Thursday, April 5, 2012

Enough about you. Time to check your inflated ego at the door.

Blues singer Rory Block has a song with a chorus that starts “God’s gift to women, that’s what you think you are…” Needless to say, the song is about why the vain “gift” ain’t as goddamn divine as he thinks.

Which brings me back to the subject I’ve been blogging about.  The aforementioned writer (not yet an author since he admits he’s not been published) has become hostile and has even demanded that other group members identify just who they are.  He also took offense at being labeled a troll, saying that trolls are fat and short and he is skinny.  But most significant is that he claims his writing abilities are a divine gift.

While there are some few and rare writers whose works are discovered as unpublished masterpieces after their deaths, but Emily Dickinson and John Kennedy O'Toole, for example, are so extraordinarily uncommon as to render the idea of literary genius without being published while alive an oxymoron.

If so, then I suggest he should sue whatever deity responsible for the “gift” for product fraud.  More important, this person needs to develop some "netiquette" and learn to be polite and courteous and not try to hawk his ego like some snake-oil patent medicine.  Like people in most writing groups and workshops, the vast, overwhelming majority of those members are interested in the work, both their own and others, and that work needs to speak for itself.

But this young man (I’m assuming he’s young.  He has admitted he’s Eastern European and that English is not his native tongue) seems offended at the idea of submitting his stories for critique.  He doesn’t seem to understand that criticism can be both constructive and/or destructive.  Sometimes negative criticism is extraordinarily constructive, while positive remarks can help perpetuate bad writing habits.   Yet he denounces any possible suggestion of a critique of his stories as “negativity” and a direct assault on his “divine genius.”

He’s not alone, sadly.  I’ve met more than my share of young aspiring writers who believe they write prose on par with the Bible, some other sacred writings, or their personal favorite writer.  Now, I confess every aspiring writer thinks he or she is the next big thing, the next Tolkien, Anne McCaffrey, Heinlein, etc.  Many produce either nothing but hot air, or what they’ve written suggests they’re not even the next Ed Earl Repp (a 1920s pulp writer, if you didn’t know.)

Most aren’t just doing what’s already been done to death; they’re also doing what was already unoriginal long before it was done to death.   I can’t tell you how many workshop or slush-pile stories I’ve encountered that end up being how the universe was created (often in a first person narrative raising questions about the writer’s own self-perception, although certainly explains the screwed up nature of the world.)  Either that, or the story is about the survivors of some cataclysmic disaster who in the “surprise” ending are named—wait for it—Adam and Eve.  To be fair, this is something we’ve all done if we’re honest about ourselves. (I try not to remember my efforts in that vein.  Makes my teeth hurt.)

Some of these beginning writers learn, eventually, how to put together a real story as opposed to an extended shaggy dog anecdote, but a lot don’t.  Fortunately, most never get published, although with new publishing technologies that's no longer the case.  Those who do learn quite often join writers’ groups or workshops.  They have, at some point, realized that this is all about the work.

Overcoming resistance to criticism is biggest step most writers can make.  Few of us are born literary geniuses, something our young writer has failed to learn.  I’ve never really met anyone whose first lines on the page were a masterpiece in waiting.  Most have struggled, worked hard, taken advice, and then had that “aha!” moment when they suddenly understand what the advice is all about.  (“Scriveners’ Satori,” if you like.)

Just remember, this is about your work, not about you.  Let others read what you've got.  We may recognize a spark of genius there, or the whiff of crap.  In either case, it will make you a better writer.  Just remember, criticism of any kind is NOT aimed at your worth as a person.  But your behavior in responding to such criticism sure is an indicator of how people will view you.  A writer of any kind needs humility and good editorial advice. 

I have a novel that's been accepted, and I'm working with an editor who has a lot of questions and suggestions. Of course it’s uncomfortable for some else to find flaws in what your thought was great work. On the other hand, she’s noticing things that a reader would surely spot and questions.  She’s made some great suggestions to make the novel much better and others that make me raise an eyebrow. 

Every writer sees his or her work as a product of the heart and mind, as an offspring, if you like.  Parents/artists, however, need to be told that sometimes their child/offspring/story is a piece of crap and why it's crap.  They may also point out you actually have a real diamond in the shit, and that if you removed the terrible material, you'll see the diamond yourself and learn how to polish its facets, either through personal realization or, more often, from suggestions by others.

The best writers have the best critics, because the critics see something of value there.  Bad writing isn't worth bothering with, and actually is easy to spot after reading the first few opening lines and the ending.  That's in fact how slush-pile readers go through the mounds of submissions they receive.  They also realize that Sturgeon's Law applies to most things in the slush-pile—99 percent of everything is crap.

But it's also where many great writers are eventually found—after they've been repeatedly rejected by numerous publications.  But you learn from that.  You learn to rewrite, to polish, to spot your own mistakes, and develop the skills to become a skilled craftsman.  Think of it this way—not everything Shakespeare wrote was a masterpiece, but the immortal bard had friends—nay, constructive critics—who separated Will's wheat from the chaff and—I suspect—destroyed the chaff so only the wheat would appear in the First Folio of Shakespeare's play.

Most of us, however, are never going to be Shakespeare, so we have to recognize that and accept a simple truth: Great works are not written.  They are rewritten and rewritten again and again and only after criticism—both positive and negative—given after each rewrite.  Only then can it sparkle like a gem, and, if you can find an editor who can see the diamond within, you'll have a published work that others can enjoy and perhaps even admire.

But check your ego at the door, boldly put your works into the field of fire, and develop the attitude that "whatever criticism does not literally kill me (an impossibility, in fact) can only make me a better writer."

-30-

1 comment:

  1. Hear Here! Sometimes we think we either have alot to say, or nothing to say. I struggle with "no one listens to me at home" why would strangers? Yet, i can tell you every book I have read has left me larger, even the bad ones. I read a book that reflects my views or expands my awareness and I don't feel like a crazy hermit alone, crying in the wilderness. That is so important. If more people read regularly, much less write anything. To write anything worth the energy to print, I discovered I need an all emcompassing question to answer: ie: What is the nature of mind body spirit integration? or What would I say to someone like me to help them make it all worth while that doesn't come off as mind candy, pablam or cliche? Everytime I think of a good book or story to write, I discover someone has already done it, and yet there is so much that hasn't been written about. Critique vs. critisicm, co-creating vs. dismissing off hand. Writing is a relationship with an audience that starts with the direction of editing. Choosing an editor is the hardest part, getting that one person who will help you birth the thing without deforming it in the process. A person who will understand a view and help clarify it without distorting it through their own prism. All the writers you mentioned struggled years to find an "editor" who understood them and the ones you mention were contentious, egotistical, troubled genius. So there is hope for the rest of us!

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