Plot twist
In a world of predictable stories
I recently came across this meme while scrolling Substack Notes (my apologies and regrets for downloading the image without crediting the source; I can’t find the original Note now), and it’s been living rent-free in my head ever since—in the best way possible.
Born to be a plot twist in a world of predictable stories.
Yep, that’s me. I’m totally claiming it.
If I may provide some examples from my life…
Predictable story: I went to college immediately following high school.
And flunked out. Three times.
Plot twist: I went to work in the retail and salon industries, developed a work ethic, matured, and was ready to go to UMass Dartmouth at age 25.
I graduated with honors at age 29.
Predictable story: With a BA in Psychology (I was interested in “organizational behavior,” a.k.a. the psychology of business) and following the advice of well-meaning people, I returned to the workforce in an entry-level position where I could attempt to apply my degree.
And was miserable.
Plot twist: Four months later and just shy of my 30th birthday, I quit the job and did what I’d wanted to do all along: enroll in the graduate program for professional writing at UMassD.
And discovered a passion and gift for teaching.
Predictable story: Three years later, with an MA in tow, I was advised to advance straight to a PhD program in Rhetoric and Composition, which would put me on the road to the academic career I was already hotly pursuing.
Plot twist: I took a break from my education, continued to teach as a non-tenured adjunct, and wrote a novel.
And fell in love with novel-writing.
Predictable story: I submitted the manuscript to literary agents and was told that my duty as a writer was to also submit short stories to literary journals and magazines.
Plot twist #1: I wasn’t a short story writer and had no interest in journals and literary magazines, especially given the kind of novels I liked to read and write.
After getting 50 rejections from agents, I decided to self-publish with an up-and-coming print-on-demand company and, a year later, to Amazon Kindle, which catapulted me to success.
Plot twist #2: I did eventually get a literary agent—five years later.
After meeting her at a cocktail party.
Predictable story: In my thirties, I signed up for several dating sites a la Match.com. Because, as my then-sister-in-law said, “it’s either that or be alone.”
God, I hated every minute of it.
Plot twist: Turned out that being alone was awesome. And in my forties, when I sensed that I was ready to be in a relationship, I vowed not to do it via conventional dating—or, to use a phrase I loathe to this day, “put myself out there.” Instead, I trusted that if it was meant to be, it would happen organically.
Bonus points if it was with a friend. Hiding in plain sight.
Like that Lancaster guy, it turned out.
If I had to identify one common denominator in all my struggles throughout the last ten years, it’s that rather than becoming the plot twist, I attempted to keep conforming to the predictable stories. I did it in marriage, in publishing, and in every attempt to return to the traditional (dare I say, “predictable”) workforce.
When I saw that meme, I experienced a sort of homecoming.
I recalled all the examples I listed above, and some I haven’t.
I’m not sure why I stopped paying attention to the plot twist these last ten years. Why I didn’t connect my misery and struggle to the predictability. Why I believed the plot twist was what had let me down, when all along it was my superpower.
And for me, it’s so aptly named.
The plot twist is intuition in action.
It is authenticity applied.
It’s dancing when the world tells you to sit down, and singing when the world tells you to shut up.
It’s coming to the crossroads and choosing a direction based on your inner GPS rather than following someone else’s tracks.
It’s listening to—and trusting—the voice on the inside rather than the voices on the outside. Especially when those outside voices are loud.
Even when the voice inside seems to contradict every single voice on the outside. Or when the inner picture looks nothing like the outer picture.
I’m currently at the crossroads of marriage.
Of work.
Of who I am and what I want and where I’m going and how I’ll get there.
Hell, what is midlife, if not a crossroads?
The predictable stories are “Get divorced.” “Get a job.” “Go viral.” “Try another diet.” “Follow ‘best practices’.”
But now I remember:
I was born to be a plot twist in a world of predictable stories.
And although I don’t yet know what the plot twist is, I’m ready to stare down the blank page, be still, listen, and write the next sentence.
Followed by the next scene.
Followed by the next chapter.
However long it takes.
I can hardly wait to read it.
P.S. Check out my new gig!
Go Elisa!