BACCA Literary

Writers need to know how to say No. In creative (and other) circles, there are magic words that have power, carry weight, move us forward. They aren’t a secret; we know them well.

Please. Thank you. Tell me more. Yes. No.

More so than the others, Yes and No shape our lives. Our time, energy, and other resources flow according to when we say Yes and how often we say No. For some people, No seems easy, a default answer they were either equipped or born with. For some of us (me!), No is hard. Some of us are trained to be accommodating, to say Yes first and figure out how to follow through later—all so we can be liked and considered useful, so we can help out the collective. As I’ve gotten older, and my time tighter, this Yes-first strategy has become impossible. Always offering Yes in place of a necessary No threatens the integrity of the rest of my life: my creative work (the first to be cut for time), my relationships, and eventually my health. If I want to function well, the collective is going to have to do without me, at least some of the time.

Cobbling Together a No

So, how is it done? If you aren’t born with or taught No, how do you find one in yourself? How do you employ this important tool well? First, I have to know my own heart and what I really want. I have to have a realistic conception of my schedule and my capacity. I have to know if I even have the adequate skills to accomplish what is being asked of me. (I had a terrible job once, where I had to fail hard to prove to my manager that I really can’t decorate cakes. It’s simply not in me. Good—that’s something I don’t ever need to say Yes to in the future!) Even more importantly, I have to keep a firm grip on my creative goals. When I perpetually support the projects of others at the expense of my own, I become the most bitter and angry version of myself—and of no benefit to anyone. So, I’m finding No by gathering together some important pieces of myself: intuition, self-knowledge, realism, and sometimes my stubbornness, my ability to resist.

How to Say No: Travel Light.

Simple, elegant, sufficient, the word No carries enough weight all on its own. Tacking on elaborate explanations, pity parties, or a string of apologies weakens and bleeds No of its power and energy.

No is precise, clear. It’s a light ship that will get you quickly, cleanly on to what you need to do. If you begin to tack on extra cargo to No—I feel so bad, I wish, maybe—your streamlined conveyance to freedom gets weighed down, stuck in the muck. Or possibly waylaid, hijacked, commandeered to the land of unintentional Yes. No good. Best to keep it light, simple, and straightforward.

Hone the Skill

A safe, low stakes opportunity to employ the No tool is a rare find. Recently, I had this opportunity. From another room in my parents’ home, I heard my mother answer the door. After just a few seconds, I knew she wasn’t talking to a friend or neighbor, but a pushy solicitor trying to convince her that she needed home security. He was young, full of energy, and had obviously been trained to never take no for an answer. (I still pray he doesn’t carry that skill over into his personal relationships.)

My mother was trapped. He had no intention of releasing her from his well-rehearsed sales rhetoric. To let the young salesman know that he had not found easy prey, but, in fact, a very well-protected house, I stepped to my mother’s side. As he shifted his barrage of warnings and promises in my direction, I began wielding the magic word—No—over and over again. I used it politely and firmly. In a calm voice, I said No at least a dozen times. Somewhere in the middle of this volley, I realized I had a choice. I could steam up, get mad and rude with him, or I could seize a rare chance to practice. For the next few minutes, I said No until it felt natural, comfortable, easy—almost fun. The young man’s training held strong. In the end, I had to use an additional magic word to release all of us from the encounter.

“No. Goodbye,” I said, and shut the door.

My heart still beating quickly from doing new work, I looked at my mother and we both laughed. Then we moved on with the rest of our day! In retrospect, I would only do one thing differently. I would invite my mother to practice, too.

Magic words open doors. No might feel like a door slam, but it opens another door too, as long as we don’t get stuck on the threshold, feeling guilty, replaying what-ifs and imagined consequences for saying what we want. For the person who says it, No has a hidden Yes on its obverse side. When I’ve said No to what I can’t or won’t do, I’ve said Yes to other wonderful things—time for discovery and rest, the opportunity to generate ideas and make good work—the treasures of a creative life.

Noelle Beverly writes poetry and prose, supports local writers in the surrounding community, and is a member of the BACCA Literary group. Photo by author.