Winners and Losers in the Writing Game
What does it mean to be a loser? In a first-round tennis match in the French Open, a player was defeated 6-0, 6-0. The dreaded double bagel! She strove mightily to win a single game, but she was outplayed. I imagined what it took for her to gain a coveted slot in the main draw of a major tennis tournament: probably a life-time of striving as a tennis player, and a decent ranking in the world. What joy she must have had to make it in. What crushing misery to be slayed so badly. Does she see herself as a loser, or does she find hope and inspiration in the experience and determine to do better next time? What does it take for there to be a next time? What would it take for her to consider herself a winner?
I have been a writer of mysteries and thrillers since 2010, striving to find a publisher for each book I completed. Seven novels so far. To date, none of my books have been published. Am I a loser? Some of my friends and readers loved my novels. Does that make me a winner? Sometimes?
What does it mean to be a writer who’s a winner?
Is a writer who finds a publisher, and then has dismal sales, a winner or a loser? How does she see herself?
How about a writer who has a successful string of published books, and then has serious writers’ block and cannot write another word?
Over the years I’ve sometimes thought of myself and my fellow writers as sadomasochists, who open ourselves to criticism and rejection, as, trembling, we hand over our babies, our precious words born in blood, to the gatekeepers and referees who will judge them. This is a solitary life we lead, and what we do is hard.
The vicissitudes of searching for agents and publishers could fill several books, and are part of this game we play. Recently, I found a publisher, a joyful happening, after a long search. But I don’t feel like a sudden winner. The victory was in the journey, the day to day slog, the perseverance. Each finished chapter was a victory. And each completed novel was a cause for champagne. A publisher? Finally? Well, I’m over the moon.
I lift my glass to all of us writers, the plotters, the pantsers, the scribblers, the heavy breathers, and brawlers out there. Self-flagellating varmints all! In this writer’s book, we’re all winners.