My Writing Sucks

from Jon Gibbs’ article about the James Frey workshop:

1. Sooner or later, you realize your writing stinks, but that’s okay because that’s the point in your career when you decide whether to quit or do what it takes to improve.

Here I am, standing at that very fork in the road. This is probably my evaluation at the end of year 3, usually done in May, coming to a head earlier than usual.

Let’s get a couple of things out of the way. This post is about something. It’s not a pity post. I don’t need to be told my writing doesn’t suck.

And

This isn’t an April Fool’s joke. I really do think my writing sucks. I also think it’s salvageable, but yes, it sucks.

All right. Here’s where we’re at. Last night I received some extremely helpful notes about Substance of Shadows from an editor who was enthused by the project. He didn’t have to give me the feedback he did, and I will always be grateful that he took the time to read the book and let me know what he thought, even though there was no real profit in it for him. People still give gifts, even in publishing.

Publication with this press was not really an option, because the publisher is YA only, and he’s convinced SOS should be middle grade. Everything he said backs up a lot of what was said about the manuscript at Viable Paradise. It’s also some of what is a problem in my troll story right now, even as I’m finishing the second draft.

As I read through the critique, I found myself nodding and agreeing with the changes that need to be done. I found myself committing to finishing the second draft of my troll story as it is, and then really going through and solving some of the problems that exist in it before I send it to the same editor, who is excited I have a YA to send him. All good stuff. Hard work, sure, but good stuff.

And then, there was epiphany.

Recently, I’ve worked hard on a couple of short stories. I’ve been ruthless, and I’ve gotten good crit, and I’ve followed the advice. The stories are more robust as a result, and I am happier sending them out. They don’t suck now. They did, but even if these stories are rejected, I am proud of the work I’ve done, and I feel like I could tweak them more in the same fashion. I’ll stand by them. This is some of the strongest work I’ve written.

I’ve never done this with a novel. I’ve only sent out substandard novels. Glimmers of promise are there. but they have not been strong works.

As I’ve sent out my novels in the past, I thought I had a good thing going on. I was wrong. I had a completed thing going on. For most naive beginning writers, completed signals the time to seek out an agent.

I am honest enough to say that I am a writer with promise. That’s why I get some call backs, and I’ve gotten requests to send things again. I am not devoid of talent.

What I am is good enough for community theater. To get good enough for Broadway or for the movie industry, I’ve got to refine and use my talent. I have to learn how to consciously control what’s on the page. My writing process has to change. Writing will not be as fun when I have to scour the pages. I am at the crossroads: really work it, or decide I don’t want to do this.

I could be happy writing things that friends like, things that are easy. I could stay in small press. I could relax and enjoy writing as a hobby or a less intense pursuit. There’s nothing wrong with this. There’s nothing wrong with choosing this.

Except. I don’t want to be the person who will wonder what could have happened if I had tried my damnedest. What I can’t do is back away from the challenge of making this work.

My standards about what’s acceptable in my writing have to go up. I think I have reached the place Ferrett Steinmetz got to when he decided to write short stories. For me, it’s all about the novel, but yes, I am dissatisfied with my current level of ability. I must work harder, learn, listen, and revise. And rework. And rework. And rework.

When I am rejected, I will continue to rework. This means that I will be working on several novels for the next twenty years, all the while accumulating my 500 required rejections before you break into the industry, and suddenly in my seventies, you’ll see about twenty novels from me. 🙂

This is the year of realizing that what I have done before is simply not sufficient. Some of it has been good, but it is not where I want to be. Time to roll up my sleeves. Time to become the grasshopper and listen to the sensei.

I think getting to this point is a measure of progress. Now let’s see what happens from here forward.

Tomorrow, I promise, there will be an upbeat post. Unless something goes horribly askew at the board meeting tonight.

Catherine