Dysfunctional Mice
You're wondering. The title of this entry.
Last week, in my secret life as Liza Conrad, YA writer, I spoke to a hundred-plus wonderful kids about being a novelist. And I related the very true story that the first thing I can ever recall writing was a story about a dysfunctional mouse family and the little mouse who ran away to live with his Big City Mouse cousin (far more well-adjusted) in the NY Public Library. The mouse story was written as soon as I could reasonably form sentences. And as I recall, I showed it to my family. I wanted other people to read my stuff.
So what sort of insanity is that? I mean, you're six and you want the world to read your writing?
Well, anyway, a hundred middle-school kids can ask a LOT of questions. We went along and I said something like a writer isn't something you become but something you are. It's like breathing. And I believe that is true. If I wasn't a working novelist, would I write just for me? Would I write dysfunctional mouse stories and share them with my family? Would I have a secret journal and just write thousands of stories to amuse myself?
Why do we feel the need to share? As a writer, does it matter if you have an audience?
I don't consider myself someone who has a big ego. In fact, I am one of the more private writers I know. For years, I would beg my significant other to tell people I was an actuary or life insurance saleperson at cocktail parties just so I wouldn't have to talk about what I do. I have crept out of my shell (hence speaking to a hundred kids with lots of questions), but still I don't know. When I got US Weekly the couple of times they picked my books as the "Hot Book Pick," I recall those weeks the magazine came out looking around the supermarket when I got my copy wondering if people knew it was me (which of course they did not) and feeling WEIRDED out by seeing my name there. In black and white. In a big magazine. It felt very naked. YET . . . here I am still writing. Still sharing.
So how about you guys? What is it? Some primal human need to communicate with each other? What? I am as puzzled by this as anyone. I always feel as if I innately understand myself. I don't come loaded up with a lot of emotional baggage. I "get" me. But this one I don't. Thanks to the middle schoolers, I now realize that as soon as I could hold a pen, I wanted people to read my art. WHAT?!?!?! WHY?!?!?!
How about you fellow pen-holders and creators?
Last week, in my secret life as Liza Conrad, YA writer, I spoke to a hundred-plus wonderful kids about being a novelist. And I related the very true story that the first thing I can ever recall writing was a story about a dysfunctional mouse family and the little mouse who ran away to live with his Big City Mouse cousin (far more well-adjusted) in the NY Public Library. The mouse story was written as soon as I could reasonably form sentences. And as I recall, I showed it to my family. I wanted other people to read my stuff.
So what sort of insanity is that? I mean, you're six and you want the world to read your writing?
Well, anyway, a hundred middle-school kids can ask a LOT of questions. We went along and I said something like a writer isn't something you become but something you are. It's like breathing. And I believe that is true. If I wasn't a working novelist, would I write just for me? Would I write dysfunctional mouse stories and share them with my family? Would I have a secret journal and just write thousands of stories to amuse myself?
Why do we feel the need to share? As a writer, does it matter if you have an audience?
I don't consider myself someone who has a big ego. In fact, I am one of the more private writers I know. For years, I would beg my significant other to tell people I was an actuary or life insurance saleperson at cocktail parties just so I wouldn't have to talk about what I do. I have crept out of my shell (hence speaking to a hundred kids with lots of questions), but still I don't know. When I got US Weekly the couple of times they picked my books as the "Hot Book Pick," I recall those weeks the magazine came out looking around the supermarket when I got my copy wondering if people knew it was me (which of course they did not) and feeling WEIRDED out by seeing my name there. In black and white. In a big magazine. It felt very naked. YET . . . here I am still writing. Still sharing.
So how about you guys? What is it? Some primal human need to communicate with each other? What? I am as puzzled by this as anyone. I always feel as if I innately understand myself. I don't come loaded up with a lot of emotional baggage. I "get" me. But this one I don't. Thanks to the middle schoolers, I now realize that as soon as I could hold a pen, I wanted people to read my art. WHAT?!?!?! WHY?!?!?!
How about you fellow pen-holders and creators?
posted by Erica Orloff at 8:00 AM
14 Comments:
Yet another great question! But this one I *have* given a lot of thought to.
You asked why I need to share my art, but I don't have a burning need to share my work. To me, the question is really “Why publish?”
I think it’s because of the challenge. Getting published is something to strive for. Once published, I’ll strive to publish again. Publish better. Make a list. Make two. The possibilities are endless.
The craft of writing is like that. There are no boundaries. Whether someone sees it or not, I’m going to get better and better and better…It’s like a race with myself! I love that.
There is also the aspect of giving back to the world. It would be a dream come true to make people happy by doing something I love to do.
Great post! I'm curious to see what you come up with in your own soul-searching.
:) d
Hi Dana:
I skipped grades in school (nerdtronic!), got a prestigious academic scholarship to a fairly exclusive private university, and then had a triple major with a minor in creative writing (because only one or two majors would have been a bore!). LOL! So I do understand that competitiveness, but list-making and the challenege of publishing definitely isn't my thing. I know it's about other people reading my art . . . which seems totally strange as I don't have this huge need to "share" in my personal life.
I am starting to think a little of it is getting lost in that other world of my book and making it as real as possible and knowing other people are reading about it. I do like the kick I get from fan mail when someone has been transported to that world too and has been moved or laughed or had an epiphany because of my characters and their story.
I read this post yesterday and realized I needed more time to come up with an answer to your question, but I still don't have one that I'm happy with.
If I never publish a story, would I still write them and share with my friends and family? Absolutely. Why? ::shrug:: Beats me. I'm an introvert through and through, but something about creating stories forces me to step "out of my shell" too.
I *think* for me, it has to do with the characters. They're such a part of my life, a part I love, and I want to share them with everyone. BUT, the more I boil that down, I begin to wonder if it's because I'm proud of what I've created. Does it come down to pride? Yikes. Like I said, I'm not thrilled with my answer. Will that stop me from sharing my stories? Uh, no, because the characters mean that much to me.
So, I really don't have a satisfying answer to your question. Wish I did. But your post really made me examine the "why" of it. Thanks. Or thanks? lol
M.
Michele:
I know. The older (gulp) I get the less I tolerate bullshit in myself. IS it pride? IS it ego? Somehow, though, I think of pride and ego as not very well-formed in a six-year-old. So I definitely think there's more to it. Then I start to wonder about the writer being born not made. IS it a gift? I mean, what propels someone in third, fourth, fifth grade to want to do this so badly? Yet we all know how much hard work it is, too.
The talk I gave really had me looking at it. Maybe there's a pleasure in invoking reaction in someone. Art again. If I create a symphony and you cry, that's beautiful. If I create a painting and you fall silent because it's so breath-taking . . . wow. If I write a book and--like one letter I got--it helps you face death, then . . . that's humbling, but also definitely something powerful.
I have no idea why I write. I just enjoy telling stories. I like the craft. The feeling of accomplishment.
That anyone wanted to publish me is pretty much a miracle, as far as I'm concerned.
No, scratch that. For some reason I knew my first novel would get published. Don't ask me why.
But I wrote it because I had to. No other choice. And I don't really consider it "sharing my art," because I write for me. If anyone else enjoys the work, that's a bonus.
You know, I don't see it as a competitive thing. It's about having fun and growing and learning. I don't make lists of things I want to achieve. That's no fun! At least not for me.
It is so interesting how we come to the same places with different motivations, though. Now *that's* what I love about character. You just don't know until you dig.
And it does seem that people can learn craft, but that you're either born with it or your not. Though I didn't realize I was a writer until a few years ago, I was always a storyteller. Who knew!?!
It does feel like a gift to me. And going back to our motivations, I do hope that it is a gift I can give back to the world. When I think of sharing my art, it is because I want to share the joy of a good story.
As for your motivations, you say you feel powerful when you provoke people to feel what you want them to feel. I wonder if maybe it has to do with feeling important or powerful or in control. As a child you may not have had much power/control over your destiny, but in sharing a story you felt you did.
I know another writer friend was just talking about how she came to writing as a way to cope with tragedy. That was her reason.
No matter the reason we come to it, writing is truly a gift.
:) d
Rob:
You're articulating something that makes sense to me. I basically "cut my teeth" as a writer of poetry and short stories. I had a few published, and then when I was maybe 24, a fellow writer asked me why I was "wasting my time and talent" on something that would never earn me a dime. Why not set my sights on a novel? I couldn't imagine that I had enough to SAY to write 300 pages. And I never thought writing poetry was a waste of time. The craft of it fascinates me. So there's definitely something there . . . and I STILL get delighted with each new contract, so . . . yeah, there's that "miracle" aspect, too.
Dana:
Remember my HEA post? You definitely hit on something. You CAN manipulate the fantasy world of your novel. I ALWAYS have a happy ending--but as we "chatted" on the blog a couple of weeks ago . . . MY vision of a HEA isn't riding off into the sunset, but perhaps it's closure. It's not as simple as having it all tied up in a pretty ribbon. So I definitely think there's something to the idea that I could control the outcome. I could give myself the ending I wanted. Life isn't like that. Part of the wisdom you accumulate is accepting how little you can control.
First of Erica, one of the things that makes me smile is the thought of me going back to my high school during Career Week and telling all those wide-eyed and fresh-faced girls (I went to an all-girls Catholic school) the trials and travails about earning money as a writer. Alas, my high school closed its doors last year so that little fantasy of mine won't ever come to pass. Maybe at some other high school, perhaps? Your story about going to speak about your YA books to your readers put a big smile on my face.
As for why I write...I'll tell you why exactly. It's because Silhouette Bombshell exists. Really and truly. It's what spurred me on to start ROGUE. If H/S never started that line, I would probably still be reading, still hunting for books I like, but not being able to put my finger on WHY precisely I was hating all these books.
My biggest goal right now is to be published by Bombshell. It's not just that I want to be pubbed. I want to call myself a Bombshell author. I think there's such an awesome, kick-ass cache to that. It says something about me, about what kind of woman I am, about how I think women should be living their lives (kick some butt and save the day!).
Writing for Bombshell, simply put, fulfills my fantasy of being a superhero. :-)
Didn't you used to be Marley Gibson's agent? I just read about her big, four-book YA deal. Wow!
Are you still agenting?
Carole:
I used to do some acquiring for my agent and he would ask me to review manuscripts because of my ten-plus years as a book doctor. When I got up to about 20+ books of my own under contract, I just had to stop because I was too busy writing. I believe she left him a while ago, but I did read her good news.
E
Karm:
That is really amazing. To think finding the type of books that speak to you inspired you to write? That's wonderful.
I agree the line offers something and it IS hard for me to read "woman being rescued" type books now. I am writing a thriller and the woman in it has a partnership with the hero (they go fight the conspiracy together), but I don't think I could ever write woman as helpless passive person waiting for big, strong alpha male to come and sweep her away.
E
>>I used to do some acquiring for my agent and he would ask me to review manuscripts because of my ten-plus years as a book doctor. When I got up to about 20+ books of my own under contract, I just had to stop because I was too busy writing.<<
This doesn't sound all together accurate. Or rather slight revisionist history as I was a Get Your Stiletto in the Door Contest finalist last year and you were one of the final judges under the title (on the chapter website) of "Poynor Agency/Orloff Literary Agency." You even requested my manuscript. So, this doesn't exactly add up. I'm confused, especially since it's been over a year and I've never heard on the requested manuscript.
Hi Anonymous . . .
It's not revisionist. For a time, I was quite passionate about agenting. I worked for 10 years as an editor and book doctor . . . and then hung out my shingle with a totally different partner, a woman, and we sold a few projects. For sad personal reasons including death and illness in her family, and tragedy, which is no one's business, she left the industry and we brought our list to my present agent, whom we both knew, so no one would be left without representation. Each author had the option of signing or leaving. I handled acquisitions as my contribution, but in the end, he was making all the deals for books I brought to him and that was OUR division of labor and worked quite well. Because I left six or eight months ago when I got way too many contracts of my own to keep up with the workload, it is simpler to explain it as such.
As for your manuscript . . . all agents try to take the utmost precautions but you are dealing with hundreds of manuscripts and an even higher number of queries a year, some of which get lost by the U.S. Post, some of which are lost by the publishers you send them to, some of which don't arrive with the right postage . . . and some I can assure you arrive and--true and happens often enough to mention--the person is so absent-minded or excited as they don't put a cover letter or forget to include their contact info. And yes, some agents lose things in their office on occasion--ALL apologize and take steps to avoid, but it happens. I have no idea what happened to yours.
I sense hostility, but if you had written to me, I would have tried to my utmost to find out what happened to your manuscript. Writing my blog a year later seems a passive-aggressive way to discover what happened. I don't live my life trying to harm a soul even through carelessness . . . If I get 100-200 fan emails a month, I answer every single solitary one. That's who I am. Soooooooo . . . I apologize to you, Anonymous, but without follow-up communication, I couldn't have helped. I don't know if you sent it to me directly, to NY, or how you labeled it (unsolicited, as a contest entry, etc.), or what you put in your cover letter. I don't even know if a rejection was sent that the post office lost . . . or anything. And now a year later, I would presume it would be impossible to find out.
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