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In the short time that I’ve been a writer, I’ve learned a valuable secret that we writers don’t discuss often: a writer is only as good as his or her editors.
Receiving feedback and accepting criticism and edits isn’t easy. No one likes being told what they are doing wrong, especially when the thing being criticized is something we’ve poured our heart and soul into it. When I first started writing, I hated getting edits. Now I pursue edits and editors with vigor.
My family moves a lot. Beginnings are often stressful, disorienting things, while endings might be joyous, grief-filled, and everything in between. Funny how stories are like that too. It’s often so difficult to know how to begin a story or how to tie it up at the end. Why are beginnings and endings so hard to do well in writing and life?
As writers, no matter what our goals are, there is something we should all strive to do: make our readers feel. Whether that feeling be hope, happiness, fear, or any number of other emotions, it can be achieved through masterful writing.
That is easier said than done, though, right? How can we turn our words into something so real, it gives the reader a punch to the gut or brings a smile to their face?
There are many reasons you may have taken a break from your future novel: You’re waiting to hear back from prospective agents. You’re transitioning after a major life event. You were simply too in the weeds and needed to take a step back.
But once you step away, it can be hard to figure out how to start writing your book . . . again.
There are two camps, two schools of thought when it comes to the role of inspiration in the writing process. There is the camp that says this is the only way to write, when writing hits you upside the face and demands your presence for a few seconds or a few hours. Then there is the camp that says, as William Faulkner said, “I only write when I am inspired. Fortunately I am inspired at 9 o’clock every morning.”
When I began my career as a writer, I struggled to find my voice. Whenever I tried to write, I would inevitably drift into the style of another author. Sure, I’d heard that “good artists borrow; great artists steal,” but I felt like a fraud. Little did I know, I wasn’t alone.
For a long time, I thought real writers were born with innate talent, some style that was just waiting to get onto the page. Turns out, that’s not true.
We find our voices by mimicking the voices of others. Great writers do not try to be original. They copy the work of the masters.
Over the last few weeks, I had the opportunity to travel home for the holidays. During this time, I was inundated with advice from older friends and family about life, money, and relationships. But the best advice I received came from the an unexpected source: my seven-year-old cousin.
Sometimes writing can feel like a race. We rush to finish the next manuscript or the next novel or the next short story. We try to be factories that churn out narratives that will sell. We jump from one project to the next because we’ve been told consumers demand a constant flow of new things to devour.
This race can be exhausting and discouraging. In the midst of it, we can lose sight of the fact that writing, like any art, is a craft that needs to be practiced to be perfected. There is value in slowing down, taking a break from larger works, and practicing small things.
A little over ten years ago, I had almost a decade of English teaching experience, a couple years paid freelance writing work, several creative writing university courses under my belt, and a few small publications in poetry and nonfiction. A friend’s mom, Mae, had written a query letter for her second novel. She asked me to read it and give her some writing feedback. What could go wrong?
When Mae asked, I had not attempted to write an entire novel or a query letter. I had read thousands of novels and a few letters, but I had not studied the structure and requirements of each. I assumed writing was writing. Surely with a degree in English and a little experience, I was qualified to give good feedback?
Nope. Not even close.
I lost my own writing contest. Again.
Let me explain: A few months ago, I created a fake identity and entered a writing contest hosted by The Write Practice. In other words, it was my writing contest.
I wasn’t involved with the judging—although I’ve judged over 15 contests—but I personally hired the head judge and knew most of the associate judges. And even though the judges had no knowledge that I was participating, you would think that it would have given me a leg up in the writing contest, right? I knew what the judges were looking for, after all.
I didn’t win though. I didn’t even make the shortlist. And last month, when I submitted my story for the Spring Writing Contest, I didn’t win it either.
