Letters to the Editor
-
you will never know
You won't know when your first novel is published. You won't know when you get a glowing review in Publisher's Weekly. You won't know when your mom says she loves your work. You will always, always wonder.
There are three issues here: First, can you get published? I believe that you can. Almost anyone can. It's a matter of knowing the market and learning the craft.
Second: Can you make a living writing? That's a big maybe. Most of the working writers I know have additional jobs or skills that pay the bills. The exception is a screenwriter who got very lucky. He's also the least skilled writer (in my opinion) of the bunch. Probably the most skilled writer of the bunch is a poet. He has had some interesting life experiences - once he lived under a bridge in LA, accosting strangers on the street to write poetry for cash. He's doing better than that now, because he's making a living doing something other than writing.
Third: Do you have something to say? Only you know that. Believe in yourself. Cultivate balls of steel.
It also helps to find a friend who believes in you. The best feeling in the world is when another writer, whose work you admire, reads your work and says, yes. Yes, that moved me, I envy your talent, I'd like to grow up to be you. Writers aren't always the nicest people in the world, but they have this gift to offer you - they know good writing when they see it, and most of them are too passionate about their art to lie and flatter you.
-
also: find an audience
I just read the responses so far... I think the best one comes from AKA Smith. Workshops are all well and good, but can be dangerous for young, insecure writers. It's important to know what to keep and what to reject.
I have a story about a young friend of mine. He's lavishly talented and attending a conservative college in the corn belt. He, like you, didn't get an honorable mention when he entered his university's creative writing competition. This made him, much like you, question his own ability. I asked to see the winning entries. The winner of the competition wrote a short story about losing her virginity and how much she regretted no longer being able make that gift to her husband should she ever marry. It was a beautiful example of circa 1954 women's magazine writing. The language was awkward and not particularly interesting; as far as I could determine, the writer's only real talent was knowing her audience.
So I asked him, "Who are you trying to reach? Do you honestly think that anyone who admires this story could also admire your writing? If John Updike or Hemingway or Eudora Welty or Khalil Gibran or even Stephen King entered a contest at your school, would any of them have a shot at winning?"
It's very possible that you're trying to sell yourself to the wrong audience. Don't allow an audience that's not right for your work to dishearten you.
There are teachers who discourage good writing because they don't understand it, and teachers who encourage bad writing because they don't know any better. My husband once received an A for a college paper in which he described a blood-stained ghost as a "sanguinary revenant" - his professor was thrilled with his vocabulary. I had one undergraduate teacher who advised us never to use the word "said" to indicate that a character was speaking. She presented the class with a worksheet of alternative words, which included "opined" and "ejaculated."
When someone rejects you, ask why. And then take a long hard look at the work that wasn't rejected. Is it what you want to emulate? If not, you're submitting in the wrong place.
-
It's quite simple...
You have to have faith that you have the potential for great writing and your practice of writing professionally is a constant search and struggle to reach that potential.
You have to understand that there is the work of creating a beautifully written story (fiction or nonfiction) and then there is the work of making a living from providing written materials into the market place. They are almost two different careers.
Lastly, you have to understand that talent does not mean or gaurantee success. Success is random, can be unfair, and not always wholely deserved. The worst book I have ever read in my life (I mean the worst in every respect) is "Eat, Pray, Love," but it is a huge selling nonfiction memoir. So, who's to account for the tastes and subjectivity of the market place?
-
time
Lots of great responses here. LW, keep going. The more different and great you are, the longer it will take to get heard. What works for you in the long run will work against you in the short term. Best of luck!
-
@Allie
Workshops are all well and good, but can be dangerous for young, insecure writers. It's important to know what to keep and what to reject.
But the problem is, you won't learn what to keep and what to reject without going to workshops and trying to defend the stuff you want to keep when the other workshoppers just don't find it exciting or engaging.
There's a certain amount of pain that can't be avoided when you're a writer.
Personally I think it's important to get in there and face that pain right away.
The saddest thing to see is someone who comes to their very first novel writing workshop with 70,000 words written at a very low skill level and they've been working without criticism for years and don't know how to take it at all.
-
I can think of an immediate example
I went to class recently and someone showed up with a completed novel of 70,000 words that had never been workshopped.
It took about five minutes of hearing about the plot of this novel for everyone in the class to point out a giant gaping hole in the central premise of the central conflict in the novel.
That plot hole never would have made it through a workshop. Someone would have done her the favor of pointing it out long before her investment in the story went to 70,000 words.
I think it's much better to find these things out when you're only 5,000 words into your story.
These lessons can be painful but I think it's better to go through that gauntlet earlier than later.