What They Bring

It is one of those lessons of life that you can't make people like you. You can be as kind as you know how, but the very essence of who you are may butt up against the very essence of who someone else is and they may not like you, no matter how hard you try. My mother-in-law despises me--in fact hasn't spoken a word to me in 10 years, despite my writing letters and cards asking for her to get to know my children. So about a year ago, after being rebuffed again, I gave up. Lesson learned. What I brought to the table of the relationship wasn't enough in her mind--or more precisely, it wasn't the "right" stuff.

Recently--this week, in fact--another mother did something I consider horrendous. She attempted to really and truly embarass me in front of a group of other mothers by demeaning my child. And she had a five-minute riff on it. I have spoken two words to this woman my entire life and I really had nothing to say to her little comic (in her mind) rude (in my mind) schtick. However, what she "brings" to this passing nod of a relationhip is irritating to me. I move on, I move past . . . maybe what she brings is the best she can do--and I spent about ten minutes speculating on that before deciding I was wasting brain space on this woman.

Which brings me to the very big lesson this teaches about writing.

I was once visiting a blog in which someone decided she HATED this book I wrote. Not just a little dislike but full-on hate. And someone else wrote in and said I was one of her favorite authors and maybe this reader should try a different book. And the hater of my work said, "Nope. I never give authors second chances."

Moving on to another . . . someone once posted a LONG diatribe on why she hated a book of mine because she didn't believe in love at first sight. Or a passionate encounter of intensity after a brief meeting. "It's never happened to me, and I frankly don't believe it exists."

So there's the thing. When you are creating, it's a living process. It may not FEEL fluid and living when you are struggling to find just the right word. Your book may be dormant for a week or two when life intervenes, but it is a living process to create your art. You POUR yourself into it. You sweat it, breathe it, sleep it, dream it. It fills your head 24/7 a lot of the time. You CREATE (a verb).

Then it simply is.

The book--or manuscript--is printed on paper and it exists on a shelf until someone picks it up. You may not know this person or it may be your critique partner. And then it becomes ALIVE again because they BRING something TO it. What they bring is out of your control. They can hate it for reasons that have nothing to do with your writing and more to do with WHAT THEY BRING. They may ADORE it for exactly the same reasons. Of course I love the hundreds of happy reader emails I get for any given release. They brought something that meshed with what I brought.

An editor may decide your work is wrong for them. They can hang their hat on "it didn't grab me" or any one of dozens of common reasons for rejection. And you can try to address those things that nag at you as "Hmm, I think they're right." But there will always be an element of WHAT THEY BRING. Always.

So . . . what does any of this mean? I suppose it means, which is obvious, develop a thick skin. Hone your craft, get better at it . . . but know what they bring is not something you have any power over. You only have power over what you bring.

It also--importantly--means don't DILUTE your work to appeal to the broadest cross section. Know sometimes people are simply not going to like you . . . and are not going to like your book (which, like the story of Horror Mother, is like not liking your child). And that's okay. Don't let your internal editor become an editor for the whole world at large.

Thoughts?

Readers Are Your Friends

Yesterday, I had a fairly large speaking engagement--I would guess 70 people for wine and cheese and a book signing at a local golf club. Surprisingly, since I don't like public speaking, I didn't throw up, didn't put them all to sleep, and the whole thing went rather well--at least for me. Hopefully they all felt the same. If not, hopefully they all enjoyed their wine and cheese. Oh, and there were pastries . . . so that was a bonus.

However, prior to my speaking engagement, while freaking out at home, my father told me, "The trick to public speaking . . . ."

And I assumed he was going to tell me "is to picture your audience naked." Which I have never understood. Why would talking to nudists make it any easier--yet people routinely give this advice.

But my father surprised me. "The trick to public speaking is to imagine that everyone in the room is your FRIEND. You're just hanging out with friends talking."

"But I don't HAVE 70 friends."

To which my dad thought I was being difficult.

BUT, while I was there yesterday, it was surprisingly easy to picture them all as friends. The gathering was large, yet intimate. It was a lot of fun. (Again, at least for me. Maybe they all were simply plied with wine.)

Which got me thinking . . . when I write, I never picture readers as real people. It's only at signing events that I ever stop to think that real people read my books. Fan mail does that, too, I suppose. And reader emails, of which I get quite a bit. But even that is somewhat faceless with the anonymity of cyberspace.

So when you write, do you picture a room full of friends? Your critique partner? Readers browsing a bookstore? A single solitary reader? Yourself? No one? I'd love to know . . .