The Awful Truth

Writers must learn to be sadomasochists (if they aren’t one already). You must be a sadist to your characters (Vonnegut, Rule 6), but a masochist the rest of the time because there’s no other way you can endure the long slog and see your work through all the obstacles the publishing process will throw your way without learning to love the pain of defeat…the brutal stab of rejection.

You must love learning from your mistakes.

Beginner's Mistakes

Once I finally made peace with the notion of being a writer, I was ready for things to start happening. Didn’t the universe get the memo that I was finally ready to fulfill my destiny? Hello, anyone up there? I guess I’m still waiting. And writing. Lots of writing.

But that’s ok, because it pays to be patient. Or at least it can’t hurt. We’ve all heard the stories. People who query their NaNoWriMo novels on December 1^st without revising, people who pester agents or editors because they simply cannot wait for feedback. Or those who query everyone with a promising WIP and get rejected, only to realize two more revisions later they would have nailed it. I don’t want to be the person who blunders out of inexperience or impatience.

But despite my intentions I am not immune to beginners’ mistakes. Case in point: The first (and currently the only) time I submitted my work – and I don’t mean contest entries because we all know there’s no accounting for taste or luck – I was nervous. Of course, I thought I was ready, thought I had done my best to internalize the editorial guidelines and make my work shine. Query letter? Check. Attachment full of brilliance? Check. All that was left was putting together an email and hitting the send button before I lost my nerve. So I sent it off into the world and tried to remind myself why I would do such a crazy thing. Turns out, in my haste to get my work out before I chickened out, I made a typo in the email. A minor one, an understandable one I told myself, but a typo nonetheless.

Of course, I waited for the autoreject for the next two weeks. I had heard too many stories about grammar nazis and finicky editors to expect my mistake to go by unnoticed. But when I did get the inevitable rejection months later, it wasn’t for that error, or at least not that error alone. Which made me relieved. Or not, because the rejection still stung, and my work obviously wasn’t at the point I thought it was. Had I waited a day or so before sending out my submission, nine times out of ten I would have caught my error and felt confident in the knowledge I had done all I could. Now, I still can’t completely dispel niggling doubts and whispered what-ifs.

Yet, despite my disappointment, I have all the more reason to take care with my next submission and to be watchful for silly mistakes. I will take my time and not let my nerves overwhelm my judgment. I must remember to always strive for perfection in an imperfect world.

Getting Serious about Submitting

I’m getting close to the point where I’m ready to submit a novel I’ve been working on, on and off for the last fifteen years. That’s a long time. As such, the work is the most fully conceptualized out of all my other WIPs. It’s good, I know that much, but it still has flaws. How do I know? One, because I started it in my early teens. And two, because as soon as I think I can do no more with it and put it aside to work on something else, I come back to it with fresh eyes and new ideas to make it better. The problem with unpublished works is you can keep tinkering with them for years.

But this time, I’m ready. And I have a plan for publication. But for starters, I will be submitting the first twenty pages into a contest hosted by a regional writer’s organization. Every entry is critiqued, and I want to use that as a way to see where I’m at. Like I said, I think it’s good, but it’s hard to be objective when I’ve been living and breathing this story for so long. I also haven’t had a lot of people read the work. For a number of reasons. Primarily because of lot of my friends would not be the best choice for feedback on a historical romance, and a medieval one at that. Plus, they don’t really know I write… Awkward.

So anyway. Contests. Fortuitously enough, I recently stumbled upon Miss Snark’s First Victim’s blog and learned Authoress would be hosting a 25 word challenge where people submit their first 25 words (or up to 25 words that ended in a complete sentence) to see if people would be hooked enough to keep reading. I submitted the first 17 words of my WIP along with 175 others and got some comments. And all it took was an email and poof! Instant feedback. Part of me was just so excited to have feedback from other like-minded individuals. Some of the comments surprised me, but they signaled things I need to keep in mind as I move forward with my WIP.

Granted, the first 25 words will not make or break an entry, but I found the experience invaluable in terms of getting other eyes on my work. Blogger Sharon Mayhew, inspired by Miss Snark's First Victim, is hosting another contest, this time the first four sentences. And I have happily submitted my work to this contest as well. These mini challenges have been a great way to jumpstart my final stretch edits as I prepare my manuscript for the regional contest. Hopefully the momentum will keep me going!

Three Minute Fiction Entry

The winner of round three of NPR'S Three-Minute Fiction was announced last week. Sadly it wasn't me. But I enjoyed many of the selected entries, finalists and honorable mentions alike. I participated in rounds two and three, and even though my work hasn't been featured, it has still been a rewarding process for me.

How can I say that when I have nothing to show for my efforts? Simple. Unlike submissions to a literary magazine or publishing house, all these short stories evolved out of a single prompt. Round two was an opening line: The nurse left work at 5 o'clock. Round three was the evocative image below. All the potential writers were given the same handicap if you will; only skill and imagination set the entrants apart.


Having submitted my own story, it was fascinating and hugely instructive for me to read the selected entries, noting not just writing technique and word choice, but the writers' basic premise and how they negotiated the prompt in their work. Round three had far more entrants than round two, which means competition is only getting fiercer. Every literary/intellectual type out there thinks getting featured on NPR is the ultimate wet dream. I can only imagine the bar will be raised yet again for round four, featuring judge Ann Patchett, author of Bel Canto.

I'll be entering no matter what, but here are a few caveats I'll need to keep in mind. Since this is now a hugely competitive contest, my work must be perfect if I'm going to hang with the alpha-dogs. I must also avoid the obvious interpretation of the prompt. Or if I do go with the obvious, I must give it my own patented twist. When we did round two in my writing group, everyone followed the nurse home in their stories, while only I stayed at the hospital. I'm not saying my story was more successful then the others, but I did something different, which can only help when you are competing against thousands of other entries.

When working on my round three entry, I kept seeing heartbreak and loneliness and all the sap that goes along with those themes whenever I looked at the picture prompt. I knew I couldn't write a story around those issues because it seemed too obvious. When I told my husband that, he said, "Well, you could go in the complete opposite direction and make a story about terrorism." After he said that, I couldn't get the notion out of my head. So my story became a what-if exercise exploring that idea. I also used 2nd person, a first for me, as a way to stretch myself. I knew my entry had shock value and a good energy to it, but I know my craft is still being developed and probably wouldn't hold up against the readers from the Iowa Writers Workshop NPR brought in to winnow down the entries... It didn't, but I am still proud of my piece because I stretched myself in the writing of it.

If you aren't pushing yourself or discovering something new every time you sit down to write, then you must ask yourself why you are even bothering.

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Here is my entry for round three:

By Design

You have no idea. You only spy the discarded newspaper as you scan the café and think you’ve finally caught a break. After all, you no longer carry loose change and news racks don’t take debit cards. You thrill at the thought of getting something for nothing as you claim the stool so recently discarded and smooth out the newsprint in front of you. Despite your good luck, you still inwardly cringe at the residual body heat that confirms my existence at that very same table only minutes ago. You want my crumbs but you don’t want to have to feel grateful about it. But all that’s forgotten as you read over the headlines in a desperate bid to ease the comfortable monotony of your existence.

You don’t even pause to question what I was doing at that table before you walked in and ordered your skinny soy latte with an extra shot of fair trade espresso. I could be anyone: the jihadist next door, the cokehead in over his head, or the local crackpot who amuses and frightens in equal measure. I could be any number of people pushed too far who inhabited your space moments before. The newspaper is our only link, but you try not to think about that. It’s too intimate. Just as you avoid looking at the fingerprints stuck to the table. You’re not ready to acknowledge the world we live in.

Had you looked out the window instead of answering your cell phone, you might have figured it out in time. You might have seen the backpack shrugged off by someone who immediately fades into the mid-morning crowds. But you sit there and ruffle through the paper sections as if you hold the key to the universe at our little table. You won’t find the answers on inked newsprint, only yellow lies and agitprop. But you don’t realize that. When you hear the explosions across the street you still won’t understand. Not right away.

Not as chunks of concrete and twists of rebar fall from the sky. Not as I slide into a window seat on the city bus as it groans down the street and out of sight. Not as people cry out in fear or pain or disbelief. You have a front row seat to the destruction of what offends me most, and you can only gape and take a sip of your drink and think on how you’re going to get back to work. Only later will you realize luck had nothing to do with it.

Carrot and Stick

Sometimes the words don’t come. Maybe you can’t figure out how to wrap up your WIP with a satisfying ending. Or you can’t find a way to justify your character’s behavior in a certain scene. Sometimes the concentration needed for writing is simply impossible. How do you push through? There are lots of quotes out there from successful writers that basically boil down to: Keep writing. No. Matter. What.

Useful? Not so much. But it is illuminating.

If the best way to work though the lulls in inspiration is to keep writing, then you need to find a means to keep you motivated. Some people advocate writing at a set time every day so that the routine does the heavy lifting when inspiration is scarce. Others set daily word counts or work through writing prompts on a regular basis. It may take some experimenting to find what works best for you.

I do a little bit of everything. I write for two-hour intervals at the local library or coffee shop at least once a week for a change of scenery. I set monthly quotas but I don’t get into a twist if I don’t make it – I don’t want writing to become a chore. And I belong to a writing group that meets every week that focuses on writing prompts instead of workshopping WIPs, so I always have the chance to work on something new each week. A breath of fresh air, if you will.

But the whole blogging thing… I haven’t quite figured out where that fits in my routine. Since I’ve developed a bit java habit, for every coffee I have out, I must write a blog post. Coffee is my carrot to keep my blog up to date.


Wish me luck (and lots of mochas).

Thirty Seconds of Snark

I’m an introvert by nature. When people made fun of me growing up for my blushes, my stammers, and all the books I carried around, I consoled myself with the knowledge that one day I would be successful and famous, and they’d rue the day they messed with me. Even then, successful and famous to me equated being a well-known author.

But I’m pretty sure there’s nothing more passive-aggressive then wanting to be successful by writing books, because chances are the people you want to stick it to don’t read them or recognize all the hard work and talent that goes into their creation.

No one said writing would solve all your problems… (sigh).

Contradictions of Being a Writer

Writing is a solitary pursuit 95% of the time. You spend hours alone as you put words to paper until your hand cramps. Or maybe you sit in front of your computer typing in one word only to erase it a moment later in an endless cycle.

But here’s the rub. You can write by your lonesome for years – wholeheartedly embracing the myth of the lone writer – but you won’t have any idea of your level of skill until you put yourself out there. Unless, of course, you are awesome. For the rest of us mere mortals, this means writing groups, critique partners, classes, and lots of rejection. This means strong-arming friends, family, anyone you know into reading your stuff and generating feedback. No matter how awkward or embarrassing. So long as you are committed to improving.


And there’s the paradox when writing for publication – what began as an insular, solitary trek becomes public at some point. After all, you hope there’s an audience for your work. But it’s all too easy to convince yourself that it’s just you on your little island with your typewriter, notebook, laptop, or what-have-you. And quite frankly, it’s safer for your ego that way.

But as painful, or terrifying, or annoying as it is to have someone else’s eyes on your work, it’s usually worth it. It doesn’t mean compromising your writing so it’s in accordance with the lowest common denominator. The more people who read your stuff can only help you get a sense of your strengths and weaknesses and a range of possible reactions to your work.

Saying all this, of course, is easy. Alas, putting it into practice is not.