I Have Commitment Issues (With My Writing)
It is so difficult for me to stay committed to one story idea.
Does anyone else have that problem? For me, it stems from the fear of time running out to find the one. I suppose I’m afraid that I only get one shot at writing something successful that has the potential to be traditionally published. I constantly second-guess myself and my writing, wondering if I’m wasting my time because I could do better with something else. In fact, I'm writing this blog post right now instead of working on my novel because I'm experiencing this exact feeling at this exact moment (ironically, I am wasting more time by not sitting down and just finishing the damn thing).
In hindsight, I know that’s ridiculous. One of my favorite quotes about writing comes from the great Edgar Rice Burroughs, the author of Tarzan of the Apes: “If you write one story, it may be bad; if you write a hundred, you have the odds in your favor.” And it’s totally true because we as writers have a hundred—nay, a million—chances to get it right.
But what does it mean to be “right”? Does that mean a traditional publisher picks up your work? Does that mean you self-publish and earn a steady amount of royalties? Does that mean you simply find a handful of people who read and enjoy your writing? What is “right” and what is “making it”?
Because writing is art and art is subjective, there is no way of telling whether or not your awesome novel will win over the poorly-written fanfiction, just like there is no way of telling whether or not an agent will read past the first sentence of your query letter. It is no surprise that good work often goes overlooked while terrible work gets the golden ticket. Never mind the constantly evolving publishing industry which has a different pulse every day. What’s hot tomorrow may not be hot next week, and that’s just the way it is. It sucks.
I wish there was a formula to determine how a writer’s inputs produce particular outputs, but there are so, so many variables that the formulas for both failure and success would be infinite. A publishing contract does not (and probably never has) depended solely upon good writing. In fact, I would argue that good writing is at the bottom of the totem pole in terms of a writer’s success.
One of the most important variables is marketing. Nowadays, the industry demands authors who can market themselves, businessmen and women who the publishers do not have to babysit. I've often heard it said by industry professionals themselves that a “meh” writer with hundreds of thousands of followers on Twitter would fare better in the industry than an amazing writer who no one has ever heard of. This is because the publisher does not have to pursue sales for a writer with a well-established platform. The followers are already there.
It’s a little bit of a crapshoot, as I was once told by a friend who has been published traditionally and who now self-publishes exclusively. In fact, she made it clear that because the traditional and self-pubbing industries now demand the same amount of self-marketing on the author’s part, she would only go back to traditional publishing if the publisher offered her a stellar marketing plan. The fact is that the author earns more money self-publishing, so why would she give up those extra royalties and the creative control if she’s doing the same amount of work under a traditional publisher?
But what does it mean to be “right”? Does that mean a traditional publisher picks up your work? Does that mean you self-publish and earn a steady amount of royalties? Does that mean you simply find a handful of people who read and enjoy your writing? What is “right” and what is “making it”?
Because writing is art and art is subjective, there is no way of telling whether or not your awesome novel will win over the poorly-written fanfiction, just like there is no way of telling whether or not an agent will read past the first sentence of your query letter. It is no surprise that good work often goes overlooked while terrible work gets the golden ticket. Never mind the constantly evolving publishing industry which has a different pulse every day. What’s hot tomorrow may not be hot next week, and that’s just the way it is. It sucks.
I wish there was a formula to determine how a writer’s inputs produce particular outputs, but there are so, so many variables that the formulas for both failure and success would be infinite. A publishing contract does not (and probably never has) depended solely upon good writing. In fact, I would argue that good writing is at the bottom of the totem pole in terms of a writer’s success.
One of the most important variables is marketing. Nowadays, the industry demands authors who can market themselves, businessmen and women who the publishers do not have to babysit. I've often heard it said by industry professionals themselves that a “meh” writer with hundreds of thousands of followers on Twitter would fare better in the industry than an amazing writer who no one has ever heard of. This is because the publisher does not have to pursue sales for a writer with a well-established platform. The followers are already there.
It’s a little bit of a crapshoot, as I was once told by a friend who has been published traditionally and who now self-publishes exclusively. In fact, she made it clear that because the traditional and self-pubbing industries now demand the same amount of self-marketing on the author’s part, she would only go back to traditional publishing if the publisher offered her a stellar marketing plan. The fact is that the author earns more money self-publishing, so why would she give up those extra royalties and the creative control if she’s doing the same amount of work under a traditional publisher?
I’m afraid that this post has gone a bit off the rails, so let me get back to the heart of the issue. Again, everything comes down to what we determine as success for ourselves. The ultimate question I am trying to reach is this: how do you know if what you’re writing is worth pursuing or if you should start fresh with something new?
And that, my friends, is a question for which I do not have the answer.
And that, my friends, is a question for which I do not have the answer.
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