Putting Yourself Out There

I’m gearing back up to return to the university in the fall. After a heck of a couple of years, I’m resuming my very slow attempt to get a few extra college degrees. Mostly, it’s an excuse to listen to people much younger than myself learn cool stuff, and an excuse to listen to people somewhat younger than myself share their expertise.

I get inspired by all of that.

I’m searching class schedules and realizing that my Spanish has gotten rusty again, so there is probably a summertime online refresher in the complicated tenses on the horizon. Even though, really, using the proper tense is not my problem so much as finding the correct vocabulary word. As in any word that might suit in that circumstance. The vocabulary was the first thing to flee my brain in the hiatus.

The thing that fascinates me the most, though, is watching the theater kids, particularly those who are (at 18, 19, or 20) convinced they’re going to be Actors! (and yes, the exclamation point is there for a reason). Most won’t be, not because they’re not good enough, but because they don’t listen well and they already think they’re God’s gift to the profession.

Mostly, I watch the ones who are insecurely secure in their dreams. These kids know exactly what they want in their lives, but they’re not sure they’re good enough to get there, so they work extra hard to figure out where they should be.

Sometimes it is not where they expect to be. In the theater department in particular, they have to take courses in all aspects of theater, and they sometimes learn that they love a part of theater that they hadn’t expected to like at all.

Surprisingly enough to my younger self, the one who didn’t have the courage to follow her musical abilities into a music degree or to even walk into the theater department at the University of Wisconsin, there are a lot of introverts in theater. Some of those introverts are writers, yes, but many go onstage and perform. Most, in fact, because they like being someone else in front of a group. It’s safer for them.

I get safe. It makes sense. I also get the fear of doing something revealing in front of a crowd. Mostly, that fear is gone for me now. Years of public speaking and talking on panels at sf conventions eased my mind.

Still, I was pretty shocked when I learned that a lot of actors and musicians suffer severe stage fright—people you’ve all heard of. If they have to go onstage, they sit in the dressing room and shake, or, in some cases, puke, because they’re so scared.

Had I known that…well, I doubt I would have done it, because puking is not something I voluntarily do, even for art…but it certainly would have eased my mind about what for me is relatively minor stage fright (in comparison to what these folks have).

Really, though, it’s what they are willing to do for their dreams and their art. They put themselves out there. More importantly, they figure out how to put themselves out there.

Every year, I have a conversation with at least one of my writing students who is terrified for some reason I never probe of putting their work in front of an audience. It always boils down to the fact that they’re afraid of being seen.

Sidebar from a nearly 65-year-old person who has worked in the arts her entire life: You are never seen. Not in your entirety. You may reveal all of your secrets and no one will care. Or they’ll comment on the portrayal of something minor, like the cat, and kvetch about that. It’s disappointing…and freeing.

However, the fear of being seen is a real and crippling fear, stopping a lot of prose writers and poets from following their dreams. Writers, unlike actors and musicians, can hide from the world. You can use a pen name, set up a legal entity that doesn’t use your real name (in an obvious manner), and never let your picture out into the world.

You can hide and publish your work. That’s the great thing about being a writer.

Usually when a writer figures out their own personal workaround, they put their work on the market, whatever it means for them.

I had one of those discussions this past week with a couple of different writers, some in person, one online, and when I photo-bombed the Writers’ Block webinar on Wednesday.

After that moment on the webinar, I spent a few hours thinking about how universal that fear is among writers. I’ve been in this business almost fifty years now, and I’ve seen it every year.

Then Dean and I watched a little bit of The Voice. We often watch something to rest our poor brains, usually at dinner. We’ve moved away from news (since there’s no way that will relax anyone), and gone to documentaries and The Voice.

We usually watch a segment or two and then go back to whatever we were doing. It will take us days to watch an entire 2-hour episode.

So that Wednesday night, we watched two members of Michael Bublé’s team duet on a song he wrote, called “Home.” Most of you know it as a super hit for Blake Shelton, but Bublé wrote the song and released it first.

Before the battle, Bublé talked a bit about writing the song. I can’t find the clip for that (mostly because I’m lazy, but also because it’s not that relevant), but I did find the one that caught my attention.

It got me thinking, and I went up to my office and made a list.

Most people who work in the arts realize that their work has to be put out into the world.

• People who write music must perform that music to sell that song/sonata/whatever. They may be terrible singers. They might be shy as hell. But they need to make, at minimum, a demo tape.

Often they perform their own work, in some kind of concert, and it is that work that ends up catapulting them into whatever level of fame they will reach.

And then, partly because of the vagaries of the (exceedingly complex) music copyright laws, they may hear someone else cover their song. They might be like John Legend, who has said on The Voice that he cannot listen to a cover of one of his songs fairly. Or they might be like Bublé who not only assigned the song, but was honored by the way the singers performed it.

• People who write plays write them with production in mind. What is the point of writing a play if it’s just going to languish on your desk? The problem, though, with writing a play is that when it is performed, there will be an area that the performers cannot do or cannot say.

In early drafts of a play, the playwright will have to be nearby to do some kind of work to smooth out that section. Sometimes it’s because the star is a doofus and can’t say a word with more than two syllables, but mostly it’s because that section of the show, when performed in previews, did not work. Neil Simon deals with this a lot in his autobiography Rewrites.

• People who write screenplays know that they’re writing something that will be performed as well. I had a very famous writer friend who wrote the wordiest damn screenplays ever and had, in his contract, a clause that said not a word could be touched.

After his early years in Hollywood (when he didn’t have enough clout to have that stupid contract), he rarely sold a screenplay and when he did, it was a charity sale from a friend who would buy the screenplay so that the writer could retain his Writers Guild membership. (And then the charity friend would do a shooting script.)

• Artists know that their paintings or photographs will be displayed or used on covers or put on t-shirts and prints and everything else.

Even the lowest of the low, graffiti “artists,” the ones who deface buildings, understand that their art needs to be seen. (I’m grumpy about graffiti these days since Vegas has a lot of wall murals all over the city—and the freakin’ graffiti “artists” will deface them. Grrr. I hate people who deface other people’s art.)

• Even young poets these days understand that they might have to get up in front of a crowd at a poetry slam and declaim their poem.
• And let’s not talk about comedians, who are also writers, who get in front of a crowd, and risk bombing night after night after night. Dean and I saw one of George Carlin’s shows in his last years, and Carlin was testing material so new that he was holding paper torn from a notepad.

Some of it was funny. Much of it was not.

Fiction writers—people who write novels and short stories—are the only artists I know who expect someone else to publish their work. Fiction writers, particularly those who are traditionally published, believe that all they have to do is write it, and everyone will flock to their feet.

That’s an ingrained attitude, and a hard one to fight. Heck, a lot of these writers are worried when they decide to give a copy of their manuscript to an editor at a book publishing house or (worse) an agent.

Writers do not expect to have their work in the public view, and often fear it.

I’m not sure why this is. I think it’s just part of the culture.

There are movies that show writers at work, and someone else dragging that “brilliant” manuscript off the writer’s desk. Or the writer “gets discovered” in an English class (never happened when I was in school). Or someone else mailed off their manuscript.

That myth goes hand in hand with the idea that writing should be hard and writers should suffer while doing it. That myth also goes with the idea that anything written fast is terrible and anything labored over is brilliant. And that myth goes with the idea that being prolific is a sin. (Tell that to Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare.)

Indie writers have a similar problem, but it’s couched in other terms. I don’t want to learn how to publish. That’s going to be hard. It’ll take too much money or I can’t do covers or…or…

Okay, I want to reply, whatever roadblocks you want to set up for your work, go ahead.

But real artists—be they musicians or painters or (yes) writers—need to have their work seen. They need to figure out how to get on that stage despite their stage fright and put their art in front of an audience.

Otherwise the art will be destroyed when they die, tossed out with the trash or deleted off their computers.

Oh…and let’s talk “covers” for a minute. Blake Shelton’s version of “Home” is very different from Bublé’s version, which is different from the duet that aired on The Voice this past week.

If you’re lucky as a writer, and if you put yourself out there, at some point, someone will want to do make another piece of art using yours as inspiration. Maybe a movie, maybe a TV show, maybe a dramatic reading or an audio book.

That’s a “cover” for lack of a better term. (It really is a derivative work, and it does fall in a different place in the copyright law, but go with me on this for a minute.) Instead of being all protective and saying that you must control all things, say yes…if the contract terms are good.

That’s all.

A singer doesn’t have to get permission to cover a song. I can sing “Home” badly in front of an audience if I want to, but if I get paid for it, I need to let the songwriter know that I’m going to be covering the song. The songwriter cannot say no.

It gets complicated after that. (Okay, it’s already complicated.) But implied in all of this is that the music needs to get in front of an audience. The play will be performed. The screenplay will become the basis for a movie. The painting will hang on a gallery wall.

What makes writer-artists any different? Why should we fight so hard to create something and then be afraid to put it in front of an audience. Particularly since we’ll never see that audience. We don’t have to hear from them either, if we keep our email private and don’t go on social media and don’t read reviews.

What makes fiction writers so dang delicate? Every artist has fears. All of us do. If we want to make a living at our art, we learn to overcome the fear.

It may take a dozen workarounds. It might mean the writing equivalent of puking in the bathroom before stepping on the stage. But if you value your own work and your own dreams, you learn how to get past whatever is stopping you.

Just like other performers do.

“Putting Yourself Out There,” copyright © 2025 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch. Picture of Gavin is there because, despite appearances, he’s terrified of putting himself out there.

Much of what I did read was in snatches—at doctor’s offices or at lunch when I was at UNLV. Toward the end of the month, I was able to read more, but some of it was required.

November, 2023

Brewer, Jerry, “A Legacy of Exclusion,” The Year’s Best Sports Writing 2023, edited by Richard Deitsch. Everyone knows the history of the integration of baseball, but very few people talk about the integration of American Football. The ironic thing is that it was integrated a hundred years ago, and then Jim Crow laws destroyed it. The fight continued, and continues now. (We’re watching it here in Vegas, as we’re waiting for the Las Vegas Raiders to hire their new coach. They have a Black interim coach, but it seems like very few teams have the courage or the wherewithal to hire a Black coach and break with that evil “tradition.) So, read this. It’s important.

Connelly, Michael, Resurrection Walk, Little, Brown, 2023. There is a lot wrong with the marketing on this book. First of all, it says that it’s a Lincoln Lawyer novel. Sure, maybe. But it has just as much Harry Bosch as Mickey Haller. Sure, the ending focuses on Haller and it feels like the author intruded on his character. I don’t think Haller would react that way, as set up. But I think the ending was the goal of the entire story and the author just imposed it.

So…the last two pages were a disappointment. But here I am recommending the book anyway. Why? Because everything but the last two pages was marvelous. Well done and gripping. So read it and see if you agree with me. Or read it and love it. Or just read it. Because y’know. It’s a good book.

Freimore, Jacqueline, “Here’s To New Friends,” The Best American Mystery and Suspense Stories, edited by Jess Walter, Mariner, 2022. Somehow I got behind in my reading of the various mystery volumes and I decided to catch up in November, when I only had the attention span for short fiction. A lot of the stories in the volume were not to my taste (children in jeopardy tales, which I won’t read), but the ones that worked for me really worked. I’ll put them here and in December, which is when I finished the volume.

Jacqueline Freimore’s story is a simple one, with a great voice and great narration. If I tell you more about it, I’ll ruin it, especially if I say what I liked about it. But I will tell you this: she was in complete control of the narrative, so that we could figure out what she wanted us to figure out at the exact moment we needed to. I might even have gasped out loud. This is well done.

Goldberg, Tod, “A Career Spent Disappointing People,” The Best American Mystery and Suspense Stories, edited by Jess Walter, Mariner, 2022. Strange little story that kept surprising me over and over again. I’ve read so much (especially short fiction) that stories which surprise me get extra points. This one is noir, but it’s very good noir.  Nicely done.

Greenberg, Richard, Take Me Out, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2003. A well done and deeply disturbing play that seems to be about baseball, but really explores race, bigotry, gay rights, and violence. It’s breathtaking in its reach. The play first appeared twenty years ago, but feels fresh even now. It was on Broadway in the early part of this century (which is a bit of a surprise to me—not because of the themes, but because of baseball. It is a thinly veiled look at the 2000 Yankees, though, which might be why). The play was revived in 2022 for a short run, which I’m sad to have missed. If you like baseball fiction and you like well-done theater, read this.

Grisham, John, Calico Joe, Dell Mass Market, 2013. Those of you who’ve read the recommended reading lists over the years know I love a good baseball story. (You can tell that from the Greenberg above, as well.) Calico Joe is another of Grisham’s sports tales, and this one has the same authenticity that Bleachers had. (See October’s list.) At the heart of this story is a truly jealous moment, something evil and vicious, and its impact on several families as well as many different communities. The story held me during a tough month, which is saying something. It’s got power and the feel of truth.

Haywood, Gar Anthony, “Return To Sender,” The Best American Mystery and Suspense Stories, edited by Jess Walter, Mariner, 2022. Perhaps the most memorable story in the entire volume, this piece is about a jukebox—and the jukebox is very important. I can see all of this, and I know all the characters. I also loved the way it all turned out. Looking at the opening again, I’m transported back to the sunny UNLV union where I first read it. That doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, it’s gold.

Hepola, Sarah, “High Kicks and Hot Pants,” The Year’s Best Sports Writing 2023, edited by Richard Deitsch. I read this article some time ago, and I still find myself thinking about. I’m also a closet football fan, even though I feel guilty about it at times. So I do see cheerleaders. Most of them are co-ed now. Most of them are well known for their own athleticism. But according to Hepola, it started with the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. They were maligned when I was a girl, but I didn’t know how hard they were fighting for their own rights, their own brand, and their own self-protection. The article is based on interviews with people who have been part of this organization for fifty years—or who went in and out of it. It’s fascinating.

Kushner, Tony, Angels in America, Theater Communications Group, 2013. Miniseries on Max. As of this writing, I haven’t read all of the materials in the book I’m recommending, but I did watch the entire miniseries made from the play. I will (might) end up recommending an essay or two from the book in a future reading list.

Angels in America is one of the reasons I took this semester’s class at UNLV, titled Gay Plays. I have wanted to see Angels in America since it came out in the early 1990s, won the Tony, and then won the Pulitzer. But I’ll be honest: I was afraid of this material, not just because the 2-part play(s) are 3+ hours long each, but because the play deals with AIDS. The play was written in the middle of the worst of the crisis. I lost a lot of friends during that period of time, and I was worried about my own emotional health watching the production.

So of course I opted to watch it with a bunch of college kids, who had lived through Covid but not the worst of the AIDS crisis. Heck, their parents weren’t even fully grown then. It was fascinating to listen to their sharp & insightful reactions, but they missed a lot, such as the fact that Roy Cohen was a real person (even though the prof told them). And they had no real idea of the pain or political situation that the play deals with. So it was good to listen to them, but also good to hold my own opinions, mostly to myself.

Here’s the thing about me: when I hear (for decades, in this case) that something is brilliant, I assign half of my brain to argue with that. I hadn’t even reached the end of the opening miniseries episode (also written by Kushner) before I stopped arguing and watched in awe. Now, I’m mad at Stephen Spielberg, who co-opted Kushner and had him writing screenplays for the last 2 decades instead of actual plays. How much brilliance have we lost?

This play, by the way, deals with several religions, lots of 1980s (and still relevant) politics, the horrors of the late 1980s AIDS crisis, and the complexities of several relationships. It’s a fantasy (he calls it a fantasia, because, y’know, we wouldn’t want to say that it’s fantasy), and the fantastic elements are wonderful, particularly in the last few scenes. There’s humor as well as pathos. And, surprisingly to me, the ending is exceedingly upbeat. The kind of upbeat that I needed after this hellacious month. This is highly, highly, highly recommended.

Macur, Juliet, “The Keeper,” The Year’s Best Sports Writing 2023, edited by Richard Deitsch. Tension-filled story about a woman who was on Afghanistan’s women’s national soccer team. When the U.S. left and the Taliban took over again, women who achieved things and had degrees were either about to be put in jail or killed. This story is about her escape from Afghanistan and how she’s trying to make a life in Australia. However, her mother and her baby sister still live in Afghanistan. This is powerful and heartbreaking. Read it.

Porter, Rick, “‘We Let The Wolf Into The Henhouse, and We Lived to Regret It,” The Hollywood Reporter, September 6, 2023. Fascinating article about the issues that led to the strikes. The lack of data, the way that streaming works…or doesn’t work. The difficulties in getting data. This is worth reading for anyone who has deals pending or plans to do work in film and TV.

Pryor, Lex, “Serena Williams Refused to Bend. She Bent Tennis Instead.” The Year’s Best Sports Writing 2023, edited by Richard Deitsch. Somehow Lex Pryor managed to give a short and powerful history of African-Americans in tennis. Pryor also managed to show just how amazing Serena Williams is right in the middle of the change. I knew much of this, but not all of it. Fascinating.

Randall, Cassidy, “Alone at the Edge of the World,” The Year’s Best Sports Writing 2023, edited by Richard Deitsch. Fascinating, fascinating article on a British woman who was part of the Golden Globe Race in 2015. 18 people tried to take sailboats around the world…alone. She planned for it, did really well, but her ship got destroyed in a storm. She hated the publicity, though, and hated that everyone made such a big deal about her gender, so she didn’t let anyone write about her for years. She’s amazing and her story is inspiring. I’m glad I heard about her.

Spencer, George, “Progress on Alzheimer’s Disease,” On Wisconsin, Summer 2023. I have a close family member with dementia and my great-aunt had Alzheimer’s. Any time I see the word “progress” alongside the name of that disease, my heart goes up just a little bit. It makes me very happy. This is quite an uplifting article, based on the science. Take a look.