Behaving in a professional manner, for writers, is really quite easy. Professional behavior basically means writing publishable work, meeting deadlines, not plagiarizing, and not libeling anyone with one’s work. The problem with discussions of professional behavior is that this brief list really is pretty much it, and if one is not yet writing publishable work then none of the rest matters. Well, that’s no way to become a publishing guru, or to sell aspiring writers all sorts of goods and services! And so was born “professionalism” which is running especially rampant in the field of science fiction and fantasy.

Professionalism is a complex of supposedly mandatory and proscribed behaviors that makes a writer “professional” regardless of their ability to write interesting material. Recently, at a science fiction convention I met a former student of mine, and he was very concerned about…his blog. Which he does not have. He was told, however, that today professional writers must all blog, but that these blogs must not offer up controversial political opinions, or negative reviews of popular books, or “ruffle feathers.” Everything must be “politically correct” he believed—to use that famously meaningless term I try so hard to get my students to stop using. I’d told the class Ronald Sukenick’s famous dictum, Use your imagination, or someone else will use it for you over and over.  Maybe one day it’ll stick. So, what to blog about? he wondered. What does a professional blog look like, and how does it lead to publishing deals? I recommended that he concentrate on finishing his book first, and making sure it was as good as it could be.

A few weeks later, at a different convention, the mildest of acquaintances fell into my arms, chagrined that she was drunk at a party, and that some editor or agent might also be at the same party. She’d already ruined herself professionally, and it was only Friday! Ah yes, a writer who enjoys a drink at a party. Very unprofessional; unheard of, really. Editors would surely be scandalized by the sight, had any actually been in a room and not themselves inebriated.

My two poor friends were much more concerned with “professionalism” than with professional behavior.

Why would someone want to be a professional writer? Rejection is constant, cash flow unpredictable, audiences fickle, and the publishing industry is falling apart. It’s easy enough to write for one’s own edification, or for some non-commercial community, if personal expression is one’s goal. There’s only one real reason to write professionally—no boss! All you need is professional behavior. Professionalism, by way of contrast, makes everyone a writer’s boss. Every Facebook friend, Twitter follower, newspaper reader, and book buyer is one’s employer, and what do they pay? Royalties on a hardcover are what, ten percent of cover price? Two dollars and fifty cents, payable somewhere between eighteen months and three years after the purchase of a book, and that’s if one’s publisher doesn’t go bankrupt. At least my real boss could rook me out of tens of thousands of dollars a year, and he doesn’t read my blog or check to see if I’m wearing dress shoes to work.

Few writers would care about the demands and declarations of these new bosses—tweet this, don’t talk about that, how dare you not like Dr. Who!—except that so many beginning writers themselves have joined the cult of professionalism and have begun to police one another. Not only do they believe in the supposed rules of professionalism themselves, they propagate the nonsense through their own social networking. It’s all rather nightmarish: don’t complain about rejection letters or reviews, don’t talk about editors and agents on Twitter or your blog, wear khakis and not blue jeans to conferences and bring plenty of business cards, keep away from politics except for the fannishly correct (and legitimate) concerns about diversity in publications in your public utterances. This advice is the new currency in the community of aspiring writers because it’s easy to give and easy to follow. What’s hard is writing.

And those are the at least reasonable demands of professionalism. I’ve heard people earnestly report that they never use American flag stamps when mailing submissions because liberal editors may take such stamps as a conservative political statement. I’ve eavesdropped on serious discussions about the userids of one’s “professional” email address; don’t use hyphens or underscores between first name and last! There are writers who hate writing short stories, but write and try to publish them anyway because it’s “expected” (by whom?) and  to “build their brand.” (Brand of what? Crappy writer?) I’ve lost track of the number of blog posts I’ve read that warn in a little preface of ranting and possibly losing friends and letting it all hang out…that turn into a jeremiad against, say, littering. Nothing controversial, remember! (On the other hand, blogging requests for people to act as personal unpaid valets during a convention appearance is not only “professional”, it’s in vogue.) My favorite is the person who somehow decided that it would be “unprofessional” to strike up a conversation with a certain editor at a writer’s conference—instead he just followed her around all weekend, hoping that she’d eventually turn around at some point and say hello.

It’s also worth noting that these rules regarding professionalism often only go one way—feel free to mock, insult, sneer at, or slander someone not in a position to help your career. Say, someone who is just as poorly published as you are, or someone who currently only edits work in translation and thus isn’t in a position to buy a short story or acquire a book.

Now some elements of professionalism have merit. Whining about negative reviews and rejection letters is unattractive, though nobody has ever been harmed by doing so, not even when every fan in the blogosphere swore to never buy a book by Anne Rice or Alice Hoffman or whomever ever again. You certainly shouldn’t send anyone threatening letters, but that’s true whether you want to be a writer or not. But here’s the dirty little secret about all the rest of it, speaking as an editor and the friend and colleague of many other editors. If your Twitter account is named JoeBlowWriter or we see a Facebook friend request from someone named JaneDoe_Author, we cringe. We laugh at “official” websites—get enough fans that someone makes an unofficial one and then we might care. We’re not concerned if you pumped your fist when Osama bin Laden was assassinated, or if you like to dress in short skirts. Your bookmarks and business cards generally tend toward the amateurish, and are rather secondary anyway. When the conventions are over, 95 percent of them go right into the trash. If we want to contact you, it’s generally pretty easy to figure out how to do so…even if you put an underscore between your first and last names in your email address. Here is what we care about:

Can you write well? I mean, really write well. Note, not write well enough—we have plenty of folks who can do that, and they’ll change their names every five years on command and write whatever we like, to order. Can you write well?

Are you ready to say “Yes” to a solicitation? Not “Maybe.” Not “But I don’t know if I’m any good at that”, but “Yes”?

Can you meet a deadline?

You know, not professionalism. Professional behavior.

Very real issues of craft and narrative mean it’s important to think carefully about all of your major and minor characters: it results in further complication and believability. Sometimes, too, the inability to imagine a character as fully human can derail everything–in addition to alienating your audience.

I don’t like to use movies as examples, but what the heck. I’ll make an exception because it’s such a good example: the script for The Town, a movie by Ben Affleck (script by him and Peter Craig and Aaron Stockard), fails miserably to flesh out the character of Claire Kessey, played by Rebecca Hall. The movie is supposed to be about long-time friends who are part of a bank robbing gang. Claire Kessey is a bank employee taken as a hostage and later let go. Affleck’s character (Doug MacRay), who Claire never saw, then falls for her, while his fellow bank robbers want her killed so she can’t identify them.

You could say the main thrust of the movie is on the bank robbers, their relationships, and what happens to them. But the crux of the film is Doug’s relationship with Claire, in part because it makes him do things that undermine his relationship with his friends and thus creates one of the central conflicts in the movie.

The problem is, Claire’s a cipher.

1–We don’t know anything about her friends.
2–We don’t know anything about her family.
3–We know very little about her past.
4–We have very little evidence about her personality, likes and dislikes, etc.

Even worse, Affleck et al have decided that Claire is so unimportant to the story that, after her kidnapping and release, she’s largely moved around the board simply to advance the plot. Several unlikely things happen, including…

1–Claire, despite being frightened out of her mind by the experience, seems to behave much as she did before being kidnapped, in terms of her day-to-day movements and activities.
2–Worse, she has no problem talking to a man she does not know, in a public laundromat.
3–And she has no problem going out on a date with said stranger.

Now, most reasonable people, myself included, if they’d been kidnapped recently, might feel the need to be more cautious. In such a context, I might not even want to go to the laundromat for awhile (except, Claire has no friends to speak of, and thus no one to ask for help). I sure as heck wouldn’t be fond of talking to strangers.

Is it possible Claire might be the kind of person who would deal with the situation differently than I would? The kind of person who would decide that a kind of confrontation with life, a dogged sticking to her normal routine, was the key to recovery? Absolutely! But to know that, we would have to have a much better idea of:

1–Her friends.
2–Her family.
3–Her past.
4–Her personality.

But we get none of that, apparently because Affleck thinks that the crux of the story lies elsewhere.

But the entire time I was watching the last two-thirds of the film, I could not get out of my head the fact that the foundation, the groundwork, had been so thoroughly botched that if the film had been re-contextualized as a house, it would’ve been leaning heavily to one side, with the bricks falling to the ground and the roof sliding half-off.

I was also getting angry, because in robbing Claire of her individuality, Affleck had trivialized the trauma that occurs when one’s personal space and freedom are violated in the way Claire’s were in the movie. Even worse, Claire’s actions at the end of the film betray any vestiges of self-respect the script has left her with…but that’s okay, the script seems to be telling us, because Claire’s mostly there so MacRay will seem somewhat noble and tragic…unless, like me, you’re by this point finding MacRay utterly unbearable because of his interactions with Claire. (The power dynamics of that relationship don’t bear scrutiny.)

The point here is that getting characters right is also about doing what’s right for the story, and when you get that backwards or you ignore a character or rob them of the normal human reactions that occur in the real world, you run the risk of having someone like me think what you wrote sucked.

Just about three years ago, following the birth of my first daughter, I decided I better get my act together and starting living the dream I held in my heart. For me, there would be no integrity in raising a daughter to follow her dreams if I failed to show that I believed in the concept! Since that time, another daughter arrived along with a dog and a job outside the home. And, YES! I am a published writer of nonfiction (even penned a few short stories).

What got me that far is a set of guidelines I call  The Writer’s Five Ps (Passion, Perspective, Priorities, Process, Present-mindedness).  The Five P’s keep you focused, help you navigate through the storms that rise in life and make it possible to manage all the things that are important and special in your life without feeling burned out.

The Five Ps have kept my writing center-stage on a day-to-day basis. (For many aspiring writers, that’s half the battle). Still, I’m not quite where I want to be with my writing dream: to publish fiction.

In the pages of VanderMeer’s BookLife,  I heard my own voice call  to me:  “I want a book life, now!”

Not surprisingly, my  inner critique (The Burglar) answered, “How’s those FivePs workin’ out for ya, now?”

Contrary to Burglar’s modus operandi, I didn’t need to abandon the Five Ps. I just needed to rethink how I put them to work. BookLife helped me put the Five Ps to work strategically. Rather than just using the Five Ps to navigate my way through family life and get my butt in the chair everyday, I integrated VanderMeer’s approach with the Five Ps to put me on the path to my book life. In the three weeks since I began, I’ve done the following:

1. wrote a stronger mission (artist’s statement)
2. set more concrete long and short-term goals (achieved the following specific goals)

• my website is being redesigned
• a short story is under review for publication
• gained clarity on plot for a stand alone novel and developed concept for 3-book series
• secured a new column in a west coast magazine

I am a happier writer, still ranking high on the parenting chart (ask the kids) and I am more effective at change management.

I’m confident that my book will be in print or on an e-reader before the end of 2012  (I figure, if the world does end, or the great white light shines upon us, why not go out with a bang!).

You can do the same. Don’t let your inner Burglar rob you of your dream or cause you to abandon methods that have been working for you. Do use the voice of that inner critic to assess how your methods are working for you and what else you may need to get where you really want to be– to get a book life!

(Thanks, Jeff, for inviting me to share my experience as a Writing Parent on her way to getting a BookLife!) KMR

Karen M. Rider is a freelance writer specializing in holistic health and metaphysical subjects. Her interviews with visionary thinkers such as Caroline Myss and Wayne Dyer have been published in regional and national publications. Karen also contributes to The Writer magazine. She is an accomplished advertorial copywriter serving holistic /healing arts practitioners and “soul entrepreneurs.” She resides in Connecticut with her two spirited daughters and  (one very patient) husband. Karen is working on her first novel- a story of metaphysical suspense set at Gillette Castle in Connecticut.

[SPOILER WARNING: If you haven’t seen the movie Avatar, you may want to skip this post.]

I went into Avatar knowing little about it, beyond a few accusations that it was “a ripoff of FernGully: The Last Rainforest” or “a ripoff of Dances With Wolves” or “a ripoff of Ursula K. Le Guin’s The World for World Is Forest,” and a lot of descriptions of Avatar as “so awesome, you should see it in 3D.”

Having seen Avatar, I would agree with Nisi Shawl’s take that Avatar is beautifully immersive. I haven’t been that stoned on a movie since 1982’s Blade Runner (although, when I was leaving the theatre in ’82, I didn’t trip over the stairs and reel into the walls. If someone re-releases Blade Runner in modern 3D, I suspect my head will literally burst).

I haven’t seen FernGully nor, unfortunately, have I read The World for World Is Forest, but I did see Dances with Wolves. And, yes, Avatar is an uncredited, SFX-drenched reissue of that old story (which we’ll get back to in a moment).

I also thought that writer/director James Cameron was borrowing heavily from other sources—palpably obvious inspirations I’ve rarely (if ever) heard others mention: the Dragonriders of Pern (clearly, Hollywood has finally developed the technology to bring Anne McCaffrey’s intelligent, human-bonding dragons convincingly to ‘life’) and the three major series created by Edgar Rice Burroughs: Carson of Venus, John Carter of Mars, and Tarzan of the Apes.

Burroughs’s Barsoom (Mars) series came to my mind initially because of all those multi-legged alien animals. Meanwhile, the Wikipedia description of Amtor (Burroughs’s imaginary version of Venus) might as well be a description of Cameron’s fictional planet, Pandora: “Amtorian vegetation, particularly on Vepaja, tends to be gigantic. Vepaja is notable for the enormous forests…with trees reaching into the inner cloud envelope.” If I recall correctly from my childhood reading, Amtorian forests are even the same color as Avatar’s.

However, the main reason Avatar reminded me of Burroughs’ most popular series, and the movie Dances with Wolves, was because of the way they made me feel.

Avatar, Dances with Wolves, and Burroughs’s series tap a very old human desire: the yearning for a better world. It’s a desire expressed in the myths of Eden, the Golden Age, and the Satya Yuga. It’s a desire that speaks to you whether you’re religious or agnostic or atheist; whether you’re black or white or brown; and whether you believe that the world was once a better place, or believe it never was. Who doesn’t at least occasionally want to live in a world where war is rare or nonexistent, and life is simple, and one is in complete harmony with the earth—a world where human nature hasn’t fucked everything up yet?

Avatar, Dances with Wolves, and Burroughs’s Mars and Tarzan series evoke and fulfill (or, at least, attempt to fulfill) that desire for a return to prelapsarian purity—in short, a desire for redemption. And, in itself, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to escape the bad things in life. Where these books and movies get into trouble is where they put an unfortunate racial spin on the universal desire for redemption.

In the worlds of Pandora and the imaginary Dances “Wild West” and Burroughs’ Mars and Tarzan, a white man doesn’t just find himself redeemed from his impure, inharmonious, and sinful state. He finds himself redeemed specifically from the evils of colonialism, slavery, and the other forms of oppression that whites have imposed upon people of color for centuries.

Even more unfortunately, the people of color don’t just redeem the white man from the sins of his race—they deem him their superior. John Carter is not only loved by slaves in the Old American South, he’s appointed the Warlord of the whole planet of Mars, which is inhabited largely by human analogs with red or green skin. Tarzan of the Apes is so much better than even the indigenous peoples at living in equatorial Africa, he gets to be chief of one tribe and viewed as a god or devil by others. Hell, he’s so much better than anyone else, he can single-handedly kill animals that would normally tear a lone, knife-armed human to pieces in moments. The white cavalryman of Dances with Wolves is not only fully accepted into the Lakota tribe, he gets to bugger off (with the girl, no less) before the U.S government overcomes the remaining free Sioux. On the planet Pandora, Avatar’s white male protagonist isn’t just accepted as one of their own by the non-white indigenous population. He isn’t just the unifier of their tribes. He is their savior/messiah, chosen by the goddess-consciousness of Pandora herself!

As a white person, I feel the appeal of that. I don’t like that this feeling is stirred in me, but I still feel it. I feel the desire to be forgiven for the sins of both my genetic and cultural ancestors and myself. I want to be forgiven for the evils of slavery, colonialism, and other forms of oppression. I’d love to escape responsibility for the bad things that have formed and benefited me.

Now, I doubt every other white viewer/reader of these works feels this particular desire. But, given both the perennial popularity of Edgar Rice Burroughs and the boffo box office for Avatar and Dances with Wolves, I know at least some other whites do, even if not many of us are likely to say so in a public forum.

My point is not that white people shouldn’t have these desires. Nobody has control over the feelings that come to them, after all.

My point is that we (all of us, regardless of race, gender, etc.) can and should control what we do with our feelings and desires.

And, as writers, we can and should control what we write.

If it sounds like I’m urging self-censorship, that is not what I intend.

The point I want to make is that writing is considered speech. We should consider the effect our words will have.

Does anyone really want the effect of their writing to be “patronizing unearned-redemption fantasy for whites”?

I believe this effect is not the one that James Cameron intended in Avatar. But it’s the one he did convey, to numerous viewers of every race.

I’m being naïve about Hollywood again, I suppose. But, when I was watching Avatar, I wondered what the effect would have been if the human occupying force had been more ethnically diverse, instead of mostly white. I wondered what the effect would have been if the protagonist had been a person of color. And I wondered what the movie would have been like if the whiteguy protagonist had turned out to be not very important at all to Pandora or its people, who organize a successful overthrow of the invaders on their own.

I know that, as a writer, I don’t want my readers thinking “shouldn’t she have written this differently?” I want them thinking that what I wrote is perfect and wonderful and inevitable—“it couldn’t have been done better any other way, it couldn’t have been done any other way at all!”

I know, of course, that I’m not going to achieve this goal.

But when I consider what I write, when I rewrite to eliminate the messages I don’t intend to convey, I get a lot closer to my goal.

This is writer Nisi Shawl’s last post for Booklifenow, and I hope you’ll join me in thanking her for her great posts, this one included. Nisi is the co-author of Writing the Other, with Cynthia Ward, who will be contributing a last post later this week. I’m very grateful to both of them for such thoughtful and useful words. – Jeff

A subscriber to the Carl Brandon Society list serve asked for specific criticisms of the Spinrave recently published in Asimov’s SF Magazine. That is work. Just reading it is an effort, let alone trying to translate into something resembling sense. Hence my response below to the request for “specific criticism”:

“Okay, I would take the time to analyze the article if someone paid me for it. My rate is $50/hour.

“As a sort of free sample, I’ll say I agree essentially with (another poster to the list serve): consider the source. The source being Norman Spinrad, who not only doesn’t know anything about the subject upon which he bloviates for page upon page, but who seems to be inordinately proud of his ignorance. Norman is like this. My short response: tldr.

“I will also add that his positioning of Mike Resnick, a very good writer, as an African writer, is so insanely disorienting as to induce vomiting. And comparing him to Octavia E. Butler, who never, as far as I am aware, ever claimed to be an African writer, is an action on a par with opening a chest full of tokens and rummaging around blindfolded in it, and pulling one out at random to toss onto the hearth of rhetoric.”

The subscriber requesting explication declined my help. He thought my fee was too high—though another poster advised me to double it—and made do with the numerous other posts available on the subject.

Among them we find N.K. Jemisin, who deals with one specific point. It takes her 500 words, not counting her contributions to the post’s comment threads. Imagine if she had attempted to render the entire Spinrave comprehensible. How many short stories and/or novels of hers would we be doing without while she whacked her way through his thorny densenesses?

My offer stands.

Ante Spinrave, I expected to devote the whole of this final guest post for Booklife to analyzing a panel I recently pulled off at Radcon, an SF convention held in Eastern Washington. The panel was titled “Writing and Racial Identity.” Besides myself the participants were Eileen Gunn, Alma Alexander, and Bobbie Benton-Hull. Here’s the description I gave programming:

“What does your race have to do with what you write? Depending on your race, are certain topics forbidden to you? Obligatory? None of the above? If your race matters, how do you know what it is? By what people see when they look at you, or by what you know of your genetic background? By your cultural upbringing? By what you write?”

We had a grandly civil hour-long discussion about how our racial identities did and did not contribute to what we wrote, did and did not determine what we wrote, about how we dealt with others’ expectations of us as writers based on what they knew and/or assumed about our racial identities, how we constructed those identities for ourselves with our writing and in other ways. I loved that we spoke as equals, according each other and the subject all due and appropriate respect.

Because it is a complex subject, one that deserves careful thought.

One white panelist related a classroom encounter with Faulkner in which her instructor held up this famous white male’s avoidance of a black female character’s interior life as an ideal to emulate; to write some things she has written, the panelist has had to unlearn what she’d been taught. Another spoke movingly of the ethnic and religious distinctions that formed the core of her upbringing in Central Europe. I wondered aloud if my difficulty placing stories with white protagonists was due to editors wanting “more black for their buck;” that felt risky to me, since one of the field’s top editors sat in the audience’s front row, not five feet from my face.

Our fourth panelist had been raised as an American Indian and spent her life knowing absolutely that this was who and what she was. Then she discovered through genetic testing that her biological heritage is a mix European and Sub-Saharan African. No American Indian. She still struggled with integrating this knowledge at the time of the panel, framing her thoughts on her identity as a question, referencing a female character in the movie “Dances with Wolves.”

It was all most interesting to me. Way more interesting than the Spinrave. In my description and in my moderation I had aimed to show that race is an issue that affects writers of all backgrounds, all races, that racial identity is labile, is inflected by more than one sort of information, and in turn has complex and complicating effects on what we say, how we say it, who we say it to….We touched on each of these subjects with a sure touch, though in some instances only a brief one. There’s so much to talk about.

There are so many smart people to include in the discussion. I want to hold this panel again someday soon. Maybe at WisCon? The panel will give its participants and our audience much to think about. And they will think, and do research, and speak carefully. And it will make sense.

Here’s more about both writers…

Nisi Shawl’s story collection Filter House won the 2008 James Tiptree, Jr. Award and was nominated for a 2009 World Fantasy Award. She received a second 2009 World Fantasy Award nomination for her novella “Good Boy.” Shawl is the coeditor, with Dr. Rebecca Holden, of Strange Matings: Science Fiction, Feminism, African American Voices, and Octavia E. Butler (forthcoming). Her reviews and essays appear in the Seattle Times and Ms. Magazine, and she has contributed to Women in Science Fiction and Fantasy and The Encyclopedia of Themes in Science Fiction. A former speaker at Duke University, Stanford University, Smith College, and the University of Washington, Shawl is a founding member of the Carl Brandon Society and serves on the Board of Directors of the Clarion West Writers Workshop, which she attended in 1992.

Cynthia Ward was born in Oklahoma and lived in Maine, Spain, Germany, the San Francisco Bay Area, Seattle, and Tucson before moving to the Los Angeles area. She has sold stories to Asimov’s SF Magazine, Sword & Sorceress XXIV, and other anthologies and magazines. Her reviews appear regularly in Fantasy Magazine and SciFiWire.com and irregularly in other websites and publications. She is completing her first novel, a futuristic mystery tentatively titled The Stone Rain. Ward will be participating in the Tucson Festival of Books at the University of Arizona next weekend (March 13-14).

Writing the Other is based on Shawl and Ward’s critically acclaimed diversity writing workshop Writing the Other: Bridging Cultural Differences for Successful Fiction .

Back to our regularly scheduled programming… I left my favorite observations for last. I live in the Puget Sound area, so the fact that I’m a huge fan of Apolo Ohno should come as no surprise. I do appreciate a golden child whenever he or she does come along (complete with awesome attitude), so I must also confess a fondness for snowboarder Shawn White. How can we not live in awe of these two Olympians? Here is what I took away from each of them over the last couple of weeks.  

◊ Find your sanctuary. 

Who doesn’t admire Shawn White’s personal half-pipe situation? He made the decision to keep his edge by investing in a remote training facility he customized for his own needs, and clearly it paid off for him. He pulled out and perfected brand-new snowboarding tricks at this year’s Olympic games that no one could even imagine doing until last week. 

Okay, I’m not suggesting that we all go buy multi-million dollar writing labs in Antarctica that we have to visit via a private helicopter service. Let’s face it, who has the coin for that? 

But I am suggesting that, if you don’t have a good place to write regularly, you should consider finding one. Often that means taking ownership of one corner of your house, but it can also mean claiming a period of time in which you ask your friends and family to leave you alone. Sanctuary is not only about locating a designated physical space, but about finding the inner space you need to sit comfortably in your creative zone. This should include the careful consideration of your personal time and energy. 

I have a sign I picked up while on Broadway a couple of years ago. It says “Quiet on the set.” Originally I hung it on my office door handle to indicate to my family that I was recording a podcast file. And they understood that to mean I needed for people to honor my need for silence and stop barging in on my session. Now I use that “Quiet on the set” sign as an indication that I am not available because I am writing. (I also use it to mark when I’m meditating.) 

I don’t hang it out there for 8 hours at a time; usually I use the sign for up to an hour’s worth of time composing new work, but only when I know there will be people in the house. It works. 

Another thing that works for me when I write “offsite” (usually in a local coffee house) is the use of earbuds while I’m writing. I don’t even listen to music; I find music too intellectually stimulating when I write. But I wear the earbuds anyway, to send out the signal to folks in my small town that I’m not available for chatter. Where I live, you can’t throw a rock without hitting someone you know, so the chances are high you’ll run into a friend or colleague or neighbor every time you leave the house. The earbud strategy works as well. 

It’s not a selfish or bad thing to ask for sanctuary; it’s perhaps the one tool that will allow you to keep writing when conditions don’t otherwise permit it. But you have to have the nerve to insist on it. And remember, you do not need permission to take time for yourself. 

The cost of my investment? An $8 souvenir and a pair of earbuds attached to either my phone or my laptop. No, it’s not a Shawn White multiplex, but it’ll do. And it does. 

◊ Stay classy (with a nod to spec-fic writer Jay Lake, who frequently uses this term in his tweets!). 

"Apolo Ohno's speed skates" by Mark Pellegrini (2008)

Okay, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure US speed skater Apolo Ohno didn’t push that other guy down in the 500-meter race last Friday night. It looked to me like he was pulling his hand away from the hip of the Canadian racer when that skater lost his blade edge and slid into the padded wall. Physics 1010 suggests that, if you’re pulling your hand away from something, you really can’t simultaneously push against it… Unless you’re superhuman, I suppose. And maybe Ohno is… 

But when Ohno crossed the finish line in second place, you could see it in his eyes: this race is not over yet. It’s because he’s learned over more than a decade of competitive racing that the sport is subjective, people will fall and mess it up for all the other skaters, and playing dirty may or may not have anything to do with it. 

When the reporter from NBC asked him about it later, he was honest: he thought it was a bad call. But did he whine and complain that the Canadian judge was playing favorites? No. He ultimately said, laughing, “I just need to skate faster!” 

How cool is that?

Remember the Tonya Harding-Nancy Kerrigan scandal from the 1994 Winter Olympic Games at Lillehammer? I could see why viewers might hold a bad opinion about Harding; she behaved pretty immaturely and, when the truth came out about the conspiracy to assault Kerrigan, that sealed the deal. It’s widely agreed: Harding performed an unforgivable act of corruption.

But if you recall, Nancy Kerrigan wasn’t especially classy about taking her silver medal that year, either. At the awards podium, she didn’t show an appropriate amount of honor and respect to Oksana Baiul, who she clearly felt took “her” gold. 

Sorry Nancy, but this is not the attitude of a superhero.

Miss Kerrigan, take note: Last week, Canadian figure skater Joannie Rochette’s mother died before Joannie’d had a chance to take the ice. Rochette went on to skate her personal best and took away a bronze. Now that’s what I call gracious and classy to the end. 

How does this pertain to writers? 

If you see a writer you don’t admire winning a prize, you should still give them credit and move on. The awarding of prizes, like the adjudication of short track speed skating, is subjective. Sometimes the rulings will be fair, sometimes they won’t. Coming out publicly with your displeasure gives the appearance of sour grapes, but even more importantly, it doesn’t make it more likely that you’ll publish your work in that venue or others now or in the future. 

I’ve seen writers tear down other writers in this way and it’s so painful to watch. Listen, if you’re bitter enough, and you make your bitterness public enough, editors may even avoid working with you. Remember, they read everything… including the boards on the web. 

The truth is that sometimes judges do call a fair match and if you’re surprised, it might be because you, as a writer, are not open-minded or sophisticated enough in your craft and process to see that there are many, many ways to do something right.  And sometimes, as Ohno points out, that’s just the breaks of the game. There’s also the very real possibility that our work is really not as good as that of the writers we dislike. Who among us are that objective about our own work? I’d guess close to 0%. 

You could mire yourself in criticism of other writers, slander contests, pass judgment on the judges themselves… or you could use the unfavorable outcome as your motivation to do your personal best next time. What did Ohno do? He shed the loss, focused his energy on the following relay, and assisted his team in bringing home a bronze medal. What did Rochette do? She pushed through the pain and performed for all the right reasons, without using her grief as a crutch. 

Now that’s staying classy. 

Thank you so much for reading. Don’t miss out on my previous posts this week, as well! TGIF, 

Tamara  

Everything I’ve learned about writing this year I’ve relearned by watching the Olympics [series Part One] 

Everything I’ve learned about writing this year I’ve relearned by watching the Olympics [series Part Two] 

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Tamara Kaye Sellman Tamara Kaye Sellman is director of Writer’s Rainbow Literary Services. 

 Photo credits: Images used in this post are the property of Tamara Sellman or have been licensed for blogging use under the public domain or the Creative Commons.

◊ Expect to earn your medals every time.

Snowboarder Lindsey Jacobellis kinda blew it in Torino. She hotdogged her way to a second place in women’s snowboard cross when she had the gold medal practically around her neck on that last slope.

Jacobellis has had to live that down for the last 4 years and went to Vancouver hoping to redeem herself. It didn’t quite happen: this year, she DQ’d in prelims and had to duke it out for 4^th place, even though her odds of taking home a medal were just as certain as they had been in 2006.

I’m not judging. It’s gotta be tough to perform in such a public mainstream arena because, frankly, if you fail, everybody knows about it. Even people from the mainstream, who really don’t know the bigger score in such a specialty sport. For Jacobellis, it’s her 2009 first place ranking in World Cup ladies snowcross that folks overlook while calling attention to her failure in 2010.

Writers have it slightly better: if they fail, usually they just get rejected and no one but the writer and the prospective publisher are the wiser. Still, failure can be self-destructive. There isn’t a writer alive who has been rejected who doesn’t see “No” as evidence of failure.

But failure isn’t always what it looks like. Sometimes a good writer doesn’t fail so much as they lose to another–usually better–writer in competition for the same publishing real estate.  As an editor, I’ve had to reject perfectly successful stories from good authors because other authors have already beaten them to the punch. It’s unfair and editors hate to have to send good writing away, but it happens.

The bigger, more common reality, however, is not the tragic story of the near-miss, but this: just because you have published one manuscript does not guarantee that you will publish all of your manuscripts. Every time you submit your work, you enter it into conditions which you can’t completely predict or control. Just because you may have landed your work with one publisher doesn’t mean you’re going to walk into a publishing house in the future and sign the dotted line with your next manuscript without first submitting your new work to intense scrutiny. Your next manuscript, and the one after that, and so forth, will have to earn its way and survive on its own every time.

That’s not to say there aren’t some conditions you can control: your effort to make your manuscript the best ever, your careful consideration of markets, your voice and style are things you can focus on to improve the success rate of an individual piece sent out into the world to find its place.

But there are always going to be conditions you can’t control: the competition, the amount of space available for work like yours, the practical needs of an editor that go beyond the value of a well-written manuscript. The sooner you make your peace with this reality, the better.

Lindsey Jacobellis didn’t fall out of the snowboard cross universe because she failed at the Olympics, after all. She just didn’t win that particular race in Vancouver, just as you will not publish every single manuscript you submit to that particular publication. What to do? Keep going and remember, you win some, you lose some.

◊ Sometimes you have to ski blind.

German sisters Susanne and Maria Riesch had big hopes of sharing the podium this year in alpine skiing. Maria took the gold, while Susanne ended up in a collision that cost her the chance to join her sister.

Susanne’s “failure” mirrored the “failures” of many other world-class skiers at this year’s Olympics. Deteriorating slope conditions and visibility issues were a major contributing factor for many, with luck being a larger-than-usual part of the equation. It’s risky business, skiing when you can’t see ten feet in front of you.

But anything worth doing requires an assumption of risk, and those who take the chance–though they are likely to fail big–are also likely to win big.

So it goes with writing. It’s important for writers to stretch their skill sets beyond what they know they can accomplish. Leading a successful writing life is not only about publishing every piece you’ve ever written. After doing this a while, you can find yourself in a rut on the safe path, where you risk parodying yourself. Writers who dare risk to stretch their skills also take a chance at failing big. 

Chicago mystery author Sarah Paretsky ventured from her VI Warshawski series to write Ghost Country, a magical realist departure which, though it received high acclaim, did not seem to go over well with her established readers. She took a risk and lost some readers, but found others. For instance, I had not read a single of her mysteries before I read Ghost Country, and I found I really liked her street-level feminist narrative style. I’d read Paretsky again. No doubt Paretsky learned some things about herself as a writer in the bargain, things that may have improved her VI Warshawski series.

I have my own–though far more humble–experience with taking risks with my writing. I took one summer off from my writing group and wrote a weird story I couldn’t categorize (I learned later it was magical realism). I took it to my writing group in the fall; they hated it (except for the one fan of magical realism). But I blindly stuck to my guns and sent it out into the universe anyway. It became the first short story I ever published, and it earned me a Pushcart prize nomination and Rosebud magazine’s accolade as one of their best published stories for that year. Who knew? Not me. I was “writing blind,” but the reward I took away was all I needed to keep going, to keep writing even when a rejection from one of my favorite magazines came only a couple of weeks after I’d found a home for that first oddball story.

Remembering that risks can often lead to great rewards can be motivation enough for writers. And don’t forget; you’re less likely to break a leg while trying something new! Even if you don’t succeed right out of the gate, you’ll still have more opportunities to turn your luck around. The Riesch sisters will compete again for the shared podium, Sara Paretsky continues to be successful, whether writing mysteries or something else entirely, and I’ve published more than one piece of writing since that fateful day in 1996, so take heart: assuming risk may not guarantee success but it will guarantee opportunity.

Coming Friday: “Find your sanctuary” and “Stay classy.” See you then! 

Tamara 

Everything I’ve learned about writing this year I’ve relearned by watching the Olympics [series Part One]

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Tamara Kaye Sellman Tamara Kaye Sellman is director of Writer’s Rainbow Literary Services. 

 Photo credits: Images used in this post are the property of Tamara Sellman or have been licensed for blogging use under the public domain or the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.

Anticipating the content of my posts this week has been rather challenging: there’s so much to write about! But it came to me on Saturday as I realized my interest in the Olympics was beginning to wane. 

I’d seen all I needed to see of curling, short track speed skating, downhill, bobsled, snowcross and the like. But the Olympics always linger in my mind long after the network has packed up its cameras and talking heads and returned to regularly scheduled programming. 

Witnessing (live or on TV) the prowess of the world’s athletes is always inspiring to me. I grew up in a sports household (baseball, basketball, track and field, gymnastics, soccer, football, softball, volleyball, tennis have all been played with regularity by at least one member of my immediate family), so I’m already in the practice of appreciating the work that goes into excelling at sports. 

But the world’s finest athletes perform with a caliber and grace that takes human experience beyond what it means to be fit or a sound competitor. These are the titans of the modern day, and like the titans of the past, the masses can’t help but idolize them as the demi-gods they truly are. 

This week, I offer the series, “Everything I’ve learned about writing this year I’ve relearned by watching the Olympics” in three parts. As writers, we have cobbled together our own hopes and dreams for becoming the future titans of the literary world. We have much to learn from athletes, and this Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I’ll give examples that show how writers can learn from the trials of Olympians.

Today I’ll talk about discipline and perseverance. 

◊ Say no to say yes. 

"Madrid Snowzone" by Saliendo del Cajón (2007)

Every single Olympian had to set aside large chunks of their life in order to prepare for competition, often relocating to train at a facility far from home. They also made the conscious choice to give up certain things, like favorite foods or TV or seeing their family, in order to do so. 

Writers have it a little bit better than that: they don’t have to leave behind their entire family for months on end to go to a special facility to write. Granted, writers may take a week off here or there and go on a writing retreat. But they can also opt for a home office or a coffeehouse or the daily commute on the train to achieve their dreams and return to home’s comforts every day. 

There are some things writers need to give up in order to have a writing life, though: time and energy. Novels don’t finish themselves, after all. A hockey player may need to skate sprints or block pucks repeatedly for hours; so will a writer need to put her butt in the chair and write as much and as best as she can. Some days, it will come easily; other days, the work will be excruciating. The rule is, for both the athlete and the writer, to keep going. Discipline and focus are the tools that empower folks to say no in order to say yes. 

Next week, if you are almost done with a short story first draft, say no to that Oscar party (and set your DVR) so you can say yes to finishing the draft.  Got a batch of revisions you need to complete by Friday, but you don’t have time? Make it a priority anyway: cancel the book club you were going to visit midweek to cull time to implement your manuscript’s changes. Get up early to revise your manuscript on your day off. Take your work out in the sun with you, should good weather happen for you this week. 

Keep your eyes on the prize and don’t let things that really don’t matter get in the way. You can watch the Oscars later; you can send your reading comments ahead of time to the book group; you can get your work done and enjoy the sun. This is how success happens: by setting priorities, staying focused, and being flexible. It all starts with saying no and meaning it. 

◊ Remember that not everyone will appreciate what you do. 

"Curling stones on rink with visible pebble" by Felix (2007)

I fell in love with curling while watching the 2002 Olympics in Park City. I still love its strategy and precision, the dedicated teamwork, the sport’s intellectual nuances. 

No, curling’s athletes may not be rock-solid muscle machines, but they perform with amazing finesse, possess hawk-like vision, and show more dedication to their dreams than many people I know. Still, they get a lot of flak from the press for not appearing to be rock-solid muscle machines. 

Why? Because it’s hard to understand curling’s challenges just by watching. You can’t see the benefit of training in their bodies, though it’s there. Badminton, marksmanship, golf, and ping pong are also difficult sports, but they don’t necessarily get the same respect from the viewing audience that skiers and runners and swimmers do. 

But curlers and marksmen and ping pong players and golfers and badminton teams don’t really give a hoot about what the audience thinks. To have fans cheering for them is merely the icing on the cake; ultimately, these kinds of athletes are not doing it for the fans, they’re doing it because they have well-tuned skills and want to compete with the best of the best. 

This bodes true for writers as well: poets of rhyming verse, experimental prose aficionados, bloggers, folks who bend genre, children’s authors, short story writers, citizen journalists, and many, many others. How many times have you heard a nonwriter say, “Well, I could’ve written that!” Except that they didn’t. Because, really, they can’t. They have no real idea how hard it is to do what these writers do. So writers who vary from the popular, bestselling forms may have to endure a lot of judgment from people who really don’t know better. 

It’s not easy to write anything, whether it’s a bestselling novel or popular genre or flash fiction or a villanelle. It’s even hard to write a bad manuscript! But it’s even harder to write well when the culture around you doesn’t truly appreciate your chosen form. 

You have to find a way, like the curlers, to slough that off. The way to do that is to hang out with like-minded others, honor the leaders in your chosen form and genre, stay focused on what it is you want to accomplish, study from the masters at every opportunity, and then give it your level best. You may never find a huge fan base for what you write, but just as there are fans for curling, there will be fans for what you have to say as well. 

Coming Wednesday: “Expect to earn your medals every time” and “Sometimes you have to ski blind.” See you then!

Tamara

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Tamara Kaye Sellman

Tamara Kaye Sellman is director of Writer’s Rainbow Literary Services. 

Photo credits:Images used in this post are the property of Tamara Sellman or have been licensed for blogging use under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license. 

If you’re not familiar with Sellman, here’s a short overview…

A Pacific Northwest native, Tamara Kaye Sellman is a journalist, creative writer, blogger, and publishing professional living and working in Bainbridge Island, Washington. She specializes in literary fiction, magical realism, short stories and flash fiction, food and garden writing, freelance feature/interpretive journalism, independent publishing, and citizen journalism. She also facilitates various kinds of writing workshops (generative, motivational or educational); specialty subjects include magical realism/”strangeness,” short fiction, revision, citizen journalism, and Web 2.0 concerns for writers.

Sellman’s fiction, poetry, columns, editorials, reviews, and other writings have been published widely and internationally.

Sellman holds a undergraduate degree with honors from Columbia College Chicago with an emphasis on journalism and a specialty in magazine editing and publishing. She also took extensive coursework in the Story Workshop undergraduate program at Columbia under Zoe Keithley and Shawn Shiflett and has since studied under such writers as Aimee Bender, John Crowley, Brian Evenson, Kim Barnes, Bruce Holland Rogers, and Michelle Cliff.

As the retired founder of the electronic anthology, MARGIN: Exploring Modern Magical Realism (http://www.magical-realism.com) and its companion interactive community, MRCentral.net, Sellman is now at work on a practical writer’s guide to literary magical realism. She has worked previously in cookbook editing, desktop publishing, print production, literary conference organizing and public relations/marketing. Sellman has held memberships with the Field’s End writer’s community of Bainbridge Island, the Richard Hugo House in Seattle, Jane’s Stories Press Foundation, the Council of Literary Magazines and Presses, Associated Writing Programs, PEN-Washington, PoetsWest, Washington Poets Association, the Speculative Literature Foundation, and SPAWN (Small Publishers, Artists and Writers Network).