“What if I fall?”

Most of the time, we see that statement followed up with, “But what if you fly?” typically written in some sort of italicized, inspirational font.

But let’s stop and sit for a while in that first question.

What if you fall? What happens then?

As I think about my debut novel releasing hopefully next year, it’s a real question I wrestle with. What if readers don’t like it? What if sales are terrible? What if it hurts my chances at publishing a second book? What if . . . what if . . . what if . . .

Those concerns aren’t silly; they’re valid. All of those possibility are plausible.

The reason we so often follow up the question with “what if you fly?” is because we don’t want to let fears of the unknown and unfavorable possibilities stop us from trying, and I agree with that. If I’d let myself get too caught up in all of the questions, I wouldn’t have a contracted novel. But I think it’s healthy and wise for us to consider what we’ll do if we fail.

Falling hurts. The wind knocked out of you, bruises along your side, dust in your eyes, dirt in your mouth, and the taste of blood from a bitten tongue. No one likes falling.

But if, or when, you fall, what will you do next? Will you crawl away and never try again? Or will you dust yourself off, grit your teeth through the aches, and fight to your feet?

Will failing scare you away from trying again?

I want my book to do well. I want readers to love my characters, for sales to do well, to land another contract. But if those don’t happen, I don’t want to regret trying. Sure, I might cry a little after falling, but I want to be able to get back up again.

As Gillian Bronte Adams so perfectly puts in Of Sea and Smoke, “This is the first lesson every rider must learn: falling is not failing. Riding is getting up again. Again and again.”

Aim to fly, but don’t fear falling back to the ground. And don’t be afraid to try again.