The Path to Publication

Image by me.

Very recently, a writer asked me to be honest about whether he should continue to pursue writing or not. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked that question. It always catches me very off guard, but it does make me want to say what follows:

I’m really not the one you should be asking. 

It would be the height of arrogance and stupidity for me—or anyone else—to suggest someone not pursue writing. We all start somewhere, and we all have quite a learning curve. Everybody. If we write, it’s because we are writers. And so we must write (or paint or sculpt or garden or whatever) or shrivel up and die a bitter, strangled creative/spiritual death.

But should we ‘pursue’ it…which I assume really means ‘pursue publication’?

When I was a younger, less experienced editor (and probably thought I knew more than I did, as is natural), I worked with a gentleman who was determined to be an author. He was incredibly eager, earnest, and gung-ho, but he just seemed to be starting in a difficult place. His work seemed a bit… well, unpublishable. But he just wanted to keep trying, no matter what the critique.

And so he did.

We kept working together, multiple drafts of first one book  and then another, both of us learning much along the way. Beneath the unpublishable veneer of what he was doing, there was something wonderful and inspired and rich in what he thought and felt and cared about. But it was just all coming out in ways that were not working at all. In truth, I didn’t think his chances of ever getting published were very good. I was almost certain he wouldn’t, in fact, even though I wanted it for him. But he loved it and wanted it for himself, and that’s all he saw in front of him (or so it seemed to me). So no matter what, he just kept on.

I don’t know what ups and downs he went through on his private journey as a writer, but I guess they’re the ups and downs we all go through. The self-doubt and the frustration, the elation and late nights. All I saw was his consistent drive, the revising, the eagerness, the upbeat attitude, the desire, the focus, and the pleasant, grateful willingness to listen intently, to learn every single thing he could. When he was ready he let go of ideas he’d tried and which he now understood weren't working. He tried new things that incorporated new knowledge. He was willing and ego-free and hardworking.

And he quickly proved me wrong. He grew. His work became good, then really good (in my humble opinion). It was amazing and wonderful to watch. He soon did what I had not managed to do at that point: he found a publisher who wanted his book, signed the contract, and produced a very saleable story with a lovely heart and appealing vehicle. I’ve never seen a writer with such a short journey to (traditional) publication. (Sure, it took years, but not even close to double digits like most of us.) 

He might well have wondered if he’d ever be a published writer. He never discussed that with me. Yet he knew he would, no matter how long or how hard the journey. He was the only one he needed to ask. 

Too Quiet

No the title of this post does not refer to the fact that I've not been blogging much lately! It's in response to a question posted on my local SCBWI listserv about what 'too quiet' means in a rejection letter for a picture book. Since I'm often asked this question, I thought I'd share my response here. 


To understand what `too quiet' means, consider your story in terms of narrative structure and character arc. Does your story introduce a protagonist with a problem right at the beginning? Does the protagonist's problem and ensuing tension increase until the climax? Does the protagonist solve their own problem? Does the climax come right before the end, at which point there is resolution for all?

If you answer no to any of these questions, that's very likely the reason for the `too quiet' comment. I have often made that comment myself on manuscripts, which might strong in other ways and beautifully written, but in which nothing much actually happens, there is no tension, nothing driving the protagonist's growth forward. Often such manuscripts are journeys through an environment, explorations of a moment, vignettes.


Now, on the subject of my own sluggishness in blogging, I'd like to say that, after a little much-needed respite, I'm back and ready to take your editing questions, edit your paragraphs and sentences, and discuss all things kids' bookish and writerly and grammar related. 

Rejection is What You Make It

Firstly: Happy First Blogisheriversy to the Rejectionist who has invited us all to blog about "What Form Rejection Means to Me" .    


My first form rejection made me cry. I think. I really don’t remember it that well, though at the time I probably felt I'd never forget the sting. In the twelve years since then, I’ve had many rejections. Somewhere along the way, ‘positive rejections’ began to outnumber form rejections, and after a time I gathered a few non-rejections—um, I mean ‘acceptances.’ Form letter induced tears have given way to forced laughter, then grim-but-determined smiles, wry sighs, and now indifferent shrugs.

All of this is par for the course. And it’s a challenging course. It’s not for the faint of heart. It will:

·    bamboozle the uninitiated

·    overwhelm the lazy

·    shrivel up the gutless

·    stymie the passive aggressive faster than they can wail, “It’s not my fault, it’s theirs!”

·    quickly teach you whether or not you’re a quitter.

Achieving publication requires:

• guts
• stamina
• passion
• hard work
• vision
• professionalism
• a hearty dose of mindless, blind faith that success is just around the corner… or the next… or the next...
•  the belief that the journey, the lovely people met along the way, and the countless hours spent learning, creating, crafting, revising, and editing are worth the struggle
• niceness.

Glorious and bountiful form rejections:

·   force you to be a better writer

·   teach you to accept rejection (any kind of rejection in *Life!*) with dignity, learn from it, shrug off any residual pain, and bloody just get on with it

·   tell you you’re probably gutsy, strong, passionate, hard-working, accepting, professional, and if you’re not already, at least on the way to being nice. And cool. And dignified. And visionary! And possibly slightly delusional, but that’s ok... You’re a writer.

Flightless

I’m the first to admit that, on some days, a writer can feel a bit self-pitying. I think we probably all really understand that without me going into it too deeply. And besides, I see little point in dwelling on the bad bits of this journey:

• A certain rejection that, even though (like everyone) you’ve had hundreds of them, really does sting because you admired that editor’s work so much and would have loved to work with her.

• The gut-wrenching sickness when, after reading your first three chapters and requesting your full MS, she then sent you an unsigned form rejection.

• The genuine joy and lingering envy (not jealousy) when someone you know gets that agent, that real publishing deal.

• The spiraling frustration that you’re not even close to achieving the level of art and craft you aspire to, let alone commercial success or a decent paycheck.

What is the point in wallowing?

There’s none. There’s no point in even feeling frustrated about all the ideas pilling up, or the complete lack of them, about a lack of time, or a churning black hole lack of plot. ALL grown-ups with responsibilities lack time. And ALL grown-ups get blocked in some area of their lives.

So, I’m taking the advice I always drum into my writing class at Art School of Distinction. I have slipped away to the coffee shop, right now, and I’m going to write. Because I feel like it right now, that’s why. Even though the sink is full of dishes and the email overflowing. Because I’m fairly confident that ten minutes from now, I’ll have no doubt I’m doing exactly what I’m meant to do. I’ll be flying—maybe in fits and starts—but I’ll be flying.

This just in...

I've read two great blogs posts in the wee small hours:

Editor Alvina Ling discusses what her different kinds of rejection letters really mean here.

And Edittorrent lists some more of the things that scream “Amateur!” to an editor.

Enjoy.

I’m snowed under with manuscripts at the moment, but I’ll be back.

Cheep-cheep!
WB