Dreaming

Several years ago I set five goals for my writing: write, polish, learn, attend, and send.

I’m a prolific writer so the first goal wasn’t a problem. I’ve always got a pen and paper—or laptop—in my hands. The second goal, polish, was a challenge. I’m a perfectionist and felt my work was never at its best. With the help of other writers, however, I learned that polishing a story, article, or novel is just that—polishing. Polish, by definition means to buff up. When I spray furniture polish onto my piano, it doesn’t automatically shine. There is, in fact, a dull residue which only after lots of elbow grease—buffing up—begins to yield results.

I began to understand that though my writing starts out needing lots of work to make it shine that doesn’t mean I am doomed to fail. It only means I need to work until I get the results I want—just like polishing the piano.

For me that was a great realization—a blessing.

Since fifth grade, I knew I wanted to be a writer. I just didn’t know it was okay to work at making that dream come true. When I was young I wrote with enthusiasm, then I followed my mother around reading my work. Her response was constantly harsh and to the point: “Lori, writing is not your forte.” She didn’t believe I could become what I dreamed of being, and she feared I’d embarrass myself; her fears became mine.

It took a long time for me to start believing in myself.

Knowing it was alright if my words didn’t shine the first time I wrote them, or when I rewrote them the second time, or even the third, I came to the realization that I could help myself by striving to learn more about writing in general. I began to read more, books on writing and books in the genres I wanted to pursue, thus helping myself meet my third goal. Attend, fourth on the list, involved writing classes and being part of critique groups. I met lots of other writers and would be writers who shared dreams and goals similar to mine.

I become conscious that early on in my life I’d been lead to believe that writing—being a writer—was something you either could or could not do, like walking or talking. When I understood that (just like playing the piano with any degree of proficiency) becoming a writer takes time, effort, and practice I was able to let go of old fears and enjoy the process of becoming.

The last item on my list, send, became easier as well. I analyzed, versus agonized over, rejection letters and resumed polishing before I again sent my work out. In time my efforts paid off. I found many opportunities and enjoyed writing for the newspapers and magazines that asked for my work; it felt good to have my articles, short stories and essays—my own words and feelings—appear in print.

But there was something more, something I dreamed of for a long time: I wanted to write children’s books and novels.

Gathering courage amidst continued opposition, both interior and exterior, I set out once more with my five writing goals. I still have a long road to travel but I enjoy being on that road, grateful to know it's okay to do more than just sit by the wayside and wish.

Congratulations to Janet Jensen

Our own sweet Janet Jensen continues to rack up attention with her gifted writing and with her most recent book, Don't You Marry the Mormon Boys. Her newest award is the 2007 AML Marilyn Brown Novel Award, Honorable Mention!

Some of the other awards she has won are:

• Finalist, USA Best Books 2007 (Religious Fiction)
  
• Finalist, Foreward Magazine's Book of the Year Award (Religious Fiction)
  
• Finalist, Whitney Award (Reader Views Literary Awards 2007 Fiction: Religion/Spiritual)
  

We'll be featuring an interview with Janet in the future about her writing experiences, including tips for new and old authors alike. Until then, congratulations Janet!

For more information, feel free to visit Janet Jensen's website.

The Right to Write

I remember as a kid being fascinated with words. I loved their feel as they rolled around on my tongue. I loved their slender shapes sprawled on the page. In fact, I became so enamored with words that by junior high I would sneak a dictionary into my room and spend the afternoon reading nothing but words.

Words like defervescence and boride and academe. Words like penicillamine and featherstitch and quire. And thus, is it any wonder my favorite book was The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norman Juster? (Which, by the way, if you've not read you simply must!)

But in the midst of all these wondrous words, I began to feel smaller and smaller. In the midst of their power, I began to doubt my ability to string them together in stories people would want to read. I still wonder that at times. Do you?

Yet, there is a special something deep in my heart that tells me the God of our spirits feels otherwise. He, who creates universes, knows a thing or two about the import of creativity. And He fashioned us in His image. Do I (or perhaps you) really think He would fail to tuck away within us the creative gift? Could it be possible we, in this one area, are NOT like our Father in Heaven?

I think not! Thus, the next time I feel impotent in my ability to self-express, I will shun the thought. And I hope you will, too. We are created in God's image ... and as such, we have the gift of creativity. We have the right to write! May we use that gift well, working with all these wondrous words.

Rating Rejections

By Terrie Bittner

When my daughter was nine or so, her teacher decided to send a poem she had written to a magazine. He did so without telling me until after the fact. I was not thrilled, since her home address was included and the rejection, if it came, would come to her. This was not a children’s magazine, but an adult magazine, and unlikely to publish her. I worried about the impact of getting a rejection letter so young. My first one was certainly hard on me, and I was an adult when it came.

Sure enough, one day a thick envelope came back, and we know what those mean. I hovered nervously as she opened it and read it. Then, to my surprise, she started to giggle. I leaned over, thinking it had been an acceptance after all, but it wasn’t. It was an ordinary rejection letter. Seeing my confusion, she said, “Look, they have five grammar and spelling mistakes in their letter. It’s a good thing they didn’t publish my poem. Their magazine is probably really bad, too, and who wants to be in a bad magazine? I want my poem in a good magazine.”

So where did this child inherit that sort of wisdom? Not from me, certainly. But this day started a new family game. When my rejection letters came, we graded them together. Often, my children saw funny things I missed, but they (and I) learned not to take our rejections too seriously.

One magazine, run by nuns, sent rejections we all loved. They went on and on about how they could see how much I loved children and God, and about how proud God was of me for wanting to serve Him. They expressed so much sorrow and guilt for not buying the stories we pictured them in tears of anguish. But best of all, they always sent me a present to cheer me up—a pretty bookmark with a scripture on it. Presents are good, and always lead to good grades in Rejection 101.

One had a checklist of reasons the manuscript was rejected. Some of them were silly. The editor I sent my stories to invariably checked, “My mother made me do it.” I was disappointed none of the helpful reasons were ever marked, but my children loved the idea of an important editor bowing to his mother’s demands. Humor got high marks, too.

It was a bit surprising how often we found grammatical errors in rejection letters. These are, after all, editors. I had never noticed them until my children made it their goal in life to find them.

One thing I learned from all this was that rejection is just a part of the job, or maybe even part of the game. Life goes on, and so does my writing career.

Fear -- cluck, cluck -- of Failure

By Lori Nawyn

I write manuscripts then file them away like a squirrel hoarding nuts for winter. Unlike a squirrel’s stored supply, however, my stashed manuscripts do me little good. That’s because I’m not a squirrel…I’m a chicken. I never submit half the manuscripts I write.

At first, I thought I suffered from manuscript rejection anxiety, an ailment I have yet to find a clear and concise definition of. After an internet search, I discovered it’s not uncommon for authors to suffer from such a malady. I found this appeal from John Last, Emeritus professor of epidemiology of the University of Ottawa, wherein he pleads for a colleague:

“Are there any editors aware of support groups for authors who have something original and important to say but suffer from obsessive anxiety that inhibits their ability to pursue their ideas to fruition?...My admittedly rather superficial inquiries about the prevalence of this condition suggest that it is not uncommon among creative artists and writers, which leads me to wonder whether there is/are support group(s) for victims.”

I didn’t have time to attend a support group, even if I could find one. So, I further researched the subject and stumbled upon the following advice, intended to ease the pain of rejection:

“When submitting manuscripts, send two SASE's, one rose colored enveloped labeled"Acceptance Letter," and a black envelope labeled "Form Rejection Slip.” Enclose a smiley face sticker, with instructions to the editor to affix it to the black envelope if he has scribbled a personal note of encouragement or advice in the margin of the rejection slip.”

Interesting counsel, but not applicable to my particular situation because, after reading and contemplating the advice, I realized it was not the rejections, or the words therein, that unnerved me. Some of my rejection letters actually evoked a smile. One I still have:

“Had we had received your manuscript a year ago, we would have been eager to publish it. However, due to what we perceive as instabilities in the market that render us unable to make a profit, we cannot do so as we plan to cease publication. However, please feel free to send additional manuscripts as we enjoy reading your work.”

And, my personal favorite: “If you were a well-known author, or a male author, we feel your manuscript would be saleable.”

I was working on the first problem. However, since the publisher didn’t mention an option to adopt a masculine pen name, there wasn’t much I could do about the second!

I decided to break things down to see how I really felt about the whole process of writing and submission. Writing - good. Rewriting - check. Filing - great. Getting manuscript out and rereading, revising, and rewriting - wonderful. Putting manuscript into envelope and sending -- eeekkk!

Two images popped into my head. The first was of my fiery, redheaded high-school typing teacher, Mrs. Weidman, who gave my fingers a sharp rap with her ruler if I erred at the keyboard. She made it plain she didn’t like me, and she had zero tolerance for my inability to produce spontaneous, blunder free papers. To this day I don’t know why -- it wasn’t for lack of trying -- but my brain and fingers could simply not make a connection that would allow me to type 100 plus words per minute with no errors.

The second image was of my mother. In my youth, I frequently followed her around and tried to get her to listen to my stories. Her response was almost always the same: “Lori, writing is not your forte.” I knew she thought she was doing me a favor by discouraging me from making a fool of myself. She believed writing, for me at least, to be a frivolous occupation. Her words stung.

Silly as it seemed, though nearly two decades had elapsed, I continued to allow my self-esteem to remain in a battered state. I wasn’t really afraid of rejection -- I pretty much expected it. The problem was I feared I would never measure up. My efforts would never -- ever -- be good enough for the Mrs. Weidman’s of the world. Sometimes, I could almost feel the smack of her ruler on my fingers when I even contemplated putting a manuscript into the mail. “Yes, Mrs. Weidman, I’d better check it one more time -- I’ll file it away until I can…”

In addition, as I’d discovered with a handful of other things in my life, when a parent expresses stringent and repeated opposition to your choices, it can be difficult to overcome. Could my manuscripts ever be perfect enough that my mother would believe writing was my forte?

My yearning to have my manuscripts be undeniably perfect in every aspect, to the point I feared sending them out (some even after private editors combed over them) was rooted in a fear of failure. I had to have a stern talk with myself and remember failure is a normal part of life. Without it, like I often told my children, how could we learn? It’s not failure that matters, it’s the way we handle it. It’s getting up one more time and trying again, even if those who oppose us think we shouldn’t.

I’m getting braver at submitting manuscripts. As a result, I’ve enjoyed some rewarding achievements, milestones I never would have reached had I always been a chicken and not tried. Now, each time I submit, my fingers and heart hurt less because I know I haven’t truly failed until I quit, and I don’t intend to quit.