Monday, December 04, 2006
Last hill before the rise
Today as I was doing the reading for school tomorrow, I began with the usual sense of faint dread. I worry about making sure I say things nicely, without letting people think it's OK to natter on for pages where nothing is happening except the nattering. Like that. The door to my room was open and I could hear the noises of the house, the TV, someone in the kitchen, etc. I read the first one. And then, I realized the second one was from
Holly Wilcox. I closed the door and I fell deep.
This was a draft, so there were some rough spots, but genius is there right on the pages. Years ago, when I first starting writing, I took a creative writing class and there was a man named
Howard Ockman whose stories were pure magic. I wish I'd copied his stories for myself, but I never dreamed he wouldn't publish them. I keep looking for his name, but if he's publishing, it's not as Howard Ockman. It's not right to have a gift like that and not publish. And so, my fear now is that Holly won't finish, or that if she does, she won't do what it takes, which is submit and revise and keep submitting until you find the agent or editor who gets what you've done.
Lots of people complain about how hard it is to get published. No doubt about it, it's hard to get your writing to the point where someone else who holds only your pages in her hand, falls into your story. It's really hard. At this point, I'm getting cynical. Most unpublished writers seem to believe their work doesn't need
work. I now suspect they believe the real problem is the agents and editors who are prejudiced against, well, something, right?
It's a sad fact that talent is never enough. You have to finish the book, too. And then send it out there into a world populated with people who don't care how hard you worked or what you saw in your head when you were writing. Agents, editors and readers only care about what you managed to actually get onto the page.
Later, of course, agents and editors care about your print run and sell-through. But that's enough cynicism for one night I think.
