How Much Ego is Enough?
Before I get to the meat of the post, let me remind readers that today is Sunday, meaning the latest chapter of my free fantasy novel, Hawk and Fox has been posted at www.wordsmeetworld.com. Come read and enjoy! Hawk and Fox is the story of a pair of knights who give their lives in a last stand for for their country . . . only to awaken in a new country that is facing a similar threat of destruction as their old one.
Promotions out of the way, let's talk about one of the most difficult bugaboos faced by writers. Namely, when is your work actually ready to be submitted?
Part of the problem is getting balanced feedback. It's very difficult to judge your own work, particularly when you're just getting started in your writing career. You can love your idea to pieces and that very love will likely blind you to any faults.
On the flip side, you can take that much-loved work to a critique group, and by the time ten to sixteen people have had at it, you'll be weeping softly and convinced you've just crapped out the worst trash ever committed to the written word.
Then you'll likely go home and, taking the well-meant criticism to heart, revise every bit of joy and brightness out of your story, leaving you with technically well-written, but lifeless, prose.
I've been there. I think all writers who are serious about their craft go there at least once. It seems to be part of the learning process. From what I've seen, the real danger in this step is that some authors never get over it. Sensitive writers may decide they can't face the criticism, or become so downcast at thinking their work isn't any good that they stop writing. More confident folk may become so infuriated by the endless and often contradictory advice they receive that they decide "no one knows nothing." They stop seeking advice and submit their work as is.
This is a problem. It's a problem for me as a reader, because if people stop writing, it means I can never read their stories, which might turn out to be the kind of wonderful stuff that keeps me reading late into the night. On the other side, there are few things more frustrating than reading one of those stories that could have been great if the writer had only listened to their editor telling them to rework the ending, or trim the description, or that no, it really wasn't a good idea for Plok the Mighty to kill Princess Aribena with an exploding birthday cake.
The simple truth, as all authors will discover sooner or later, is that writing is an ego-bruising business. Emily Dickinson might have had the right idea, but if you want to see your work published while you're still living, at some point or another, you have to face the critics.
These days, you can bypass criticism for a long time. If you don't want to face a barrage of rejection letters from agents and editors, self-publishing is a perfectly respectable option. You can ignore any reviews; some folk suggest you do this no matter what. But unless you want to be published just for the sake of being published, sooner or later you're going to have to ask the question: "How did you like my book?"
And someone's not going to like it. Or, they'll be lukewarm, and to a budding author, that almost as bad as being dissed outright. When it happens, chances are your feeling will instantly migrate to one of the two extremes I mentioned earlier: either a "f-- you, you know nothing," or "God, I'm a terrible writer. I should never touch a keyboard again as long as I live."
You'll feel this when you receive a rejection from an editor too, by the way. No matter how many stories or novels you send out, it will always hurt a little.
So, how do you push past these feelings and emerge a better writer?
Here's my suggestion: think of your ego as a bouncy castle. Or one of those punch-able clowns--you know; the egg-shaped, inflatable ones with the weighted bottoms. Something that can absorb a punch and come back up, grinning.
Think about it. If you reject all criticism and advice, you may keep your core ideas safe, but you also allow no input. Your ego has become a set of high walls that criticism smashes against, but you stagnate behind them. But if you take every piece of criticism to heart, your ideas will constantly be pounded out of shape under other people's blows.
All in all, if you must lean in either direction, it is better to have a slightly too-large ego rather than an undersized one. At least then, you'll have the confidence to put work out and keep going. Perseverance being one of the main keys to getting published, you'll probably get published eventually. If you hide your work in a drawer or a drive . . . well, it worked out for Emily Dickinson in the end, but what with over a million new books being published every year, the odds, as Katniss Everdeen might say, are not in your favor. No one can write your work. No one else has your particular perspective. If you don't write it, it will never be written. And I will never read it. So, for my sake, grit your teeth and publish, or submit.
And when the inevitable rejection letter arrives, or some jerk leaves a nasty review just because they can . . . remember, you're a clown, Dip back and bounce back up, grinning.
Promotions out of the way, let's talk about one of the most difficult bugaboos faced by writers. Namely, when is your work actually ready to be submitted?
Part of the problem is getting balanced feedback. It's very difficult to judge your own work, particularly when you're just getting started in your writing career. You can love your idea to pieces and that very love will likely blind you to any faults.
On the flip side, you can take that much-loved work to a critique group, and by the time ten to sixteen people have had at it, you'll be weeping softly and convinced you've just crapped out the worst trash ever committed to the written word.
Then you'll likely go home and, taking the well-meant criticism to heart, revise every bit of joy and brightness out of your story, leaving you with technically well-written, but lifeless, prose.
I've been there. I think all writers who are serious about their craft go there at least once. It seems to be part of the learning process. From what I've seen, the real danger in this step is that some authors never get over it. Sensitive writers may decide they can't face the criticism, or become so downcast at thinking their work isn't any good that they stop writing. More confident folk may become so infuriated by the endless and often contradictory advice they receive that they decide "no one knows nothing." They stop seeking advice and submit their work as is.
This is a problem. It's a problem for me as a reader, because if people stop writing, it means I can never read their stories, which might turn out to be the kind of wonderful stuff that keeps me reading late into the night. On the other side, there are few things more frustrating than reading one of those stories that could have been great if the writer had only listened to their editor telling them to rework the ending, or trim the description, or that no, it really wasn't a good idea for Plok the Mighty to kill Princess Aribena with an exploding birthday cake.
The simple truth, as all authors will discover sooner or later, is that writing is an ego-bruising business. Emily Dickinson might have had the right idea, but if you want to see your work published while you're still living, at some point or another, you have to face the critics.
These days, you can bypass criticism for a long time. If you don't want to face a barrage of rejection letters from agents and editors, self-publishing is a perfectly respectable option. You can ignore any reviews; some folk suggest you do this no matter what. But unless you want to be published just for the sake of being published, sooner or later you're going to have to ask the question: "How did you like my book?"
And someone's not going to like it. Or, they'll be lukewarm, and to a budding author, that almost as bad as being dissed outright. When it happens, chances are your feeling will instantly migrate to one of the two extremes I mentioned earlier: either a "f-- you, you know nothing," or "God, I'm a terrible writer. I should never touch a keyboard again as long as I live."
You'll feel this when you receive a rejection from an editor too, by the way. No matter how many stories or novels you send out, it will always hurt a little.
So, how do you push past these feelings and emerge a better writer?
Here's my suggestion: think of your ego as a bouncy castle. Or one of those punch-able clowns--you know; the egg-shaped, inflatable ones with the weighted bottoms. Something that can absorb a punch and come back up, grinning.
Think about it. If you reject all criticism and advice, you may keep your core ideas safe, but you also allow no input. Your ego has become a set of high walls that criticism smashes against, but you stagnate behind them. But if you take every piece of criticism to heart, your ideas will constantly be pounded out of shape under other people's blows.
All in all, if you must lean in either direction, it is better to have a slightly too-large ego rather than an undersized one. At least then, you'll have the confidence to put work out and keep going. Perseverance being one of the main keys to getting published, you'll probably get published eventually. If you hide your work in a drawer or a drive . . . well, it worked out for Emily Dickinson in the end, but what with over a million new books being published every year, the odds, as Katniss Everdeen might say, are not in your favor. No one can write your work. No one else has your particular perspective. If you don't write it, it will never be written. And I will never read it. So, for my sake, grit your teeth and publish, or submit.
And when the inevitable rejection letter arrives, or some jerk leaves a nasty review just because they can . . . remember, you're a clown, Dip back and bounce back up, grinning.
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