Some of the best writing advice I ever got as a student came from a literature professor, rather than a writing
professor. In fact, he was by far my favorite professor in the entire
department.
I met this particular professor when I signed up for his course in
Literary Criticism. The class was a real struggle for me, in the
beginning—so much so, I wound up seeking this professor out to try to
gain some perspective, some insight into how to better attack the
subject matter.
The advice this professor gave me was to forget “good.” It wasn’t my
job to determine whether or not a book, poem, story, etc. was worth
reading. Other people with far better credentials had, in fact, already
determined the work was “good.” It had made its way into the literary
canon. It was a classic. My job, as a literature student, was to
figure out why. What separated this work from its contemporaries? Why
did it survive while others produced in the same vein were forgotten?
When I graduated, I dove headfirst into becoming a full-time author. Not that it came quickly or easily (it actually took 7 1/2 years of effort to get the first yes). While I was up to my eyeballs in rejections, I returned to
that prof's lesson. I checked out piles and piles of contemporary juvenile
literature from my local library (I had just begun to turn toward writing MG and YA), and attacked each book in the same way
I’d once attacked the works I’d read for my literature professor. I
went at it thinking, “Okay, somebody—an agent, an editor, a publishing
house—has already decided this book is good. Why? What does this book
have that made it a work to be acquired? What are this author’s
strengths?”
That lesson, more than any other, helped me move toward publication.
And I’d like to encourage anyone in pursuit of publication to do the
same. For one year, I challenge you to find something good in each new
book you read.
It’s easy, when you’re covered in rejection, to fall into a pattern of
negative thinking. That negative thinking could be projected inward
(“I’m no good. I’ll never be in the company of published authors. I
don’t have anything new to offer. Who would read my work when so many
other great authors are already out there?”) Or, the negative thinking
could be projected outward (“Published books are crap. These published
authors are no good. My work is better than this. The reason my work
isn’t being accepted is because editors only want crap.”)
Another negative thought pre-published authors fall into is the idea
that a rejection means that the editor or agent is telling you that your
work isn’t of high enough quality. That’s not it at all. Yet again, I
encourage you to forget “good.” A rejection isn’t an editor telling
you that you’re not good enough. In fact, I once worked with an editor
who told me that she picked books that she felt she could edit in a way
no one else could…she picked books she felt she could make a unique kind
of editorial thumbprint on. She said she did pass on many books that
were well done—it was about finding the right match.
For one year, then, I encourage any would-be authors to ditch the
negative thinking—which can really hamper your writing. Let
go of the idea that a rejection is a way to tell you that you’re not
good enough. Let go of the idea that you don’t measure up. And while
you should always, always, always have faith and pride in your
abilities, let go of the notion that the published books you check out
are somehow inferior. Decide, every time you pick up a book, that
you’re going to learn from it.
For one year, forget good. Look at each read objectively and ask
yourself, “Why did this one make it?” You may decide that it was
because of the concept, or because of the writer’s ability to handle a
plot twist, or because of the author’s voice. You may see value in
their character development or humor. Find some positive reason for the
book being acquired.
Then challenge yourself. Figure out how to incorporate other authors’
admirable qualities into your work in your own way. I contend it’s far
more useful to try to emulate something positive than it is to avoid
something negative.
I would bet that by the end of the year, you will have made progress in
some way. You’ll have graduated from form rejections to personalized
rejections—or maybe even signed with an agent. Or, you might have decided to hire an editor and brave going indie. I would, in fact, love
to hear your own stories of how this “Positive Reading Challenge” helped
your own publication pursuit. Take the challenge, and at the end of
the year, shoot me a message. (I can always be reached through my
website or social media). I’d love to know how it impacted you.
I’m grateful every day for my prof’s lesson—it helped me in ways I never
could have anticipated, back when I was a literature student trying to
navigate through his class. It actually turned out to be some of the best
professional advice I ever received. I’m betting that it’ll help you,
too. I can’t wait to hear how.
