If Only I'd Known . . . A Piece of Writerly Wisdom
post by Michelle Griep
Remember when you were a little kid and you thought things like:
Woohoo! I cannot wait to grow up and eat chocolate cake for breakfast and never, ever go to bed at night.
But before you knew it you were thirty-five years old and reality like this hit you upside the head:
Dang! If I even look at a piece of chocolate cake I'll gain an instant ten pounds and sweet mercy! If only I could go to bed but I've got to pay the bills first, wash the dishes, throw in a load of laundry, and answer a few thousand emails before my head hits the pillow.
Yeah. The grass is NOT always greener on the other side. In fact, most of the time it's kind of a sickly overcooked pea color with splotches of yellow where the dog peed.
And such is the life of a writer.
When I first started this gig, stars were in my eyes, blinding me to the reality of what an author's life really looks like. There are lots of things I know now that I didn't fifteen years ago, but if I could haul my fanny into a tardis, here's the advice I would've given myself.
Agents, editors, and top dog authors are just people.
I know. This sounds like a lame, made-up piece of stale wisdom, but seriously . . . the first time you walk into a writer's conference and see Ted Dekker, or Francine Rivers, or the acquisitions editor for Penguin or Random House, you can't help but sprout a few hives. When you rub shoulders with big names, it's not only awe-inspiring, it has a way of knocking your self-esteem into the gutter.
But here's the deal -- they're just people. Humans. Sinners, even. They are no more special than you are, little plebian writer. No, really. They're not. I've seen their foibles. Don't give in to feeling insecure about yourself. Your writing dream is every bit as important as theirs. They just happen to be at a different stage in the game.
Woohoo! I cannot wait to grow up and eat chocolate cake for breakfast and never, ever go to bed at night.
But before you knew it you were thirty-five years old and reality like this hit you upside the head:
Dang! If I even look at a piece of chocolate cake I'll gain an instant ten pounds and sweet mercy! If only I could go to bed but I've got to pay the bills first, wash the dishes, throw in a load of laundry, and answer a few thousand emails before my head hits the pillow.
Yeah. The grass is NOT always greener on the other side. In fact, most of the time it's kind of a sickly overcooked pea color with splotches of yellow where the dog peed.
And such is the life of a writer.
When I first started this gig, stars were in my eyes, blinding me to the reality of what an author's life really looks like. There are lots of things I know now that I didn't fifteen years ago, but if I could haul my fanny into a tardis, here's the advice I would've given myself.
Agents, editors, and top dog authors are just people.
I know. This sounds like a lame, made-up piece of stale wisdom, but seriously . . . the first time you walk into a writer's conference and see Ted Dekker, or Francine Rivers, or the acquisitions editor for Penguin or Random House, you can't help but sprout a few hives. When you rub shoulders with big names, it's not only awe-inspiring, it has a way of knocking your self-esteem into the gutter.
But here's the deal -- they're just people. Humans. Sinners, even. They are no more special than you are, little plebian writer. No, really. They're not. I've seen their foibles. Don't give in to feeling insecure about yourself. Your writing dream is every bit as important as theirs. They just happen to be at a different stage in the game.
