Rod Raglin's Blog - Posts Tagged "failure"
Leaving genre
"If reading a story is like taking a trip, then the literary novel or short story is adventure travel: we don’t know when and how we’ll eat or sleep, we have only a glimmer of where we’re going, and we usually end up dirty, startled, disillusioned, or exhilarated. We’re hitchhiking, backpacking, taking the third-class train, and getting to know the countryside. In the end, we know both ourselves and the world better; we’ve grown and changed in the process.
The genre novel, on the other hand, is like a package tour. We don’t expect to have our view of the world unsettled. What we want is a cruise with all the expenses paid ahead of time, umbrella drinks by the pool, and a good floorshow in the evenings. Genres are all about the pleasures of the familiar."
- The Longman Guide to Intermediate and Advanced Fiction Writing
- by Sarah Stone and Ron Nyren
I had a plan to become a published author.
I would write romance novel(s) because they are the most read (biggest market) of any kind of fiction and the easiest to get published. This is not to say that authors of genre fiction aren’t good writers. I sometimes think it’s more difficult to be creative when you have restrictions.
Back to the plan.
Once I had a bit of a publishing track record traditional publishers of mainstream, literary fiction would be more likely to consider me. Right?
I wrote three contemporary romance novels. All have been e-published. All have bombed. No traditional publishers of literary fiction are knocking on my door.
What happened?
My novels, I’ve been told, were not popular with romance readers for a number of reasons. I didn’t introduce the love interests soon enough. My ‘Happily Ever After’ was lukewarm or not at all. I needed to ‘sex it up’. My subplots overshadowed the romance. My heroes lacked testosterone. My heroines didn’t show enough vulnerability. My words were too big, my plots too real, my characters too unlikable. My stories were out of control.
I suspect it might have something to do with the notion “you are what you read” – more specifically, you write what you read.
When I read I want the experience of the literary novel, such as described in the opening quote from the The Longman Guide to Intermediate and Advanced Fiction Writing by Sarah Stone and Ron Nyren. Writing for me is the same. I want adventure – similar to my style of hiking. When I head into the backcountry I like to leave the marked trail. At least once I want experience the panic of being lost – I don’t know where I am, where I’m going, or how or when I’ll get back. Terror is undeniably exhilarating, and overcoming it is oh so satisfying.
I miss the adventure when I conform to the confines of genre fiction. That and the fact that I don’t do it well, makes moving on (not necessarily upward) easy, without risk or anxiety, and without even the faintest indication of success.
Norman Mailer said, “Until you see where your ideas lead to, you know nothing.” This is resonates for me. Especially “the you know nothing” part.
"What’s important, finally, is that you create, and that those creations define for you what matters most, that which cannot be extinguished even in the face of silence, solitude, and rejection."
- Betsy Lerner
The Forest for the Trees
An Editor’s Advice to Writers
It appears that I’m in the company of a lot of great writers, at least in sentiment if not talent. I will continue to do what matters most for me in the “face of silence, solitude and rejection.” And rejection. And rejection.
According to George Seidel, author of The Crisis of Creativity; “An artist will always have one thing no one else can have: a life within a life.” Ultimately, that may be my only accomplishment.
Is that a bad thing?
The genre novel, on the other hand, is like a package tour. We don’t expect to have our view of the world unsettled. What we want is a cruise with all the expenses paid ahead of time, umbrella drinks by the pool, and a good floorshow in the evenings. Genres are all about the pleasures of the familiar."
- The Longman Guide to Intermediate and Advanced Fiction Writing
- by Sarah Stone and Ron Nyren
I had a plan to become a published author.
I would write romance novel(s) because they are the most read (biggest market) of any kind of fiction and the easiest to get published. This is not to say that authors of genre fiction aren’t good writers. I sometimes think it’s more difficult to be creative when you have restrictions.
Back to the plan.
Once I had a bit of a publishing track record traditional publishers of mainstream, literary fiction would be more likely to consider me. Right?
I wrote three contemporary romance novels. All have been e-published. All have bombed. No traditional publishers of literary fiction are knocking on my door.
What happened?
My novels, I’ve been told, were not popular with romance readers for a number of reasons. I didn’t introduce the love interests soon enough. My ‘Happily Ever After’ was lukewarm or not at all. I needed to ‘sex it up’. My subplots overshadowed the romance. My heroes lacked testosterone. My heroines didn’t show enough vulnerability. My words were too big, my plots too real, my characters too unlikable. My stories were out of control.
I suspect it might have something to do with the notion “you are what you read” – more specifically, you write what you read.
When I read I want the experience of the literary novel, such as described in the opening quote from the The Longman Guide to Intermediate and Advanced Fiction Writing by Sarah Stone and Ron Nyren. Writing for me is the same. I want adventure – similar to my style of hiking. When I head into the backcountry I like to leave the marked trail. At least once I want experience the panic of being lost – I don’t know where I am, where I’m going, or how or when I’ll get back. Terror is undeniably exhilarating, and overcoming it is oh so satisfying.
I miss the adventure when I conform to the confines of genre fiction. That and the fact that I don’t do it well, makes moving on (not necessarily upward) easy, without risk or anxiety, and without even the faintest indication of success.
Norman Mailer said, “Until you see where your ideas lead to, you know nothing.” This is resonates for me. Especially “the you know nothing” part.
"What’s important, finally, is that you create, and that those creations define for you what matters most, that which cannot be extinguished even in the face of silence, solitude, and rejection."
- Betsy Lerner
The Forest for the Trees
An Editor’s Advice to Writers
It appears that I’m in the company of a lot of great writers, at least in sentiment if not talent. I will continue to do what matters most for me in the “face of silence, solitude and rejection.” And rejection. And rejection.
According to George Seidel, author of The Crisis of Creativity; “An artist will always have one thing no one else can have: a life within a life.” Ultimately, that may be my only accomplishment.
Is that a bad thing?
When student trumps teacher
A member of the Creative Writing Circle I get paid to facilitate had a 900-word, personal essay published in the Globe and Mail, one of Canada’s national newspapers.
I’ve submitted two personal essays to this publication. Both have been rejected.
How does one feel when the student trumps the teacher?
I haven’t been a creative writing coach very long so this is a new experience for me. I use the word coach rather than teacher because the latter implies I am somehow an expert on the subject. Which leads one to ask, ‘if you’re so smart how come you’re not rich’, or in this case, a bestselling author? To which I have no answer and so I “coach” rather than “teach”.
Up until now, I’ve had mixed emotions about the success of other writers. When I read the work of the prize-winners in competitions I’ve entered, I often think they must be having a personal relationship with the judge(s), are the judge’s student, or are from the same alma mater. The fact the competitions I enter are all judged “blind” does not vindicate them one bit in my tormented mind.
I’m also immediately suspicious when other writers I’m acquainted with boast about a work being published. If they’re a good writer (better than me – lots of room there) I’m inspired to work harder. If, in my opinion, they write poorly, I immediately check the publication. If the only success they’ve found is in an obscure e-zine that doesn’t pay for their work but promises unlimited internet exposure, I breath a sigh of relief.
The same goes for flattering reviews of bad writing. When I check out the review I most frequently find it’s either written by a quasi-literate reader as payback for a free book, it’s an author review-swap, or worse, its been penned by a friend or relative, likely at the urging of the author.
I find exposing these delusional attempts at self-aggrandizement heartening, but I’m saddened for the author. I know about grasping at straws
If somehow a lesser writer than me manages to get published and paid in a publication of significance I remind myself that I write because I have to. Whether or not it gets published is not a priority.
I’m hoping if I tell myself this often enough I’ll begin to believe it.
So back to my student, for lack of a better term. Her initial essay was very good. The participants of the writing circle made suggestions, as did I. In her published work it was apparent she heeded some, though not mine.
When I read her work prominently displayed in the Globe and Mail I was, surprisingly, excited for her. I felt proud of the contribution the group had made toward improving her overall writing as well as this piece. I was pleased these suggestions had been presented in such a way that she was open to accept them.
The only credit I’m entitled to, if any, is I have created an atmosphere where people can present their writing and all that entails – insecurity, vulnerability, even delusion, and can come away encouraged, nurtured, perhaps a little more knowledgeable, but most importantly, excited about continuing on this wondrous journey to wherever it might lead.
Does the success of my student prove I’m becoming a better writing coach?
Not likely.
A better person?
That would be nice.
I’ve submitted two personal essays to this publication. Both have been rejected.
How does one feel when the student trumps the teacher?
I haven’t been a creative writing coach very long so this is a new experience for me. I use the word coach rather than teacher because the latter implies I am somehow an expert on the subject. Which leads one to ask, ‘if you’re so smart how come you’re not rich’, or in this case, a bestselling author? To which I have no answer and so I “coach” rather than “teach”.
Up until now, I’ve had mixed emotions about the success of other writers. When I read the work of the prize-winners in competitions I’ve entered, I often think they must be having a personal relationship with the judge(s), are the judge’s student, or are from the same alma mater. The fact the competitions I enter are all judged “blind” does not vindicate them one bit in my tormented mind.
I’m also immediately suspicious when other writers I’m acquainted with boast about a work being published. If they’re a good writer (better than me – lots of room there) I’m inspired to work harder. If, in my opinion, they write poorly, I immediately check the publication. If the only success they’ve found is in an obscure e-zine that doesn’t pay for their work but promises unlimited internet exposure, I breath a sigh of relief.
The same goes for flattering reviews of bad writing. When I check out the review I most frequently find it’s either written by a quasi-literate reader as payback for a free book, it’s an author review-swap, or worse, its been penned by a friend or relative, likely at the urging of the author.
I find exposing these delusional attempts at self-aggrandizement heartening, but I’m saddened for the author. I know about grasping at straws
If somehow a lesser writer than me manages to get published and paid in a publication of significance I remind myself that I write because I have to. Whether or not it gets published is not a priority.
I’m hoping if I tell myself this often enough I’ll begin to believe it.
So back to my student, for lack of a better term. Her initial essay was very good. The participants of the writing circle made suggestions, as did I. In her published work it was apparent she heeded some, though not mine.
When I read her work prominently displayed in the Globe and Mail I was, surprisingly, excited for her. I felt proud of the contribution the group had made toward improving her overall writing as well as this piece. I was pleased these suggestions had been presented in such a way that she was open to accept them.
The only credit I’m entitled to, if any, is I have created an atmosphere where people can present their writing and all that entails – insecurity, vulnerability, even delusion, and can come away encouraged, nurtured, perhaps a little more knowledgeable, but most importantly, excited about continuing on this wondrous journey to wherever it might lead.
Does the success of my student prove I’m becoming a better writing coach?
Not likely.
A better person?
That would be nice.
