Sunday, April 30, 2006
All out of proportion?
Stoics. Quakers. Religious fundamentalist stiff-upper-lipness haunts us. Well, it haunts me.
I had a terrific experience at the Read & Critique at the Pikes Peak Writers Conference last weekend. On Friday, nonetheless. My weekend was worth it before it even began.
I read for an editor at Knopf. I read a picture book I've been working on for three years. Seventeen versions. My critique group comrades have sighed collectively every time I bring it.
And the editor loved it! Though my Murphy's-lawometer is clanging, she said everything good about my book that she had just said about Goodnight Moon. Goodnight Moon for cripes' sake!
After I, embarrassed by my good fortune in the face of ten others' less good fortune in the room, an impulse rampant in me since yearning for C's instead of straight A's, said to the editor, "I asked you to be brutal with me. I love brutal criticism." And she said something that is now next to my computer for encouragement: "I could be brutal with you if you weren't such a good writer."
Now that's huge. That's a huge compliment. And what is my gut reaction to it? She couldn't possibly have meant that as huge a compliment as I have taken it. It's "no big deal." IF she still likes it when she gets it (I sent it Monday; she got it this week unless the USPS is even more inept than in the past.), IF it passes perusal by co-workers, IF it passes her editorial board, IF it passes the marketing department, IF I get a call offering a contract, IF IF IF, then it will be a big deal. Other IFs may lurk in the process of which I have no clue.
This is what I tell myself. It's no big deal.
But it's a lie.
It's a lie designed to cushion my psyche from dissapointment. I grew up this way. "Don't get your hopes up."
A few years ago, in the context of belief, I realized this fallacy. Faith does not mean wiping my brain and heart of desire or hope. Faith means hoping and being ready to still believe in the face of the consequences. Real faith means then believing when those consequences come.
And it's related to my reaction. Downplay what happened yesterday so tomorrow won't be so disappointing when your dream is put off a little longer.
And I refuse to do it. Here, now, every time I tell the story of my R&C, I will refuse to make it "no big deal."
Because it was a big deal. And if that assessment of the situation is all out of proportion, so what, damn it. I will cling to it. I refuse to be bound to weakminded fearful interpretations of reality just to "save" myself pain later. Can I not handle the pain? Can I not grow from it? Of course I can. Done so before and will do so again. I'm a writer, after all.
And the next time I hear someone trumpet "Her reaction was all out of proportion to...," they will get a piece of my tougher, more grounded in the reality of hope, mind.
I had a terrific experience at the Read & Critique at the Pikes Peak Writers Conference last weekend. On Friday, nonetheless. My weekend was worth it before it even began.
I read for an editor at Knopf. I read a picture book I've been working on for three years. Seventeen versions. My critique group comrades have sighed collectively every time I bring it.
And the editor loved it! Though my Murphy's-lawometer is clanging, she said everything good about my book that she had just said about Goodnight Moon. Goodnight Moon for cripes' sake!
After I, embarrassed by my good fortune in the face of ten others' less good fortune in the room, an impulse rampant in me since yearning for C's instead of straight A's, said to the editor, "I asked you to be brutal with me. I love brutal criticism." And she said something that is now next to my computer for encouragement: "I could be brutal with you if you weren't such a good writer."
Now that's huge. That's a huge compliment. And what is my gut reaction to it? She couldn't possibly have meant that as huge a compliment as I have taken it. It's "no big deal." IF she still likes it when she gets it (I sent it Monday; she got it this week unless the USPS is even more inept than in the past.), IF it passes perusal by co-workers, IF it passes her editorial board, IF it passes the marketing department, IF I get a call offering a contract, IF IF IF, then it will be a big deal. Other IFs may lurk in the process of which I have no clue.
This is what I tell myself. It's no big deal.
But it's a lie.
It's a lie designed to cushion my psyche from dissapointment. I grew up this way. "Don't get your hopes up."
A few years ago, in the context of belief, I realized this fallacy. Faith does not mean wiping my brain and heart of desire or hope. Faith means hoping and being ready to still believe in the face of the consequences. Real faith means then believing when those consequences come.
And it's related to my reaction. Downplay what happened yesterday so tomorrow won't be so disappointing when your dream is put off a little longer.
And I refuse to do it. Here, now, every time I tell the story of my R&C, I will refuse to make it "no big deal."
Because it was a big deal. And if that assessment of the situation is all out of proportion, so what, damn it. I will cling to it. I refuse to be bound to weakminded fearful interpretations of reality just to "save" myself pain later. Can I not handle the pain? Can I not grow from it? Of course I can. Done so before and will do so again. I'm a writer, after all.
And the next time I hear someone trumpet "Her reaction was all out of proportion to...," they will get a piece of my tougher, more grounded in the reality of hope, mind.
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