This is you. You are part of a machine. |
What a timely metaphor for this post! What better way to
start off the Writer’s Middle Finger Part Six. Because this post is about the
long haul—the reality of an author’s career. The juggling, the ups and downs and
the changes we go through as we grow into older-but-wiser writers.
This is the sport.
Last year, my editor sent me an email after we’d discussed a
recent editorial letter. In the email, she wrote, “Thanks for being such a
great sport about revisions.” To which I replied, “I’m not a great sport. THIS
IS THE SPORT.” I stand by that. Writing is a job. It’s not an easy job. It
requires a skill set that grows as the job continues. Revision is a huge part
of that skill set. It is the sport. And like athletes, we have to do our part
to train, to compete with ourselves, and to learn every technique we can to
improve. Revision, then, is the vehicle that many writers both adore and dread.
It’s part mind-blowing learning experience/part soul-sucking responsibility.
Stet: how we keep our
middle finger in shape.
Because those around me are getting to know what a writer’s
life is like through my experiences, they hear me talk about revision a lot. The
#1 thing that civilians ask me these days is: So, do you have to do everything your editor tells you to do?
If you are a writer, you know the answer is no. If you are a
writer, you know that there is a glorious word that looks like this: STET. But
sometimes as writers, even if we’ve developed our skill set to a place where we
think we have the job nailed, we
forget this. Here’s a recent scenario:
I sent the finished first draft of a book to my (kind,
intelligent and awesome) editor in February. Pretty nice first draft. I was happy
with it, beginning to end. Editorial letter #1 arrived in April. No problem. It
was long, but my editor is all about long letters—mostly because she is
incredibly thorough in her explanations, which I find helpful.
Interrupting myself to say: Please, please do not equate
long editorial letters to a lack of quality in your own work. Editors are all
different. I have seen lamenting tweets and blog posts that go something like
this: OMG! My ed letter is X pages long!
That’s a page longer than last time! I must be getting worse. No no no no
no. No. No. Okay? No.
Anyway. I returned the revised manuscript about 1.5 months
later. Important fact that will
bite me in the ass later in this story: I returned the manuscript with no
detailed letter to outline why I did or didn’t take certain suggestions. I do
not know why I did this. I think I was just confident with the revision and
didn’t think anything needed to be said.
I knew I then had a month or more to work on the first draft
of the next project. June was great. July was gearing up to be even greater. I was writing 4k words a
day. But as July arrived, I saw the shadow creeping up behind me. I knew the
second editorial letter was coming, so I wrote faster. I
was like a human cup of espresso. Until it arrived.
Oh God.
Oh no.
Something was wrong with the second editorial letter. My
editor didn’t seem to understand my book as much as I thought (assumed) she
did. She had some great points about pacing, yes. She had some great points
about secondary characters and all sorts of other stuff, but she seemed to be
suggesting insane things for my beloved main character.
Here’s where my skill set exploded. Kaboom. Reduced to brain
shrapnel. It’s like that moment when your husband of 20 years asks you if you
want relish on your hot dog when you have never in 20 years eaten relish on
your hot dogs. (Okay, we don’t eat hot dogs, but you get it.) It’s that moment
when you feel severely misunderstood.
Lost. Alone. Think boats without paddles. With rapids.
I tried to continue writing the first draft of the new book
for two days, but I really only thought about the letter
and came to this conclusion: I didn’t think I could make the book my editor
seemed to want.
My editor is probably the smartest, savviest, coolest person
I know. We work well together. She gets me. She gets my books. I didn’t want to
disappoint her. I didn’t want to write STET that much. I didn’t want her to
think I was ungrateful for all of her thoughts and ideas. I didn’t want her to
think I was somehow becoming “difficult.” Maybe
she’s right. Maybe she wants me to be more commercial or more normal and less
weird. Maybe she doesn’t like my middle-finger Dirk-and-Sally-free writing
anymore. Shit. Shit shit shit.
Why did I think this
would get easier?
I lost motivation. On the new book. On the revision book. On
pretty much everything. I didn’t even want to swim. I drank more than usual.
(Don’t worry. It wasn’t that much.) I read and re-read the letter. I tried to
figure out how to say yes to all of her suggestions and still keep the story I'd written. I tried to figure out what
I would say to her when we finally talked about the whole thing. I had to
postpone our first conversation because I didn’t have anything to say. I was
blank. Completely frozen. I am really good at finding solutions. It’s my thing. It is the sport. I enjoy it. But I couldn’t find solutions this time. I
didn’t know what to do.
My agent suggested that I write a letter detailing why many
of the suggestions weren’t working for me. (Oh look. What a smart idea. My agent
is a genius. I am a writer. He asked me to write something about what I was
feeling.)
That letter cleared everything up. My editor understood my
main character better. She understood why I couldn’t do many of the things she
suggested. She told me to go ahead and ignore huge parts of the editorial
letter, which I have to admit was hard for me because I don’t like ignoring
things—especially another person’s hard work. In the end, we laughed about the
misunderstanding. I lamented that the whole thing could have been avoided had I
not caused the problem in the first place.
By now, if you’re reading carefully, you know what the
problem was. Remember that very important fact up there? The fact that I hadn’t
sent a detailed letter to my editor with the first revision? Yeah. All this
brain shrapnel and freaking out and frozenness was because I didn’t communicate.
Me. The master communicator. Did. Not. Communicate. And communication,
especially during revision, is a very important part of the writer’s skill set.
Hindsight: It’s like candy corn for breakfast. (Really
awesome, but seasonal.)
As I write this, I am involved with many different types of
publishing professionals. I can tell you this for nothing: The ones who
communicate honestly and effectively are my favorites.
Why my middle finger
is sore
In real life, my middle finger is probably sore from using
my computer away from my roller ball mouse more often these days. Or maybe I’m
just hitting that age where body parts get sore.
Metaphorically, I am happy to report that my middle-finger books—soon
to number four published—have been increasingly well-received, with reviewers
often noting that they are different or
original. No, I am not driving a
swanky car yet, but I didn’t get into this to drive a swanky car. I got into
this to make snowflakes, and I am making them and they are beautiful and I love
my job, even though sometimes I forget how to do it properly. I wouldn’t love
my job if I wasn’t able to write what I want to write.
My middle finger is not an angry middle finger. I don’t want
yours to be either. Not when you point it at made-up writing rules, or when you
point it at yourself, or when you point it at the internet, or when you point
it at an editorial letter. This middle finger business isn’t about being pissed
off. It’s about knowing what you want
as a writer. It’s about blocking out all the noise. It’s about being true to
yourself.
My middle finger is very very sore today. When one of my
kids has a sore finger, they want a Band-Aid or ice or something to make it
stop hurting. Me? I’ve never been so happy about a minor discomfort. It’s a
constant reminder that it’s working.
If you didn't get the snowflake reference or the Dirk and Sally sentence, you can find links to Writer's Middle Finger posts 1-5 by clicking on this link.
If you didn't get the snowflake reference or the Dirk and Sally sentence, you can find links to Writer's Middle Finger posts 1-5 by clicking on this link.
5 comments:
Another excellent post! Thanks for the reminder about communication. And this: "This middle finger business isn’t about being pissed off... It’s about being true to yourself." -- Amen! :)
Thank you for this post. It's a rare thing to be invited to share in an author's working world. But, on a pragmatic note, about that sore finger - you should get it checked out when you get back home. No, you are not just at an age when things are supposed to start hurting. I'm 14 years older than you and no part of me is sore every day. So, don't ignore it, okay? And happy launch day in 4 days!
There can't be enough middle-finger art!
Nice post.Thank you so much for sharing this post.
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