What do you think?

PJ Nunn

Authors tend to be an opinionated bunch. More so than a lot of groups I think. It's the nature of the opinions they have about themselves that I want to talk about today. Have you noticed that most authors either are now or have been active members of a writing critique group? And while the best of these groups try to accentuate positives as well as negatives, the very title by which they're called is definitive. Critique. Criticism. Spotlight and pinpoint what I've done wrong.

It's true, a good critique helps to expose our weaknesses. It's very easy for an author to develop tunnel vision that helps him or her to see only the shortcomings. Consequently even though an author has gained a coveted contract and finally has a book in print, and that author is fervently hoping that readers and reviewers will love the book, that author is often secretly remembering every weak spot and pleading "Oh please, I hope they like it, I hope they like it, I hope..."

On the other hand, most of us at some point have come across authors who seem supremely arrogant and full of themselves. Self-confidence to the extreme. Some of them are great writers, and some of them are not. So what makes them stand apart from the other writers who struggle to believe in their talents even after several books have been published? And why does this matter when it comes to book promotion?

I don't know what made me think of it, but I was reminded of myself when I was 15. We'd moved from Phoenix Arizona to a tiny town in Oklahoma and I suffered from severe culture shock. Ok, severe to a 15 year old is different than severe to many of us, but bear with me. This tiny town didn't even have a girls PE program. It had brick streets. I was certain we'd stepped into the dark ages.

I was a runner. And a basketball player. And they wanted me to be a cheerleader! I was not and never will be a cheerleader type of person. But the football field and surrounding track were a mere 2 blocks from our house so I gravitated there after school, decked out in my running shoes (they didn't have brand names back there in the dark ages, they were just running shoes). One of the coaches saw my talent and/or intent and allowed me to work out with the team. He even put me in some of the track meets hosted there since not all schools were as backward as mine about allowing females to participate.

I was a distance runner. Anything with the word "dash" in it meant I would lose. And hurdles were the things nightmares were made of. Yet the coach insisted if I was going to work out with his team, I was going to run the course. He wouldn't allow me to concentrate only on what came easy to me. I still have tiny scars on my kneecaps where I picked those cinders from my knees after running, or rather stumbling over, hurdles. He taught me a lot, though.

My day's efforts started on the hurdles - my worst event. It broke my pride because no matter how good I thought I was running the mile, it was hard to maintain an ego when I was picking myself up off the ground so often. It also increased my determination to do what I had to do in order to be able to do what I loved. Then I'd have to do sprints. Again, my pride took a beating because I rarely ever finished anything but last and some of those guys I ran against weren't great.

But give me a mile or a marathon and call me the energizer bunny. It wasn't too hard for me to understand why Coach made me work on the things I wasn't good at, even though I wasn't going to run those races. But it took a while for me to understand why he pushed me so hard on increasing distance. I was good at that.

Ultimately, I came to know myself, weaknesses and strengths. To know and accept that I was good at what I did both when I won, and when I didn't. I didn't run better because someone thought I did and I didn't run worse because someone thought I couldn't run. Not every race was my best, but my capability was constant. The type and quality of my competition didn't have anything to do with how good I was, it was merely a temporary measure that would change with the next race. And I developed a confidence in both what I could and couldn't do. Like Eastwood said, "A man's got to know his limitations." There's a serious peace in that.

There's a proverb in the Bible that says, "whatever a man thinks in his heart, so is he." There's a lot of truth in that. Or you might say so he'll become.

When an author is crafting a manuscript, there's always the potential for improvement so seeking out the weak areas for revision is good. But mentally, too many authors never break free of that mindset even after the book is published. They're still seeing weak spots and things they might have done better. They don't fully understand that the workout - for now - is over and it's time to focus on skill to run the race. When there's still time to improve, you focus on things that need improving. But when it's time to play the game or run the race, you focus on all the good you've brought to the table and ignore the weakness.

In promotion, what you believe about yourself and your work is everything. You have to come to peace with the idea that this manuscript is the best that it can be according to your ability at that time in your life. It doesn't mean you should be arrogant and prideful. It doesn't mean you shouldn't strive to be even better with the next project. But believing in the value of the finished work does mean you'll have resources and stamina to draw from to make one more phone call, or to ride out one more not-so-great review, or to endure one more rejection from whoever you're pitching at the time. It means you believe in you and your talent even if it seems like no one else does. Because in today's market, you have to believe in you if you expect anyone else to.

So go to your critique groups. Give them your best and take the criticism for what it's worth. But when the book is done, stop looking at what might have been and focus on your talents and skills that produced what you hold in your hand. For now, let it be good. Don't downgrade when someone tells you how much they like it by responding with things like, "Oh it's not that great," or "So and so's work is so much better," and learn to just smile and say, "Thank you, I'm glad you like it." And mean it.

Till next time,

Comments

[Robin Agnew]

That's lovely essay, PJ.