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invisible part two
Oct. 13th, 2004 11:21 amPart of it is a feedback thing. Writers don’t get a lot of feedback in the normal course of pursuing their art. She said understatedly.
Frankly, I think this is part of the appeal of spoken word for writers. The feedback from the audience is immediate and obvious. Alas, I am not a spoken word performer by nature. I am shy, and my stuff, while perfectly effective when read aloud, is not ideally suited for performance -- it tends toward the quiet and subtle and seeping-into-your-brain.
Rejection slips are a form of feedback; at least you know someone's read your stuff. This is why writers treasure those little scrawls that sometimes appear at the bottom of the form rejection. Sometimes, that's the most you'll ever hear about any given story.
This is why we join writer's groups. For feedback.
And, of course, contracts and checks and printed pages are feedback, too. When I was freelancing (more on this in a moment), I was writing for websites and magazines that had a pretty quick turnaround time, and there my words would be, visible and available, in just a few weeks at most. Anthologies and fiction magazines are much, much slower, and my gratification is definitely no longer instant.
Part of it is an identity thing. I didn’t mean to invest so much in my identity as a writer, but I did just spend five years doing nothing but writing and writing-related activities (proofreading, editing, etc.) for a living (or at least an occupation). And now I spend my days generating form letters instead. I think this transition had more of a psychological impact than I anticipated. The writing I was doing wasn’t particularly artistic or, much of the time, fulfilling, but it was writing – it made good practice, and definitely helped improve my craft. And I don’t really regret giving most of it up – I was burning out, and needed a change. But here at work, I am undercover. Deep stealth. And we all know how that can mess with your head.
Thank you all for your responses to my last post. It’s not that I feel unaccomplished, it’s that I feel keenly the “you’re only as good as your last…” pressure. And I got nothin’ in the pipeline at the moment.
That’ll change.
Frankly, I think this is part of the appeal of spoken word for writers. The feedback from the audience is immediate and obvious. Alas, I am not a spoken word performer by nature. I am shy, and my stuff, while perfectly effective when read aloud, is not ideally suited for performance -- it tends toward the quiet and subtle and seeping-into-your-brain.
Rejection slips are a form of feedback; at least you know someone's read your stuff. This is why writers treasure those little scrawls that sometimes appear at the bottom of the form rejection. Sometimes, that's the most you'll ever hear about any given story.
This is why we join writer's groups. For feedback.
And, of course, contracts and checks and printed pages are feedback, too. When I was freelancing (more on this in a moment), I was writing for websites and magazines that had a pretty quick turnaround time, and there my words would be, visible and available, in just a few weeks at most. Anthologies and fiction magazines are much, much slower, and my gratification is definitely no longer instant.
Part of it is an identity thing. I didn’t mean to invest so much in my identity as a writer, but I did just spend five years doing nothing but writing and writing-related activities (proofreading, editing, etc.) for a living (or at least an occupation). And now I spend my days generating form letters instead. I think this transition had more of a psychological impact than I anticipated. The writing I was doing wasn’t particularly artistic or, much of the time, fulfilling, but it was writing – it made good practice, and definitely helped improve my craft. And I don’t really regret giving most of it up – I was burning out, and needed a change. But here at work, I am undercover. Deep stealth. And we all know how that can mess with your head.
Thank you all for your responses to my last post. It’s not that I feel unaccomplished, it’s that I feel keenly the “you’re only as good as your last…” pressure. And I got nothin’ in the pipeline at the moment.
That’ll change.
