Writing Thought

Years ago I had an experience where an editor I very much admire rejected a story but generously took time to give me detailed comments. I appreciated, and still appreciate, his time. When I was first starting out I probably would have immediately rewritten the story based on those comments. But by then I’d had enough experience to trust myself a little more, and to recognize that fiction is very, very subjective. 

Since this was the story’s first rejection, rather than immediately modify the story based on the comments I sent it unchanged to a second editor I very much admire. I got the wonderful news that he wanted to buy it but had rewrite suggestions of his own. 

Out of a desire to constantly learn new things, during the rewrite process I brought forward editor 1’s suggestions to editor 2 (I didn’t say where the comments came from, just that it was advice from someone I trusted.) Editor 2 was initially open to the ideas but after we’d played around with a couple of revisions he ultimately decided he didn’t care for editor 1’s suggestions.

My sense was, and is, that editor 1 and editor 2 both had valid approaches, but as editor 2 was the one who actually took the story, his approach was by definition the more valid one. I was happy with the results, and the published story got some nice reviews. I continue to admire both editors.

I’m sharing this, for what it’s worth, for two reasons.

The first thing is that self doubt can be really damaging for writers, and words from “on high” can land with a lot of weight, even if, as in this case, everyone involved was being kind. It’s not that editor 1 was “wrong” and editor 2 was “right,” it’s that there are multiple valid approaches for every story, and I’m glad I finally had the confidence to not immediately discard my original work when someone with serious credentials criticized it. (Note also that I was entirely open to learning; I just didn’t accept the first opinion automatically.)

The second thing is more subtle, but maybe I’m not the only writer this applies to. When I was starting out I kept being haunted by the notion of discovering the Platonic ideal of a given story. The universe had given me a cool story idea, I would think, and it was my job — no, my duty — to wrestle out of chaos the best possible implementation of that idea. This wasn’t about crafting a good story, this was about crafting the Ultimate Story for that given idea. Maybe that’s an honorable impulse in a way. But it’s self-defeating. Anyone who reads a lot will find multiple good takes on certain premises. Trying to do, say, the ultimate story of first contact with aliens is not just Quixotic, it’s basically missing the point — a big part of the wonder of the universe is its variety, and if there truly are intelligent aliens they will come in many forms, making each first contact scenario unique.

But I kept looking for perfection, thinking I needed a holy grail when a carpenter’s cup would do. I wish I remembered the name of the poet who said he’d hurt his work by constantly striving for “bulletproof” poems — poems that were so immaculate and gemlike that they were beyond criticism. I relate to that.

The better approach is to try a lot of things, learn as much as you can, and shrug off the success or failure of any given story — and to remember that no matter how good a job you do, some people will think the story succeeded and others will think it failed.