Storytelling Mentor on Your Shoulder. Every writer I know has endured rejection. I certainly have. In fact, on the occasion of my first major rejection, the editor implied, or maybe told me straight out, that I had no idea what I was doing.
My first big mistake that day was agreeing to a sushi lunch. I didn’t know sushi from tsunami at the time, but I did know I should appear cooperative. So, I replied, “Sushi’s good.” Had I guessed the true purpose of the lunch, I would have made a different response. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a clue, though I probably should have.
I was writing my second novel for this editor. The first hadn’t set the world on fire. The second was supposed to correct that, but the revision phase had dragged on so long I’d almost lost track of what my story was originally about. As I took a wobbly chopstick grip on my third portion of something raw and wet wrapped in seaweed, my editor let me know she felt the same.
“This just doesn’t work for us,” the editor said. If you have ever heard or read those words, you know what happened next. I plunged into shock. On the other hand, I was back on track in one respect. I got that the revision phase was finished. Novel number two was off the table, as surely as the sushi had slipped from between my chopsticks and plummeted to my plate.
“You seem to think a bird sits on your shoulder and tells you how to write,” my editor was saying. “Like you don’t have anything to do with it.” I needed to be at the top of my mental game right then, but I was incapable of responding. Instead, I excused myself, dashed to the ladies’ room, and leaned my clammy forehead against the cool black tiles of the marble stall.
A Storytelling Mentor on Your Shoulder? I had never been aware of anything, with or without feathers, telling me how to write a book. What I had always been aware of was my lack of power. Because of the way the publishing world works, I had no control over the destiny of my writing career. Now, I understood how perilous such a position can be.
If you have ever submitted a manuscript anywhere, you know what I mean. You labor over your work, send it out into what feels like a void. then wait for a thumbs up or down on your efforts, your ambitions, your hope. You endure this because you have no idea what else you can do. You are as clueless as I was in that ladies’ room with my forehead pressed against tile as black as I believed my future to be.
A few years later, I became an editor myself. That choice had a lot to do with power. I was determined to regain mine, and to pass it on. As an editor, then a literary agent and teacher, I would be that bird. I would sit on a writer’s shoulder and whisper in her ear the words she needed to hear to avoid her own demoralizing rejection scenes. I could do that because my years on the other side of the desk taught me a lot about how to create a marketable manuscript.
I have been sharing that knowledge ever since. Still, the dread words are out there. “This just doesn’t work for us.” Words that hit their mark hard for any writer. I wish I could guarantee they will never be heard again, but I can’t. What I can offer is my experience and expertise, and to be a bird with an empowering song you need to hear. A Storytelling Mentor on Your shoulder. Stay tuned to this blog. I have many more melodies to sing.
Meanwhile, ask your crucial questions. How does your attitude need to be adjusted? What fears do you face about your writing career? What do you most eagerly desire to know? Add a question comment to this post, or email me at aliceorrbooks@gmail.com. I will be honored to respond.
Alice Orr – www.aliceorrbooks.com
Alice Orr’s Christmas story A Vacancy at the Inn – Riverton Road Romantic Suspense Series Book 3 – is available on Amazon HERE. Enjoy!
Praise for A Vacancy at the Inn. “Grabbed me right away and swept me up in the lives of Bethany and Luke.” “Undercurrents of suspense move the story along at an irresistible pace.” “The Miller family is rife with personality quirks, an authentic touch that demonstrates Alice Orr’s skill as a writer.”
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Wow, Alice, that blog post really struck a chord from my early days as an author. I was with a big, traditional publishing house (who shall remain nameless) and I felt exactly as you so vividly described it: powerless. And I really hated that feeling. Although I’m currently with a publisher who treats me as true partner, I am still thrilled to always have the option of self-publishing. The creation of that option has given us writers back a certain amount of control over our careers.
P.S. I made a similar faux pas when I went out to lunch with my first editor: I ordered whelk as an appetizer. We were eating at a restaurant famed for its unusual seafood so I figured I would try to look sophisticated. Let me tell you, whelk has the consistency of rubber. I ate one bite, chewed for what seemed like hours before I could swallow, and left the rest of it on my plate. 🙂 Not my finest hour.
Hi Nancy. Thank you for your comment. You have validated my excruciating early career experience. Powerless is the operative word for those days, and sometimes for these days too. We didn’t know what we needed to know. In fact, we barely understood that we needed to know it. Tnank heaven we could get at least some of our self-humiliations out of the way before many folks knew who we were. I actually thank those early editors for cluing me into the author’s true position on the publishing power pyramid. Frustration with that imbalance is what led me to editing and, more significantly, to agenting. The same frustration motivates this blog also. I can’t seem to stop sounding warnings and sharing the experience that was sometimes gained by tripping over my own author foot but, blessedly, surviving to tell about it. Happy Holidays. Alice
What a weirdly negative experience.
A lot of what editors say is hogwash, but they don’t have to be mean about it. Sometimes it’s their own insecurities talking.
Hi Irene. It is always wonderful to hear from you. Experience is the best teacher, and you have plenty of experience, as well as the wisdom to interpret accurately what you have learned. I feel obligated to do the same. To pass on years and years of lesson upon lesson, some of them painful, all of them ripe with insights. We run headlong into a wall we didn’t know was there; we crash to the ground; and, if we are fortunate, we rise again. We share that story, those stories, with so many others. My hope is that, if I shout out long enough and loudly enough, what I/we have discovered to be true can benefit someone else. Let’s cross fingers re: that. Meanwhile, happy holidays to you and yours. Alice