Five things that drive me batty about being a writer

Don’t get me wrong…I love what I do.  Writing is the most cathartic thing out there that a person can do and I get major joy-joy feelings telling stories that people like.  I want people to feel about the characters how I feel about them, to understand as if they were close friends, and to really relate to a story, so much so that all you do is think about it when you’re not reading it.  At least, I strive to be that for my readers.  However, there are pieces of the process that I despise—the lose-your-voice-because-you-were-screaming-so-goddamn-loud brand of despise.

And the list begins….

When your editor takes liberties with your work and changes things without your permission because he or she felt it worked better for the character or the story. 

This one makes me want to pull my hair out—I know the character because I live, breath, and dream that person!  I know what’s best, so stop changing the story!

When people say you don’t have a real job. 

Just because it’s not a set number of hours each day or because you don’t have to punch a clock doesn’t mean it’s not a real job.  In my opinion, creative careers can be more challenging because you write when you feel inspired, which can be in the dead of night, on vacation with the family, or sporadically throughout the week.  If you’re not inspired, you either write garbage or you suffer from a mad case of writer’s block. 

People who get published because of who they are. 

Probably the worst thing to happen to good writers out there is the shit that gets published by celebrities just because of who they are.  Sometimes their stuff is worth reading, and kudos to them for getting published.  But, for the rest of us struggling writers not getting noticed, it’s not only frustrating, but irritating as well that people are able to use their celebrity status to get something handed to them that they don’t necessarily deserve.

The submission process for books. 

Publishers want a small snippet of what you’re writing to review and sometimes they don’t even bother responding to you.  I understand that they must get thousands upon thousands of submissions and can’t say yes to everyone, but when they only get ten pages of the first chapter, that doesn’t necessarily paint the full picture of a person’s work.  I mean, come on…how many books have you read that had anything significant happen in the first ten pages?  And, if you’ve read something like that, did the significance continue all throughout the book? The other pitfall of this outdated (in my opinion) process is how fucking horrible you feel after the fifth, tenth, fifteenth, etc. rejection letter.  Way to make me feel worse about my non-accomplishment, industry!  The only upside to this is the fact that a person has options to self-publish to get their stuff out there to help market themselves.

When books are turned into movies or TV shows and important things or people are left out or changed. 

Okay, so this one doesn’t directly impact me.  Well, not now anyway.  However, it drives me absolutely bat-shit crazy to be all excited to see the screen adaptation of something I’ve read and absolutely adored only to have major pivot points of a story left out of a movie or a TV show.  And what is up with situations where important characters are altered or missing altogether from big screen visual?  I mean what the fuck Hollywood?  I can see why E.L. James wanted to maintain creative rights and be a part of her movies.  Even so, her first book didn’t completely translate into what it should have been on screen because of the writer and the director (in my opinion).  Let’s hope with her hubby at the helm of writing the next two scripts that he’ll be her lobster and will nail it with those two movies, no pun intended. 

Anyway, I think about this in the likely (or unlikely as it may be) event that my stories are made into a TV series (I don’t think The Yearbook Series would make a good movie or bunch of movies) and have slight anxiety over the possibility that someone would majorly fuck-up the story or characters.  I know I would definitely insist on maintaining creative rights and just hope that I don’t cave or give in to some bullshit change.

What this list of five irritating points comes down to is the fact that writing is personal to those of us that are passionate about it enough to have made a career out of it.  It’s a job all the same just like yours.  It’s no cake walk; it’s difficult and takes a lot of focus and perseverance.  Lastly, it doesn’t pay well unless you’re really good and/or have been at it for a while.  Regardless of all of those reasons and the things that drive me crazy as stated above, I still wouldn’t trade this career for anything else because I love to write.

You're always on my mind

Yesterday, I joined a group on FB for my 20-year high school reunion planning (please don't remind me I've been out of high school for 20 years!).  As I looked through what people had posted so far, I came upon a picture that continues to be on my mind today.  I'm not likely to stop thinking about it anytime soon, either, given the time of year it is.

The picture, simple enough, was a shot of a signed t-shirt from the school's winning fifth grade team for a Battle of the Books competition (remember how fun those were?  Choose a great team, read a bunch of books, and answer a few questions in the hope that you'll beat out all the other teams and move on to compete with other schools).  Forever memorialized, this shirt is on the wall at the elementary school those winners attended.

One of those winners; however, is no longer with us today.  Just looking at the signature in his fifth-grade cursive handwriting pushes me into that place I go to in March and September although I do think about him frequently and in short bursts throughout the year.  In March it will be 16 years since his death, and in September he would have turned 38.  For some reason I still have a hard time dealing with the loss of my friend.

Will and I knew each other ever since we were babies, maybe even when we were still fetuses growing in our mom's bellies.  Our families were close and we spent a lot of time together.  Will and I seemed pretty inseparable and he was probably my first official best friend.  We even went to 8th grade prom as friends.

In high school, we didn't spend as much time together.  As we move through life, our friendships seem to come and go.  However, with Will, there was still that deep bond that wouldn't ever be broken even if we didn't hang out every day or converse on a regular basis.

As we grew up, we just had different paths.  Different friends, different choices, different life experiences--it's inevitable in order to become who we are meant to be.  Still, it doesn't make it any less painful that I didn't spend more time with him during and after high school.  If I had, I'm not sure it would have changed his life route, but at least I would have been physically present in his life.

So, 16 years later, I still can't change the past.  All I can really do is hope to someday move on from this loss and perhaps start to turn my twice yearly mourning cycles into something more positive--perhaps a remembrance instead.  Maybe next year if I see his name scrawled on something in his neat penmanship I'll be able to smile fondly instead of frown with sadness.  For now, I just hope he knows (wherever he is) that people love and miss him all the time.