{"id":1534,"date":"2021-09-22T07:52:09","date_gmt":"2021-09-22T11:52:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/?p=1534"},"modified":"2021-09-22T07:52:09","modified_gmt":"2021-09-22T11:52:09","slug":"by-me-youre-a-writer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gailcarsonlevine.com\/blog\/2021\/09\/22\/by-me-youre-a-writer\/","title":{"rendered":"By Me, You’re a Writer"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I haven\u2019t preceded the post with anything in a while, and I hope you haven\u2019t minded. But here\u2019s a little language and publishing tidbit that might interest the word nerds among us (everybody, I believe). I just finished going through the copy edits on Sparrows in the Wind<\/em>, my next novel for kids, which is a reimagining of the Trojan War. The managing editor queried whether Achilles\u2019, as I had it, should be Achilles\u2019s and cited a section in The Chicago Manual of Style (CMOS), most publishers\u2019 authority. I don\u2019t like Achilles\u2019s, which sounds weird and ugly to me, and I found this link to the CMOS blog: https:\/\/www.chicagomanualofstyle.org\/qanda\/data\/faq\/topics\/PossessivesandAttributives\/faq0057.html<\/a>. Read if you\u2019re interested. I\u2019m going with Achilles\u2019 as I had it, because if it\u2019s Achilles\u2019 heel, how can it be Achilles\u2019s elbow? (My editor is with me on this.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On August 28, 2020 Jen wrote, How do you deal with \u2018Impostor Syndrome\u2019? I have been told my writing is good and there are days I agree that it has promise, but then there are days when I panic and freak out that all my plots and characters are boring and cliche and that my word choices are nowhere near as good as I\u2019d like them to be. I understand all of that can be fixed in editing, but even as I edit I still have those panic flare-ups of not being good enough. I\u2019d appreciate all the tips anyone would like to offer.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Melissa Mead wrote back, FWIW, I\u2019ve known pros who\u2019ve won awards + published multiple books and still feel like this. All we can do is write the best we can at the time.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I find it helps to just finish a rough draft, then put it away for a week or so.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s an old Jewish joke, which I read in the charming Joys of Yiddish<\/em> by Leo Rosten, that I think epitomizes the impostor syndrome. I don\u2019t remember it exactly, but here\u2019s the gist: A young man announces to his mother that he\u2019s become a doctor. She smiles proudly and also shrugs. \u201cDarling,\u201d she says, \u201cby you, you\u2019re a doctor; by me, you\u2019re a doctor; but by a doctor, are you a doctor?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My children\u2019s book writing apprenticeship was so long (nine years) that by the time I achieved publication, I felt like a writer. But when I went to graduate school for an MFA in poetry in 2013, I heard the joke, which is a little bit poisonous, over and over in my head. \u201cBut by a poet<\/em>\u2026\u201d I still think it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t know the cure, but I know the medicine: Keep writing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More medicine: Dress up as Emily Bronte or pencil in a ragged moustache to look like Edgar Allan Poe, so you are impersonating a writer\u2014and write.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And more: Read about other writers, or read books on writing, like Anne Lamott\u2019s Bird by Bird<\/em>. Learn from them, as I think you will, that uncertainty and self-doubt are our lot (many of us anyway, me anyway). I find this comforting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve said here before that I try not to ask myself if what I\u2019m writing is good. I try not to ask the question at every stage of the process, from thinking about what I might write all the way to post-publication. And I pay attention to words that are in the judgment category along with good<\/em>, words like mediocre word choice,<\/em> boring, clich\u00e9.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And not good enough<\/em> for whom, if I may ask?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t succeed all the time, because the self-attack disguises itself. My latest worry seems to be: Who will read this?<\/em> Which could be a real question in early planning stages, I guess, but once I get started, it\u2019s unhelpful\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because I can\u2019t use it or any self-attack. Self-attack isn\u2019t specific. It doesn\u2019t help me see that Marla in the second chapter wouldn\u2019t tell her best friend that she gave away a secret he shared with her. Or that my description of the best friend\u2019s house could be reworked so it reveals something about his character.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Let\u2019s look at mediocre word choice. <\/em>That\u2019s what a thesaurus is for! If we see a word that we think doesn\u2019t nail what we have in mind, we go to Roget or Thesaurus.com. If we\u2019re me and we\u2019re not satisfied right away, we noodle around, look at more than the first page of options, click on a few possibilities to see where they take us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Writers need criticism from ourselves and from peers\u2014I do! But we need specifics about things like pacing, character consistency, and, yes sometimes, word choice. We don\u2019t need attack. And we must learn to tell one from the other, especially when the wounds are self-inflicted. We have to police our thoughts!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m also not crazy about global compliments from friends and other writers. Good<\/em>, just like bad<\/em>, isn\u2019t specific. This kind of praise gives me a sugar high, and after it wears off, I start worrying. Will I continue to please this person? What did I do that was so fabulous? Will I ever be able to do it again? On the other hand, specific praise, for a page of dialogue or a description of a landscape, is nutritious. I\u2019m never going to have to do precisely that again, so I won\u2019t disappoint, and, yeah, I\u2019m glad my discerning friend noticed. Yum!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here are three prompts:<\/p>\n\n\n\n