There was rejection letter from one of my favorite editors in the mailbox today. Rejection stings, especially when it’s delivered in a self-addressed envelope-- it’s kind of like being the bearer of my own misery. Whomever came up with that widely accepted policy had a sadistic little mind.
Over the years, e-mail has made the process of going to the mailbox a lot less painful. Many editors (and agents) are opting for e-mail responses rather than the old-fashioned kind. I suppose that’s a good thing-- it’s quicker, cheaper and more eco-friendly. Of course when I get an e-mail that has “Your submission” in the subject line, I can’t tell if I’m going to be happy or sad until I read it. At least with regular mail, there’s the rule of thumb that the thinner the envelope, the more likely it’s a rejection. Unless, of course, you’re requesting your manuscript be returned (which is silly and expensive), then a package is a sure sign of rejection. Sadly, today’s envelope was very thin.
Despite the masochistic nature of snail mail rejections, I have to say I prefer them to e-mail. For one, there is a certain pride in having accumulated a stack of rejections over the years-- I may suck as a writer, but at least I’m persistent! Plus, it makes great wall paper (not to mention proof for the IRS that I am, indeed, serious about this crazy little thing called love writing). Also, I’m tired of being afraid of my e-mail.
Rejection sucks.
In the movie Scent of a Woman, Al Pacino’s character lives with his niece, her husband and their two kids. In one scene, the niece is in the upstairs bathroom, getting the kids ready for bed. When the camera pans back, it looks like your average middle class family bathroom in the midst of the typical pre-bedtime ritual of hyperactive kids and tired mom in a messy house. The scene is not key to the plot but there is one thing that makes it wholly, completely believable and every time I see it, it makes me think about my own writing.
In the scene, there is a bottle of shampoo on the ledge of the bathtub. The shampoo bottle is upside down.
Okay, I’ll explain.
The set designers did a credible job creating a bathroom that looks like it’s used by a family with small children. Someone-- maybe a prop girl, maybe one of the actors, maybe the director-- whomever it was, went one step further in realizing that a family with small children in a middle class neighborhood would not have a lot of extra money. The mother would be busy and tired and preoccupied with the kids and wouldn’t have a spare bottle of shampoo stashed away. She would save and scrape and make everything last as long as possible. It’s a small detail, but it makes the scene real.
When something feels off in my writing, I go looking for the upside down shampoo bottle.* Even if I’m writing pure fantasy, I try to make sure that it’s there, somewhere, giving my plot the realism it needs to make the reader believe what I’m writing. The upside down shampoo bottle pulls the reader in, makes him feel like he understands something about the characters. It makes the reader empathize with what the characters are going through, even if he’s never experienced it himself. If I forget to put in the shampoo bottle, it means I need to go back and take another look at what I’m trying to accomplish. If I don’t believe what I’m writing, what reader is going to believe it?
*I’m speaking metaphorically, of course, but that would be an interesting stylistic signature for a writer to use.
Is there something in your life no one understands, not even the people closest to you? Do you avoid talking about it so you won’t be forced to answer questions that can’t really be answered? Do you joke about it, hoping no one will see how tense it makes you to discuss your desire? Do you dream about it, waking in a fevered tangle of sheets, disappointed that it was only a dream?
Do you think about your desire while you’re at work, while you’re on your way to work, while you’re in the shower, while in the middle of a conversation? Does it make you smile in a way that makes people wonder what you’re thinking? Do you wish you could better control your urge? Do you try to resist the pull of your passion, only to succumb at the most inconvenient moments?
Do you wish you knew more people with your addiction, a support group to get you through the rough days? Do you ever wonder why you, why this fixation? Do you feel happiest when you’ve given in to the craving, immersed yourself in your own secret world? Do you feel guilty for enjoying it so much? Do you keep friends waiting so you can get a quick fix? Do you wish people could just understand that it’s not them, it’s not personal, it’s just something you must have to be happy?
Does your obsession make you deliriously happy and tragically sad? Does it have highs so high you feel like you’ll never come down and lows so low that you hide the kitchen knives? Do you rationalize the black moods and tell yourself it’s worth it, no matter what? Do you accept the pain as a part of package, willing to open a vein if it means you’ll feel the joy again?
Does your passion make you laugh? Does it make you cry? Does it make you think? Does it make you feel? Does it fulfill you? Does it leave you exhausted? Does it rejuvenate you? Does it scare you? Really, really scare you? Do you know, in your heart, that you could get through anything life hands you as long as you didn’t have to give up this one thing?
That’s what it’s like to be a writer.
“To recognize untruth as a condition of life-- that certainly means resisting accustomed value feelings in a dangerous way; and a philosophy that risks this would by that token alone place itself beyond good and evil.”
“Honesty, supposing that this is our virtue from which we cannot get away, we free spirits-- well, let us work on it with all our malice and love and not weary of “perfecting” ourselves in our virtue, the only one left us.”
--Friedrich Nietzsche
I’m reading Nietzsche this week and finding some interesting comparisons between his philosophy and my own personal belief system. In class this evening we discussed the similarities between Nietzsche and Buddhist teachings-- which actually helped me make some sense of why I’m agreeing with him on many points, especially in terms of there being no one real “truth.”
I am also intrigued by Nietzsche’s concept of a “free spirit"-- by his definition: one who refuses to be tied to certainties or truths but instead engages in radical skepticism that causes them to question everything. I have referred to myself as a free spirit and I suppose this definition isn’t too far off the mark. I have always questioned everything-- even the things that I have previously accepted without question. Quite exhausting, I must say.
I still have to wrap my mind around all of this and make sense of the concepts, but so far I’m enjoying Nietzsche. As someone who has always fiercely protected my independence, Nietzsche is a fascinating read on the subjects of individuality, creativity, breaking from the herd and rising above mediocrity. In many ways, he speaks to me. Not entirely, but enough to keep me thinking.
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Babies. Pregnancy. Motherhood. Insanity. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
