Giving back or giving up: on reading unpublished manuscripts

by Donna

When I was an aspiring writer, I felt very grateful for the people who gave me help and advice. I looked forward to the day when I could give back some of the help I’d received. "Pay it forward" has become almost a cliché, but it still sends shivers down my spine when I think about the concept.

Problem is, now that I am published, all too often it feels as if what I want to give back isn’t people want to get.

Maybe it’s because from a young age I bought into some kind of Protestant work ethic view of writing as a career. Side effect, no doubt, of having a father who was born in the Kansas during the bad old Depression/Dust Bowl days and worked his way through college, with a little help from the post-WWII GI Bill. I knew that you worked hard and long, and if you were good enough and lucky enough, maybe someday you’d get published. And there was that big "if/maybe"—part of the whole mystique as I absorbed it was that no matter how hard you worked and how good you were, you didn’t get a guarantee. Life was not inherently fair, and you’d only drive yourself crazy expecting it to be.

I feel old and cranky just writing the above paragraph. I keep imagining a quavery voice saying, "You young whippersnapper! In my day . . . "

But maybe it explains why I have a hard time when I hear writers giving other writers advice that runs something like, "Never let go of your dreams! If you want it bad enough, and never give up, some day, you’ll get published!"

The painful truth is that some of the people holding on tightest to those dreams really should let go, because they can’t write for beans. And some of the ones who can write won’t get published because they spend way too much time thinking positive thoughts and holding on to the dream, and not enough time perfecting their craft and learning how the publishing world works.

And yes, some people who have the talent and work until their writing sings and make all the right moves won’t get published. No, it’s not fair. Neither, as discussed above, is life.

But if I’m somewhere—on a list, at a conference--and the "hang onto your dreams" cheerleading starts, I usually just shut up, because I know that if I break in with one little, "Yes, but—" I will be accused of negativism. And God forbid that we sound negative, even if what we’re trying to do is tell the hard, cold truth as we have learned it about what it takes to get published. I’m suspect I'm not the only published writer these days who is a little less ready to dash off an answer to some general question about the industry for fear that our attempts at being honest and helpful will be labeled as "negativism."  Just because someone doesn't like the message doesn't mean it's negativism.

And lately I’ve started to notice a certain sense of entitlement among some unpublished writers. I’ve seen posts on lists or questions at conferences that all boiled down to "People helped you when you were struggling, so why aren’t you giving back to the community?"

Most of the published writers I know do. We give back what we can, given our time and our talents. Some of us volunteer for organizations like SinC or MWA. Some of us help organize conventions or conferences. Some of us teach classes, either for free or for fees that don’t really pay for the time lost from our own writing. Some of us answer questions, on lists or individually, and post information about writing on our websites and blogs.

The problem is that the thing some aspiring writers want most is for someone to read their unpublished manuscripts. It seems like such a simple thing—"Just read my manuscript and tell me if it’s publishable." Or "Just read my manuscript and tell me what I need to do to it."

Just read. Yeah. If you’re not going to read the manuscript thoughtfully and critically, give some kind of feedback about what works and what doesn’t, and suggest what the writer should do next, why are you even bothering? And doing that is cold, hard work.

Work most of us are already doing—just not for every person who contacts us out of the blue. I participate in three face-to-face critique groups. A few of the people in these groups are published. More are still aspiring. On average, I read and critique somewhere between fifty and a hundred pages a month of someone else’s writing. For me, that’s a lot. I’m not looking to take on any more.

Besides, the problem is that many people who ask a published writer to read their manuscripts don’t really want critique. They want the literary equivalent of Lana Turner’s legendary discovery at Schwab’s Drug Store or maybe even the hand of God reaching across the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel to touch Adam. They want the published writer to say "Oh, my God! This is fabulous! Can I show it to my agent and my editor?" Admit it, a lot of us have had that fantasy. I know I did before I was published. But at least I knew it was a fantasy.

Sometimes, when people ask "Why aren’t you giving back?" what they really mean is "Why aren’t you doing something to help ME?"

Like most published writers, I wish I could share some magic formula or secret technique to getting published. There’s no magic, or if there is, it’s something each writer brews for herself, in the quiet of her study. We give back what we can, hope it’s enough, and know it won’t ever satisfy everyone.  That’s life.

 

 

Comments

[Charlaine Harris]

Hear, hear!

Charlaine

[danacmrn]

There's a BIG difference between being realistic and being negative, Donna. I think it is a real disservice to not let people know what the realities of the business are.

[Fiona]

Now that I'm published, I won't read an unpublished writer's work anymore--just in case they don't like what I say or accuse me of "stealing" their work. (Like I don't already have too many ideas and need theirs.)

And you're right about that sense of entitlement. I cringe whenever someone asserts "I'm PRE-published," like their being published is inevitable. No, you're UNpublished. It's only inevitable if you SELF publish. And those who self-publish are offended when their work is lumped with the great unwashed from PublishAmerica and other vanity presses. But, they insist, THEIR work is the acception. Maybe, but if it is, why didn't they go the traditional route in the first place?

Because it's difficult. It's fraught with rejection, and rejection isn't a pleasant experience.

The whole SinC flap over Books In Print is another prime example of that sense of entitlement. Those "authors" cut corners to get published and expect the same treatment as those of us who took the time to improve our craft until our work was professionally publishable.

Okay, maybe I am negative. I worked long and hard to get published, and now I'm struggling to STAY published.

[Kristina L.]

As an unpublished writer myself (I want to write and illustrate children's books - I've finished 2 so far and have received compliments from friends and co-workers and form letter rejections from publishers), I understand wanting instant success.

I don't expect to make a lot of money on it, but it would be great to know that kids and their parents are enjoying my books.

That still doesn't excuse hassling published writers. Seems pretty counterproductive, anyway.