The Journal of Michael Merriam

I know, I know. I was once one of those LJers who posted at least every other day. Now I'm not, for whatever reason, though perhaps I will be again in the not so distant future. I have been posting short, quick hits over at my Facebook.

Writing continues. I'm moving along--slowly but surely--on Rija's Tale. I've hit a stretch where I am enjoying this novel again (which is to say I'm coming out of the middle and gathering stream as I start my race toward "The End"), and I think that things will go better now that I have my desk again.

Ah, yes, that. My monitor crapped out a month ago, and I'm just now replacing it. I've been working off the laptop, but frankly, I prefer to work from my actual desk. It's all about having a space to write. I know it might seem silly, but part of getting into the flow of writing is having a space that is mine and mine alone to work at. The desktop is mostly careswen's machine, where she does homework and plays WoW. The laptop is shared and portable and too easy to move from room-to-room (which actually translates into from distraction-to-distraction) and it's not, you know, my work computer. I know it's all in my head, but there it is. We bought a nice 20" flat screen for my working computer this weekend, a floor model that was on sale.

It's the end of the first quarter for the Writers of the Future contest, and once again I find myself a semi-finalist. There was a point in my career this would have pleased me, but now it's just another rejection. I'm not even sure I care about the critique the story gets, because both times I've gotten those critiques, I rewrote the story involved and broke it, forcing me to spend precious time repairing it again later. On the flip side, I knew the story I sent was a long shot. I've read plenty of the stories that have won and been published in the anthologies over the years. I sent them an urban fantasy noir story with a blind lesbian mage-detective protagonist. Not the type of story you see in their winners circle too often, but it was only thing I had available at the time.

The first quarter of WotF always forces me to stop and take stock of where I am as a writer, because this was where I started. My first real submission (for this attempt at writing) back in 2003 was for the first quarter of WotF. That story was a quarter-finalist, what I think they call honorable mention now. I've never done worse that that level in the contest, and I've been a semi-finalist more than once. So on the anniversary of my first rejection from WotF, I always take time to reflect on where I am as a writer. This can be dangerous. I'm just saying.

I looked back this year found myself, after six years of hard work, nowhere near where I would like to be. Don't get me wrong, I've made some pretty nifty sales to some really nice magazines, but I can't help wondering what I'm doing wrong. Is there some skill I've yet to master? Is it that I don't write what the major markets are buying (well, obviously that's true)? Is it that I've simply hit the end of my level of talent?

careswen and I talked about this over the weekend. I pointed out that several of the folks I came up through OWW with--my "cohort" if you will--are making the SFWA pro-sales, signing the book deals, and getting nominated for--and sometimes winning--major awards. I know it's stupid, and I don't begrudge my writer friends their success, in fact I'm cheering them on, but...

careswen had to remind me that I can't do anything about that stuff: That the only thing I control is the writing (something I harp on all the time at conventions). She also asked my how many of my OWW "cohorts" had fallen by the wayside, given up, stopped writing.

Too many of them, I realized, which is sad. I know people stop writing for a variety of reasons (health, family, money, loss of interest, and burnout, for example), but that means I won't be reading anymore stories written by these friends and writers, many of whom have far more talent than I (this goes beyond my OWW folks to other fine writers I know).

Her point is right, of course (Moral of the Story: Listen to the Wife). I'm still working, still writing. I talked with another friend about this over the weekend, and he told to go back and read my earlier works and compare them to what I'm doing now. I know he's right: I've come a long way in six years, becoming brutally competent at what I do by dint of hard work.

And they're both right in that you can't compare yourself to other writers, because that way is madness (something else I harp on all the time when I'm on panels at conventions). I know we are, seemingly, wired to compare ourselves to our peers, to see where we are on "The Ladder," but that's an unhealthy attitude to take, and frankly in a business as subjective as writing (or any art / entertainment career), it's down right silly.

Don't be silly.

Here Endeth the Lesson