I had a lot of fun painting a watercolor of a sunrise rising above winter woods during a one-day art class. Unlike writing, I have no professional visual art aspirations or training, so my inner critic goes gentle on me. The sunrise watercolor I painted felt effortless, so I was lured into believing all my paintings would be this easy and fun. I signed up for a six-week art therapy session at Wild and Free Painting. A judgment-free zone to nurture my creative spirit sounded ideal. I had high hopes that playing with paint a few hours a week would spark my creative juices for the novel I was working on.

I quickly discovered I liked the beginning phase of painting a picture far more than fixing it. Each week, I wanted to begin anew when the painting didn’t reflect the vision in my head.

“New paper, please,” I’d ask Elissa, art therapist and owner of the business.

New is fun, freeing, and full of possibilities—so much so that I blew through three rounds of paper. My fourth attempt, a seascape under a blazing summer sun, also disappointed me. A thick blue demarcation line ran through the middle of the painting, cutting it in half. The sun and the sea fought each other. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. But Elissa suggested I work with it to make it something I did like. More importantly, she wouldn’t give me more paper until I tried. So I tried––a little. I drew colorful, squiggly lines in the sea below and the sun above, trying to merge them. My seascape was evolving into a whimsical mess, and I couldn’t un-see that blue demarcation line cutting the picture in half. I worried I’d ruin the painting even more if I kept “editing.” 

Elissa’s soft steps padded behind me. We stared at my picture pinned to the wall. “How do you feel now?”

“I feel like I’d like a new piece of paper, please.”

“Perhaps you need to lean into this one,” Elissa suggested.

She wanted me to sit with the uncomfortableness of not knowing how it would turn out. She encouraged me to go deeper and stay with the picture longer.

And this is where the therapy came into play.

Elissa had gently identified an issue I also have with my creative writing projects—an aversion to deep editing. Starting new projects is my forte. I have over twenty picture books and four novels in my drawer to prove it. New stories are more appealing, especially when the previous ones become difficult and need editing, which is where I am with my current middle-grade novel.

I need to change the setting of my novel—a change I’ve resisted doing. I had resisted this suggestion from critique partners and my Book Revision Lab pod-mates despite knowing deep in my gut it would improve the story. I’d resisted fixing it because I knew it would not be easy. What if I couldn’t do it?

But what if leaning into the difficulty was the skill I needed to master to take my projects and professional goals to the next level? This epiphany reminded me of a quote by inspirational speaker and spiritual teacher Iyanla Vanzant:

Your vision is for you. And there will be many times when other people can’t see your vision. That’s all right because if God gave you the vision, God will give you the provision. God is not going to bring your provision through your sister’s vision. It’s going to come to you, for you, through you, as soon as you eliminate the deficiencies.

Though I’m more spiritual than religious, this quote resonated with me. I took it to mean the following: If you are given the vision to be a writer, for example, if you have the drive and desire, then you have also been given the provisions—the ability to accomplish this vision. Any deficiencies stem from self-limiting beliefs. The art therapy class highlighted my penchant for skirting around deep revisions. It was time to eliminate this deficiency and try something new.

I sat in that uncomfortable space with my watercolor that day. I leaned in and made deeper revisions, not knowing how it would turn out. I added a string of mountains that reminded me of the Hawaiian archipelago. The blue demarcation line doesn’t bother me anymore. The painting makes me smile. It stands next to my sunrise watercolor. I framed it not for the art but for the message.

As for my middle-grade novel, I’m amid deep revisions. My setting has changed, and I’ve given my protagonist agency and interiority. I’ve cut a character, cut scenes, added scenes, amped up the stakes, and reimagined secondary characters. I don’t know how it will turn out, but I am immensely proud of myself for doing the work. I’m learning to trust the process and trust myself. With every pass of the novel, I’m closing the gap between the vision in my mind and the words on the page. It’s still daunting, but I’m leaning in for the story and myself.