That’s when I actually became serious about writing. I knew I had the discipline, I knew writing was something I enjoyed and found satisfying. And I fell in with a genre critique group and said to myself, “Oh, I’m supposed to be writing short stories too. Sure, I’ll give it a try. After the novel, how hard could it be?”
Cue the laugh track. Yes, I was being stupid, but I figured out my own stupidity soon enough. I wrote a short story, and it was very hard. So much worldbuilding for so small a project! It drove me nuts. And then I had to rewrite the story, and rewrite the story, and it didn’t matter how much I rewrote this stupid story, because it was never going to work.
Over the course of the next year, I wrote more stories (although perhaps not as many as I should have). At some point I got the bright idea that I should also be reading short stories. (I know. Genius at work here.) That entire year, I hated writing short stories. I actively disliked it. I wasn’t even sure why I was doing it (probably stubbornness). I told myself that short stories didn’t matter anyway, because obviously I was meant to write novels.
Then I finally worked on a story that I enjoyed writing (probably not coincidentally, the one I just sold). I thought to myself, “Maybe short stories aren’t so bad. I mean, they’re annoying, but they have their good points.” I wrote more short stories.
Yesterday I found myself thinking, “You know, even if I got a book deal right now,” — for the record, this is impossible as I have nothing out on submission, but a girl likes to dream — “I’d still want to keep writing short stories.” I stopped and realized what I had just said, and shook my head at myself.
Why am I telling you this rather long story? Because so often we pigeonhole ourselves. Sometimes this can be useful to keep focus and make sure we’re prioritizing our goals, but sometimes we accidentally limit ourselves instead.
It’s especially easy to limit ourselves when we start something new and, surprise surprise, we’re not very good at it. It’s so easy to say, “I don’t like this anyway” or “This is too hard” or “I’m going to do shiny thing z instead.” I’ve seen this over and over as a music teacher. A lot of students thought they wanted to learn how to sing, but once they realized that singing is difficult, that it requires hard work and practice and dedication and failure, many of them would drop out. (Especially adults. It always seemed especially surprising to the adults.) A lot of my children students didn’t enjoy practicing the piano because it was hard and they weren’t very good. If they stuck with it for awhile, though, and were able to pass a certain threshold of competence, all of a sudden playing the piano became much more pleasurable.
I think a lot of pursuits are like this. When we’re starting out and don’t have many skills, it kind of sucks. But then as we start to improve, it gets more and more interesting and exciting. Remembering this helps us keep trying when we’re still in the stage of unpleasantness.
Has anyone else had an experience like mine? Care to share?
The Practical Free Spirit 
The title of this entry made me giggle!
I think it’s always important to take risks, if your job is more traditional, or if it’s the life of an artist. You have to push yourself to succeed.
At least this is what I tell myself when I’m grinding through short stories. While I’ve come to appreciate them more – and sometimes I would rather be writing them – I would never pass up a novel contract in favor of short stories. But it’s good to be versatile!
I haven’t gotten to the point of preferring short stories to novels either. Plus there are economic realities to consider. But I’ve come a long way from “I hate this I hate this I hate this and as soon as I can, I’ll stop.” 🙂
And you’re right — I always feel like if I stop taking risks, I’ll start to stagnate. And always it’s when I master a job and don’t have anything new to learn that I get massively bored and start thinking about moving on.
Love this post!
I know for me, and I suspect for many others, talent can make all the difference. When you have a knack for something, you can dupe yourself into believing that it should all come naturally to you. It can be a total shock that nuturing that talent-gasp-takes discipline and work.
If someone asked me to say…play hockey, I’d expect to suck. Don’t know the sport. Can’t skate. Suck. Suck. Suck.
Ask me about writing or singing or cooking, and I’m a lot harder on myself. Learning to be more gentle though. 🙂
This is a really good point! Yes, I never expect much of myself from athletic pursuits; in fact I sometimes set my expectations TOO low. But when I feel I should be getting something faster, that’s when I begin to torture myself.
Hmmm… hula hoop. I used to suck at it but now I could have it in my waist for hours. Also, singing. I used to sing out of tune but now, people say they like my voice. It’s just practice, practice, practice.
I find the idea of practice kind of reassuring, actually. Because I’ve seen it work so many times. I know I had to practice singing for over ten years before I got to a level with which I was happy.
I knew I wanted to be a writer in the seventh grade. I did what any thirteen-year-old geek determined to be a writer would do: I started writing and submitting stories. Yes, the first stories I was writing I also submitted to Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine. Did I even revise? Did I proof them? It was the late seventies and I was knocking out stories on an electric typewriter, thinking they were fabulous.
In retrospect I know what awesome towers of suck they were. But the great thing about having done this was I started submitting before I had any fear of rejection. I was so naive I thought my mind-blowing prose would get snapped right up. By the time I had collected a pile of rejection slips you could wallpaper a cozy bungalow with, I was already past caring. By the time I graduated high school I was a veteran of rejection, willing to soldier on as long as it took. It was five years later, after graduating college, that I got my first professional sale.
So, yes, embrace the suck, power through the suck, and know that with each story you suck less. If that’s not a mantra for success, I don’t know what is!
This is a fabulous story!
I started getting Writer’s Digest when I was 9 or 10, and I’d read it cover to cover every month, but I never had the courage to actually submit anything. Getting accustomed to submission (and rejection) early on would have been very useful. (On the other hand, I got my share of rejection through music auditions. Lucky me?)
Love the mantra. 🙂