Academia and angst

Moving on... or not

For all that I try to talk about other people writing nonfiction these days, I was surprised a few weeks ago when I had a LinkedIn post about my academic pseudo-regrets getting 10s of thousands of impressions.

I shared that I was conflicted when a scholar reached out to quote my dissertation in his upcoming book. It clearly resonated.

If you’ve been in the academic world and left, you likely know what I’m talking about. That feeling where you are endlessly trying to move on from dark thoughts in the back of your mind: “I could have made a difference!” or “My work was so good/important/innovative!”

You think you’ve gotten a grip until one day, something happens.

Scholars shared stories with me of going into research and coming across their own work and struggling how to make sense of that space, or of trying to pivot their passion without losing it completely. Of feeling completely resolved to never working on it again… but maybe someday getting back to it.

Today, when people get me talking about history, they get stories mostly of ancient Rome or medieval England. A fellow editor got a very unexpected and passionate riff on French cave art just yesterday! (related: when in Marseille, don’t miss the Cosquer museum!)

What they almost never hear is anything about Ireland.

My dissertation. My passion project. The thing that it seems I’m still the authority on after all these years (to which I say, of course). How the British and Irish experimented with ideas of Irish identity in the run-up to Irish Independence through mock “Irish villages” at World’s Fairs. Very fun stuff. Lots of souvenirs and travelogues and fabulous architecture!

But I had to walk away.

This past year, I walked into the Irish National Gallery for the first time in a decade.

It was wildly difficult.

I was in Belfast and wanted to reach out and connect with a rare colleague I still trusted.

I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Every time I think I’m over it, it turns out I’m not.

Now, why share it here with you?

Among other things, it’s to say that not every book gets written. And not every book you plan to write is the one you do.

But, on the other hand, there are people out there who need you to write. They need you to do the work, to slog through the hard chapters, to survive the edits and the queries and the pitching and the years… so that they can confirm your work is as fabulous as you know it is.

My book coaching business is geared to make sure more women write more nonfiction. Like anything else we do in life, that drive comes from a deeply personal place. I’m certainly trying to help other women do what I never did.

Because what I really want - what I’d do for myself if I ever got back to it - is for more women in and beyond academia to write books for as many readers as possible. Write the book real people will read. Write it for you. Write it for them. Not your committee or your advisor or your colleagues who are always looking to tell you what’s wrong.

Write for the people who need your story, your advice, your passion, your authority.

Don’t leave room for any regrets.