As
new writers and illustrators, there are certain hazardous
questions we must face as we plod along toward worldly
success. Here are some of my favorites:
“How
many books have you published?” (from a new acquaintance
who just happened to be a successful
dot-commer).
“Aren’t you published yet?” (from my best
friend’s husband).
“When are you going to publish that story you’ve been
working on since college?” (from a relative who shall
remain nameless).
Typically
in the face of such questions, I would mumble something I
hoped would be unnoticeable then steer the conversation
toward something safer…their careers, for instance.
Or worse, I would launch into an elaborate explanation of
why I’m really a writer even though I’m not published yet.
No matter
how I tried to avoid them, the questions kept popping
up—often in new and exciting (read: heart-palpitating)
variations.
So what
is a hardworking, though still-unrecognized writer to do? I
did what any self-respecting, polite, (and secretly
indignant) person would—I wrote to Miss Manners:
Dear Miss Manners,
I am a writer and artist, and my dream is to write
and illustrate children's books. I am working on several
projects in that vein, though I am not yet published. In
conversation, people inevitably ask what I do, leading
to the publication question. I am excited about my work,
and I have great hopes for my projects, but I find it
daunting to have to tell people (however optimistically)
that no, I am not yet published, and therefore, to the
average mindset, not yet successful. I know that they
are curious and/or just making conversation, but to my
thinking, the question is like asking them if they have
made their first million yet.
To my
delight, she wrote back:
Gentle Reader,
As you say, the question is most likely only an
attempt to start a conversation. The curiosity you sense
behind it is less likely to translate into “Are you a
millionaire?” than into “Do you have a book out that I
should pretend I’ve already read?” or “Do you know how I
can find a publisher for the book I’ve been working on
for the last 10 years?”
In
any case, the graceful answer about whether you have
been published is “Oh, no, I’m still writing.” It
doesn’t matter how many books you may eventually
publish: You will still need to say this when people ask
you about the next book.
I tried
out her line, and it worked…sort of. It didn’t dawn on me
until much later that there is more to answering inquiries
than just a slick response. What Miss Manners may have meant
(though she was far too polite to say), was that the
problems didn’t lie with my pesky interrogators…they were
with me!
Problem #1: Flawed Premise
When one of those dot-commers would ask me about my vast
list of publications, my first thought was to (please don’t
hate me, readers) lie. After all, they were producing
Product with a capital P. Who was I to start talking about
process? What is that compared to a shiny bottom line?
When I
really scrutinized my reaction, I realized I felt tremendous
guilt about spending so much time on something that wasn’t
bringing in income. If I’m not making money, then I’m just
(shudder) a housewife with a hobby. The dot-commers weren’t
comparing product to process—I was doing it quite well
myself.
It dawned
on me I needed to rethink my original premise: “Are you
published?” is closer to “Who do you work for? What do you
do?” than “Have you made your first million yet?” When I
finally figured this out, I came to see writing as a real
job which requires time, effort, and even a boss. Which led
to my next problem…
Problem #2: Who’s the Boss Here?
Problem #2 came to a head one fine Christmas as I lazed
around sketching thumbnails with my best friend’s family.
Her husband, with whom I normally have an amicable,
bantering relationship, peered over my shoulder and
declared, “Haven’t you been working on that for two years?
I’m going to be dead by the time you finish it.”
Silence. All eyes riveted to me. I took an ominous
breath and said, “You’re not allowed to tease me about
that.”
That was
the first of my healthy, if a bit terse, boundaries. I could
have explained that I’d spent those two years researching
the market, taking classes, and slogging through the muck
with my writing groups. But I didn’t. Somewhere, buried
under my reasons, was an ounce of self-respect that decided
not to answer to anyone for my progress anymore.
My policy
now with friends and family is: don’t ask, I’ll tell.
Believe me, everyone will know when I sell my first
book. Case in point: they all knew when I sold my first
article. More importantly, I know who my boss is. The only
one I have to answer to is me (and, of course, my writing
group).
Problem #3: Questioning My Calling
Ultimately, all career questions lead to the same,
half-buried fear. Am I a real writer? Does being
unpublished make me a wannabe? A poser? Am I a writer
because I’m published, or am I a writer because I write?
When I
think of the hours I spend writing only to have a stack of
rejections to show for it, I go back to the very core.
Beneath the fear is a niggling, eternal voice that says,
“This is what you were meant to do. Keep doing it.” Right.
I’m a writer because I write.
So I’m
still in process—and like Miss Manners said, no matter how
many articles or books I may publish, I’ll still be in
process. Studying the craft with classes, critique groups,
writing and rewriting, all contribute to making my stories
worthy of publication.
I still
feel uncomfortable when the old “so what do you do”
query rolls around, but it makes me feel better that Miss
Manners deems asking about other people’s careers improper.
At least I can act slightly horrified before answering,
genuinely, that I Am A Writer.
You
can read more of Miss Manner’s lofty wisdom at the
Washington Post.
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