Does honesty have to be brutal? How many writers say: be brutally honest. Isn’t honest enough? And what are they really saying? In many cases, I think it’s code for: be gentle. Learning how to be brutally honest and gentle at the same time is the agent’s/editor’s duty. Obviously, some are better at it than others. Of course, I’d like to think I’m good at it, but who knows? You’re better at it with some writers than others. It’s often a matter of clicking, and in the best cases you inspire each other.
For me, there are just 2-3 people from whom I can take criticism and use it constructively. They are highly critical, but they converse in a way doesn’t make me feel defensive. We’ve developed a language over time; it feels collaborative and exciting. I think of them as my cut men, giving me just what I need to get back in the ring.
When I was younger anything anyone said affected me so deeply it was ridiculous. I still don’t know how I survived the MFA workshops. (Oh, yeah, that little six month “sabbatical.” LOL) Well, my dearest darling readers, how do you like your honesty: straight up, brutal, gentle, between the eyes, poached, baked, with a side of fries? Tell me the truth.
Filed under: Writers, Writing | 31 Comments »
Thanks to everyone who read and continued to comment over the holiday. Apparently, some people didn’t think I could stay away, especially our darling A. who wrote, “Yeah, who knew Betsy had such self control?” Not how I envisioned her.” It’s true, self control isn’t my strong suit. My parents always accused me of “not knowing when to stop.” And god knows, I’ve found myself waking up in bushes enough times to know that I had a wee problem putting on the brakes.
I always feel that it’s a big mistake to tell people what you’re working on. In part, if you talk too much about it there’s a greater chance that you won’t do it. There’s also the feeling that if you give too much away, you leech the project of its essential oils. I’m never paranoid that anyone is going to “steal” my ideas; I don’t think people really can steal your ideas, or execute them the way that you would. Still, blabbing too soon is like an artist showing his subject the portrait when it is half done. You leave yourself wide open.
It’s 2:00 a.m. Home after the annual agency holiday party. I’m wired, agitated, and depressed all at once. I’m one of these people who dread all social gatherings. Then I have a really good time. Then I hate myself. It’s so fucking predictable.
I wish I had something to say to inspire you tonight, but my tank is low if I’m going to be honest. I know I’m not an ER nurse, but sometimes this work is incredibly draining. Worse, I know that whatever anxiety I’m feeling whether it’s waiting for an editorial response, waiting for money, waiting for an offer, etc. it’s far worse for the writer. I have all these children living in my shoe. When something doesn’t happen for one, it’s bound to happen for another. One writer is getting tons of attention, a fat new offer on her next book, foreign sales galore. Another writer can’t get arrested. And three years from now their situations might be reversed; fickle are the gods of publishing.
Two manuscripts came in last week on stretchers. One needed a heart transplant, the other a new leg. It took hours of surgery, but they are both doing well. People ask if I still edit. I can’t not edit. I think we all read with pencils in our hands. Isn’t that the job?
Betsy Lerner 
