Pregnant with a Novel and Why Blogging Keeps Us From Committing Suicide
Tibetan Sand Mandala
Writing is a little like getting married. The minute Peter and I finished our vows my stepfather told us we should start popping them out. In those exact words, I believe (he is no longer part of the family). Similarly, at every signing I did for my novels, readers said, So what’s your next book about? I threw around words like murder, drugs and sex and hoped they’d be patient enough to wait thirteen years until it was born.
The truth is, I have a book, I am just fiddling with the ending. I have been fiddling with the ending for years. I’ve rewritten the book five times. Really sexy things happen in this book, there’s a mute witch who spies, and a Brazilian gem dealer with gazillions of dollars and a hot little army boy who falls in love with a girl with hair down to her waist who runs around the country in silk panties and little else. The novel is set in Panama, where it’s steaming hot and there’s tons of cocaine and prostitutes and guns. It’s the 80s, so everyone’s rich or getting there and the men get to wear tight pants like Don Johnson on Miami Vice.
One night I stacked the drafts of this novel on my living room floor, and just for the fun of it, because who doesn’t have time to waste, I counted the pages. I had 2500 pages of rewrites, which is sad since it’s really a simple boy meets girl story. The novel looked like a mutant special ed kid in most of these incarnations, and it occurred to me there’s a reason for this. I don’t think I want to finish it. Because then I will have to send it out and step foot into the public arena, naked, and say, Here I am! It’s sort of cozy over here with my unfinished book, my friends and my husband and, most of all, my blog.
Blogs are important for writers. First and foremost we are obsessed about and addicted to writing. If you don’t like to write and you are writing anyway, then don’t come complaining to me if you o.d. on methamphetamine. If you love to write, than really the best thing is to blog. You don’t have to deal with magazine editors or agents or literary journals or any other editorial. With a blog, you can write and be loved for it. Only people who love me read my blog. Or at least so far. My readers who are patiently waiting for me to get on with it read it, my mother-in-law (who is not your typical mother-in-law but an angel), my sister, my friends and my husband. They write me warm, fuzzy notes telling me how great I am and asking me to pretty please write another one and no one says one mean thing or tells me I have broken one two three literary rules.
Unlike a blog, when you have a book any old person is ready to tell you what’s wrong with it. I once went to a party and a very nice man, who I always look forward to seeing said, Hey! Guess what? I just read your book! I clinked glasses with him. I liked it, he said. Do you want me to tell you what was wrong with it? Ummm, no? Plenty of other people will have gladly beaten him to the punch. Kirkus and Publishers Weekly give the book to anonymous reviewers who read it in a split second and compare it to every other book they’ve ever read and post a review so bookstore buyers will buy it. Or not.
My agent laughed at me when I told her I didn’t like to look at reviews. “But you get great reviews,” she told me. We know this is true because my agent has the annoying habit of never ever lying, which is why I don’t really want to work with her anymore. But we also know reviewers are paid to be critical, even if they like the book. They circle you with a stick in their hand and just when you are gloating about how they like your ass and your hamstrings, they hit you as hard as they can on the back of the knees, just to see if you feel pain in the right places. Getting reviewed, even if the reviews are 99.9% flattering, makes me want to slip into bed with a pound of chocolate and a gallon of whiskey, imagining my reviewers blindfolded in a P.O.W. camp. Mostly I want to call them up and scream: Why don’t YOU try to write a book you parasitic muffin muncher? And then I want to ask them why in the world they don’t like me when I’ve never done anything to them.
I guess worse than being reviewed is not being noticed at all. We had an author at the lit fest who came running full tilt toward me with an S.O.S. crying, Tom Perrotta doesn’t know who I am! She was almost in tears. I asked him to sign my book, and he thought I worked for the festival! (of course I work for the festival, but no matter). I wanted to blow smoke in her face and say in my best Bogart: Get used to it honey, no one gives a damn about your book. Except of course, some people do give a damn about her book. And… some people don’t. Marshall Chapman, the famous singer songwriter once told me: A third of the room’s going to love you, a third is going to hate you, and a third isn’t going to care about you.
As an author you think that something or someone will be able to give you immunity against being a wallflower and getting bad reviews, like maybe Oprah will call (if she wasn’t going off the air) or Clint Eastwood will want to make it into a movie. But nothing can really save you from believing that your books are just a little more important than the world thinks they are. I remember looking lovingly at Ann Hathaway on the cover of Vogue after she optioned The Gospel According to Gracey, my second novel, which was being treated like a hairlip orphan at the publishing house. But even Ann Hathaway couldn’t save me. When she mentioned my book in her interviews, the interviewer would go rushing past that and say something like: I bet Disney would be happy if you kept working for them forever!!!!
The truth is that writing a book might be your own private, really fun party, but putting it out into the world takes courage. Jump out of an airplane courage. Courage to say, Lookey here! I just spent ten years writing this! While the world was at war and cardiologists were developing a cure for heart attacks, I tried to make the little people in my mind interesting to you! I spent a whole day finding just the right word and scrapped whole chapters and refused sex and wine and food, and dug my fingernails into my skull. And now I’m as vulnerable as the boy in the bubble without my bubble. How do you like me now? It’s no wonder Hemingway and Faulkner and Fitzgerald and Woolf drowned and shot themselves. Because, really, when you come right down to it, even if the reviews do understand the vision and applaud the technique, it isn’t really the reviewer’s fault that you feel like pill addiction might be an option after all. It’s your fault.
And the way we know this is to look at the Tibetans. They consider creation a kind of prayer. Creativity and art is all wrapped up in the sacred. Before they create their infamous sand mandalas they chant and recite blessings. And then they spend weeks laying down millions of grains of fine, colored sand to form geometric shapes that wind up in a final design so painstakingly beautiful, detailed and synergistic, you feel like crying. They consider the art a tool for re-consecrating the earth. And just at the time when they might be calling out, Lookey here! I finished! I made something!! The Tibetans sweep the sands up into an urn and carry the whole ruined thing to a nearby body of water, where they watch the ocean swallow it so they can spread planetary healing throughout the world and better understand the concept of impermanence. They’ve been doing this since the 6th century BC in the face of not only indifference but persecution. The Chinese communists' genocidal policies have forced most Tibetans out of their homeland, and into refugee camps in India. And here we were about to throw ourselves in front of a train because Oprah didn’t call?
Maybe we really need to pay attention to that delicious feeling we get when we play around with our blogs. Perhaps the gold ring is that soaring feeling we get when we are in the true groove of creating, all by ourselves, in our private little made-up world that feels suspiciously like playing pretend when we were kids. It could be that the poor little ego needs to take a backseat so the creative self can learn something from the Tibetans: We don’t create to be looked at, we create to spread a little planetary healing. And no matter if we do or don’t finish that novel or how many reviews we get, good or bad, everything, and I do mean everything, is impermanent.
While I happen to be one of the many who truly love you as a person, I do, in fact, find the Tibetan analogy interesting. Nonwriters can appreciate this as well since all of us (or most of us) would like whatever work we do to be recognized by someone else and many times it is only what it is.
So many truths here, I don’t know where to start. For many reasons, I never write a negative review. If I love a book, I write a positive review for Amazon in hopes it will help the author sell a few. I may read a book one day and not like it, pick it up years later, and love it. Which proves, it’s not the book, it’s me. I didn’t get it.
But I think you really nailed the problem of stepping “foot into the public arena, naked.” I’ve not yet published a book, but I’m writing one. Last summer, I was asked to write a poem for my niece’s wedding. My sister died at the tender age of 31. My niece was only 5 when her mother died. And yet I said no to the poem. I was afraid to stand on stage and read a poem I’d written.
I even tried not to write the poem. And then it popped in my head. I still said no. It was too emotional. What if I started crying? I didn’t want to ruin the ceremony. As I was telling my wise girlfriend the many excuses I had for not reading my poem, she simply said. “That is your ego talking.” And just like that, I got it. I’ll be damned if I let my ego stop me from doing this for my niece and my sister. I got on a plane, flew to Ohio, and read my poem. And I was the only one who didn’t cry.
So, yes, the ego needs to “take a backseat so the creative self can learn something from the Tibetan” but it also needs to take a backseat when we put yourself ourselves out there, naked.
With my own first novel about to be published, this is just what I needed to read at exactly this moment. Thank you for your wisdom, wit, and humor.
Really, who doesn’t have time to waste? Which is of course why I clicked on @ficwriter’s link to your blog. And I’m so glad I did. I loved reading this post. It’s rare to read an ode to the blog. The more usual post is why are you wasting time with your blog? Thanks for this moment of appreciation for “that delicious feeling we get when we play around with our blogs.” I’m now going back to my pretend world.
Thank you for writing this. You have spread a little healing on my planet today.
Loved this post!
Really know that experience of writing something and then feeling I’ve jumped out of a plane and hope that the parachute works.
No books, yet, just short stories.
And after many years of wanting, but fearing it all, I’ve gathered courage to take writing to another place. A book place.
You’ve inspired.
Thank you!
http://www.marisabirns.com
Wow. Another brilliant post! Just the thing I needed to read as I write yet another play that seems to be consecrating the ground beneath my feet while emerging into a world that couldn’t possibly ever care less about it. Thanks again!
I love to read your posts – to curl up with a cup of tea and cllimb into your world for a little bit. And for the record, the little people in your head are always FASCINATING!
If all of your posts are like this one than I am subscribing this very instant. I even heard the fireworks go off at the end!
I followed you over here from my writing angel, Darrelyn Soloom on FB.
I am at a crux at the moment preparing myself to dive into the unknown with the marketing of my book that needs polishing. Only my closest friends are critiquing it and they say that it has moments of glory but needs work, like years of work. But I have three kids and a husband who I never see anymore because he has sold his soul to the devil so that we can hang on to our new house that he built with every ounce of love and strength he had. I need to contribute financially and, as you captured so magnificently, I love writing because it is fun and sparks my creativity that has been dormant for so long and I want to do nothing else.
I have watched the Tibetan Monks in Aspen create their Mandala’s and you hit a chord with your truths.
Thank you!
http://isdisnormal.com
Simply wonderful for reading. This day before Thanksgiving is spent roasting the turkey, smelling the effects of pumpkin pie and cranberry laden candles. May we all stop and spend a little time re writing our own blogs. Love you Suzanne, Your own Mother-in-law
Suzanne, another great post. Writing is such a delicious slog for me, so it is curious to hear what it is like to be naked, with one’s piece, in the public arena. For now I will cherish my time with my creation.
Suzanne, another great post. Writing is such a delicious slog for me, so it is curious to hear what it is like to be sans clothes (euphemism for the “n” word that seems to have blocked this entry, with one’s piece, in the public arena. For now I will cherish my time with my creation.
Suzanne, thanks for illuminating the pleasure of blogging.
I love it so much, I keep making new ones despite what I read about the importance of niche. I think of it as my sandbox, but it’s fun to have others come play too–even when they have something hostile to say: http://kellysalasin.wordpress.com/2009/11/11/sarah-palin-me-part-ii-choice/#comment-178. Especially when another reader comes to my defense.
May your blogging distract you enough with play that you breath more softly through the contractions of your new book being born.
Hi, Suzanne. There’s so much truth here, and I found myself chuckling because of the blunt, naked veracity of it.
With regard to reviews, they say you haven’t arrived until you’ve been personally ripped to shreds by an unfair reviewer. Those are the times that you have to keep chanting, “Any publicity is good publicity. It’s better to be decimated than to be ignored.” Maybe if you say it long and hard enough, you’ll actually start to believe it. (I’ll let you know.)
But seriously, I think one of the things that makes a great author is the passion behind what she writes, that she pours her heart into her books. And to do that does demand courage.
Great post.
-TimK
http://www.JTimothyKing.com/
Hi Tim, Just became your fan on fb. So happy to have your comment especially since it is so beautifully written. God you haven’t arrived until you’ve been ripped to shreds? That’s such an interesting (American?) paradox. I LOVE your blog, by the way. I am going to put it on BLOGS WE LOVE once I figure out all the blah blah blah to doing that. How could I NOT love a blog about dreams and love and writing. I thought Checklist for Revising Your Novel was really great, and I am going to use it as a link to my writers when they turn that final page and are ready for revision. Thanks so much for commenting here.
I loved this post! Congrats on your inclusion in EasyStreet’s Blog Carnival. I’m so glad that Monda chose you, because I’ve learned a lot from your post. I’ve got a non-fiction book that I’m putting together, getting ready for an unsolicited submission to a local publishing house, and a novel I’m in the midst of writing with the hopes of eventually being published. It’s scary. And it’s nice to know that even “real” authors feel the same fear. Thank you.
I’m so glad Monda chose it, too. She’s picks great one. What is your non-fiction book about? Tell us, tell us!! And your novel? It’s scary, but it’s amazing how much better the chances are then what we actually think. Let us here know what happens with it!!!! And if you need any encouragement or help or whatever….
Oh my gracious! I just came across your blog via EasyStreet Prompts … and I’m in LOVE!!! Thank you for sharing your gift!!!
Isn’t EasyStreet great????? Thanks so much for coming on here. Do you have a blog? Send the link!!! Suzanne.
Hi again, Suzanne. Thank you for the kind words.
I don’t know if “they” actually say that about reviewers, not as I said it. But…
I had been personally ripped to shreds, based on the book description, by a critic who admitted—in the review itself!—that he hadn’t actually read any of my work. Now, I had been mentally prepared for bad reviews, but I just didn’t get this. Dismayed, brokenhearted, enraged, I emailed a author friend, who had been writing many years more than I. I told her, “I don’t even know how to feel.”
She replied: “How should you feel? You should feel welcomed to the club.” And then she told me about an equally bad review she had once withstood. Through our discussion, I began to realize that reviewers are not there to be fair. They are not fellow writers in a critique group, and they don’t play by the same rules. Their job is not to help you improve yourself. Their job is not even to give a balanced evaluation of your book. Their job is to satisfy the desires (and sometimes the prejudices) of their audiences. And if they can do that without even reading your book, then they just may.
It’s common for writers to ignore reviews of their own work.
So that’s why your look at this subject tickled me pink. 🙂
-TimK
How how funny that he had admitted he didn’t read it? That’s like starting the review by saying, I don’t know what I’m talking about. In Norman Mailer’s memoir, he says that Toni Morrison is a horrible writer and essentially famous because she’s a black woman (isn’t that so funny?!) and then he tells the reader he’s never actually read her book. This from a man who tried to stab his wife with a pair of scissors. Anyway, I love what you came to about it. That they are not fellow writers, are not trying to help us improve as writers, their job is to satisfy their own audiences. People never ask me to review anymore, because I think a book is such a miracle, that I was always saying what the writers’ strengths were, and the editors didn’t want that. Blah!!! Anyway, great to be in touch. Thanks for your wisdom! Suzanne.
Billy Martin said something similar to Marshall’s line, except he added that the job of a baseball manager is to keep the third who haven’t made up their minds away from the third who hate you.