When I was eleven, I decided I wanted to learn how to properly play the piano. My mother had already showed me the basics of how to read music and I could fumble out a few things with right and left hand parts, but I wanted to learn classical music. So, my mother canceled our cable subscription to pay for piano lessons and signed me up with a teacher down at the local conservatory.
Because I had a head start on the basics I progressed quickly. After the first year my teacher suggested I compete in the local music teachers competition. The first year, she said, I would be only competing against myself. If I enjoyed it and wanted to continue the following year, we would see about putting me in the category where I would compete with everyone my own age.
Despite the nerves, I did, in fact, enjoy competing. Not so much for the competition factor, but because the real joy of music, like writing, is in sharing it with someone else. Sure, I enjoyed playing at home and getting lost in the fiddly, rolling-down-a-steep-hill harmonies of Bach's Inventions. But the real enjoyment, the biggest rush was in performing for someone else. Especially in performing for strangers who would appreciate the music without regard for me.
So, after two years of competing only against myself, I entered the local competition along with everyone else in my grade level. This was a challenge. Many of them had been playing much longer than I had. And let me tell you, six years of additional experience makes a big difference - in both the quality and complexity of the work being presented. My teacher and I carefully selected work that pushed my skills and showed off my range. For the remaining five years before I headed off to college, I competed at my grade level. Every year I placed high enough to continue on to the state level. Every year I received good marks at the state level, but I never won or progressed to the regional competition.
I was competent enough to compete. I was not skilled enough to win.
"Why this story?" you may be thinking.
Lately the SF/F realm has been rife with conspiracy theories about secret "liberal" cabals, active bloc-voting by particular "conservative" groups to narrow the playing field to works which they approved and endorsed, and then rejection of those works by a broader fan base. At this point it seems as if the attempts to put forth a complete slate will continue next year. Which also means more bitterness and vitriol and finding out that folks who have been positive about your work in the past didn't really mean "This is good," but rather "This is good for a girl-writer."
And much of it stems from the inability to grasp the idea that you may be competent enough to compete, but not competent enough to win. It is laden with fear about a broadening of the pool of talent to include voices that may not be just different but also better. It is laced with venom over the idea that fandom is bigger than you are, bigger than your group of friends, and in that larger sea you are a smaller fish than you thought. And all of it is wrapped up in an "us against them" narrative that transforms that fear and poison and lack of understanding into a conspiracy against some deeper way of life - the "culture wars" we keep hearing about.
This, more than anything else, is the reason I have no patience for the Puppies (Sad or Rabid) and their movement to "reclaim" SF/F for future generations.
At some point, you have to realize that maybe your work just isn't better than your competitors. And at that point you (and I), have two basic choices.
You can:
Accuse the judges of favoring the Asian-American over you because of a hidden affirmative action agenda.
Declare that the other contestants played newer, more modern work and were rewarded for it while your own more traditional selections were passed over because they are no longer en vogue.
Orchestrate and implement a plan to only allow those who play at your skill level to compete. Bonus if you can limit the works to the same style and content you perform.
Or you can:
Improve your skills.
Work harder.
Be persistent.
"Well," you may be thinking. "You only say that because you've never been nominated for a literary award."
And that's true. I haven't been nominated. I've been eligible since 2012. In fact, 2012-2013 I was eligible for the John Campbell "Not a Hugo" Award for Best New Writer. Those years came and went without any sort of recognition for my work. Aside from, you know, having been published, getting paid, and knowing that folks were reading my work. But even if I had been nominated, I learned years ago that sometimes my very best is not "the best".
I'm okay with that. You know why?
Because, for me, the answer is simple - write a better story.
It's the thing I say to myself every time I sit down to put words on the page - write a better story.
It's the thing I say to myself every time I see someone belittling my genre - write a better story.
It's the thing I say to myself every time someone implies that even if I were to be nominated it would be for something other than the quality of my work - write a better story.
Because there is only one way to compete - write a better story.
[Disclaimer (because, you know, ethics in journalism): I have been published by two of the Puppies nominees - Abyss & Apex, and Jennifer Brozek. And I split a reading time slot with Jason Cordova last year.]
Showing posts with label Lessons Learned. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lessons Learned. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Lessons Learned (Re)Writing a Novel
1.Nothing is as Bad or Good as You First Thought
Rereading a first draft of a novel (or a second or third draft for that matter) is an adventure. I discover brilliant scenes I'd forgotten, unearth little threads of subplot that I don't remember weaving, find little gems of dialogue that make me all happy inside.
I also find a fair number of turds: descriptions that are not as clever as I thought they were when I first put them down on paper, plot holes I can throw a cat through, characters who seem cut from cardboard. Some of it is ugly. And some of it beautiful.
The point is, early drafts are allowed to be a mess, but chances are they are not as bad as you first thought when you typed "The End". That's what revising and editing are for - making the bad better and the good really good.
2. Trust Your Gut
Revisions are hard. There's that constant feeling of "But what if I make it worse?" There's the nagging suspicion that you won't have improved while writing the first draft and the second one will be more of the same drivel. There's the fear that if you try and change things you'll lose the thread of what you loved about the story in the first place.
But beneath all that is a sense of what needs to be fixed. It's the voice that says "That character doesn't serve a purpose here, get rid of her." It's the tingle of intuition that says that your MC's flaws are more interesting than her strengths. It's the whisper that tells you "That person has to die if the danger is real." This is your gut, the muscley side of your subconscious. It is always right.
3. Take Small Bites
Novels are hard to rewrite/revise/edit because they are so much longer than a short story. (Duh, right?) Take small bites, work on it consistently, and don't give up. Much like writing a first draft the middle will probably seem like The Middle from Hades or The Second Act That Ate Chicago. The difference here is that you already know how things end. You can stop to fiddle with an ornery scene that sets up the final conflict. You can take the time to develop that subplot with the romantic secondary character.
Where writing the first draft was a necessary push to get the whole story out on paper, the second (or eighth) draft is about fine tuning all the moving parts. Take it one step at a time. If it takes a week to revise one chapter and only five minutes to revise the next... that's okay. Mashed potatoes take less effort to chew than ciabatta.
4. Set Goals and Celebrate Accomplishments
Aim for a certain number of pages edited/revised at each session. Be honest about what you can accomplish, but give yourself a little challenge too. Just like with word count goals you may miss the mark sometimes. And sometimes you'll go way beyond what you intended to do. But without a goal it's easy to fall into the trap of moving commas around. Really easy.
Goals help you keep in mind that this is not the only chapter that needs work. And don't forget to celebrate when you make progress. That may mean an extra piece of shortbread at tea time or taking the evening off to something fun (or to veg). Whatever you choose to do, don't forget to recognize that you are making progress. Even if it's slower than you'd hoped.
Rereading a first draft of a novel (or a second or third draft for that matter) is an adventure. I discover brilliant scenes I'd forgotten, unearth little threads of subplot that I don't remember weaving, find little gems of dialogue that make me all happy inside.
I also find a fair number of turds: descriptions that are not as clever as I thought they were when I first put them down on paper, plot holes I can throw a cat through, characters who seem cut from cardboard. Some of it is ugly. And some of it beautiful.
The point is, early drafts are allowed to be a mess, but chances are they are not as bad as you first thought when you typed "The End". That's what revising and editing are for - making the bad better and the good really good.
2. Trust Your Gut
Revisions are hard. There's that constant feeling of "But what if I make it worse?" There's the nagging suspicion that you won't have improved while writing the first draft and the second one will be more of the same drivel. There's the fear that if you try and change things you'll lose the thread of what you loved about the story in the first place.
But beneath all that is a sense of what needs to be fixed. It's the voice that says "That character doesn't serve a purpose here, get rid of her." It's the tingle of intuition that says that your MC's flaws are more interesting than her strengths. It's the whisper that tells you "That person has to die if the danger is real." This is your gut, the muscley side of your subconscious. It is always right.
3. Take Small Bites
Novels are hard to rewrite/revise/edit because they are so much longer than a short story. (Duh, right?) Take small bites, work on it consistently, and don't give up. Much like writing a first draft the middle will probably seem like The Middle from Hades or The Second Act That Ate Chicago. The difference here is that you already know how things end. You can stop to fiddle with an ornery scene that sets up the final conflict. You can take the time to develop that subplot with the romantic secondary character.
Where writing the first draft was a necessary push to get the whole story out on paper, the second (or eighth) draft is about fine tuning all the moving parts. Take it one step at a time. If it takes a week to revise one chapter and only five minutes to revise the next... that's okay. Mashed potatoes take less effort to chew than ciabatta.
4. Set Goals and Celebrate Accomplishments
Aim for a certain number of pages edited/revised at each session. Be honest about what you can accomplish, but give yourself a little challenge too. Just like with word count goals you may miss the mark sometimes. And sometimes you'll go way beyond what you intended to do. But without a goal it's easy to fall into the trap of moving commas around. Really easy.
Goals help you keep in mind that this is not the only chapter that needs work. And don't forget to celebrate when you make progress. That may mean an extra piece of shortbread at tea time or taking the evening off to something fun (or to veg). Whatever you choose to do, don't forget to recognize that you are making progress. Even if it's slower than you'd hoped.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Lessons Learned Making Sweet Pickle Relish
1. Start with a Recipe...
I like outlines. They give me a chance to see if the mechanics of a story will work. It's in the outline that I usually see (and try to fix) the biggest issues with plot. Depending on the story I may have a very detailed outline or a very vague outline. But I've never written a story that I didn't have some idea from the get-go where I wanted it to end. Know what you're trying to accomplish before you start.
2. ...But Don't Be Afraid to Improvise
Even when I pre-plan a story, even when I outline in minute detail, I always hit a point where I just start making shit up. Maybe it's adding a scene I hadn't anticipated. Or turning the entire plot in a different direction because my Main Character turned out to be more of a coward than I had anticipated. Even when I think I know where things are headed, there is always room for change. Don't be afraid to put The Plan to one side and go with your gut.
3. No Matter How You Slice Them, The Onions Will Make You Cry
Every author enjoys some part of the writing process and HATES some other part. For some of us it's trying to finish that all important First Draft. For some of us it's looking at that messy First Draft and figuring out how to make it better. For some of us (me) it's the nit-picky line-editing stage. (Typos are the bane of my existence. And commas. And making sure that every word that should be in a sentence actually is.) For some it's the process of selling a story. But no matter which part you dread, if you want a readable, sellable and published story you have to wipe the tears off your cheeks and muscle through.
4. Even If You Don't LOVE Something, You Can Still Make it Well
I'm a big believer in writing what you love. But (BUT!) I do think it's possible to write a story that you are not completely enamored with and still produce a solid piece of fiction. I say this for two reasons. 1) You may - at some future point - be asked to edit or rewrite something in a way that was not how you first envisioned it. Have faith. You are capable of making changes to suit the needs of someone else. Even if it's not how you would do it. (Of course, whether you want the sale badly enough to do this is a whole 'nother discussion.) 2) You will - if not now, then later - have a story or two that you just don't like as well as the others you have written. This doesn't mean they aren't any good or that they aren't sellable. Trust your skills and submit that puppy 'til it's published. (So far, three of my five sales were stories I wasn't "sure" about.)
5. Getting It Right Takes Time
Some things you just can't rush. I'd like to say that as I've improved as a writer, my ability to turn out stories every week/month has gotten smoother, more dependable. Alas, that is not the case. My ability to tell stories has improved. So has my ability to sit down and write when I say it's time to write. (No more hanging around waiting on that damned muse to strike.) But writing is still work. It still takes effort. Finishing a story can still take weeks. (Or months.) That's okay. Some things come together quickly and others require a more elaborate process, but getting it right is worth the effort.
I like outlines. They give me a chance to see if the mechanics of a story will work. It's in the outline that I usually see (and try to fix) the biggest issues with plot. Depending on the story I may have a very detailed outline or a very vague outline. But I've never written a story that I didn't have some idea from the get-go where I wanted it to end. Know what you're trying to accomplish before you start.
2. ...But Don't Be Afraid to Improvise
Even when I pre-plan a story, even when I outline in minute detail, I always hit a point where I just start making shit up. Maybe it's adding a scene I hadn't anticipated. Or turning the entire plot in a different direction because my Main Character turned out to be more of a coward than I had anticipated. Even when I think I know where things are headed, there is always room for change. Don't be afraid to put The Plan to one side and go with your gut.
3. No Matter How You Slice Them, The Onions Will Make You Cry
Every author enjoys some part of the writing process and HATES some other part. For some of us it's trying to finish that all important First Draft. For some of us it's looking at that messy First Draft and figuring out how to make it better. For some of us (me) it's the nit-picky line-editing stage. (Typos are the bane of my existence. And commas. And making sure that every word that should be in a sentence actually is.) For some it's the process of selling a story. But no matter which part you dread, if you want a readable, sellable and published story you have to wipe the tears off your cheeks and muscle through.
4. Even If You Don't LOVE Something, You Can Still Make it Well
I'm a big believer in writing what you love. But (BUT!) I do think it's possible to write a story that you are not completely enamored with and still produce a solid piece of fiction. I say this for two reasons. 1) You may - at some future point - be asked to edit or rewrite something in a way that was not how you first envisioned it. Have faith. You are capable of making changes to suit the needs of someone else. Even if it's not how you would do it. (Of course, whether you want the sale badly enough to do this is a whole 'nother discussion.) 2) You will - if not now, then later - have a story or two that you just don't like as well as the others you have written. This doesn't mean they aren't any good or that they aren't sellable. Trust your skills and submit that puppy 'til it's published. (So far, three of my five sales were stories I wasn't "sure" about.)
5. Getting It Right Takes Time
Some things you just can't rush. I'd like to say that as I've improved as a writer, my ability to turn out stories every week/month has gotten smoother, more dependable. Alas, that is not the case. My ability to tell stories has improved. So has my ability to sit down and write when I say it's time to write. (No more hanging around waiting on that damned muse to strike.) But writing is still work. It still takes effort. Finishing a story can still take weeks. (Or months.) That's okay. Some things come together quickly and others require a more elaborate process, but getting it right is worth the effort.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Lessons Learned From Short Fiction Submissions
1. Patience is a virtue
Sending a short story out for consideration takes courage. It also takes a fair measure of patience. Even the fastest professional markets usually hold a story for close to a month before a decision is made. Many of them are much slower, pushing the wait time to a year or more. If you can't stomach the wait, you won't last long. (Don't get me wrong. No one likes to wait for three months only to hear "Sorry, not for us at this time." The solution is to stay busy during those months of waiting.) Is it worth it? Of course it is. Professional mags are called "professional" for a reason: they pay well, they have high standards (which also means high rejection figures) and they are read by a lot of people.
2. Pay attention to the details
If you've been writing for very long you've probably become familiar with standard manuscript formatting. Which is a good thing. But there are a few markets that prefer different formats. And even if they do want standard formatting they usually want a special file type. (.rtf and .doc are the most common, but not every market takes both.) It's easy to skim through the submission guidelines and miss something important. Take your time and give yourself that extra boost up the ladder by paying attention to what the guidelines ask for. (This goes for length, genre and content too.)
3. Don't hesitate
If you've had a story sitting at a market for 92 days and they say to query after 90 if you haven't heard anything, don't wait. There's a lot of reluctance from many writers about "bothering editors" with status queries. Certainly you don't want to flood them with constant demands for updates on your story's status. BUT, if they say to query after X amount of time, then do it. I had a story that had been marked received at a specific market, then passed the 90 day mark. I was elated, thought for sure I had made it through the slush pile, probably up to the final round, but I still didn't hear anything. Finally, about day 110, I queried. The editor responded to tell me (rather sheepishly) that although the story had been received it had never been put in the queue to be read. After another 40 days or so I received a rejection (personal, but still a rejection). I gained nothing, except more waiting, by waiting a little longer to query because I was worried about bothering the editors.
4. Be courteous
If you do have to query the most important thing you can remember is to be courteous. Editors are busy people and it will not do you any good to be rude or cast blame (even if it turns out they've done something sloppy). We've all made mistakes. I usually address status queries along the lines of "Just wanting to make sure this didn't get lost in transit." Then wait two weeks minimum before sending anything else. (I usually wait about three, just because.) There's nothing wrong with wanting to know what's going on with your story, but remember, your story isn't the only one on submission - it may take a little time for an editor to track down the information for you.
Sending a short story out for consideration takes courage. It also takes a fair measure of patience. Even the fastest professional markets usually hold a story for close to a month before a decision is made. Many of them are much slower, pushing the wait time to a year or more. If you can't stomach the wait, you won't last long. (Don't get me wrong. No one likes to wait for three months only to hear "Sorry, not for us at this time." The solution is to stay busy during those months of waiting.) Is it worth it? Of course it is. Professional mags are called "professional" for a reason: they pay well, they have high standards (which also means high rejection figures) and they are read by a lot of people.
2. Pay attention to the details
If you've been writing for very long you've probably become familiar with standard manuscript formatting. Which is a good thing. But there are a few markets that prefer different formats. And even if they do want standard formatting they usually want a special file type. (.rtf and .doc are the most common, but not every market takes both.) It's easy to skim through the submission guidelines and miss something important. Take your time and give yourself that extra boost up the ladder by paying attention to what the guidelines ask for. (This goes for length, genre and content too.)
3. Don't hesitate
If you've had a story sitting at a market for 92 days and they say to query after 90 if you haven't heard anything, don't wait. There's a lot of reluctance from many writers about "bothering editors" with status queries. Certainly you don't want to flood them with constant demands for updates on your story's status. BUT, if they say to query after X amount of time, then do it. I had a story that had been marked received at a specific market, then passed the 90 day mark. I was elated, thought for sure I had made it through the slush pile, probably up to the final round, but I still didn't hear anything. Finally, about day 110, I queried. The editor responded to tell me (rather sheepishly) that although the story had been received it had never been put in the queue to be read. After another 40 days or so I received a rejection (personal, but still a rejection). I gained nothing, except more waiting, by waiting a little longer to query because I was worried about bothering the editors.
4. Be courteous
If you do have to query the most important thing you can remember is to be courteous. Editors are busy people and it will not do you any good to be rude or cast blame (even if it turns out they've done something sloppy). We've all made mistakes. I usually address status queries along the lines of "Just wanting to make sure this didn't get lost in transit." Then wait two weeks minimum before sending anything else. (I usually wait about three, just because.) There's nothing wrong with wanting to know what's going on with your story, but remember, your story isn't the only one on submission - it may take a little time for an editor to track down the information for you.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Lessons Learned Writing Micro-Fiction
There are many different types of micro-fiction - flash: a story under 1k; Twitter: a story in 140 characters or less; drabble: 100 words exactly, just to name a few. But they are all similar in that they try and tell a story in a space that most would consider challenging if not downright impossible.
Having written a few pieces of flash and over a dozen of Twit fic, I can safely say that it's not impossible. And there are lessons to be learned in writing with few words. Here are the two that impressed me the most.
1. Backstory/Worldbuilding Are Not as Important As You Think
This sounds counter-intuitive, I know. Every story needs some glimpse into the foundation of the characters, where they come from, what their world looks like, etc. But there is a lot to be said for not telling us that information and, instead, implying it by how you tell the story. Word-choice. Rhythm. Emotion. All of these elements can tell a backstory better than you think.
2. No Story is Too Short To Edit
You might think that a story that is only 140 characters long couldn't get any shorter. Or couldn't use different words than the ones you wrote first. This is not the case. Any story can be edited, no matter how short and sweet you think it is to start off with. And most stories should be edited. Because we all get lazy or have a bad day and use the wrong word in place of a better one.
3. It is Possible to Say Something Important Without Being Long-winded
I say this, because too often we get bogged down in trying to SAY SOMETHING. We use too many words. We beat the reader over the head. We meander. We get stuck on our own ability to weave words in a magical way. But this is not necessary. Important things can be said in few words. And they will stick with the reader more than a convoluted passage might.
We can all learn to write more cleanly, even if we aren't all writing in microscopic forms.
Having written a few pieces of flash and over a dozen of Twit fic, I can safely say that it's not impossible. And there are lessons to be learned in writing with few words. Here are the two that impressed me the most.
1. Backstory/Worldbuilding Are Not as Important As You Think
This sounds counter-intuitive, I know. Every story needs some glimpse into the foundation of the characters, where they come from, what their world looks like, etc. But there is a lot to be said for not telling us that information and, instead, implying it by how you tell the story. Word-choice. Rhythm. Emotion. All of these elements can tell a backstory better than you think.
2. No Story is Too Short To Edit
You might think that a story that is only 140 characters long couldn't get any shorter. Or couldn't use different words than the ones you wrote first. This is not the case. Any story can be edited, no matter how short and sweet you think it is to start off with. And most stories should be edited. Because we all get lazy or have a bad day and use the wrong word in place of a better one.
3. It is Possible to Say Something Important Without Being Long-winded
I say this, because too often we get bogged down in trying to SAY SOMETHING. We use too many words. We beat the reader over the head. We meander. We get stuck on our own ability to weave words in a magical way. But this is not necessary. Important things can be said in few words. And they will stick with the reader more than a convoluted passage might.
We can all learn to write more cleanly, even if we aren't all writing in microscopic forms.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Lessons Learned Cutting a Tree
1. Know your structure.
And, no. I'm not talking about writing an outline. I'm talking about being familiar with the structure of what you write. From the basic beginning, middle, end to more complex sub-plot arcs, character development and so on. Short stories are simpler than novels. Not necessarily easier, but certainly simpler. They contain fewer characters, fewer plot points. A novel is a gargantuan thing that if you start at it willy-nilly is likely to twist and break and crush you under the weight of there's-so-much-here-I-didn't-take-into-account.
2. Know your limitations.
The adrenaline rush of starting a new project tends to make me jump in with both feet. And that's all well and good, but it's important to know one's limitations. Even at my most excited and fastest typing speeds, I can't write a novel in a day. I'm lucky to get a rough draft in a month. This is one reason why goals are important, they tell you where you're going and keep you from burning out by running full steam all the time. In other words, work hard, but don't work too hard.
3. Getting the big stuff down is only the beginning.
A common misunderstanding among newer writers is that the purpose of editing is simply to look for typos and maybe tighten up a few sentences here and there. We've all felt that initial rush of Thank-god-it's-done that comes when we complete a rough draft. But if you're like me, you're also beginning to realize that the rough draft is just the beginning. Then comes cutting out the dead stuff. Killing those darling that just don't fit with the rest. Filling in plot-holes. Smoothing out character arcs. And so on. The rough draft is the easy part and once that's done the real work (of revising and rewriting) begins.
And, no. I'm not talking about writing an outline. I'm talking about being familiar with the structure of what you write. From the basic beginning, middle, end to more complex sub-plot arcs, character development and so on. Short stories are simpler than novels. Not necessarily easier, but certainly simpler. They contain fewer characters, fewer plot points. A novel is a gargantuan thing that if you start at it willy-nilly is likely to twist and break and crush you under the weight of there's-so-much-here-I-didn't-take-into-account.
2. Know your limitations.
The adrenaline rush of starting a new project tends to make me jump in with both feet. And that's all well and good, but it's important to know one's limitations. Even at my most excited and fastest typing speeds, I can't write a novel in a day. I'm lucky to get a rough draft in a month. This is one reason why goals are important, they tell you where you're going and keep you from burning out by running full steam all the time. In other words, work hard, but don't work too hard.
3. Getting the big stuff down is only the beginning.
A common misunderstanding among newer writers is that the purpose of editing is simply to look for typos and maybe tighten up a few sentences here and there. We've all felt that initial rush of Thank-god-it's-done that comes when we complete a rough draft. But if you're like me, you're also beginning to realize that the rough draft is just the beginning. Then comes cutting out the dead stuff. Killing those darling that just don't fit with the rest. Filling in plot-holes. Smoothing out character arcs. And so on. The rough draft is the easy part and once that's done the real work (of revising and rewriting) begins.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Lessons Learned at a Funeral
1) Not having a plan benefits no one.
It is scary to have a plan. Making a plan predicts a certain outcome. When it comes to publication having a plan means either dealing with success (whatever that word may mean to you) when it comes or facing the bitter eventuality that this career is not for you after all. It is easy to write. It is harder to set goals, stick to them, and refine or change them when the results are not what you wanted.
2) There is nothing to be gained by being fearful.
Seeking publication is frightening. There is a fear of being judged for what you write. The fear of rejection. The fear that you aren't as good as you think you are. But not doing something because it might turn out badly guarantees it won't turn out well. Taking risks means facing failure. It also means pursuing rewards.
3) We don't know what will happen tomorrow.
It is a particular flaw of many writers (myself included) that we want to take one last look at that story, let it percolate a little longer, tweak it just a little more. And then I realize I've been working on a short story for months and months and it's no longer getting better it's just getting different. No one wants to send a story out too soon, but there is no benefit from sitting on a story 'til you're dead.
In short, make a plan, then write (and send those suckers out for consideration) like there is no tomorrow.
It is scary to have a plan. Making a plan predicts a certain outcome. When it comes to publication having a plan means either dealing with success (whatever that word may mean to you) when it comes or facing the bitter eventuality that this career is not for you after all. It is easy to write. It is harder to set goals, stick to them, and refine or change them when the results are not what you wanted.
2) There is nothing to be gained by being fearful.
Seeking publication is frightening. There is a fear of being judged for what you write. The fear of rejection. The fear that you aren't as good as you think you are. But not doing something because it might turn out badly guarantees it won't turn out well. Taking risks means facing failure. It also means pursuing rewards.
3) We don't know what will happen tomorrow.
It is a particular flaw of many writers (myself included) that we want to take one last look at that story, let it percolate a little longer, tweak it just a little more. And then I realize I've been working on a short story for months and months and it's no longer getting better it's just getting different. No one wants to send a story out too soon, but there is no benefit from sitting on a story 'til you're dead.
In short, make a plan, then write (and send those suckers out for consideration) like there is no tomorrow.
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