Vicki Hinze on Writing

©2008, Vicki Hinze

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME…?

WARNING:  This is a no-edit zone…

Yesterday, a writer came to me deflated, disillusioned and all but devastated.  Her work had been ripped to shreds by a group of fellow writers–one who had by their own choice elected to work as a group to strengthen and assist every other writer in that group.

I’m not going to judge their actions.  I’m going to believe that their intentions were good and that their hearts were in the right place.  I’m going to believe that there wasn’t a smidgen of jealousy, envy or a nasty thought anywhere in the bunch.  Admittedly, I’m having to work to believe these things, but I choose to believe them, because the thought of a writer–any writer–deliberately doing harm to another, knowing what it takes… well, it’s just not acceptable to dwell on that.

You see, this writer has worked hard but she’s also been fortunate and landed herself a very nice publishing contract.  And some others who have worked hard have not enjoyed that bit of luck.  But that aside, they know this writer, Lucky, has worked hard and suffered through trials and triumphs and gains and setbacks.  She took a risk and made her luck, and she got it.

Now suddenly everything she writes is incurably flawed.  Whether the others were tearing down her work to build themselves up, I don’t know.  Whether they realize that while they copious remarks on what was wrong, not one bothered to mention anything–not one thing–that is right.  A lot is right.

Lucky and I had a long chat about this situation, and while I refused to advise her on staying with her group or departing–that is a decision that is solely hers to make–it does raise this opportunity to talk with writers about how they treat other writers.

First, no one insists that you join a group.  No one insists that you read anyone else’s work.  And no one insists that you comment on someone else’s work.

You join a group by choice.  You elect to give your best for the others’ good and you accept their best for your own.  It’s a strategic business alliance for mutual benefit.

So if you can’t share in the joys and triumphs that result from the collective effort, why are you there?  That is the objective:  to assist and be assisted in creating the best work possible.

I’ve often said that writers should write with passion and compassion.  Passion for what you’re writing, and compassion for the people–in the novel, and those who will read it.

It went without saying that in a group created to assist and be assisted, one should read with passion and compassion, too.

Telling a writer what is wrong is valuable.  It’s important.  And it’s a core element of why the group formed and everyone is investing in the work being done.  But telling a writer what is right is equally valuable if not more so.  Because it is on what is right that we build.

We take the good and make it stronger and better.  We expand it.  While we attempt to take what is wrong and make it right.  Bad to good.  Minimize the bad.  Expand the good.

Well, if you read someone else’s work and you fail to mention the good, then what have you done for them?  Upon what do they build?  What strengths have you pointed out for them upon which they can expand?

Every writer has strengths and weaknesses.  When you read for another, it’s your responsibility to be honest.  Honest means honest.  It doesn’t mean bringing your own trials, tribulations and/or baggage to the table.  You have an obligation–one of your own choosing–to be as objective as humanly possible and to give the work your best.  That means identifying weaknesses (with passion AND compassion) and strengths (again, with passion and compassion).

Every writer knows the struggle to tell a story just so.  The battle to get the right words in the right place at the right time to convey the right emotions for the right reasons to effect the right outcome.  We know that it is a writer’s sweat and hair-pulling and sometimes even tears that makes writing look easy and simple.  We know that it is anything but simple.  We know what it takes because we too make that investment.

And all this leads me to ask a question today because this situation is weighing very heavily on my mind this morning.   When was the last time?

The last time you asked someone else how can I help you?

The last time you read and pointed out what’s right as well as what’s wrong?

The last time you celebrated someone else’s victory with genuine enthusiasm?

The last time you looked beyond you, deliberately left you out of a situation with the express intention of lifting up someone else?

Write and read with passion and compassion.

Be honest.  Absolutely.  With others, and also with yourself.

Understand that if you’re not a positive influence in someone else’s life, you’re a negative influence.  That too raises a question we should answer:  “Which do I want to be?”

We all know which is destructive and which is constructive.  Destroying another in no way elevates us.  So if we can’t remove the “me” from our reading for others, then we should recognize it and not read for others.   And if that is the situation, then we should then not expect others to read for us.  We best serve all by removing ourselves.  True, we will lose good, but we also will do no harm.

Perhaps such a drastic measure isn’t necessary.  Perhaps we hadn’t considered or thought of what we were doing as damaging.  Perhaps now, we will.

And perhaps we can start by asking ourselves, when was the last time…?

Blessings,

Vicki

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WARNING:  This is a no-edit zone…

I love and collect quotes. I came across one a couple days ago that totally speaks to the writer in me:

“In every work of genius, we recognize our own rejected thoughts; 

they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.”            

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

I read Mr. Emerson’s words and thought, “Perfect. Exactly the right goal and aspiration and tone for a writer who writes first with purpose.”

And that made me wonder. How many writers actually identify their goal for their writing? Not what or how much or when they write, but what they hope the work will achieve? What message it will convey to readers? How many writers have defined that message? How many have a clear sense of self and the role it plays in their work?

Is this something that most writers think about? Or do they drift story to story, writing the books they choose for a purpose defined only by that work and not by their entire body of work? I’ve pondered on this quite a bit lately–sitting with one’s eyes closed can assist one in seeing the less-than-obvious quite clearly–and I know writers who do both. Or ones who flip from one position–by the book–to the other–by the body of work. And that got me to thinking about Author Theme.

If we examine an author’s body of work, we do see a recurring theme in all of the books. It doesn’t matter what genre they’re written in, what classification tags have been assigned to them; plot and tone and characters can vary widely, but the underlying author’s theme remains intact.

It is the reflection of the author herself. Her perspective, ideas, attitudes and dreams. Readers see and believe and are led to accept what the author wants us to see and believe and accept. We react to the assets the writer employs. That theme might be healing or redemption or cowardice. It might be independence or protection or betrayal. Loyalty, abuse, or dealing with issues such as illness. It might be inspiring, encouraging, offering hope.  Regardless, every author has a theme.

Writers often say, I want to make the bestseller list. I want to be published in hard cover. I want to be sent on tour. I want larger print runs, more money, broader audiences. All of that is fine–and business aspects should be addressed by those writers who write to sell. But can writers write-to-sell and have a defined goal for their body of work? Do they? That’s the question of interest to me.

When I first started writing, I set a standard for myself on the books I write. I must love them. That’s shorthand, of course, and I know what it takes for me to love a book enough to be willing to invest a share of my life into writing it. For me, that love includes purpose. Every book I write, every story I plot, has a purpose that resonates with me and that I hope will resonate with readers. So that they will see something just a little differently after reading the book than they did before reading it. Something that turns on a light, broadens a perspective, shows that unknown options exist and anyone can utilize them if they choose to do so and act on the choice.

So writing with purpose isn’t a new concept to me. But those goals have defined the purpose for writing a specific book–each specific book. I’ve never before considered them in relation to the body of work I’m creating.

My body of work has not had a defined purpose. It has not had a single goal that can be attributed to all of the books except in the broadest of terms. I’ve been remiss!!!

So begins my exploration for that specific body-of-work purpose–and Mr. Emerson’s quote, for me, defines it perfectly. I have a starting point,

I am a genius. Not bragging or complaining, just stating a fact with no more or less importance placed on it than on the fact that I am a woman. I had nothing to do with either designation or attribute; the characteristics were divined, like having blonde hair, blue eyes and a crooked nose. But recognition of the human condition? That, I–we all–can choose to do. To notice, acknowledge and either accept or reject. And I can choose the value I place on that recognition. Every human being can. Every writer can.

And that’s now the mission. To clearly define my goal for the body of work I’m creating, recognizing the human condition and the value in it.

Mr. Emerson’s insight humbles me. How brilliant he was to recognize and verbalize the importance of this. At times, our own rejected thoughts do come back to us both alien and majestic.

And at times, from a mere few words strung together with purpose by someone who has pondered life and humanity and the human heart, we glimpse the mysteries and discover that which we had failed to notice or recognize. We become aware of what we had neglected.

That awareness is a valuable gift. In it is an opportunity to change that circumstance. A chance to redefine our purpose, to hone it so that it becomes clearer to us in our vision of what we want to do with our lives.

Writing requires physical work, yes. But it carries equal demands on our emotions–the method through which we connect with readers–and spiritually–our shared perspectives, attitudes, fears and ideas, beliefs and hopes and dreams. We relay our experiences, define the world and people around us. We attribute qualities that appeal and repulse us. Through our stories and the characters in them, we live.

And life, being precious and elusive and ours for only a short time, should be lived with intention. The clearer our vision of what we hope to accomplish through our writing, the more successful we are at defining and fulfilling intent.

I’m reminded of something I once heard about the end of life. I can’t quote it directly; it’s been a long time since I heard it. But it was about not reaching the end of life neat and tidy. It was about skidding in sideways, exhausted and used up, thinking, “What a ride!”

Used up, as in replete, content and satisfied that you’d explored all that most mattered to you. Without regret that you’d always played by the rules and always ended up on the short end of the stick without much satisfaction to show for a tremendous amount of effort.

All mortal life ends. It’s how it’s lived that matters. I kind of like that skidding in sideways visual image–so I’m going to keep it, and Mr. Emerson’s insight, in mind and further define my body-of-work goals.

Hmm. Two lines of text and it’s been on my mind for three days. I’ve read hundred thousand word books that didn’t linger three hours. Haven’t you? 

Imagine… To have that kind of residual effect, to have someone read your book and then ponder on it as it relates to their own life… Now that’s a goal for a body of work, isn’t it?

And that’s what’s on my mind this morning… Well, one of two things. The other is wondering why this emerald ring that popped up unexpectedly in the writing is so determined to be significant.  I have no idea why, or to whom–yet.*

Blessings,

Vicki

C2008,VICKI HINZE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

©2008, Vicki Hinze

Once, I believed that Writer’s Block did not exist. Sincerely, truly, and—I thought—irrevocably. Then, I woke up.

Actually, that wake-up call came in the form of it being pointed out to me that soldiers who go to war (and people who are in accidents) and lose limbs still feel toes or fingers no longer attached to their bodies itch. Amputated knees ache. Missing arms throb. All long after the physical trauma to the body of losing that limb has passed. These sensations are commonly referred to as “Phantom Pains.”

Doesn’t it stand to reason then that if the physical body can suffer phantom pains that the creative body can as well?

Okay, I conceded. I was wrong. If phantom pains can exist in the physical, and there is in fact harmony and balance in all things—as I believe there is—then logically I have to accept that phantom pains can exist in the creative, emotional state.

That concession made, I firmly chose to deliberately convince my logical mind that writer’s block doesn’t exist. Why? A purely selfish reason, I admit. Because thoughts have power. And if I refuse to believe Writer’s Block exists, then I can’t get it.

Sounds goofy, doesn’t it?

Topically, I agree it does. But who cares how it sounds if it works? And this does work. In ten years, I’ve seen excellent writers agonize with Writer’s Block, and yet I’ve miraculously avoided it. That blessing set me to wondering, Why?

I’ve drawn a few conclusions that, I hope, will help you avoid suffering this debilitating, excruciating, and painful plague.

First and most powerful, I think, is recognizing that thoughts have power. If you “think” you’re blocked, “believe” you’re blocked, you will be. The reason isn’t at all mysterious. Our every thought feeds directly into our subconscious as fact. The subconscious can’t interpret; it takes in everything in a literal sense. It doesn’t interpret and it never forgets. The subconscious can’t differentiate between truth and falsehoods or speculations, or fears voiced, either. So if you think you’re blocked, then take it to the bank, because your subconscious mind will convince your conscious mind that you are blocked, and then you will be.

The solution is to “think” yourself into creative freedom. Believe you can write and write and never run out of words. It’s a simple solution, but its power is complex—and effective.

Sometimes writers feel blocked because they have drained their reserves. Remember, your body needs fuel to run. So does your creativity. When you constantly pour out creativity without refueling and taking in things that feed your creativity, you deplete your reserves and you end up with an empty creative well.

When you dip into an empty well, you can’t draw out water. The well is dry. Same holds true for the creative well. But is this writer’s block? Truly?

The effect is the same, but it’s really only a matter of refilling your creative well, of feeding your creative self.
How do you do that? Read. Read novels, nonfiction books on topics that interest you. Magazine articles, newspaper reports. Watch movies. Listen to conversations, take walks and observe nature. Daydream.

Indulge yourself in fantasies. The more you put into your mind—your well—the deeper well you have to draw from.

Ever wonder what it would be like to be a surgeon? Ask one. Observe a surgical procedure. Watch a heart beat, a liver quiver. It’s truly fascinating. Want to be a judge? Sit in on a court hearing. Get your juices flowing by feeding your interests. That fills your creative well.

Sometimes we feel blocked because we don’t have a clear picture of exactly what we want to say. Do you know the theme of your novel? Can you put it down in concrete terms, in a few sentences? If not, think about it until you can. If you don’t know what you want to say, how can you work a story into saying anything in particular? You can’t. You sit and write and take off on tangents and work hard and harder still and end up with a lot of material that’s not a cohesive whole.

Interpretation? Writer’s Block. But is it?

Not really, though the result is the same. It’s a lack of specific focus, of direction.

Other times, we tumble to a stop because we don’t really understand our characters. We haven’t fully explored these people and so we don’t have a firm grasp on what makes them tick. What do they love, hate, admire, and respect? What do they fear? How are they going to grow and change during the course of the novel? Motivation. Conflict—internal and external—is essential, but so is knowing what makes each character universal and unique.

If you don’t know your characters as well or better than you know yourself, how can you write how they’ll react to a given novel situation? You can’t. And so you stumble to that stop without a clue as to how to proceed. And that is often interpreted as writer’s block.

The solution to work past it: interview these people. Author, Kim Kozlowski, crafted a wonderful character interview that is indispensable. It takes time to complete, because it’s very thorough, and you won’t use all the information you glean in preparing it. But you will know these characters, and you will know what they wouldn’t or wouldn’t do in any given situation. And in interviewing them, they will spur the plot—one that is custom-made to highlight their goals, motivations, and conflicts, and enhance their novel purpose. Result: no more writer’s block.

The same situation with character holds true for plot. Without a clear path on where you’re going in the novel–and what story events you intend to incorporate to take you there, you can write yourself into countless corners, brick walls, dead-ends with no logical way out. And while this too is often interpreted as WB, it isn’t. Not really. It’s a lack of planning. Of knowing how you intend to get from Point A to B. One way to eliminate this situation is to use a plot board.

Do a synopsis, lay out your chapters and scenes. Then check that plot board for all manner of things.

Character growth and development, conflict, motivation, logical succession of events. You can check for logic gaps, natural progression, character consistency. You can check your time line—make sure things are happening in the right order, sequentially. Check your settings to make sure each is compatible with the mood and tone of the scene. You can check essentially all elements of the novel on this board.

In addition to realizing that thoughts hold an enormous amount of power, that creativity must be nurtured and that well refilled to be able to meet demands of putting out, knowing the novel them, the characters and their deepest secrets, fears and desires, and having a plot plan, I think it’s essential that a writer feeling blocked examine the whole. I mean the whole novel, and more. I mean the whole writer.

First look at the novel. Do you love this book? Does it tap into your emotions? Make you want to laugh, cry, choke the living daylights out of something? Does it arouse your passion? If not, change it until it does. If you don’t, then apathy sets in, and you’re setting yourself up for more blocks. And for rejections. You can’t arouse empathy in anyone else if it isn’t put there by you, the writer. If you don’t feel it, how can you stir it in others? So get passionate. Write something that matters to you. If you can’t do that on this novel, then ditch the project. If your passion is aroused, you’ll have plenty to say—and tons of ways to say it. Passion arouses all the nebulous creative juices and they make the work flow.

As a writer, how do you feel about writing this particular book? Are you writing a category novel because you love them, or because you’ve heard that so many of them are published your odds of breaking into publishing are greater by writing one of them? Are you writing your novel because it’s the kind of story you love to read? The kind you’ve always done and changing is too hard, or intimidating?

Writer know thyself. Know why you’re doing this project. And if the reason is anything other than for the joy of it, because you love the story, do yourself a favor. Recognize the odds of it being your best work are shot before you pick up a pen. Why waste your time—this is your life, you know?—working on a project that doesn’t matter to you? Feigned interest and enthusiasm is glaringly apparent, and it’s as offensive as anything else that is hypocritical. You can’t fake it. You have to feel it.

WB is an unforgiving term. It can cause writers a lot of pain and agony. It can have numerous tentacles and each one of them can choke the writer. With each choke, fear and doubt that you’ll ever be able to write again gain strength. But you have the power to work past it. By analyzing each tentacle, writers often find that they’re not blocked at all. They love writing as much as they ever did. They’ve only burned out and not recharged their creative batteries, they’ve forgotten the value of passion, they’ve stepped off the trail and gotten mired in the brush.

Well, get a sickle. Hack through that brush and more often than not you’ll discover you’re truly not blocked, you’re suffering phantom pains. Ones that are rooted in exhaustion, splintered focus, too many demands. In structure, discipline, and definition—lost limbs.

The best news is that once you identify them, you can form a concrete plain of action to combat them, and these limbs can rejuvenate. It takes effort, a little indulgence in spending the time and energy to figure out the root causes of the problem. But when you have, you can rejoice because you’ve worked your way through writer’s block.*

©2003-2008 BY VICKI HINZE 

There are times of uncertainty and doubt in every writer’s life. Times when all the hard work, the frustrations, the efforts, and the isolation inherent to executing the craft seem to narrow to one question in the writer’s mind: Is it worth it?

 

Is it?

 

We give up our hobbies, or limit our time investment in them, to focus more intently on developing our skills. We lower our standards in areas of our lives that we once had adhered to fastidiously. Now, we consider it far more noble to ignore chores in our homes to study, so that we might get past that psychic distance challenge we’re facing in Chapter Three of our current Manuscript-in-Progress. By necessity, we isolate ourselves from those whose company we enjoy–during deadlines, even from our families. We’re confident that our dedication will propel us to success. Our investment is worth it. We will reach our goals.

 

And then something traumatic happens (our publisher ceases operations, our line at the house folds, our editor leaves) and we’re tossed into a pit of despair where investment doubts return with unrelenting vengeance to assault us with that confrontational: Is it worth it?

 

We debate, mull, and consider. Discuss our uncertainties with our families, our peers, our mentors. We weigh and measure and, somehow, we adjust to our new circumstance, then focus on alternatives, on solutions, on new paths to explore. We endure. Our creative selves survive. And we again convince ourselves that we are spending our time wisely–and exactly as we must spend it. We are writers. Writing is worth the physical effort, the emotional investment, the sacrifices it demands. We go on, pursuing our dreams and working toward our goals.

 

As if being rewarded for our persistence, some small success (which seems large to us, due to our need) comes our way and we feel vindicated. The investment was wise, the struggle worth everything it took, and more. Confirmation smells so sweet and brings us such contentment.

 

Until the next time we’re dumped into the pit and doubt assaults us.

 

Then we suffer a focus shift because Is it worth it? now has company. A new question lands on the scene to torment us: When will these doubts stop?

 

Obviously, I can’t answer for everyone. But I can answer for me. My doubts ended on January 8, 1995 at 12:50 p.m. CST: the moment a beautiful writer named Suzanna died.

 

Suzanna exemplified my vision of a heroine. She was clever and courageous and beautiful, inside and out. Her battle with death was a long, hard one that she fought admirably. She inspired smiles, and she radiated strength.

 

In excruciating pain, two days before her death, Suzanna reached out to friends, saying she needed their strength. These friends were a group of writers on GEnie’s Romance Exchange. I was one of them.

 

Most people are uncomfortable with death, and shun it. Writers are not immune to this discomfort, yet we rallied and wrote individual letters to Suzanna. I was very worried about writing this letter. Suzanna had been such a tower of strength throughout her illness. A person who reached out to help others, but rarely asked for anything herself. Now, she desperately needed support, and I didn’t want to fail her. When I sat down at my desk, I knew I would be composing the most important writing of my life, and I wasn’t at all sure I was up to the challenge.

 

I prayed for the right words, for the ability to link them cohesively and clearly, to say precisely what needed saying in the right tone and style to give Suzanna what she hoped to find on the page—strength. I prayed for competence, for the skill to convey a message of sincere support, but not of pity. Suzanna was far too remarkable a person to pity. And I remember being comforted because I wasn’t alone. I knew all my GEnie sisters were composing their letters, suffering these same fears and doubts, praying these same prayers.

 

The decade’s worth of studies and struggles, of time and effort, the wisdom gleaned from my many mistakes, my every trial—all merged inside me, and I wrote the letter. I did not use the word heal nor death—the time was near, we both knew it, and I would never insult Suzanna’s intelligence or the courage she’d displayed by pretending otherwise. Yet I somehow was blessed with not being reduced to falling back on time worn clichés. I reminded Suzanna of all the kindnesses she’d shown others. Told her that she had made a difference. And I wished her peace.

 

Along with those of my GEnie sisters, my letter was read via phone to Suzanna. Within moments, I plunged into the pit of doubt. Had I said the right things? Said them the right way? Was the tone comforting? Would the strength she said she needed be there for her in what I’d written on the page? Again, I feared, but I wasn’t alone. I knew that all my writing sisters were suffering these same doubts about their letters.

 

The next afternoon, I got that most dreaded call. In her husband’s arms, at 12:50 p.m. Central Standard Time, Suzanna had passed away peacefully.

 

Peacefully.

 

My doubt died.

 

While I’ll never know for certain if my letter had any part in bringing about Suzanna’s peaceful passing, I do know that writers rallied and showered her with heartfelt support when she needed it most. And I know that she knew her life had value, that she mattered. I know because I told her. Many of us told her. There’s a great deal of comfort in that.

 

And if I should never write another word, then every moment I’ve spent studying, struggling, and sacrificing to develop my skills still has been time well spent.

 

In the length of one letter, I received indisputable proof that, yes, it is all worth it.

 

The day Suzanna died peacefully.

 

Blessings,

 

Vicki

 

Vicki Hinze

www.vickihinze.com 

 

 

 

 

 

   

“Fearlessness may be a gift but perhaps more precious is the courage acquired through endeavour, courage that comes from cultivating the habit of refusing to let fear dictate one’s actions.”  

                                                                                                                                                                         – Aung San Suu Kyi

 

 

No less than three times in as many days have I had a writer tell me:

 

1.  She was afraid to submit her work because as soon as she did, she’d read a group of things she’d done wrong and wish she hadn’t and she couldn’t be sure she was ready.

 

2.  He hadn’t submitted his work because he didn’t think he could stand getting back a rejection.

 

3.  She submitted her work and then contacted the individual and pulled the submission.

 

 

If as a writer, you’re waiting for a time to come when you don’t see changes you need to make or ones you wish you’d made AFTER the submission, consider your experience an oddity.  Epiphanies have a way of sneaking in and zapping us after the fact.  Recognize that it’s normal and happens more often than not.  Note it and when the opportunity arises, edit and incorporate.

 

As a writer, you continually seek to grow and master your craft.  Because you do, you will encounter this challenge–and if you aren’t, you’re either very, very lucky or you’re not studying craft and continuing to grow.  Warning:  that leads to stagnation, and stagnant things die!

 

I’ve been in this business nineteen years and I don’t think I’ve ever been sure a project was ready to submit.  Yes, I know I love them.  Yes, I do allow them to cool to make sure what I think is conveyed on the page is conveyed on the page.  Yes, I do strive to submit only my best work.  And I have enjoyed many bubbles in the gut that shout, “oh, this is strong.  This really works.”  But to feel that there is nothing–not one word–that could be changed to make the work stronger?  

 

If I ever get there, believe me, I’ll be broadcasting it, so you’ll know.  So far, this has escaped me.  Which is one of the best reasons to solicit outside readers.   It’s true that many projects are submitted too soon–before they’re polished and splendidly shine.  By having a couple others read the work and getting their reactions, you will get a cross-section of responses.  

 

Vary these readers.  One who loves to read this type book.  One who is familiar with the subject matter in the book.  One who is sharp on writing craft and construction and novel structure and characterization and mechanics.  Barter.  I’ll read and comment if you’ll read and comment (with another writer).

 

On rejection.  Understand that if you’re a writer, you will be rejected.  Not you, the person.  Your work.  Accept it and then press on.  I know only two writers who haven’t received–and I mean all during their career no matter how high up on the career ladder they’ve gotten–rejections.  And both have multiple readings and edits before their work is ever submitted.  I know no one who has penned the perfect book.

 

This is why we create and then edit and edit and edit.  We’re striving for the best we’re capable of producing at the time.  Then we have others read and we shove (or smother) our egos, hear and listen to what they have to say.  What we agree best serves the story, we incorporate.  Only what we agree best serves the story do we incorporate.  

 

Often agents ask for revisions.  Then editors suggest revisions.  Then copyeditors ask for more.  Often more than once!  

 

So do strive for perfection, but don’t expect that your perfection is perfect.  Others will see things you miss.  Know things you don’t know.  Catch mistakes that save the book, save your backside, and sometimes they’ll save your hair–spare you from pulling it out by the roots in frustration.

 

Develop rhino hide, understand that revision recommendations are given for a single purpose:  to strengthen the book.  Everyone involved in the process (and no one more than the author) wants the strongest book possible.

 

Rejection might not be about the work, but about what best sells to the readers.  Marketability.  List balance.  Suitability.  House focus and/or direction.  A million other things.  The point:  it’s not about you.  And it might not be about the work.  It might be connected to strengthening the salability of the book.  

 

Writers get rejections.  That’s what happens when they submit, stretch and grow and experiment and make all manner of effort.  This is not a bad thing and it rarely has spit to do with the author so it should never be taken personally.

 

There are times and situations in which a writer pulls a submission.  Shoot, there are times when an author contracts a book and then buys the book back.  But this isn’t something you want to do or something you do without considering all aspects of it and the consequences.  Tread lightly.

 

Remember, first impressions are just that.  One-shot deals.  You don’t get a second chance.  So if you must pull a submission, make sure it’s for an excellent reason and that you don’t make a habit of it.  And be wary of the second-guessing trap.  It’s easy to talk yourself into thinking something is awful and unfit–especially if it’s a purpose-driven novel.  If you must do this, be extremely judicious.  And it goes without saying to do all you can to make sure you’re ready to submit before you do so initially.

 

 

It takes courage to put yourself out there.  If you do so with a realistic view on potential, then you’re in a far better position to cope with the results.  Understand what rejection is and isn’t.  Understand that continued growth nearly promises you’ll have post-submission epiphanies.  And understand that the best way to avoid having to pull a submission is by doing the necessary work and expending the effort before submitting.

 

Blessings,

 

Vicki

 

©2008, Vicki Hinze

    The Harlequin community is committed to reading 100,000 Books this year to benefit the National Center for Family Literacy. This is an unprecedented opportunity for all of us to help fight illiteracy at the grass roots level. If the Harlequin community achieves its goal of 100,000 books read, it will be donating the equivalent number of books to this charity–and this charity is working hard to find solutions to the literacy crisis, so we need to do our part to make sure this a success. That Harlequin book donation is equivalent to $700,000. You know how much that kind of donation can benefit women and their families. We all want to make a difference in the lives of others. Here’s a shot to do just that. Reading impacts lives; we know it does. So get involved. Be a part of making a difference. Register and participate. Blog about the books you read this year. WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU HAVE TO DO? Read a book and create a book review. Do that, and you’ve added one more book to the total–and the National Center for Family Literacy is one book closer to getting those books! We love reading–so much so that sometimes we feel we need a license to do more of it. Well, consider this your license (you’re reading for a worthy cause, a critical purpose) and go for it! Here is the link to the challenge rules and an introduction. Please, please, use it! Blessings, Vicki Vicki Hinze www.vickihinze.com Tags: read, books, novels, literacy, authors, writers, novelists, creative writing, competition, challenges, donation, writer’s library, vicki hinze

Warning:  this is a no-edit zone…

On awakening, like everyone else, I have my rituals. One of them is to read from the Bible and then to pull a quote for the day and reflect on how the two–the reading and the quote–interrelate. The quote for today is:

 

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.”

-Edith Wharton

 

There are a lot of ways to look at that quote. And I expect one sees in it what they’re looking for at the time. Today, my interpretation of it is that we’re all both candles and mirrors at different points in time on different issues and in different situations.

 

I think that’s a good thing. When we’re capable of creating paths (whether we really want to walk them or we feel compelled to walk them for the greater good), of doing things that need doing (pleasant or not), or we take action to make situations better, we’re the candle.

 

When we are the candle, we emit light into shadows and darkness and others see it and find their way or reflect it, emulating us, like mirrors. When your children mimic your actions. If you ask them for something and always say thank you, then they automatically do, too. When you treat others with respect, conduct yourself with dignity and grace, then others are more apt to treat you that way, as well. Not certain to, but more apt to. With free will, that’s the best you can do: be responsible for yourself.

 

When you’re the candle, you choose what light you cast. Knowing others reflect it, you should aspire to have it be the best you have to give.

 

When others are the candle and we act in harmony with them, then we are the mirror that reflects their light. This is why it is so important to choose those you surround yourself with carefully. If the light they cast is negative, harmful, hurtful–either inflicted directly or condoned–then you reflect it. If it is positive and constructive and helpful–either inflicted directly or condoned–then you reflect it.

When you’re the mirror–and at times we all are–then you don’t choose good or bad, right or wrong, negative or positive, or destructive or constructive. You simply reflect.

 

I’m being nudged this morning to write this post, and I never question spiritual nudgings. But this reads like a lecture on life, and I guess when you get down to it, it is. Yet like everything else it does apply to writing.

 

Writing is all about characters–people–and if you don’t believe that, take Scarlet and Rhett out of GONE WITH THE WIND and see what you’ve got left. Since writing is about people, it is a mirror that reflects light.

 

Which makes the point of this that every author is a candle. And all the fiction the author produces is a mirror that reflects the light from her candle. That is a compass for authors to consider the impact of what they write. To consider the light they emit that others will mirror and reflect.

Carrying this one step further, solely into the fictional world, the characters are candles or mirrors, too. As writers, we serve them well by remembering that.

 

I hope this helps–and that you all have a glorious day filled with joy and many…

 

Blessings,

 

Vicki

 

P.S. Because I know someone is going to ask, I’ll just answer the why question now.

I get these nudges often, and when I do, I heed them and post. Without fail, someone who gains some something from the post emails to say so. That’s held true in all the ten years (or whatever it’s been now) that I’ve done this. At first, I considered it coincidence. Now I accept that in these posts, I’m not the candle. I’m a mirror.