Coping with Reality

 

Terry Here. Our subject this week is whether we find it harder to cope with, success or failure. Also, if the world’s view of our work affects us. 

For years I was embarrassed to say I was trying to get published, because regardless of my hard work, I kept getting rejections. I kept beavering away, first on a yellow pad with a pen, then on a computer keyboard. All my friends knew I was writing mystery novels, and they’d always ask how I was doing with the writing. Early on they would ask with excitement, then as I continued to be unsuccessful at finding a publisher the questions would be more tentative. And finally, they would ask in the same tone of voice you might ask if someone had died. They were right: My hopes and dreams were dying. 

During those years, I kept sending out my manuscripts, and I got one great agent after another—well-known agents, “selling” agents. They show great enthusiasm, I’d get “almosts” from publishers, and then the boom would drop again. Sorry, close but no cigar. Sorry, loved the characters, didn’t like the plot. Love the plot, not the characters. Too bad, we just signed a new author who work is too much like yours. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. 

And as much as I am an upbeat person, generally positive, as the years of writing with no published book to show for it, I couldn’t help feeling like a failure. 

Thank goodness for writer friends who would encourage me, tell me it was a hard business and it was just a matter of time, and I shouldn’t give up. I tried different subjects, eventually writing six books and chapters of others. I guess I coped okay, because I kept writing, but I felt pretty bleak at times. At that time “success” looked like nothing more than getting a novel published. Period. 

 And then I got "the call." A two-book contract with a decent advance. I felt like someone who had been wandering in the desert—or in the woods—or in the wilderness—homeless, and bereft, and suddenly I had come home. I suppose there are people for whom success is a double-edged sword, who feel as if there must have been some mistake and that any minute their contract will be snatched away (oops, sorry, wrong author). But all I felt was enormous relief, excitement, and vindication for my persistence. I felt as if I had finally gotten good news, and that my books would find an audience. 

 What I had not factored in was that the book would be a winner, winning accolades, fans, and awards. It was stunning. After that point, my goal of “success” changed. I felt greedy for the next book to do as well. And it did. And for several years, things zipped along happily. I discovered that I loved public speaking, loved coming up with new ways to market my books, loved getting fan mail, and loved knowing that my books were finding readers. 

 The one odd thing about “success” is that it’s a moving target. From thinking of success as publishing a book, I now think of it as writing something that catches a larger audience. I’m starting a new series, and am eager to see how it goes. And I’ve written a standalone that I hope will gain a larger audience. The one thing I know is that for me, success was much easier to handle than failure. 

The last part of the question is not one I think much about. It doesn’t mean I never think of it, but it doesn’t affect me a lot. Or at least, not until recently. I’m hatching a book in the Samuel Craddock series that has a potentially very serious back story. I’m torn about whether to tackle it or step away. 

 A few years ago A Reckoning in the Back Country dealt with the issue of dog fighting, a horrific subject. I didn’t get terrible backlash, but I did have some readers who said they wouldn’t read it, in spite of the fact that reviewers said it was handled well. I understood their reluctance, because I had the same reluctance when I wrote it. But I felt I had to be true to myself, and that meant dealing with a subject that is “true.” 

 Can I face another such subject? It’s troubling. I’m almost there, and have had conversations with other authors about it. Oddly, the question of "success" is more personal in this case. Can I do justice to a hard subject? Will I feel good about having written it? If the answer is yes, then that will be success. And I'll cope with the fallout.