Growing Pains
On my way home from attending an all-day writers conference this past Tuesday, I sent my husband the following text:
As soon as I get home
I need you to give me a hug
and tell me I'm a good writer.
When I got home I was in bad shape. Like the great husband he is, my man held me and praised me and listened patiently to my incoherent ramblings about query letters and target audiences. Trying to sort out all the information I was spewing at him and understand why I seemed to be on a downward emotional spiral he asked some questions.
"Was the conference helpful?"
It was incredibly helpful. Just about every question I had had in the past two years had been answered.
"Did you learn a lot?"
So much. Too much. My brain was overloaded with knowledge I had gleaned from the many professionals I had heard.
I could almost hear my husband ask, "Then what's the problem?" Instead he wisely said, "Well then it sounds like it was worthwhile."
Worthwhile wasn't the problem though. Of course it was worthwhile. But the conference also left me vulnerable and overwhelmed. I had to gone to educate myself about the book industry and I got exactly what I asked for. In the words of Aristotle, I had learned too well, "the more you know, the more you know you don't know."
I had gone into the conference with great confidence and a copy of my manuscript, a 2300 word children's book. I was ready to network, listen and get an agent by the end of the day. Okay, while that was in the back of my mind, I did know that was unlikely. However I did feel I was in good shape to put myself out there and make some connections.
My first connection was with a pale faced, bespectacled woman that shared a table with me. She was tapping away at her laptop when I sat down before the opening lecture. We chatted about our writing genres and books we'd published: Me=0 Her=a handful of self published books. We talked about our current projects. She replied she had EIGHT books she was currently writing in her spare time. Turns out she works full time as a chemist and is also a mom. Writing books was her hobby. Writing EIGHT full length chapter books while working full time was her hobby. My stomach clenched. It had taken me a year to write my 2300 word children's book and I tried to write full time.
My second connection was with an editor. I signed up to have the first 300 words of my manuscript reviewed by a professional editor. This is an incredible opportunity to have free of charge. We sat in silence as I handed her my story (see: baby). I snuck a few glances at her while she read and saw an occasional smile. That was a good sign, right?
The editor was kindly and professional but had the unfortunate habit of shaking her head when listening. As I explained the premise of my book and answered her questions all I could see was her emphatically telling me "no."
"My book is about a young girl who loses her brothers."
No.
"My target audience is for 8-12 year olds."
No.
"I think it's ready to be published."
No!
"I am a talented writer who deserves love."
Never!
In actuality, the editing consultation went well. She told me what worked, "The language is beautiful," as well as what didn't work, "The conflict needs to come sooner." It was exactly as an editing consultation should be.
Still, I left the room shaky and exhausted. For those who are not familiar with the emotional free fall that is sharing your creation, let me explain. Anything you make with your own two hands, whether it be a painting, a recipe, or a story, becomes a part of you. When you put your heart and soul, your blood, sweat and tears into something, that portion of yourself is sealed to that creation forever. It's like a horocrux but for hippy artists. There is a reason why you hear so many artists and designers call their work, "my baby". The conception, the labor, the love; there's something telling that the words we use to describe creative work are the same words we use to describe creating life.
Imagine standing in a room with your child, before a panel of experts who tell you all the ways your child isn't very good. Or why your child isn't likable. Or why your child needs a lot more work and they're not sure you are up to the task.
The review process isn't new to me nor am I condemning it. Critique on your work is vital to growing as an artist. It is a necessary evil. There's no other way to get better without the feedback from your peers. Of course that doesn't make it any less painful. While in college I had to share my work with my classmates almost weekly. It is agonizing hearing others read your words out loud. It is torture watching them watch your work. It's nearly impossibly to remove your self worth from the equation. "Like me!" You want to say to them. "Please like me." You've essentially handed them a piece of you heart, after all. The creative process requires an enourmous amount of humility.
The third connection (should I just be saying 'disconnection' at this point?) came with a lecture on the importance of pitching your book idea. It was excellent advice but advice I did not like.
The ugly truth about the publishing business is it is a business. I know, it shocked me too. It is the business of selling books or in other words, making money. A writer needs to know grammar, story structure and plot points but they also need to know about target audiences, editor fees, niche trends-all the kind of stuff I hate. Where's the art in that? Why can't I just be I in the business of making beautiful literature? Why should I worry my pure, unadulterated mind with the vulgarity of business? Because I'm grown up who wants to sell my books, that's why.
Again, the business side of art making is not a new concept to me. Still, it's one I struggle with. It is completely out of my comfort zone, not to mention it seems wrong to me to write purely for money. That is something I cannot do.
I stayed for two more classes but I had a hard time concentrating. All I really wanted to do was cry under my blanket at home. Writing is so hard, I wailed inside, now I have to do even more work? I felt tired. Was I even good enough? Do I have what it takes? I took extensive notes on query letters to keep myself from falling apart.
After two days of decompressing and doing some intense self inventory I realize I'm going to be okay (surprise!). I have a lot to learn. That's fine because I love learning. I write slow. That's okay because I have a lot of time now.
I've been silly. Comparison is the thief of joy and it is also the thief of clarity. A step back has allowed me to refocus my path and just my path. Comparing myself to others is dangerous and giving into fear is lethal. I choose to move forward at my pace and with enough self respect to not expect anything from myself but my best. And I choose to accept my best.
The greatest lesson to come from this experience is the reminder that I am only one half of the equation. I am the writer but there is also the reader. Can I really be a writer if no one is reading my words? While being more mindful of my reader, I become more altruistic, more empathetic. All this stretching, all these growing pains are only going to make me a better writer, and dare I hope, a better person.
"Wherefore, he that preacheth and he that recieveth, understand one another, and both are edified and rejoice together." -Doctrine and Covenants 50:22