This post’s publishing date, November 14th, 2012, marks the one-year anniversary of Carson Craig, Nascent Novelist.
Many thanks to everybody who has stopped by to read a bit.
Special thanks to those of you who visit on a regular basis.
May your souls be in Heaven a half-hour before the devil knows you’re dead.
One more piece of business: I won’t be publishing the draft of the novel here anymore. You can still follow the developing story on wattpad.
And now, to the post!
Time and time again in this space, I return to the things that can keep you from writing, things like writing to please other people or not taking your time. The other day a bad memory popped into my head, as they are unfortunately wont to do, and I remembered something else you might have to overcome in your writing journey:
Which brings me to a story.
When I was a young man, I wanted to be a poet, or a fiction writer, or both. I had a good career as a college poet in that my poetry prof loved my work and I got a lot of my pieces published in the school’s annual literary review. After college, I spent about three years partying as much as humanly possible. Writing anything went out the window.
I discovered writing again when I stumbled into graduate school at an institution offering an MFA in Creative Writing. I started writing short fiction. The first thing I turned in, a “literary” piece, was well-received by the professor. Subsequent efforts, which were more in the lines of humor and fantasy (my favorites), not so much. Still, that first story stood out and provided the catalyst for subsequent events.
A term or two later, news arrived that a Great Literary Person (GLP) was to visit our campus and conduct a workshop. The GLP was the fiction editor of a famous magazine and was even bringing its spouse, a writer, we were told, of some note, although none of us had ever heard the name. Excitement reigned.
My excitement reigned particularly high, because my writing prof offered to submit that first literary story to the workshop. It would be read and then personally reviewed in a public forum by the GLP and spouse. Having always come out well in such situations before, I assumed this would be one more ego-fest.
As it turned out, my wonderful story wasn’t. The lead character’s traits mixed those of a young adult with a little kid, and so didn’t make sense. The church portrayed in the story didn’t conduct itself in a normal Episcopalian manner, so it wasn’t believable. The thing was too much like a Flannery O’Connor tale. The criticisms went on.
Nobody had ever reacted so negatively to my writing before, so I was crushed. But, looking back, it wasn’t so much the criticism itself, but the way it was delivered that squashed me.
The GLP was downright nasty, and the spouse wasn’t much better. The tone of voice they used was haughty. The words they used were loaded. They said nothing about how the work might be improved, or what merits it had, but focused exclusively on the faults. It was so bad that one of my teachers—not my writing professor, I’ll note—stood up to interrupt and defend me. I walked out of that room with my tail between my legs. Had the criticisms been leavened with some constructive advice, I think the results would have been different.
I had already slowed down my fiction writing, for reasons I won’t bore you with here, but that experience brought it to a complete halt. I allowed myself to be blown off the rails by…
The result was I didn’t write fiction again for many years. I made a couple of good starts that fizzled on the way to my current adventures in word-world, but really, the time between my being victimized by jerks and the happy writing practice I enjoy today is about thirty years.
Think about that.
Thirty years, never to be recovered.
Please, please, please, don’t let this happen to you! It is all too likely that you will run into jerks in your writing life who will try to run you down personally and as a writer. They’ll take great glee in ripping your work to shreds. If you can, find a way to shrug off this garbage and keep writing.
If you can’t shrug off the jerkiness, keep writing anyway. The pain will stay with you a while and you’ll feel like you’re no good, but keep writing anyway. Sooner or later, the pain will fade and what will remain is all those pages you’ve filled up—many of them pretty darn good, I’ll bet.
So, write for yourself. Write to see how the story turns out. Write for the joy of it.
Don’t lose more than half your lifetime to jerks.