a sad and happy realization

Last year I set a goal for myself (I am always doing that--when I promise not to!) that I would not write anything new unless I was ready to give up on something old that I still liked. I had a list of four manuscripts that I was still attached to, and anytime I had a new idea, I just got out that list and told myself that I couldn't write on the new thing unless I really and truly liked it better than one of my old projects.

So, in January, as I was wishing I could work on a new project, I forced myself instead to get out old manuscripts and at least read through them to decide which one I wanted to work on for now. What did I discover? (Hi, Barry! I know you are cheering right now!) They are all bad. I didn't really want to work on any of them. Well, I won't promise that I won't go back and revamp some of the old ideas. There are one or two ideas generally that are worthwhile. But the writing? Nope.

This is a useful lesson for all writers, I think. It is impossible to judge your own work when you are too emotionally attached to it. That means within several months of having written it. And maybe longer than that. It may be possible to evaluate your own work after that time. Or it might not. That's what writers groups are for. And friends who tell you the truth. And well, agents and editors who are known for being blissfully blunt.

The problem is that you aren't writing down the experience you are having in your head. Or perhaps the experience you thought you had while writing changed while time passed. (Memory is such a tricky thing, which I have noticed a few times when I discovered my certain memory was dead wrong.) I had this vision in my head of the novels that I loved, and it just wasn't written down like that. It was so clear to me, so perfect. But somehow the work didn't happen yet to get to that. As I changed and got to be a better writer in my mind, the work changed in my mind, but not in actuality. Weird, weird.

I am sure this happens to other writers. Why? Well, besides the fact that I happen to have a lot of writers as friends, I remember when I was still a beginner and reading voraciously other author's works. And there would be these unhappy moments when I would read something by a favorite writer that was simply dreadful. And I would wonder how it was possible for the brilliant writer of this book to write that one? Sometimes, I would think it was a ghost writer. Or a trunk manuscript. But no, probably not. Probably just he or she didn't have the honest people around that I do. Honestly, I am so glad those books are not published. So, so glad.