The Writer's Book of Hope: Getting from Frustration to Publication - Softcover

Keyes, Ralph

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0805072357 ISBN 13: 9780805072358

Publisher: Holt Paperbacks, 2003

Synopsis

In 1889, the editor of the San Francisco Examiner, having accepted an article from Rudyard Kipling, informed the author that he should not bother to submit any more. "This isn't a kindergarten for amateur writers," the editor wrote. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don't know how to use the English language." A century later, John Grisham was turned down by sixteen agents before he found representation-and it was only after Hollywood showed an interest in The Firm that publishers began to take him seriously.

The anxiety of rejection is an inevitable part of any writer's development. In this book, Ralph Keyes turns his attention from the difficulty of putting pen to paper-the subject of his acclaimed The Courage to Write -to the frustration of getting the product to the public. Inspiration isn't nearly as important to the successful writer, he argues, as tenacity, and he offers concrete ways to manage the struggle to publish. Drawing on his long experience as a writer and teacher of writing, Keyes provides new insight into the mind-set of publishers, the value of an agent, and the importance of encouragement and hope to the act of authorial creation.

About this title

About the Author:

Ralph Keyes is the author of ten books and numerous articles for Newsweek, Harper's, GQ, and other publications. A writing teacher for over thirty years, Keyes is a trustee of the Antioch Writers' Workshop. He lives in Yellow Springs, Ohio.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

WRITER'S BOOK OF HOPE
{ I } LOOKING IN * 1 * The Essential Ingredient Call him John. Even though John's job paid well enough, he found it boring and unsatisfying. John dreamed of becoming a writer. Eventually, he decided to stop dreaming and start writing. This meant getting up at five every morning so he could go to work early and scribble fiction on a yellow legal pad. At night John would squeeze out another page or two on an old Smith-Corona word processor resting on a board wedged between the washer and dryer in the laundry room of a three-bedroom ranch home he shared with his wife and infant son. This made for slow going. John thought often about giving up on writing as an impossible dream. He didn't, however, and after three years of early morning and late night writing had a book-length manuscript. John sent his manuscript to dozens of literary agents and publishers whose names he got from a guidebook. All sent it back. An agent finally agreed to take him on, one not considered particularly prestigious in the status-conscious world of publishing. After several more rejections, this agent sold John's novel to an obscure publisher in Connecticut. That publisher paid a modest advance, then sold very few of the 5,000 copiesof John's book that it had printed. In the meantime he'd completed a second novel. His agent had trouble selling that one too. John saw little room for hope and wondered whether it was finally time to throw in the towel. Until--but I get ahead of my story. Let's come back to it later. Does John's story sound familiar? Like your own in certain respects? If so, you are not alone. Frustration is the natural habitat of writers at every level. I've felt it. So did John. So does anyone who aspires to write. I've noticed this especially while speaking at writers' courses and conferences. Antsiness fills the air like ions before a thunderstorm. Participants worry about lacking talent. Their submissions get rejected. Inspiration wanes. It all seems so futile. Why keep going? Without being Pollyannish, I try to reassure these fledgling writers. Hang in there, I say. You'd be surprised by how many successful writers were once discouraged ones. Did you know that Samuel Beckett's first novel was rejected by forty-two publishers? That a dozen agents chose not to represent J. K. Rowling? That Beatrix Potter had to self-publish The Tale of Peter Rabbit? These are good grounds for hope. There are many more. Is Hope Necessary? Any writer has a legitimate, valid need to hear that it isn't all for naught. This may sound self-evident, but it isn't to everyone. Some of my colleagues even try to discourage new writers, on the theory that anyone who can be driven out of the business this way shouldn't be there in the first place. They seem to feel that admitting a need for encouragement suggests one is too wimpy to be a writer. Writing isn't for sissies, they say. If you can't stand the grief, get out of the profession. Even Anne Lamott--whose delightful book Bird by Bird touched onwriting despair--once despaired herself that addressing a writers' conference meant offering "hope-to-the-hopeless." Gee. That's awfully harsh. I've been involved with such a conference--the Antioch Writers' Workshop--for nearly two decades. Every year at least one of our graduates has sold a book to the likes of Knopf, HarperCollins, Warner, and Gray-wolf. Others have had scripts produced, stories anthologized, and articles published. The help we give these authors-in-the-making lies less in the realm of metaphors or marketing tactics than the simple idea that it's possible to write and get published. You can be a writer, we tell them. That message alone is worth the price of admission. Unfortunately, the most daunting problems writers face are seldom considered at courses and conferences. These gatherings usually emphasize basic principles of good writing: show, don't tell; use active verbs; be sparing with adjectives and adverbs; make effective use of detail. Students learn about story structure and pacing and transitions and point of view. Advice is given on how to approach publishers. Such lessons are valuable, even invaluable. But mastering the elements of style can't produce the will to keep writing. The hardest part of being a writer is not getting your commas in the right place but getting your head in the right place. Where help is really needed is in the area of countering anxiety, frustration, and despair. In his encouraging book On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, Stephen King admitted, "Confidence during the actual writing of this book was a commodity in remarkably short supply. What I was long on was physical pain and self-doubt." Like King, all writers need encouragement, at every step of their career--even those who win the Nobel Prize for literature. If anyone should be beyond the need for validation it's a Nobel laureate like Saul Bellow. Yet, according to Bellow's longtime agent Harriet Wasserman, during the years that she represented him, reassurance wasexactly what he craved--constantly. After each novel, no matter how well received, Bellow was like a fledgling writer, hungry for the least scrap of reassurance. Even after he won the Nobel, every book Bellow wrote was like a maiden effort. As Wasserman put it, "For Saul, every book is his first book, and he is always the first-time writer welcoming reenforcement." There is not a writer alive who couldn't use a dose of reassurance. This has nothing to do with the quality of their work or the stage of their career. Regardless of how much one may have published, writing--books especially--is such an enervating experience that it is hard to keep the words coming without getting an occasional "You go, girl!" A word or two of encouragement can keep writers at their desks when all seems for naught. At those times, reassurance is far more helpful than marketing tips or style pointers. This is a point of near-consensus among humane teacher-writers. The evidence can be found in their own careers. While making $6,000 a year as a young freshman composition teacher at Colgate University, Frederick Busch received constant encouragement for a novel in progress from an editor at Atlantic Monthly Press. Even though she didn't accept his novel, late in a successful career Busch still remembered the reassurance he got from this woman when he felt so unsure of himself. In Busch's words, "That sort of encouragement is underrated, usually by the writers who have received it, but it is stupendously important ... . You know it's not all over, you know it is one day going to be wonderful, and you know that someone's caring for you--you are not, in a cruel profession, alone." Isn't that the real reason we attend those writing conferences and take courses on writing and read books on the subject? To feel less alone with our self-doubt? We're not looking for tips on how to write so much as reasons to keep writing. And we should. How can you write without hope? Hope is the essentialingredient, as crucial to a writer as similes and semicolons. A simple nod of reassurance can keep us going when every nerve ending says, STOP! ENOUGH! I SURRENDER! We can write without a computer, typewriter, desk, pen, or even paper (some excellent writing has been done in prisons on matchbook covers and toilet tissue). The one thing we can't write without is hope. Hope is to writers as oxygen is to scuba divers. No writer can survive without it. I once talked with veteran writer William Zinsser just after he'd received several pages of suggested manuscript revisions from his longtime editor at HarperCollins. Despite being the author of fourteen books and scores of articles and essays, despite having been executive editor of the Book-of-the-Month Club and a longtime teacher of writing--as well as the author of two books on the subject, including the much-assigned On Writing Well--Zinsser was taken aback. He searched in vain for any words of reassurance in his editor's commentary. Did this man like the manuscript? That was the first question Zinsser put to his editor, followed by remonstration for not including any encouraging words in his critique. "Don't think just because I've been doing this so long I don't need encouragement," said Zinsser. The Ethics of Encouragement Something I've discussed often with colleagues is whether it's honorable to encourage fledgling writers when we know the odds against them are so great, and the path to publication is so torturous. The problem is that we have no idea which ones will complete this marathon. Anyone who works with writers is continually surprised by who reaches the finish line and who doesn't. Our powers of prediction are not that accurate. When they were senior editors at Doubleday, Loretta Barrett and Betty Prashker tried to get Barrett's assistant to give up herdream of writing fiction. Based on their reading of a novel the young woman had spent a year and a half writing, both felt confident that she had no future as a novelist. The woman ignored them and went on to publish several books, eventually for six-figure advances that Barrett herself--now an agent--negotiated for her former assistant. Her name? Laura Van Wormer, author of the bestselling series featuring reporter Sally Harrington. "While it may seem disingenuous to encourage a writer who seems to have no native ability," wrote editor-turned-agent Betsy Lerner in her excellent book The Forest for the Trees: An Editor's Advice to Writers, "it is also arrogant to think we know how any given career will develop, or what combination of desire and will may result in a work that will have a profound effect on people even if it is never praised for its beautiful prose." Lerner knew a writing teacher who went out of her way to be supportive of students' work regardless of its apparent prospects....

About this edition

• Publisher: Holt Paperbacks
• Publication date: 2003
• ISBN 10: 0805072357
• ISBN 13: 9780805072358
• Binding: Paperback
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 240