Now you just stand there and think about what you’ve done. (Photo by Richo.Fan http://www.flickr.com/photos/richo-fan/ / CC BY 2.0)
An open letter to Anonymous:
I don’t know your name. I didn’t ask, and our mutual acquaintance was tactful enough not to volunteer it. So it’s not impossible you and I have crossed paths, but since I just don’t know, I can at least assure you:
This is nothing personal.
You and I were among five authors that a fledgling writer contacted, looking for advice concerning her first novel. She knew us only by our work, our reputations, and held them in high enough regard to believe we might have some worthwhile counsel.
Three of us she never heard back from at all, but let’s give them the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes it takes me a long time to answer e-mail too. Good intentions alone don’t click the reply button.
You, though. What were you thinking?
Now, if you couldn’t be bothered, that’s one thing.
“I’m sorry, I wish I could help, but at the moment I’ve got so much on my plate I just can’t see past what’s right in front of me. Best of luck, though.”
That’s all you had to say. Cordial, honest, and while it may have come as a disappointment, no one would have thought any less of you. Would’ve taken you 30 seconds, tops.
Instead, I’ll bet you spent quite a bit more than half a minute on the way you handled it. Meaning time wasn’t the underlying issue at all, was it?
So I wonder: When you unloaded on her, did you think you were teaching her a lesson for having the gall to bother you? Did it give you some sort of petty satisfaction? Did you stew over it for a while, or did you let her have it with the first things that came to mind?
There are quite a few words that could apply to you, but let’s focus on just one:
Myopic.
Your reaction was myopic. Your sight fell short both ahead of you and behind.
First the forward myopia.
Did you pause to consider that you were losing a reader? Forever, probably? Do you think she’ll ever again see a work of yours and not remember your treatment of her, and pass it by?
I know for certain she’s bought books since then. Guess what. They weren’t yours.
And it may not be just her. There’s a marketing statistic I recall reading, that a person who has a negative experience with a company is seven times more likely to share it with other people than a positive experience.
So did you never consider that she might convey this experience with you to someone else? She may not have told me your name, but I’d be surprised if she hasn’t disclosed it to people she’s closer to. Members of a writers group, maybe, or others with whom she’s spent months or years honing her craft, who understand and empathize.
How eager do you think they’ll be now to contribute to your bottom line? Even friends of theirs, maybe. True, the damage may not extend out for too many degrees of separation. But neither will any good word of mouth. Odds are, you’ve lopped that branch off for good.
And now the backward myopia. Because you give the appearance of having forgotten a few things.
You seem to have forgotten how much courage it can take to reach out to a stranger, and how fragile confidence can be.
You seem to have forgotten that you were once unpublished. That you needed help, advice, wisdom, counsel. That you needed occasional pointers and course correction.
I wonder: Did you abide by your current creed then? Did you refrain from asking anyone for help? If you did, well, points for consistency to you, but still, such a solitary path seems pointless and self-limiting, because help was out there to be had.
And you seem, finally, to have forgotten the value of a few kind words. They cost nothing to give, yet to the recipient their worth can be inestimable.
Along the way I’ve been the beneficiary of many kindnesses, and can’t help but think of their sources with appreciation, warmth, and respect.
I don’t know if he’s still as accessible as he used to be, but there was a time you couldn’t find anyone, no matter how slim their resume, who had anything other than a good thing to say about how well they’d been treated by one particular resident of the top of the bestseller lists. I used to wonder how he had the time to respond to all the inquiries that no doubt came his way.
His name: Dean Koontz.
A few simple lines of encouragement he gave still live inside me long after, I’m sure, he’s forgotten giving them at all.
Others come to mind as well, none of whom behaved as though they were the guardians to some citadel of expertise. None of them seemed to believe they were members of a frat house entitled to haze pledges. None of them acted like they might enjoy clubbing baby seals.
Rather, they understood principles that escape some writers: Publishing is not a zero sum game. Your success doesn’t depend on anyone else’s failure. Part of success lies in how many others you can help climb higher.
These were writers who defined success to me, in more ways than one, and I can think of them as reflecting well in the light of a line I recently encountered:
“Money doesn’t change you. It just reveals who you are when you don’t have to be nice.”
As a beneficiary of each writer’s generosity of time and spirit, I imagine we both knew there was never anything I could do to offer payback in kind. Just this: remain a fan, read their work, and encourage others to do the same.
And try, however much I might fall short sometimes, to not lose sight of their example.
Either you too benefitted from such an example along the way, or you didn’t. It’s one or the other. But whichever it is, right now I kind of feel sorry for someone. Because either you, or they, probably deserved better.
So will the next writer who seeks your advice. And there will be a next time. I hope you come through. Really. I know you can, because you’ve overcome far greater obstacles.
They’re just panties, after all. So unwad them and do what we all have to do from time to time:
Back up and rewrite the scene for the better.
*****You are invited to segue over to my just-launched blog, Warrior Poet, which explores writing and storytelling through the lens of the ancient-yet-timeless warrior poet ethos. It’s still taking shape visually, but since when did custom headers matter more than words?
[Porting Sully over because the comments function has turned wonky again...]
Backward myopia should have been reason(s) enough. So glad you tackled this, Brian. Seldom trod ground, and yet the measure of who we are and what we are really worth IS what we do with the prerogative to help others.
A couple years ago there was an anomalous happening in my career, and I received several thousand e-mails/letters in a matter of a few days. Now that’s far from the reality of my commercial value, but it happened, and I spent over a year responding to each and every one of them. It triggered carpal tunnel in me, four operations, and I still struggle with it today. If I had it to do over again, I’d be more sensible about it, but you can do that with an honest explanation in a semi-form letter or e-mail coupled with a few unique lines of encouragement to each specific person. And you’re right, Dean Koontz is an amazing guy with his generosity of time. Moreover, he hand writes many of his letters. I kidded him one time about that, calling him an old-school gentleman for his correspondence habits, and he wrote back much amused and saying that he didn’t hand write out of protocol but rather because he did a lot of his correspondence on the hoof — standing in line at the bank, waiting in a doctor’s office, etc.
And here’s another dimension to the forward myopia you mention. I think people who succeed on the Fame-and-Fortune level sometimes get so single-mindedly focused on driving for more of it that they never discover the benefits of getting off the competitive highway. Almost everything I value has come to me because I took a detour. E.g. a couple years ago a new writer contacted me with a request, and in the ensuing correspondence it came out that she thought she had written me a few years before and I had not responded. Because I am essentially anal-retentive about such follow-throughs, I actually had copies of that correspondence, and she had mistaken me for someone else. Now, I have not only discovered that she is one of the most exquisitely promising writers out there, but we have become fast friends and she has added immeasurably to my writing. The best roads in life are inevitably detours…
– Sully
Crikey, Sully — that is one serious avalanche! If answering them all wasn’t necessarily a character-building exercise, it most assuredly demonstrates the bedrock strength of the character already there.
Nice insight into Dean. I didn’t know that’s how he did it, in a lot of cases, but it makes perfect sense. I may be slow sometimes, but what I live in fear of is stuff that might not make it through at all, and leave someone with the impression that I didn’t care enough to answer. Because I KNOW that e-mail, which seems so reliable, sometimes goes astray into the ether.
>The best roads in life are inevitably detours
Yeah, those usually make the most room for surprises, and come with the least expectations. Somewhere around here I have an old nonfiction book called Blue Highways (so named for the color-coding for out-of-the-way roads on maps at the time), about the author’s encounters with people he met during an extended perambulation. Wonderful stuff, as I recall.
Where’s the applause button when you need it?
Well said, Brian. Very well said.
Thanks, Vicki. And I think the applause button is supposed to be added in the next version of WordPress. Right now they’re nailing down the Flash animation for all the strobing lights.
I faced something similar in my college years when studying film. My “teachers” often seemed more intent on pointing to my “weakness” when help was asked. Several spent valuable course time lecturing on what a shit-heap the film industry was, and how every sole working in it wanted only to steal your ideas, lead you down a dark path and knife you when no one else was looking.
I was told that this was their way of “toughening” us up, weeding out the weak before the industry gound them up. Bullshit.
Any novcice in any artistic field learns how difficult it is. They DO NOT need “the professional” to set them on the path of despair.
Okay, not an exact correlation but similar. Here endeth the rant.
Oh, the correlation is so close it’s almost like double-tracking.
I’m all for giving people a clear-eyed view about the kind of challenges that lie ahead, but this kind of treatment smacks of bitterness, sadism, and pent-up hostility misdirected at people who have to sit there and take it. First, at least let them get their legs underneath them.
It’s early in the gardening season, so that must call for an obligatory gardening metaphor: You can’t pound the clorophyll out of the sprouts and shoots, then expect them to keep growing into something you’d want to eat. Wait, no — that’s terrible!!
Ahh, you get the idea anyway…
Well, crap. It’s a week later and I only just now discover that, over on the other version of this post, a few comments were caught up in extraordinary rendition and ‘held for moderation’ without so much as a peep that they were there.
I’m copying them over so everything’s in the same place … and to the original posters, I’m very sorry these fell into limbo. The comments, and you, deserved better than that.
[From Suzanne Hayze]
This is all so honest and true. I’ll never understand people (and I study them for a living!)
Recently I bought a book and fell so in love I sent the author an email. It was short. I said I was writing, unpublished, and that I simply loved the journey of his story. I didn’t expect a response. A month later I got an email that was really wonderful, and short.
A week ago many (80+) writer blogger pals did a “pay if forward” blogfest where we all wrote a review of a book that we thought deserved ten stars. I emailed him again, told him I was going to review his book, and asked if I could mail him my copy to sign so I could give it away to a follower. He agreed and also commented on the post.
Thing one: I might not have chosen that book if he hadn’t delighted me with that email.
Thing two: I have 270+ followers on my blog. Not a whole lot, but several of them spoke of buying the book right away, and one even came back to comment she’d bought the book and was sitting at a coffee house reading and enjoying it!
His name is Kenneth Harvey and I’ll buy every single book he writes from now on. Proof positive of your post today.
Thanks!
[From Sandra Cormier]
In my fledgling writing career, I’ve already received many emails asking for writing advice. I replied individually, but I wonder if I’d be able to do that in the future. If it came down to lack of time, I certainly wouldn’t blow off an emerging author. If anything, a prepared email with the most important advice would be a good thing to have on hand.
Robert J. Sawyer spoke at a recent conference and told us of his experience with Robert A. Heinlein. When asked, “How can I ever pay you back?” he responded, “You’ll never pay me back. Just pay it forward.”
[From Louise]
When I’m rich and famous I’ll *still* be nice!
Dean Koontz is one of my favourite writers and unlike some people he hasn’t forgotten what it’s like starting out. I don’t think is malicious most of the time, just that people are so wrapped up in themselves they just forget to remember what it was like before they were rich and famous.
Or is that me refusing to believe some people out there can be bloody horrible?
[From Brad R. Torgeson]
Unfortunately, some authors are just jerks — no matter how you slice it. What I’ve noticed a lot of in the last two or three years, is authors at various levels being deliberate jerks, usually because they have a political axe to grind about something. Ergo, I am of Political Belief A and because of this, I staunchly believe that everyone of Political Belief B is a cretin. And so forth.
As for harboring contempt for the audience — be it loyal readers or aspirants — I think you more or less nailed it. Success is not “zero sum.” Imagine if the many successful authors out there — I found your blog via Dean Wesley Smith’s twitter — took a dump on every person who attempted to ask a question. The publishing world is already a tough place to work and compete. If all the successful folk were hostile to all the want-to-be-successful folk… What an ugly place publishing would be!
I’m fortunate to have had several working professionals who, over the years, were patient and kind and encouraging. You’re 100% correct. That effort on their part has earned them my enduring loyalty, and now that I’m starting to sell, I intend to “pay forward” in a similar fashion. It takes far less effort — for far greater dividend — to offer kindness and a good word, than to be rude or otherwise treat someone poorly.