Bare With Me: Writer Going Commando

Nothing succeeds like success. That axiom gets doled out through many disciplines. Once you become the CEO, the Oscar winner, the Olympic champion, the published writer, once you’ve made it, well you’ve got it made. 

This is not a bad thing to believe.  If you’re current life includes striving toward a goal, then imagining that achievement offers a comfortable settle upon one’s laurels is probably not a bad thing. But as most writers can tell you, the career is not over ‘til it’s over and not everybody goes out on top. 

We’ve all seen it. A nice piece of fiction comes out with great reviews or incredible work-of-mouth or both. That leads to impressive sales, a ride up the bestseller’s list and probably an opportunity to “thank all the little people”. 

Hopefully I do not give myself too much credit when I say, been there. Done that. Tee shirt getting a little frayed. 

So what happens after the awards are on the mantel and the money is in the bank? Well, if you’re Harper Lee or Margaret Mitchell you can slip away from the public eye and let that one great story stand as your contribution. But for most writers, you have another book to write. 

No big deal. You’ve done it before. Maybe several times before. It’s the same, right? So why does it not feel the same? 

Because the expectations are different.

The publisher takes on the new author in the anticipation of good solid sales. There may be some secret hope for a breakthrough hit. The publisher may believe the work deserves to be a breakthrough hit. They may even put money and momentum behind it to try to make it so. But good solid sales are not to be sneered at.  That is, unless you’ve had the sweet smell of a truly bankable success. Once you’ve broken through that barrier, anything less just stinks. 

Sophomore slump. 

Second book syndrome. 

Maybe she only had one good story in her. 

Publishers have been talking about this, trying to understand it for years. 

And it’s not simply second performance jitters. A career that’s been moving excitingly upward, selling better for book after book, can suddenly stall. 

Titles A,B&C sold great. 

D sold okay. 

E went unnoticed. 

F got the critics but not the readers.

I think sometimes we have to honestly admit to ourselves that the world is Newtonian. Yes, gravity is only a theory, but what goes up must come down.   

Of course, if a career were all up and down, writers could deal with it.  Worse than the bell curve is the yo-yo.  Things are going fine, until they are not.  And then when it looks as if all is lost, suddenly you’re hot. 

Where does this leave the writer?

My dear, departed mama apparently had great fear that I would think too well of myself. Confidence was not considered to be an attractive trait. The following is an actual conversation between us.

Pam:  I’ve sold my story to Bantam Books!

Mom:  The real Bantam Books or some outfit using the name. 

Pam:  The REAL Bantam Books. 

Mom:  Are they paying you?

Pam:  Yes!  The editor loves it.  She loves the way I write.

Mom:  (sighing) Honey, a lot of people get one book published.

Pam:   They’re giving me a two book contract.

Ah…that was a great moment in Pam and Mom history, at least for me. Maybe it was an Oklahoma thing or a reflection of her own upbringing, but although my mom loved me, she was very keen that I didn’t get above my raising.  A phrase she often used was “too big for your britches”. 

I’m beginning to see that as the essence of book success. Getting too big for one’s britches. Whether it’s the mere fact of getting published, a spate of rave reviews or a genuine mega-hit, success expands our image as an author. That seems like a positive development, but it has negative consequences as well. 

The thing is, as we get larger and larger, the elastic on our underwear begins to stretch out. You know that happens. It’s inevitable. Not a problem, of course, if you continue to get bigger and bigger. But once those sales figures start to level out, the panties begin to hang a little loosely. And as you go forward the fear sets in. What if they start slipping down? What if your drawers drop to your ankles? Everybody will see! Everybody will laugh. You’ll be the joke. The humiliation will be too much to bear. 

So, you stop taking chances. This is what you wrote before.  Readers bought that. Write it again. This is what the trend is. That’s what’s selling. Write the trend. This has the widest audience. This is the most popular format. This is the most prized demographic.   

STOP! 

You didn’t start writing to end up this way.  You got into writing to push some boundaries, to take some chances, to write the stories that only you can write.  You wanted to enlarge the reader’s vision by adding your perspective to her experience. That goal is in no way dependent upon numbers.

Trying to make your writing into something that it’s not, trying to force a career up to a ledge no longer in reach, is a useless preoccupation. A career measured in sales will always wax and wane. Every time you reach a pinnacle, there is no direction to go but down or out.

“Down” is perhaps by definition, lowering. 

But “out” simply does not work for me. 

I want to write. I want to write if only two people want to read it. I want to write even if my subject matter is not trending. Even if my audience is not the sought after demographic. Even if sales are shaky or solid or stellar.

I want to write.

I know when I’ve put together a good book. I know when I’ve stretched myself creatively. I know when I’ve accomplished the story I set out to do. That is how I want to define my success.

So how do I keep my falling-down panties from embarrassing me? I jerk the dang things off. I go commando. 

I write the stories that I want to write. Bare-arsed and with a spring in my step, I head toward my future. I encourage you to join me. And may no unkind wind fan up our skirts.