In her now-classic book for writers Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott writes, “… whenever the world throws rose petals at you, which thrill and seduce the ego, beware. The cosmic banana peel is suddenly going to appear underfoot to make sure you don’t take it all too seriously, that you don’t fill up on junk food.”
Having had my share of banana peels appear under my foot to trip me up, I can safely sum up my career with the following seven words:
“Shit happened. Then it was okay again.”
So, two weeks ago, I was in a “shit happened” phase in my career. I was moving leaps and bounds forward with my book and then all of a sudden, I’ve had to take two steps back for personal reasons that are beyond anyone’s control. I won’t get into the personal aspect of it, but career-wise, it means that I’ve had to put the book away for a bit and go back to pitching articles and essays. Something I swore I wouldn’t do any more of this year because I was burnt out, uninspired, and ready for a change.
I think there are some things about the writing life that you have to experience by yourself. No matter how many times they tell you that it’s going to be a constant struggle or that you’ll need infinite patience or that this isn’t a business for people who take criticism and rejection personally, you don’t believe them. You think YOU will be different, that YOUR passion will remain unaffected by outside opinion, that YOUR PROJECTS will be immune to the vagaries of the market and of life in general.
But the truth is, the writing life is a constant struggle. Each day, most of us will come to our desks in battle-ready mode, ready to go to war with the blank white screen. Most of us– and this is the truth– fail on a daily basis. That is why when we have days when we write 2,000 words or when we have a week of sending 25 queries, we feel the need to announce it to the world. Look! I wrote! I pitched! When we write for 30 days in a row, other writers celebrate with us. Which if you think about it, is a bit ridiculous. Do truck drivers pat each other on the back when they’ve successfully driven a truck every day for three weeks? Do accountants tally their books only two days every week? Do chefs high-five each other when they’ve managed to prepare a meal before deadline?
But writing– and many other creative endeavors– are different. It’s not just words on a page. It’s emotions, thoughts, a part of each of us on the page.
But forget that artsy fartsy stuff. Let’s talk business.
Earlier this week, I talked about my numbers. When I tell writers that my average rate of acceptance hovers somewhere around the 50% mark, they drag me to a corner and whisper, “What’s your secret?” A friend of mine who writes for some of the top markets, has authored a highly-acclaimed book, and has speaking engagements around the world, told me after reading my blog entry discussing my weekly tally of queries, acceptances, and rejections, that he would peg his acceptance rate at 5%.
That’s a 95% rate of rejection!
(I’ll wait here while you go pour yourself a drink.)
Can you think of any other industry (other than creative industries, of course) where getting rejected HALF the time, for an entire 50% of your career is actually considered amazing?
That many of the most successful among us with books and credits to die for experience rejection on a daily basis?
That the moment you get an ego boost because you’ve got a piece published in Time magazine, NPR offers you a job, quoting a monthly salary less than what they pay their American freelancers for a three-minute radio piece?
That three days after you break into your dream magazine, they send you a contract that basically says if any nutso sues the magazine for any reason whatsoever, you will pay the magazine’s legal costs?
That when you finally, after ten years of hard work, land your dream NYC agent who is wonderful to work with, loves your book possibly more than you do, and is everything you thought you wanted in an agent, bad news arrives and everything has to be put on hold?
You can shake your fist at the world, and you probably will. You will cry, you will lie in bed with the covers pulled over your head, you’ll be heavy with sadness and disappointment. But then, you’ll slowly begin to get over it. You’ll throw off those covers. You’ll find commiseration in other writer friends. And you will start seeing bits of good among the bad.
You’ll tell NPR their offer is insulting, they’ll apologize and you’ll make an important contact. The dream magazine will respect you for turning down the assignment and make an exception and change the contract. The book sale will be on hold, but you’ll send out 25 pitches in a week and land assignments in magazines that cover the very topic of your book, giving you contacts for promotional opportunities, just where you need them. You’ll find that you’ve been granted the gift of time and you’ll begin to start using it in the right way.
The writing life, I think, is a whole lot of struggle with bits of good news thrown in. And us, the writers, are like Pavlovian rats. We obey commands, perform tricks, and follow instructions our entire professional lives in hope of receiving those tasty treats dangling in front of us. A $2 a word assignment! An article in the New York Times! A book deal!
It’s a very rewarding life, don’t get me wrong. But on a day-to-day basis, you’re not going to feel like the most successful professional in the world. You’re not going to feel appreciated. You’re not going to feel well-paid. You’re going to run and run and run on that imaginary treadmill and not get anywhere. Until one day, you do. All of a sudden, the treadmill stops. You’re there. You get that assignment, you finish that novel, you land that dream agent. You get the book deal. You have, for this moment in time, made it.
Shit happened. But for now, everything is okay again.