Writer's Corner

The "Write Stuff"
By Catherine Mulvany

Here’s the scenario. For the last five years, you’ve been writing like someone possessed, finishing manuscript after manuscript. You feel you’re finally beginning to master your craft. You’re starting to place in contests, and you’ve progressed from form rejections to personalized rejections that include editor feedback and requests to see more of your work. You know in your heart of hearts that you’re a nanosecond away from being published.

Only it doesn’t happen.

Another two or three years go by. You keep winning contests and getting good rejections, but a good rejection is still a rejection, and as your husband’s so fond of pointing out, contest wins don’t pay the bills.

So you grit your teeth and try even harder. You devote more hours to writing. You join a critique group, attend conferences and workshops, sign onto a writers’ listserve, and study RT and the RWR as if they were holy writ.

Time marches on. You now have enough rejections to paper the Taj Mahal, though the Indian government probably wouldn’t appreciate it if you did. You’re beginning to develop carpal tunnel syndrome, and you wage a daily battle with writer’s block. One day the phone rings. It’s your critique partner excitedly telling you that she just got “The Call.” You’re happy for her, of course, but you can’t help wondering why all you ever get is a computer virus that wipes out your hard drive.

A pall of negativity shrouds your world, isolating you from those you love. You start ducking friends in the grocery store for fear they’ll ask if you’ve sold anything yet. Your husband’s irritated because you’d rather stare at a blank computer screen than watch TV with him. And your kids can’t remember your name.

You begin to wonder if your dream of publication will ever come to fruition. Are you deluding yourself? Do you really have what it takes to succeed as a writer? Or are you beating your head against a brick wall? Wasting your life pursuing the impossible?

I wish I could answer those questions for you, but I don’t have a crystal ball. I do know that talent and hard work aren’t enough. You also need the luck of a whole field of four-leaf clovers and the persistence of fifty aluminum siding salesmen.

But if this sad tale sounds like the story of your life, I have a few suggestions that may save your sanity. First, quit beating yourself up. You’re more than just a wannabe writer. You’re a worthwhile person in your own right even if you never sell a book.

Second, give yourself periodic breaks to recharge your creative batteries. You deserve it. You need it.

Go to your son’s soccer game. Take a hike in the mountains. Help your daughter with her algebra. Plant some tulip bulbs. For once, treat yourself to a Fat Boy instead of one of those diet popsicles that pucker your mouth and dye your tongue red. Rent a sappy “chick flick” and wallow in emotion. Read a book you didn’t write. Watch an hour of TV with your husband. Buy a new outfit. Redecorate your house. Volunteer in your local elementary school. Sing along with the car radio even if you can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Treat yourself to a bubble bath. Bleach streaks in your hair.

And hey, if you can afford it, take a vacation. A real vacation. You don’t have to splurge on a month in Tahiti, but some time spent lounging on a beach couldn’t hurt.

Then, after a short cooling-down period, take another look at your work. An objective look. All those editors and contest judges can’t be wrong. There must be something special about your writing. Tell yourself the next thing you write is going to capitalize on that strength, whatever it is.

And while you’re looking, search for weaknesses. We all have them—even the Nora Robertses and Jenny Crusies. Once you’ve identified your weak areas, plot strategies for improvement. Then start a new book, the best book you’ve ever written, the one no editor on God’s green earth will be able to resist.

Finally, buy yourself a rabbit’s foot, a horseshoe, and a four-leaf clover or two because a little extra luck can’t hurt.

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