My friend Marion is a writer whose
recent blog post with that same title got me thinking. Marion recently retired and is pursuing her avocation of writing with every hope of making it a vocation (I assume; I've never really asked her, but I figure she wouldn't mind making some money at it). $87.68 is the sum she earned for selling a science fiction story, and the pride she took in depositing that check was hugely out of proportion to its dollar value.
I'm thrilled for her.
Marion's post is about the disappointment and hurdles writers face, the "locked doors, barred windows and
Don’t Even Think of Parking Here signs you see in the writing biz, long before you even get a rejection." I think it's a good essay that's worth reading, but the bit that got my attention talks about the discouragement she especially feels from other writers.
"There are so many, and they are so consistent in their urge to explain that writing is hard work, that you aren’t a special snowflake and your words really don’t matter, that publishing is a cutthroat business run by shoemakers who don’t care about books and you can’t trust anyone, that I do have to wonder if some of it isn’t motivated, if unconsciously, by a desire to thin out the competition. And it will work, if you let it, because the chorus is so
constant."
That hit hard because I think I've been that guy, though not to Marion I hope. I've told people that writing
is hard work, getting published
is difficult, there
is a lot of competition, much relies on luck, and publishing
is run by shoemakers who are more concerned with markets and dollars than art and literature because if they weren't, they wouldn't stay in business.
Problem is, I think that's all true.
In my mind, I'm trying to honestly share a few things that surprised me or I learned the hard way. I don't think blind encouragement is useful. "Winners never quit and quitters never win" can do a lot of harm to people who really
should quit and find something else that makes them happy. Clear-eyed perspective is good. I'm trying to help.
Marion's got me wondering if I'm doing it wrong.
The more I trundle along my own semi-literary semi-career, the more I'm convinced that nobody knows nuthin'. Everybody I know who's "made it" has a different story about how they did it, and their method probably won't work for you. The only way knowing my story would help you is if you had a time machine to travel back to 1983 and beat me out for a part-time night-shift sportswriting job at a small daily newspaper, because that's how I first got paid to write and you surely would have been more qualified than I was.
Otherwise, sorry. You're on your own.
Shortly after
Mom's Cancer was published and had gotten some attention, my editor asked me to meet with a new writer whose first book was about to come out, and give him the straight dope. Writer to writer, heart to heart. We met at the San Diego Comic-Con, and because we couldn't find any chairs we sat on the floor of the mezzanine, between the snack bar and the Klingons.
"Getting a book published is cool, and you're going to meet some nice and interesting people," I said. "Enjoy it. But don't quit your day job. The money truck is not going to back up to your door. This is not going to change your life." I summed up my publishing experience as a mixture of profound satisfaction tinged with vague disappointment.
You've guessed the punchline. That guy was Jeff Kinney, creator of
Diary of a Wimpy Kid, whose series now has about 180 million books in print and two motion pictures to its credit.
Jeff still remembers our conversation. We laugh and laugh. Sometimes I can hear the gold coins jingling in the background as he backstrokes through his Scrooge McDuck money vault.
My point is, I have
proof I'm breathtakingly bad at giving professional advice.
Marion says it can seem like writers talk tough to cut down on competition. I understand her perspective but I've never seen it. Usually the opposite; I find writers are very generous with their time, tips and advice. Some are grumpy misanthropes, but more than you'd expect
love to talk shop, gossip about agents and editors, and welcome newbies as peers. Sometimes you can't shut them up. Most of them remember what it was like and don't mind lending a hand if they can.
It can seem like people ahead of you in the race throw hurdles in your way to stop you, when really those hurdles are just things you need to learn and put behind you, then look back and wonder how they ever slowed you down.
I'll take every opportunity to reprint Mark Twain's advice to writers: "Write without pay until somebody offers pay. If nobody offers pay within three years, the candidate may look upon this circumstance with the most implicit confidence as the sign that sawing wood is what he was intended for."
Writer Mark Evanier, whose "News from ME" blog is a daily stop of mine, just posted the
13th installment of a possibly-never-ending series he's writing on the topic of Rejection (that post includes links to the previous 12; I'm partial to
Part 6 myself, try that one first). If you're wondering why nobody buys your stuff and you can't catch a break and the rules seem stacked against you, Mark has some good insight.
I don't. Marion's post, and my demonstrated history of giving spectacularly wrong advice, remind me that humility is in order. I think I could strike a better balance between encouragement and discouragement. I'll try.
Do your best work. Get it out into the world however you can. Then do better work. I don't know much but I'm pretty sure that's right.
Good luck! You'll need it.
Rats! I blew it already.
