Ep 387: The Art of Manifesting for Tired and Skeptical Authors

I think of myself an analytical person. Fine, a cynical one. So when my friends began talking about manifesting as a way to improve one's writing career, I struggled to wrap my head around it. Even if I was privately fascinated. 

First, let’s define our terms.

Manifesting, in this context, refers to the practice of thinking aspirational thoughts with the intention of encouraging them to become reality. It's based on the belief that our thoughts, energy, and focus can directly influence the physical world and attract specific outcomes or experiences. This concept often aligns with the Law of Attraction (See: Atkinson, Wattles, Byrne, etc), which suggests that positive thoughts bring positive results and negative thoughts bring negative ones.

In other words, by visualizing our desires, affirming them through positive statements, and believing in their eventual realization, we can 'manifest' these desires into our lives. It's not just wishing; proponents argue it's about aligning ourselves mentally and emotionally with the desired outcome, thereby making ourselves open and prepared for the opportunities and resources needed to achieve success.

Appealing, right?

I thought so, too. Who doesn’t want to write a letter to the Universe, name her desires, and watch them come true? 

But first I had to overthink it. I was raised to believe that hard work was the secret sauce, and if I haven’t achieved my goals then I probably haven’t been working hard enough, or writing well enough. Right?

Besides—if happy thoughts can bring success directly to my doorstep—like fruit flies to an overripe banana—does this mean that failure is always my fault, too? If I tell the universe I deserve to hit the New York Times bestsellers list in 2024, and then the universe doesn’t deliver this shiny bauble… does that imply that I’ve failed myself with my own negativity?

Furthermore, if that’s true, then isn’t manifesting the ultimate in privileged thinking? Some of us face hardcore challenges that make getting through the day awfully difficult. It feels disingenuous to those who are struggling to assume that any obstacle can be cleared by positive energy.

My inner critic pounced, and my exploration of manifesting almost ended there. Almost. But then I had one more uncomfortable thought, and came to realize that this part of the struggle is actually the whole point, because it gets to the heart of writers’ fears. 

After all, show me a writer who has never wondered whether writing is not the most self-centered job in the world. Show me a writer who believes that writing is always the most valuable and useful thing she can do with her time. That’s just not how writers are made. Self-criticism is actually crucial to the work. You can’t edit your work if you’re not willing to second guess your own decisions. In fact, balancing the impulse to create with the impulse to delete is, psychologically , the guts of this job.

Furthermore, when I sit down at my keyboard every day, it’s with the understanding that making up stories for a living is already a privilege. Previous success doesn’t exempt me from the knowledge that writing always serves the writer first, before it ever serves the reader. The act of composing a story (or a screenplay or a poem or an essay) is always self-indulgent before it gets the chance to be an indulgence for someone else. 

I struggle with this. Not daily, perhaps. But often enough to make asking the universe for more success into a fraught endeavor. Does the universe really care if I hit the USA Today bestseller list for a twenty-fifth time? 

And yet…

Here I sit at the keyboard, giving my precious time and attention to this career, whether the universe cares or not. So don’t I owe it to myself to do the best job I possibly can? If there’s anything more self-indulgent than a career in authorship, it’s squandering that career in authorship. 

Next, I invite you to consider the conditions under which great writing gets done. Do we do our best work when we’re A) sitting here convinced that nobody cares, and nobody will ever read our work or when B) we bathe in the warmth of great possibility, open to the joy of discovery and ideation? 

Yeah, it’s that second one, isn’t it? 

It turns out, for me anyway, that manifesting and writing have a whole lot in common. They both share the Rumpelstiltskin-like quality of making something out of nothing. They both require unwavering belief in the possibilities, whether the current reality reflects a blank page, or an empty checking account. 

In other words, even if I’m not quite ready to believe that a few hours’ work on a vision board will cause money to cling to me with the static electricity of socks right out of the dryer, a writer already understands that ideas prefer an open mind and a receptive heart. I also know that ideas are critical for excellent and prolific writing. And excellent and prolific writing is a crucial step toward earning royalties. 

It is, in short, a positive feedback loop that I already understand on a gut level. 

Meanwhile, as I toil at my desk, there are over a hundred spots on the New York Times bestsellers list every week. Someone has got to fill them. There’s almost no point to working fifty hours a week as an author unless I believe that one of those slots can be mine. 

Ergo, the only way of catching one of them in my greedy little hand is to manifest that reality out of blank pages and sunshine and the unwavering belief that I’m allowed to ask the universe for all the marbles. A halfway dream is a waste of time and notebook paper.

Dear Universe, let’s call it like it is. My life is already an exercise in literary optimism. I can acknowledge the privilege of this job while still reaching for that next tier. I can open my vulnerable soul wide enough to speak my most ambitious desires out loud. I can let those yearnings see the light of day in much the same way that I give fictional people their own hopes and dreams. It’s not even as hard as I feared. 

Yours in gratitude,

—Sarina.

P.S. Universe: if you could also deliver me a first class plot twist for this proposal I’m writing, I’m all ears.  

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