Guys playing pickup basketball on the playground don’t usually think they can step in and compete in the NBA.
Someone who doesn’t own a guitar doesn’t usually think he can become the next Jimi Hendrix.
Someone who can’t draw doesn’t usually think they’re the next Georgia O’Keefe.
Why is it so hard for us to tell if we’re good writers or not?
Just about every writer at some point has struggled with the Am I Crazies, not really knowing if they have the chops or the ability to make their writing stand out.
And, on the flipside, it sure seems like the majority of people in the world think they can write a book. And not only write a book, but write it as well as a published author. And not only just as well as a published author, but just as well as bestselling published authors who are among the elite in terms of building an audience and having their work catch on with readers. There are lots of people out there who think it’s easy, think they could do it, and all but a handful are wrong.
What is it about writing that makes people put on the blinders and fail to recognize their limitations and makes the talented unable to recognize their own goodness?
Why is it so hard to tell if our writing is good? Parental love. Our writing is our baby, and every parent thinks their baby is the cutest baby in the world. Even those bucktoothed, crossed-eyed babies are beautiful to their mothers.
You conceive an idea, you nurture it, you feed it, you spend sleepless nights thinking about it, and finally, you birth it. You have a completed novel. It’s the most precious thing in the world to you. Your baby is more beautiful than the hardbacks on the shelves of Barnes & Noble. Who cares if it is your first baby or if your baby has terrible skin, or if your baby is in the 10th percentile? Your baby belongs out front for the world to see.
In the words of Johnny Castle, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.” (ok, I got carried away with this last line)
@ Nathan Touché!
I can think of two possibilities off the top of my head. One is that people start with an image in their head that's much cooler than what gets translated onto the paper. They can still see that image, so when they're reading their own work they may not recognize that their words don't convey the image as well as they think. There's a lot of self-awareness required in writing, and self-awareness isn't something a lot of people possess.
The second thought is that people see books they think are bad and think they can do better, but most people really don't see examples of what bad writing looks like, either. Even badly written published books are going to be (generally speaking) grammatically correct and better than what most of the population can manage. Maybe it gives people a false sense of how easy it is? If all you see are good examples of something, you don't necessarily realize what the bad looks like. That might be completely wrong, but I'm just thinking aloud.
Honestly, though, a lot of people are never taught to write correctly in school. By correctly I mean able to use commas and construct sentences and paragraphs and that sort of thing. They don't realize they're doing it wrong because no one's ever taught them there's a right way. They don't understand the basic rules.
I think Pub Rants was the blog I saw an article at recently that said the average person only read 2~3 books a year. And that was on average. I imagine there are a lot of people who don't really read at all, or read a book a year. So maybe, in contrast to my previous suggestion, there's something to the idea that people don't even expose themselves to good writing to know what it looks like.
I really believe success is achieving the result you aim for. I'll use show jumping as my example. If a rider's horses consistently win the competition even though he looks far from picture perfect in the saddle, that person is a success and better than those following all the riding school rules.
If a book makes me cry, get angry, see a beautiful land, or shiver with fear, following rules or not, that author is good.
lol Not Totally Anon. I think what you're seeing is that I tend to judge books more on the "did the author do what they were trying to do/is it good for what it is" scale rather than the "Proust to unpublished poorly spelled stream of consciousness novel about a dead cat" spectrum.
I refuse to give up my delusions Nathan.
Most people are half educated as readers and writers, so their lit crit chops are far less developed than, say, their point guard crit chops are. Same goes for design skills.
That's one reason. There's always plain ole garden-variety delusion.
It's hard for a lot of reasons. I find it difficult to be objective about things I love – people, animals, trucks. Why wouldn't everyone else love them the same way I do? Same with the stories I create.
Another reason might be that there is no definite yardstick by which to measure the goodness of your work. Even publication is no real assurance that you're good – only successful at publication.
My two cents: Most of the writers I've known are good at one or some of the elements it takes to create an entertaining story. One might be good at laying out a bare bones story skeleton, but sucks at prose, sentence dynamics, or characterization. Another might have great characters, dialog, and visual scenes, but there's no real story. The combinations are endless with this scenario. It's one in a million (just about) writer who's got a handle on how to deliver all the writing variables to a piece of paper well enough to evoke continual emotion in the reader. And that takes years of writing practice.
I believe what makes us think we're good at writing is the feelings in us when we see our creations on the page. It's like giving birth to a baby. We are so proud and thrilled and feeling euphoric that we have created something. Such genius! We expect everyone to feel these things, too, when they encounter our works, whether or not we have been successful in mastering all the writing elements in our creations.
Most writers don't realize they have substituted quality for euphoria in the act of creation. It takes years of practice and learning to discern the difference. What we see as a talented writer is one who constantly goes through this process of discernment, and probably has a worn out delete key.
No two persons are alike–after all, that is what gives them the individuality. I liked Paulo Coelho's "Brida" far more than his "Alchemist"; Ayn Rand's brilliance shined through "Atlas Shrugged" for many, but I found it a little off for my tastes (too corporate-ish, bit devilish, at times intolerable).
However, that doesn't go on to make the best sellers any less of so now, does it? And am glad it doesn't work that way–I'd be drowned to my shoulders if everything depended on what I liked! 😉
So the answer is simple–following the "thumb-rules" till you can invent your own is a safe bet–rest depends on individuals; some will love even your tatters, some will ignore you in broad day light. Not every one can be pleased–their taste-buds are too varied to cater to!
-BrownEyed
Okay, I am a psychologist and I can give you the psychological reason. When people are talented they surround themselves with other talented persons. Their view of what it takes is skewed. They see the best. They are comparing themselves to the best. People who have mediocre skills do not surround themselves by such people. So the people they are around, well, they in fact more talented than those folks. Also talented people often see teh gap between what they know and don't know. They are exposed to the full range of information. This does not happen with the less gifted. They take what they see as the real and only deal, not searching out the rest because . . . they are the best among their friends. There is actually a psychological term for this, I learned it in social psychology . . . but I have forgotten it. Sorry.
What is it about writing that makes people put on the blinders and fail to recognize their limitations and makes the talented unable to recognize their own goodness? – I'd say the answer is agents!:)
I disagree that as the level of doubt increases so does a writer's skill. The crazies have a lot of doubt. The level of nuttiness is usually proportional to the gap between reality and what we want to believe.
Everyone here is actively deluding themselves this very moment. This kind of post, while appearing to shed light on this issue, actually reinforces the beliefs we already have.
I think the Dunning Kruger is a great idea but about as accurate as eye whiteness testimony because it's built on a fault premise that ignores people who are skilled and rate their ability accurately, and skilled people who have the a mammoth ego.
Nathan – obviously you don't know enough amateur musicians or budding artists.
They teach us to write in school from kindergarten and tell us that not only will we learn how to write, we must learn well enough to pass to the next grade. So, unlike the examples you've given, people think they can write because they've been doing it in some form or another for many years before they begin to "write".
Music, writing and visual art aren't basketball or some other measurable skill – it's all very subjective. I've seen some real crap on the shelves. To someone else, it's great stuff.
Most fiction writers are a bit bi-polar about our own abilities, anyway. It's one of the things I miss about technical and non-fiction writing – I knew it was successful if the average reader could understand and duplicate the information. So much easier…
I think it's hard to be discerning about any artistic foray. I've dabbled in a few forms of the arts and have gone through the same experiences with each one. Especially early in the learning process, it's so easy to become self-congratulatory. Then later, perhaps years later, you go back and look/listen to that same piece and can tell it's woeful.
I agree with Nathan that writing is easier to dabble in than, say, music composition or artwork as these require certain learned skills. But everyone can write sentences and everyone has ideas. Most people think the ideas are the important thing; usually, though, it's what you do with those ideas that will make a novel fantastic or rubbish. Quite a few people approach writers with the proposition that they go halves in a writing project where he, or she, supplies the ideas and the writer supplies the expertise. Unless the ideas are truly amazing, it's the expertise that's more valuable, because it's mainly the way those ideas are brought to life on the page that make them believable, interesting and viable.
I would have thought that if someone is writing brilliantly, then they'd have an inkling of that. But I once read that Tolkien doubted he'd ever be published. This might have been because he wondered if his work would be perceived as commercially viable, not because he doubted his abilities. As a University Professor, he must have known he had above-average skills and knowledge.
Do you really not know the answer to this? Or are you playing possum in order to generate a lively discussion?
anon-
No, I really don't know the answer. I think writing is particularly prone to people not knowing whether they're good or not and I'm not sure why that is. Though I think there have been some compelling ideas in the thread.
Because writing is communication. Only the reader can decide.
Mmm, I don't know. I've met a lot of people who, because they play Guitar Hero well, think they're the next Jimi Hendrix. Same with basketball players, football players who think they're the next Lebron James or Troy Aikman (you can see how current I am on my football knowledge).
Sports, however, isn't usually about who you know. In publishing, that can be one big factor. Not always, but it definitely helps. I can't count how many stories I've read about an author knowing someone, or knowing someone who knew someone, and that was how they got their manuscript read with interest (while it was rejected forty-something times — one guy's like 200! — prior to that). Sometimes "who you know" is the main reason people get published.
To me, if someone REALLY wanted to make it as a professional athlete, unending hard work for many years could honestly make that happen for them. Playing sports is objective (you can either sink the shot, or you can't). Writing is subjective. And again, it can come down to who you know, or whether you happen to meet the right person.
As far as me, I oftentimes think my writing is good as I'm writing it. Then I set it down for x amount of time (sometimes only 24 hours) and whenever I look at it again, it's always crap. Real, utter crap. I can't stand it. I can't even open my synopsis without editing it. It's killing me.
So if I can't even decide if MY writing's good, how can anyone else? I think much of today's writing, and whether it's considered "good" or not for publishing purposes, is mostly about the market. The reason I think this: Several books I enjoyed 2 years ago no longer hold my interest. Now whether I'm changing WITH the market, or the market is fluctuating b/c of the populous' interests/etc — that I'm not sure.
This is the reason I have a crit group. Tonight, I had the opportunity to take my blinders off. Got to hear what the flaws are, and get to work and making weak things become strong.
I am sure all of us know at least one "blowhard" who loves to hear himself speak.
These fools like to write because to them writing is running their mouths in print.
I think there are three forms of the crazies.
1) Am I crazy to think I'm any good at this?
2) Were people who told me in the past I had talent crazy?
3) Are the people who say I have no talent crazy?
Unfortunately, the current method of "keeping score" is sales. But, just like early "boxoffice" numbers for a new movie, popularity, or readability, or talent, are determined by book sales statistics, which are skewed by the talent or lack of promotion of the author or publishing house, and don't reflect necessarily readers' reactions to what they've been told or urged or recommended to buy.
That comes later.
A large number of books, like mine, are out there now waiting for readers to "discover" them. The more the better, and the books' true merit will be determined more by what individual readers think, eventually, than what someone tries to tell them to think.
But if no one likes my book, no one else loses money betting they'll pay big for my book. And bigger for the other marketing revenue streams: toys, shirts, games, movies, etc that are now part of the decision making process on the merits of someone's writing talent.
So, in that sense, self-publishing is to writing "artists" what hanging a painting in a gallery is to a painter–a product you hope someone will pay something to have that you created.
As a non-expert, I say if you think you're good enough, walk onto the field during try-outs with your head held high.
I once complained about wishing I worked somewhere I was convinced was beyond me. The person I complained to, who had worked there, asked: "have you applied?"
When I answered no, he said: "then what makes you think you aren't qualified?"
I think people believe they can write, even if it is not true, because stories are words (strangely enough) and words are so common that we use them every day.
Because of that, words are seen to be like pennies, in that they do not have that great of value. These people do not truly understand that it is not just words that make up a story, but the COMBINATION of the RIGHT WORDS in the RIGHT WAY.
Now how the words are combined and what are the right ones to use and the right way to do it, that is what sets the various published authors and their readers apart.
Wish I had something profound to add to this conversation, but I don't really. I can say that I like the stories I create. I enjoy the process of creating them. I write them to the best of my current abilities. I know I can always be better at this thing called writing. As far as being good for others, well, that's entirely subjective and open to interpretation. Some will think I'm good while others not so much. This will be the case no matter how much I improve my writing skill. As long as I'm am satisfied with my current effort given what I know how to do, that's all I can really ask for.
Because judging talent in writing is subjective, and judging talent on the basketball court or the stage is not.
If you can't dribble a ball, or you never get the basketball in the hoop, or suck at passing, or even if you're okay at all of these things but not amazing, when you get out there on the court among the professionals, it's obvious that you're the one who shouldn't be there. And everyone will tell you, and you don't even need them to tell you because you can see it yourself.
When you can't read music, or you don't know the difference between a C chord and a G7 seventh, or you can't hit the right notes or carry a tune, and you get up on that stage with Madonna or Michael Buble and try to sing with them, it's really obvious that you're the one who doesn't belong there. And if you can't even read music, you know for yourself that you have work to do.
In sports and in music, there are stages and standards and things you just have to know how to do.
In writing, there are none of these things. And I would argue that in art, this is actually also the case. Plenty of crazy people think that they are the next Picasso or O'Keefe or Klimt or Van Gogh or Jackson Pollock, and plenty of non-crazy but talented people wonder every day how they are going to pay for food and rent. But I digress.
Every person who has eyes to see and a mouth to talk with has at some point walked into a bookstore or an art gallery and looked at something that someone else has made and opened their mouth and said, "That is a load of hooey, and I could do five times better than that in my sleep." We've all done that. And we wouldn't be human if we didn't, at some stage, try to do just that.
And it's hard, when you conceive of something and create it yourself, to step back from it and get perspective on it. We know if it is what we had intended to create, but because we love it we have no ability to see it clearly compared to other work by other people. And for some reason – maybe because they love us equally well – even though they have no problem telling us to shut up when we can't sing or sit out when we can't shoot, our friends and relatives tell us that we have created something wonderful and that the world should see it.
And a monster is born.
The yardstick lies in the classic philosophical problem of "other minds." Writing is our attempt or wish to touch other minds–whether they exist or not. All writing is good.
"Written words are the non-pictures that convey anything to other minds." -Old Spice Guy
I'm sold.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bu-KBxOtJxs&feature=player_embedded
Have to question your premises, Nathan. I'm a painter and the university art classes I taught were flooded with people who couldn't draw and assumed they were the next Georgia O'Keefe. My musician friends say the same thing; in fact didn't punk music start just that way? Have no basketball buddies, but if I did I bet they'd confirm. In art, it takes a while to train your eyes enough that you can see the difference between a good line and a lazy line, between interesting colors and thoughtless colors. Between the time you start working and the time your eye is developed, you honestly can't see the difference between Leroy Neiman and Jackson Pollock. It's quite a handicap until you learn, and some people never do. Can't imagine writing is much different, except maybe it's the ear that has to develop? takes time and persistence (the dancers say it takes ten years to make a leg, and that seems to be about right for painting).
Love your blog. Love your always thought inspiring questions.
Agree with you that scoffing at best sellers is a fool's errand. But I don't necessarily agree that great writing is a requirement for a best seller as much as knowing what will sell, and how to market it.
So, a great agent is another important ingredient…
Perhaps, instead of comparing writing to basketball, it is better suited to being compared to boxing–most aspirants get knocked out of contention in the first few professional bouts. But once in a while, out of the slush pile of would be and wanna bes, Sonny Liston gets knocked down.
But nobody expects it. And that's what makes writing, and working hard at trying to write really, really well, so much fun.
One punch to the solar plexus–the right agent sees something, or the agent's reader sees something, and before you know it, you go from living in your car to being one of the best-known writers in the world.
Like J.K. Rowling. Hits have to be noticed by someone. Otherwise, they stay part of the slush pile.
Hey Nathan,
The artist's last name is O'Keeffe, not O'Keefe. I say that not to be pedantic, but to mention a sure-fire way to win some pocket money. Figure a way to bring her up in polite conversation, casually speculate on the spelling of her name, wager 20 bucks. I've made at least $500 on that extra F. Give it a try.
I imagine most of these writers with the superiority complex must not read their own stuff… When I'm writing, I marvel at my own brilliance, but when I actually read what I wrote, I shudder in disgust and fight the urge to delete the file.
Hemmingway won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1954.
It's also been said he wrote some stinkers, too. Published and Unpublished. Same goes for Virginia Woolf.
I'm certain these two thought they sucked. And often.
I'm unable to be objective about whether my writing is "good" or "bad". It depends on how I'm feeling about myself and the day, what feedback I received recently and how I took it. (Professionally I hope, but sometimes it still hits me in the gut.)
What I do know is whether I'm getting better as a writer. And that comes from constantly writing and rewriting, opening myself to honest critique and critiquing others' work. Often I can see in others what I'm slow to see in myself.
"What is it about writing that makes people put on the blinders and fail to recognize their limitations and makes the talented unable to recognize their own goodness?"
For both, it's the fear of failure.
Nathan, I agree with what you said earlier about people not really looking at why a book they don't like is successful.
In college I read a couple books I felt sorta 'meh' about, and then the professor went through them, pointed things out, and did it with a certain passion that changed the way I originally saw the book. It changed the way I read.
On a side note, I had a professor who I was constantly trying to get the answer to this same question from. I wanted him to explain to me how he could grade people's stories, poems, et cetera. There's no real answer.
Maybe all writing is good. Even the bad stuff. Not good as a bestseller, perhaps. But, maybe we should be glad there are still people who are creative and are still telling stories, even if it's only for themselves, their kids at bedtime, or a close friend.
My opinion is vast. I think the main thing is because when someone really wants to be a successful writer they don't start off having the writing contacts they need to improve their writing, skills or even get an honest critique from. So, for the longest time, they'll run into a lot of people who will go "Oh, you wrote this? It's 300 pages. You're going to be a best selling novelist then, I take it?" Some take this too heart and send in their books too early. of course, there are several are other reasons and examples I could name. But I think a lot of them were mentioned ahead of me.
Besides, what makes me such an expert? I don't know if I'm good.
As people have said umpteen times in this thread, evaluating a piece of writing can be quite a subjective affair: Can't compare Dan Brown to Toni Morrison, they set out to do completely different things, and did them well.
But there is a basic threshold, I think: grammar, spelling, technique….unless the purpose/punch lies in breaking these down for a purpose.
That aside, people can better evaluate themselves if they detach their own selves from the writing to an extent: think of it as a clay image, to be molded into a statue, a process that can only benefit from constructive criticism.
This is THE hardest part.
Sadly, most of us can't do that, and since we think of a criticism of our writing as a criticism of us as people, we tend to defend our writing the best we can.
The worry warts (in most cases) are those willing to spot the flaws in their work, and get "better". They have learned to keep their writing at a distance once the first one or two drafts are done…and will never be able to consider their work great. Unless carried to an extreme, that is a good thing, and leads to good writing, IMHO.
Those who consider their first drafts to be works of genius would obviously remain where they are, for a long time to come.
Look@14th-10:43am expanded, you also have to take into account that bad writing gets published and sometimes sells way better than good writing, and that Nathan gets cranky when you push that stream of thought to its limits (only $$$ matters to the market). Anonymous Bill@14th-12:29pm sidesteps this nicely, and concludes that what's important to the discussion is not that bad writing gets published, but *why*: "These are the surface characteristics, not the true nuances that make for lasting success. And recognizing the less recognizeable, IMHO, is the key to differentiating the amateur of transient brilliance from the lasting professional talent."
2) Mentions of the Dunning-Kruger effect abound, which IMO sort of comes down to "we're basically unknowable about the things we don't know so we don't know but naming it Dunning-Kruger makes it sound posh".
3) Jaime@14th-10:52am encapsulates what others said before: it's language, everybody uses language, so it can not be difficult. Add trent@14th-10:37am's that writing doesn't need a great deal of capital before you can start. Add to this it's a learning process (you can always learn more and better language), everybody "thinks" s/he's a good writer until they try. Also, not everybody is taught what good writing/literature is, which sort of ignores the whole point of the subjectivity of "good writing" in #1 (. Though I agree that benchmarking is an important part of the learning process.
4) Some of the fingers pointing at subjectivity do not limit it to "good" or "bad" writing, but how basically you can compare titles. An apple is not a pear, though both fruits, right? And yet our so low-cost writerly tools (trent, above) only help to create deception; as Kerry Gans@14th-1:43pm puts it: "Maybe because my typed Word document looks the same as everyone else's typed Word document […]you can see that you can't jump as high as the NBA guys […] But my words typed on a page look pretty much the same as JK Rowlings'".
5) Also, abundant variation of the theme "there's always idiots". Our egos get in the way of clear thinking. Or more softly put: everybody likes their baby, even if it's a misshapen heap of flesh without a brain. Writing creates a high, and you need your distance to be a good judge. Nancy@14th-7:02pm phrases it nicely with "Most writers don't realize they have substituted quality for euphoria in the act of creation. It takes years of practice and learning to discern the difference. What we see as a talented writer is one who constantly goes through this process of discernment, and probably has a worn out delete key." We delude ourselves links nicely with:
[continued…]
[continued…]
6) Imagination (Travis Erwin@14th-1:36pm). To write we tap into our imagination, and it's a land where we're kings and live in huge sprawling palaces with 100 bathrooms with golden taps and not once in that bit of fantasy we stop and think about who the hell is going to keep all those bathrooms clean. As C.J.Atsvinh@14th-1:46am puts it: "when we dream, man do we dream big." From this naturally follows what Ghost Girl@14th-10:46am says: "it's kind of like hearing our own voice; it sounds completely different outside of our own head." And James@14th-12:12pm links it closer to language: "People imagine writing is especially easy because it is the only art form that is expressed in our minds – or seems that way. This creates the illusion that we have created what we are reading", and Brant@14th-1:52pm continues in that line: "That process translates into me having a qualitatively different experience when reading my own work than someone else will. For everyone else, the text has to stand on its own merits." Ink@14th-3:20pm elaborates the idea that words are at the heart of a work's subjectivity: "part of every text comes from the reader, from how they translate these symbols into a vision they see and hear and feel […] for the writer, we already have the vision in our head. We have it there as we write, or even before we write."
IMO, it's not simply that words can and will be interpreted by the reader even when the author has great skill or craft or talent or luck in guiding the reader's eye and mind (go too far on that post-modern path and you'll soon be proclaiming the author dead, and trust me: not where you want to end up as writer). That everyone carries their own experiences in words with them is only part of the problem.
But words are the tools of our mind, not simply of our imagination or memory. We think in words to define our reality, it gives form to the formless reflections of light that fall into our eyes. And while through imagination we create a new reality with words (as writers and readers we experience how that works), we often fail to see that even the real reality in which we sit behind the computer writing is in a way a construct of our brain (but let's not go off into the deep-end of solipsism). We easily get fooled by our own high because what we write at that moment simply *is* sublime. By feeling/thinking it, we make it so, to us at least. And without drifting off into solipsism: who is to say it isn't?
And that's why it's always such a good advice to put something in a box or drawer for a while when you think you've finished. Not simply because somewhat later the high will have worn off, or we'll have learned new tricks, can sift out errors we've newly learned to identify, but also because our words themselves, the meanings and associations and experiences behind them, have changed. When you look at your creation again after a long time of doing something else completely, it will be with almost literally new eyes.
And then, of course, the trick is to keep that distance, not get sucked in by your own imagination or high again, so that you may actually see things for what they are…
It does seem to me that if you ask five editors or agents for an opinion regarding a written work that you will get five different responses, none of which will agree with any of the others. There are even some editors, publishers and agents who resort to the time honored phrases , 'it's not right for me' or' it needs more polish'. That of course means that the responding party has no idea whether the writing will attract an audience or not and can offer nothing more than a trite response.
Now, after some time, and many conflicting reviews, the aspiring writer, good or bad, will reason that perhaps his or her work may in fact be better than the reviewers have stated. After all, if it were terrible they all would have simply said so and the writer could then, either move on or continue beating themselves up.
Or it might just be egotism. I have even been accused of that on occasion but in all honesty, I don't believe that I am half as good as I really am…
On the flip side, I have a few friends who are actually great writers but will never be "known" because they are more critical of their own work than any reader.
Moderation as with all things. And you can't win any contest if you don't enter.
Writing is exposure–of thoughts, ideas, perhaps experiences.
I think all writers take their writing seriously, maybe too much so at times, or not enough at others.
I think, perhaps, the answer to the question you so eloquently pose at the start is that it is so hard to tell if our writing is good because we are afraid to trust our own judgment, and need the validation of others–readers, agents, editors, publishers, book buyers, reviewers, etc–to either confirm or reject our belief or understanding of what it is we are trying to do.
I say this as someone who was "infected" with what I now refer to as the terminal disease of writing.
Other questions for me always are: who am I writing this for? Why am I writing it? If the answer is for fame and fortune, good luck. If the answer is because it seems to be the way you prefer to communicate to fellow humans, good luck.
No matter what, once you're infected, like me, you can't stop writing even if everyone tells you you'll never have readers.
I realized last night that while I haven't "made my living" writing fiction, as I hoped to when I was a teenager, I have, in fact, made my living as a writer of non-fiction, a journalist, for more than half my 30 year career as a journalist.
Because somebody else thought at least my journalism was "good."
So: my advice is keep writing, or if you feel you should stop, stop. But do either because you want to, you've decided in your own judgment to trust your judgment, and not because someone else tells you that you should.
Which is why I still send queries to agents on occasion, even though I've had two agents and never a publishing contract.
In "the old days," it was far easier. I'd put out like a novel a year or so, my agent would read it and either like it or make suggestions to change it, and try to sell it.
That was in the days before readers–not the agents themselves–read manuscripts and judged for the agent whether something, even a query, was worth considering.
Now, there are so many different people whose judgment affects what gets published, I've skipped agents for a couple projects and self-published them.
But I've only self-published, and am self-publishing my second novel soon, books that agents really liked in the past but were unable to get accepted by a publisher for economic (hopefully) reasons rather than writing merit.
So, like everyone, I can't tell if my writing is good. I need someone else to tell me it is.
But I can tell pretty quickly if my writing isn't good. And then, I happily hit the delete key.
But I usually need to (oddly, or because I'm "old school"?) print out my manuscript and go over it word by word in type to catch things I missed on the screen.
And it used to be far more time consuming, typing a novel on 25%-rag content paper, double-spaced, with two inch margins at the bottom for notes and one inch margins at the side and one and a half at the top for the same, with a carbon page in between the original and a flimsy (yellow cheap paper for copying), then going over that, and redoing it all.
Computers have definitely made writing easier. Whether it's made writers better is subjective…like art, or "literature," versus saleable "content."
In my opinion.
someone probably already said this, but I KNOW I can't dunk on Dwight Howard or touch Barry ZIto's curveball.
But when I read a great paragraph, or maybe a bad one, I think…hey, I CAN DO THAT.
Basketball players daydream of NBA.
Hockey players daydream about hoisting the Stanley Cup.
Instead of running, jumping, throwing, skating, shooting — writers daydream.
That's the problem: overdeveloped thinker-upper things.
Having studied theatre and music, along with writing, I'd have to disagree with you. There are plenty of people in every field who think that they are gifted and will be famous one day. It doesn't just apply to writers. I've found ego without brilliance everywhere. And all I can say is more power to them. You have got to have a dream. It's our dreams that make us set goals. I just watched the documentary, "This May Get Loud." The Edge said that when U2 started up none of them were able to play. I, for one, am glad that most beginners have delusions of grander. You have to start somewhere.
Two things: we are too close to it to be objective.
And SUBJECTIVELY the best writing gets across what the author means to and TO US, we've expressed ourselves exactly as WE would… it's a perfect fit.
Time is the best cure for the first–reading a lot of OTHER people for the second.
Semiotics is a study of signs. As it applies to the question, writers know what they want to signify, what word singifiers represent, but don't so easily know what's signified to readers.
Take the lower case letter A, a fundamental semiotic building block that signifies a gamut of meanings, a particle article word among the many meanings. A's Phoenician origin was for accounting purposes.
Phoenician scribes incised wet clay tablets to track trade inventory. The lower case A signified an auroch, a now extinct bovine species, or ox. Cattle to pastoral people signifies chattel wealth. So of course A comes first in the Pheonician alphabet.
The graphic appearance of A has changed over time; it at first looked like a circle with two upright horns. It turned on its side and was embellished with graceful curves. Lower case A still looks somewhat like a steer's head turned sideways with one horn upright and one horn downturned.
Later, Greek and Roman stone carvers found rounded letter shapes were difficult to carve into stone lintels, tablets spanning columns. So the alphabet evolved capital case letters, capital for their use above column capstones.
B for house, C for camel, D for door, H for window, L for goad, N for serpent, S for fish, etc. Vowels are a later evolution in the Phoenician language. A at first signified a glottal stop, like the hyphen in discourse marker uh-huh.
Let's see, A-N-D signifies ox serpent door. But readers today read it as a conjunction word signifying also. A-L-S-O signifies as ox goad fish eye.
Most creative writing is more sensible than the gibberish translating individual letters into their Phoenician origins signifies, but can be as meaningless in signification.
Take a word like mundane. Its orginal meaning was the earthly realm as opposed to the metaphysical realm. Most users today use it to signify boring and don't know its higher signified power.
Now take a seventy thousand word narrative and factor for signifier and signified. Here's a semiotics fomula for evaluating the complexity of language; where N represents the number of discrete discenible elements, N to the power (N-1). Three yields nine. Ten yields ten billion.
Fortunately, writers and readers do much of the mental sign work nonconsiously, intuitively. It's the conscious mental work that's short shrifted most often in creative writing.
Semiotics is a study of signs. As it applies to the question, writers know what they want to signify, what word singifiers represent, but don't so easily know what's signified to readers.
Take the lower case letter A, a fundamental semiotic building block that signifies a gamut of meanings, a particle article word among the many meanings. A's Phoenician origin was for accounting purposes.
Phoenician scribes incised wet clay tablets to track trade inventory. The lower case A signified an auroch, a now extinct bovine species, or ox. Cattle to pastoral people signifies chattel wealth. So of course A comes first in the Pheonician alphabet.
The graphic appearance of A has changed over time; it at first looked like a circle with two upright horns. It turned on its side and was embellished with graceful curves. Lower case A still looks somewhat like a steer's head turned sideways with one horn upright and one horn downturned.
Later, Greek and Roman stone carvers found rounded letter shapes were difficult to carve into stone lintels, tablets spanning columns. So the alphabet evolved capital case letters, capital for their use above column capstones.
B for house, C for camel, D for door, H for window, L for goad, N for serpent, S for fish, etc. Vowels are a later evolution in the Phoenician language. A at first signified a glottal stop, like the hyphen in discourse marker uh-huh.
Let's see, A-N-D signifies ox serpent door. But readers today read it as a conjunction word signifying also. A-L-S-O signifies as ox goad fish eye.
Most creative writing is more sensible than the gibberish translating individual letters into their Phoenician origins signifies, but can be as meaningless in signification.
Take a word like mundane. Its orginal meaning was the earthly realm as opposed to the metaphysical realm. Most users today use it to signify boring and don't know its higher signified power.
Now take a seventy thousand word narrative and factor for signifier and signified. Here's a semiotics fomula for evaluating the complexity of language; where N represents the number of discrete discenible elements, N to the power N minus one. Three yields nine. Ten yields ten billion.
Fortunately, writers and readers do much of the mental sign work nonconsiously, intuitively. It's the conscious mental work that's short shrifted most often in creative writing.
Have you ever listened to a recording of your own voice and not recognized it? When you think, "OMG, I sound like a shrieking squirrel" when you were expecting "throaty sex-kitten"?
I think its like that with our writing. What we hear in our head is different than what other people see on the page.
I would hope that as writers get better, we will eventually learn to "hear" what we actually write. I'm sure an accomplished recording artist understands how his/her own voice really sounds through the speakers and can tune it from there.
I have lots of actor and musician friends. They are always hoping for a big break, but are realistic about their dreams: they won't have concerts at Carnegie Hall or be cast in a Broadway show. But they use their talents in local concerts, choirs, off-off Broadway shows, teaching, etc etc. Maybe writers shouldn't focus so much on the semi-impossible–getting a novel contract. They should also consider using their talent in other ways.