I’ve ever read, ever.”

Social media pulled me in because it got me addicted to the quick and easy praise of likes, retweets, and comments. I kept going back, like a good robot. What I need, what makes me powerful frankly, is to find that praise within. To take my time, work at a human pace, and give myself the gold star. To look at what I wrote and say, “Ok, this is great. It’s been a minute since you wrote a picture book, and this one is pretty great. And now, make it better.” 

The Map to Inspiration is open for enrollment!

If this week’s essay resonated with you at all, this course is for you. It’s all about figuring out how to reconnect with your own intuition and inspiration, and how to break away from any of the habits in your life that you have unwittingly become entangled with — everything from social media to online games to email to Substack (ahem!) to volunteering at your kid’s school to taking your angry uncle sock shopping — if there are things in your life that you do out of a sense of guilt and obligation, and which leave you feeling icky and bothered when you’re done, and like “I could have been writing!” — this class is for you. There’s lots of information on the course page, but if you have any questions, just reply to this email, or click the “contact Julie” button on the course page.

It starts January 16, 2024, and right now there is an early bird launch special of $50 off, until December 9. There is a payment plan if you need it! Also there are scholarships — if you need this class and can’t afford it, just let me know.

Also! My picture book revision class, Make a Mess, Clean It Up, is on sale, so if you’ve had your eye on that one, now is the time. It is pay what you want until December 9. You can pay $1! You can pay one million dollars! Whatever you want! That class is pre-recorded and self-paced, so it’s available now or whenever you’re ready for it. After December 9, it’ll go back to the regular price of $47.

Thoughts and Links

• Paying subscribers! The next chapter of Dreams and Inward Journeys is coming! This one is about gender and sexuality, and I needed a minute to recover from The Short Story Project so I could fully dive back into the world of Dreams (which I do love!). Also — you get a discount of 15% on The Map to Intuition course. You should have received an email with the discount code yesterday; let me know if you need it.

• I very rarely look at Goodreads, but went on there recently and happened upon this hilarious review of Rick the Rock of Room 214. And I guess I’ll tell you: because it’s a secret butt that only some people can see?

• Given the above essay, it’s no surprise that this Offline Practice typed-up worksheet from

  Marlee Grace
  zinged right to my soul.

Books I read recently and loved

Disclosure: book links in this newsletter are affiliate links to Bookshop.org, a site which supports independent bookshops.

• I am someone who starts almost any journey by gathering maps, and who then continues to gather maps at every point where a map might be needed, so I loved What a Map Can Do by Gabrielle Balkan and Alberto Lot.

• I’ve loved every David Arnold book I’ve ever read (which is, uh…all of them?), so no surprise that I loved I Loved You in Another Life.

• There’s a lot going on in Sophie Blackall’s new one, If I Was a Horse, and also nothing going on at all. The best kind of picture book.