Wednesday
I had a great time this weekend as a participant in Philadelphia Stories Push To Publish Workshop. As part of a panel on “Submitting Your Short Story,” I found myself saying, “I totally grant the possibility that a story I sent out sucks, and I do give rejections and comments the power (eventually) to let me know such a thing. But I would never grant them the power to determine whether I’m a writer or not. No one gets to decide that but me.”
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I’d never said such a thing before, and never thought it either, at least not as clearly or in those words. But I think it’s an important distinction to make, the difference between a story getting rejected and a writer getting rejected. And the danger, of course, of self-determination is that you end up as one of those American Idol contestants, convinced of something no one else can see. But maybe these Idol contestants’ problem is that they’ve gone to the judges to find out if they are singers, and too often I’ve brought myself/stories to workshops, editorial panels wanting to find out if I can write. Even now, knowing what I know, it is hard to resist that desire for validation, for someone to agree with the thing you yourself are afraid to say even to yourself. I still don’t say it when people ask what I do. I tell them my titles, professor of this, director of that.
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I imagine we might all be somewhat like this, wanting to know with certainty we belong and afraid to admit the possibility that we do. I get the sense I’m losing focus here. So here’s Wednesday’s Writing Therapy: Don’t deny the possibility that THEY are right in telling you a story you wrote might not be good enough, but don’t give THEM the right to tell you whether or not you are a writer. And next time someone asks you, answer “I’m a writer.” If you can do it without having a panic attack, you’re way ahead of me.
From Beverly Akerman
October 21, 2009 at 2:39 pm
hi Randall
i was at a writing residency earlier this year. greg hollingshead, the head of the program and a ’95 giller prize winner (the biggest canadian prize, i guess), told us every writer has that imposter feeling, especially strong when starting a new project, and that simply sitting in front of the keyboard and not writing was also (in its zen sort of way) writing.
during the residency, another accomplished writer, isabel huggan, told the story of meeting an acquaintance who’d just had a story accepted by The New Yorker.(isabel’s book “The Elizabeth Stories” is still in print some 25 years after it first came out). isabel told her friend that she’d given up submitting to TNY after having been rejected 7 times or so. her friend turns to her and says, “this was my 23rd submission.” isabel shook her head, telling that story.
me too.
regards,
bev akerman
From Randall Brown
October 22, 2009 at 12:37 pm
Thanks, Bev. I find these stories (such as the one about 23 submissions to THE NEW YORKER) both depressing and hope-inspiring. I think that’s an interesting thing about writing, how we might be worthy of the title “writers” just for showing up.
From Beverly Akerman
October 31, 2009 at 3:01 pm
i don’t find them depressing. a few years ago, when i decided it was time to at least start trying to do the things i always wanted to do, one of my first writing workshop leaders, neale mcdevitt, drove home to me how important persistence was to success as a writer, even modest success. so i vowed if i failed it wouldn’t be because i hadn’t tried hard enough.
victory goes to those who show up, aka you can’t win if you don’t buy a ticket!
of course, “showing up” isn’t the only factor…talent doesn’t hurt. but, as they say in biochemistry, it’s the ‘rate-limiting step.’
cheers,
From Randall Brown
November 14, 2009 at 7:41 pm
Yes! Victory goes to those who show up!