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A writer's quandry
Mar. 8th, 2009 06:05 pmSo, I've just finished a novel, it's a little novel, which I am in the process of revising in order to hopefully submit it to a publisher before the end of this year - or that is my goal. But, I can't seem to motivate myself to finish revising. Part of me doesn't even want to get it published, let alone read by anyone else. I find myself in a bit of a quandry, a pickle, as it were.
The more I learn about the publishing world and readers, specifically those who review and blog on books, the more hesistant I am about sharing what I write with them. I am beginning to wonder if I lack the courage necessary to become a professional and published writer? Because publishing a book, putting it out there, where it will most likely be torn to shreds metaphorically speaking, is an act of considerable courage.
Also, there's the whole marketing the book deal. Traveling about, doing the late night radio talk shows, the book signings, and the readings in front of inpatient and edgy listeners...that makes me cringe. Gone are the days in which you can just send in the manuscript and remain silent, at home, waiting for your royalty check, as you write the next book. Assuming those days ever really existed, perhaps for a few writers, but a relative few.
I've read the professional writer's blogs on lj and their stories make me cringe. Their lives aren't easy, the writing is, but the selling and the criticism, surely not. And it makes me think twice about sharing my own work. Yes, I write, I'm driven to write, I can't stop writing. And I seem to be equally driven to share that writing. Plus, I crave responses to it, knowledge of how others view it - in the hopes, I guess, of connection, understanding, and maybe even a sense of accomplishment? But I find the criticism burns. Sometimes like a cigarrett on the arm, others like a hot poker to the genitals. Depends on the criticism and on the critic, I guess. The older I get, it gets no easier to take.
There are days like today, that I find myself in a writer's quandry. Particularly on my poor little novel, which I love deeply as deeply as anyone would a child that they've given birth to and nurtured for months at their bosom, and rocked on their knee, except I find I'm unable to send my poor little novel off to school and into the world. I want to keep it safe on CD and Hard Drive, far from critical eyes. Safe inside me. Because let's face it the world is not a safe place, particularly now with all these information outlets and critics multiplying by the thousands. It's not like it used to be, when the only critics one worried about were housed in journals, magazines and newspapers - now we have the internet, were everyone has an opinion and the opinions spread like wildfire - threatening to consume you. It's scarey. Particularly for a poor little defenseless book, not much more that 250 pages, that like a child, is and is not a part of the one who created it.
That's the thing - once you send your writing out there, it's no longer yours. It becomes theirs - to do with, interpret, as they will. You can protect it a bit, but not much. Editors will tear at the words. Characters you sweated over, will change names, even occupations.
And people, readers, critics will twist what you thought you wrote into something else, often something you never ever intended.
Ah writing, that's the easy part. But actually getting your work published and read? That's not for wimps, that takes courage - courage, I'm not sure I have.
The more I learn about the publishing world and readers, specifically those who review and blog on books, the more hesistant I am about sharing what I write with them. I am beginning to wonder if I lack the courage necessary to become a professional and published writer? Because publishing a book, putting it out there, where it will most likely be torn to shreds metaphorically speaking, is an act of considerable courage.
Also, there's the whole marketing the book deal. Traveling about, doing the late night radio talk shows, the book signings, and the readings in front of inpatient and edgy listeners...that makes me cringe. Gone are the days in which you can just send in the manuscript and remain silent, at home, waiting for your royalty check, as you write the next book. Assuming those days ever really existed, perhaps for a few writers, but a relative few.
I've read the professional writer's blogs on lj and their stories make me cringe. Their lives aren't easy, the writing is, but the selling and the criticism, surely not. And it makes me think twice about sharing my own work. Yes, I write, I'm driven to write, I can't stop writing. And I seem to be equally driven to share that writing. Plus, I crave responses to it, knowledge of how others view it - in the hopes, I guess, of connection, understanding, and maybe even a sense of accomplishment? But I find the criticism burns. Sometimes like a cigarrett on the arm, others like a hot poker to the genitals. Depends on the criticism and on the critic, I guess. The older I get, it gets no easier to take.
There are days like today, that I find myself in a writer's quandry. Particularly on my poor little novel, which I love deeply as deeply as anyone would a child that they've given birth to and nurtured for months at their bosom, and rocked on their knee, except I find I'm unable to send my poor little novel off to school and into the world. I want to keep it safe on CD and Hard Drive, far from critical eyes. Safe inside me. Because let's face it the world is not a safe place, particularly now with all these information outlets and critics multiplying by the thousands. It's not like it used to be, when the only critics one worried about were housed in journals, magazines and newspapers - now we have the internet, were everyone has an opinion and the opinions spread like wildfire - threatening to consume you. It's scarey. Particularly for a poor little defenseless book, not much more that 250 pages, that like a child, is and is not a part of the one who created it.
That's the thing - once you send your writing out there, it's no longer yours. It becomes theirs - to do with, interpret, as they will. You can protect it a bit, but not much. Editors will tear at the words. Characters you sweated over, will change names, even occupations.
And people, readers, critics will twist what you thought you wrote into something else, often something you never ever intended.
Ah writing, that's the easy part. But actually getting your work published and read? That's not for wimps, that takes courage - courage, I'm not sure I have.
