Lately I've been noticing lots of people on the intertubescape bemoaning the fact that literary agents suck. They suck because they won't look at writers' work unless they're already published. They suck because they live in New York. They suck because the economy sucks…or something. I wouldn't know based on experience, since I've never courted a real-life agent. Usually it's people who have gotten tons of rejection letters who hold a deep grudge against agentdom. But I've even seen honest-to-goodeness published writers lashing out against these gatekeepers. And it leads me to ask a very simple question.
Why do you care if agents suck?
I can't believe that all agents suck. If they did, people would've found a way around them a long time ago. They still serve a function. And yes, some of them probably aren't the greatest people in the world. There's probably a lot of pressure on them to represent the most bankable books right now since that's all that publishers are buying since, well, people aren't spending much dough on books these days.
So the situation sucks for writers who want to expand their imagination and be super creative. Ok. Now what? I don't begrudge anyone their need to vent, but once you're done freaking out, it's time to hit the IDGAS button.
I've talked about the IDGAS button before here. It's the ever-useful I Don't Give a Sh!t button. It can be deployed in a variety of situations, after you've bitched and moaned and reached a place where bitching and moaning won't get you one inch further toward your dreams. If you've tried and failed at getting an agent (which I admire, since I've never even tried), take some advice from me: hit the IDGAS button.
That's what it's there for.
If your book is anything like the one I'm currently writing, it doesn't fit comfortably into a genre. It's not that I'm writing radical post-modern fiction. It's a lot more like Alice in Wonderland with a modern twist. But have you read Alice in Wonderland? It's a regular freak-fest. I don't even know if it would get published today. I can't imagine an agent looking at that book and being like, "The world needs a book about a queen who's actually a playing card who wants to cut off everyone's head! Start the presses!"
My point: my book is weird and I don't automatically expect any agent to fall in love with it. Well, maybe they'll love it but I doubt they'll see dollar signs when they read it. Which leads me to the part of this blog post where I massively generalize:
There are two choices here: either write a book in a very formulaic way so you can increase the odds of publishing traditionally, or write from your heart and let the chips fall where they may.
Decoded: don't expect to get an agent if you're going to take a chance and write what you really want to write. That's not to say that people who get published all write to some crappy formula; obviously some unique books break through. But if you're not following an instruction manual to write your book, odds are, in this broken economy, no publisher will take a chance on you.
So take a chance on yourself.
Go ahead and self-publish. If you can get enough people to like your books, agents may become interested in your stuff. And then you'll be in a position of strength, because you can pick an agent who doesn't force you into a box.
Look, if we were actors instead of writers, we'd be up a creek much more clogged with fecal matter than our creek is. We can self-publish. We can even give away our stuff for free and we're virtually guaranteed an audience. What does an actor do? Tapdance on a piece of cardboard on some sidewalk? Make YouTube videos of themselves reciting soliloquies from Hamlet?
I mean, come on. We have it really, really good. If we pay a few hundred bucks, we can have our words formatted and printed in book form with an awesomely-designed cover.
Caution: I talk from zero experience when it comes to agents, but my gut tells me that if they don't like your work, that's actually fine. Take it as a sign that your work is original and someone somewhere will be excited and moved by it. You'll still have to get it edited by a professional because, news flash, you're not Ernest Hemingway. You need help. Give your novel to writers you trust and get their opinion. Because the last thing you want to do is publish a crappy book.
The great news is that once you have a solid book, you can take your business online and almost definitely make money. I'm still writing my WIP so I'm not in agent mode yet, but will be soon. I haven't decided if I'll be going the traditional legacy route or the self-pubbing route yet, but I'll keep you posted!
Showing posts with label IDGAS Button. Show all posts
Showing posts with label IDGAS Button. Show all posts
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
What to Do with Disappointment
Disappointment. It's a terrible word. One of my least favorite in the English language. It's bad enough when something disappoints you; it's even worse--much worse--when we disappoint someone whom we respect. This flavor of disappointment implies that they had high hopes for you that you were unable to fulfill. It feels sucky with a capital "S".
You know where this is going.
So I recently disappointed someone. This person's ability in the area in which I disappointed them (yes, I will twist myself into pretzels not revealing the exact situtation) is impressive, and I respect them for it. I try to emulate their abilities, but sometimes find myself coming up short. This person often praises my talents, but recently, she said she was disappointed at the effort I put into a specific task (don't you just love all the generalities piling up?).
Whoomp! It hit me like a blimp made out of bricks. Not what you want to hear: "Chris, I'm disappointed." I was transported back to sixth grade when my dad told me how disappointed he felt when he saw the lame job I'd done on a science fair project. I think it had something to do with pinewood derby racecars and CO2 cartridges, memory doesn't completely serve, but the tone of his voice still rings in my ears.
"Chris, I'm disappointed."
It's enough to make you puke. I'm fine with disappointing myself now and again. But I hate to disappoint others who I care about. Which brings me to three helpful steps I take to pick myself up again after a setback.
STEP 1: HIT THE IDGAS BUTTON
What's the IDGAS button, you ask? My favorite expression in the world was uttered by John Riggins, the old running back for the Washington Redskins during their glory days of the 1980's. I'm not a Redskins fan, but I love this guy. He's a regular on local sports talk TV and radio shows here in DC.
He said once that what made Joe Gibbs (legendary Redskins football coach) so great was that after days and days of preparation--much of which involved late nights spent with his coaching staff drawing up plays at RFK stadium, many times actually sleeping at the park--after all that preparation, if something awful happened that week during a game, if the wheels fell off and the whole game came tumbling down around him, Gibbs had this amazing ability to hit the "I Don't Give a Sh!@##$" button.
I love that. The I Don't Give a Sh!@##$" button. Or IDGAS button, for short. Sometimes things just don't work out. Try as we might, now and then we get our face slammed into the mud. And there's nothing we can do about it. This happens in writing and in life (as I demonstrated this week). But I'm hitting the IDGAS button right now. I care, but honestly, not that much.
STEP 2: MOVE ON
To extend the sports analogy a bit further, like any good athlete, once you've disappointed someone--whether it be a mentor or yourself--you must move on. Sure, go ahead and wallow in the horror of it for a few hours or whatever, I'm not telling you not to be human. But then pick yourself up off the pavement, spit on your cuts and rub it in (like mom used to do) and shake it off. You cannot please everyone. It's not possible. It's even impossible sometimes to please the people who matter most to us, even while we're actively ignoring everyone else.
STEP 3: KICK ASS
Wait. Hold on. I know what you're thinking: "Chris is telling me to go out there and kick the world's ass to show the person (people?) I disappointed how great I am! To prove them wrong and savor the spicy juices of their delicious wrongness!!"
No.
I'm just telling you to go out and try something new next time. Being motivated by revenge or by showing people how great you are is a fool's errand. Just go out there and be the best you can be by trying a new approach. Do it for yourself, not because you want to prove the world wrong. Kick ass and take names, and do it because you're so awesome that there's no other way events could unfold.
You have this latent awesomeness that you have to set free. It's kinda like how I'm an Italian citizen. Ok, I'm not officially an Italian citizen. But I could be if I got all the proper documents filled out. My ancestors came from there, and the Italian government is super flexible about claiming citizenship. But to become a citizen of that great nation is just not a priority of mine right now. I am, however, as we speak, already an Italian citizen by their metrics: I just have to prove it.
You are already awesome. You just have to prove it by unleashing the awesomeness within you. And you'll do this by not getting crushed every time someone says they're disappointed in you or your work. By not becoming heartbroken if someone says something mean to you. No. You will rise above this and try new things to prove to yourself that your kick-assedness is still intact. So pick yourself up now--we've got work to do!
You know where this is going.
So I recently disappointed someone. This person's ability in the area in which I disappointed them (yes, I will twist myself into pretzels not revealing the exact situtation) is impressive, and I respect them for it. I try to emulate their abilities, but sometimes find myself coming up short. This person often praises my talents, but recently, she said she was disappointed at the effort I put into a specific task (don't you just love all the generalities piling up?).
Whoomp! It hit me like a blimp made out of bricks. Not what you want to hear: "Chris, I'm disappointed." I was transported back to sixth grade when my dad told me how disappointed he felt when he saw the lame job I'd done on a science fair project. I think it had something to do with pinewood derby racecars and CO2 cartridges, memory doesn't completely serve, but the tone of his voice still rings in my ears.
"Chris, I'm disappointed."
It's enough to make you puke. I'm fine with disappointing myself now and again. But I hate to disappoint others who I care about. Which brings me to three helpful steps I take to pick myself up again after a setback.
STEP 1: HIT THE IDGAS BUTTON
What's the IDGAS button, you ask? My favorite expression in the world was uttered by John Riggins, the old running back for the Washington Redskins during their glory days of the 1980's. I'm not a Redskins fan, but I love this guy. He's a regular on local sports talk TV and radio shows here in DC.
He said once that what made Joe Gibbs (legendary Redskins football coach) so great was that after days and days of preparation--much of which involved late nights spent with his coaching staff drawing up plays at RFK stadium, many times actually sleeping at the park--after all that preparation, if something awful happened that week during a game, if the wheels fell off and the whole game came tumbling down around him, Gibbs had this amazing ability to hit the "I Don't Give a Sh!@##$" button.
I love that. The I Don't Give a Sh!@##$" button. Or IDGAS button, for short. Sometimes things just don't work out. Try as we might, now and then we get our face slammed into the mud. And there's nothing we can do about it. This happens in writing and in life (as I demonstrated this week). But I'm hitting the IDGAS button right now. I care, but honestly, not that much.
STEP 2: MOVE ON
To extend the sports analogy a bit further, like any good athlete, once you've disappointed someone--whether it be a mentor or yourself--you must move on. Sure, go ahead and wallow in the horror of it for a few hours or whatever, I'm not telling you not to be human. But then pick yourself up off the pavement, spit on your cuts and rub it in (like mom used to do) and shake it off. You cannot please everyone. It's not possible. It's even impossible sometimes to please the people who matter most to us, even while we're actively ignoring everyone else.
STEP 3: KICK ASS
Wait. Hold on. I know what you're thinking: "Chris is telling me to go out there and kick the world's ass to show the person (people?) I disappointed how great I am! To prove them wrong and savor the spicy juices of their delicious wrongness!!"
No.
I'm just telling you to go out and try something new next time. Being motivated by revenge or by showing people how great you are is a fool's errand. Just go out there and be the best you can be by trying a new approach. Do it for yourself, not because you want to prove the world wrong. Kick ass and take names, and do it because you're so awesome that there's no other way events could unfold.
You have this latent awesomeness that you have to set free. It's kinda like how I'm an Italian citizen. Ok, I'm not officially an Italian citizen. But I could be if I got all the proper documents filled out. My ancestors came from there, and the Italian government is super flexible about claiming citizenship. But to become a citizen of that great nation is just not a priority of mine right now. I am, however, as we speak, already an Italian citizen by their metrics: I just have to prove it.
You are already awesome. You just have to prove it by unleashing the awesomeness within you. And you'll do this by not getting crushed every time someone says they're disappointed in you or your work. By not becoming heartbroken if someone says something mean to you. No. You will rise above this and try new things to prove to yourself that your kick-assedness is still intact. So pick yourself up now--we've got work to do!
What to Do with Disappointment
Disappointment. It's a terrible word. One of my least favorite in the English language. It's bad enough when something disappoints you; it's even worse--much worse--when we disappoint someone whom we respect. This flavor of disappointment implies that they had high hopes for you that you were unable to fulfill. It feels sucky with a capital "S".
You know where this is going.
So I recently disappointed someone. This person's ability in the area in which I disappointed them (yes, I will twist myself into pretzels not revealing the exact situtation) is impressive, and I respect them for it. I try to emulate their abilities, but sometimes find myself coming up short. This person often praises my talents, but recently, she said she was disappointed at the effort I put into a specific task (don't you just love all the generalities piling up?).
Whoomp! It hit me like a blimp made out of bricks. Not what you want to hear: "Chris, I'm disappointed." I was transported back to sixth grade when my dad told me how disappointed he felt when he saw the lame job I'd done on a science fair project. I think it had something to do with pinewood derby racecars and CO2 cartridges, memory doesn't completely serve, but the tone of his voice still rings in my ears.
"Chris, I'm disappointed."
It's enough to make you puke. I'm fine with disappointing myself now and again. But I hate to disappoint others who I care about. Which brings me to three helpful steps I take to pick myself up again after a setback.
STEP 1: HIT THE IDGAS BUTTON
What's the IDGAS button, you ask? My favorite expression in the world was uttered by John Riggins, the old running back for the Washington Redskins during their glory days of the 1980's. I'm not a Redskins fan, but I love this guy. He's a regular on local sports talk TV and radio shows here in DC.
He said once that what made Joe Gibbs (legendary Redskins football coach) so great was that after days and days of preparation--much of which involved late nights spent with his coaching staff drawing up plays at RFK stadium, many times actually sleeping at the park--after all that preparation, if something awful happened that week during a game, if the wheels fell off and the whole game came tumbling down around him, Gibbs had this amazing ability to hit the "I Don't Give a Sh!@##$" button.
I love that. The I Don't Give a Sh!@##$" button. Or IDGAS button, for short. Sometimes things just don't work out. Try as we might, now and then we get our face slammed into the mud. And there's nothing we can do about it. This happens in writing and in life (as I demonstrated this week). But I'm hitting the IDGAS button right now. I care, but honestly, not that much.
STEP 2: MOVE ON
To extend the sports analogy a bit further, like any good athlete, once you've disappointed someone--whether it be a mentor or yourself--you must move on. Sure, go ahead and wallow in the horror of it for a few hours or whatever, I'm not telling you not to be human. But then pick yourself up off the pavement, spit on your cuts and rub it in (like mom used to do) and shake it off. You cannot please everyone. It's not possible. It's even impossible sometimes to please the people who matter most to us, even while we're actively ignoring everyone else.
STEP 3: KICK ASS
Wait. Hold on. I know what you're thinking: "Chris is telling me to go out there and kick the world's ass to show the person (people?) I disappointed how great I am! To prove them wrong and savor the spicy juices of their delicious wrongness!!"
No.
I'm just telling you to go out and try something new next time. Being motivated by revenge or by showing people how great you are is a fool's errand. Just go out there and be the best you can be by trying a new approach. Do it for yourself, not because you want to prove the world wrong. Kick ass and take names, and do it because you're so awesome that there's no other way events could unfold.
You have this latent awesomeness that you have to set free. It's kinda like how I'm an Italian citizen. Ok, I'm not officially an Italian citizen. But I could be if I got all the proper documents filled out. My ancestors came from there, and the Italian government is super flexible about claiming citizenship. But to become a citizen of that great nation is just not a priority of mine right now. I am, however, as we speak, already an Italian citizen by their metrics: I just have to prove it.
You are already awesome. You just have to prove it by unleashing the awesomeness within you. And you'll do this by not getting crushed every time someone says they're disappointed in you or your work. By not becoming heartbroken if someone says something mean to you. No. You will rise above this and try new things to prove to yourself that your kick-assedness is still intact. So pick yourself up now--we've got work to do!
You know where this is going.
So I recently disappointed someone. This person's ability in the area in which I disappointed them (yes, I will twist myself into pretzels not revealing the exact situtation) is impressive, and I respect them for it. I try to emulate their abilities, but sometimes find myself coming up short. This person often praises my talents, but recently, she said she was disappointed at the effort I put into a specific task (don't you just love all the generalities piling up?).
Whoomp! It hit me like a blimp made out of bricks. Not what you want to hear: "Chris, I'm disappointed." I was transported back to sixth grade when my dad told me how disappointed he felt when he saw the lame job I'd done on a science fair project. I think it had something to do with pinewood derby racecars and CO2 cartridges, memory doesn't completely serve, but the tone of his voice still rings in my ears.
"Chris, I'm disappointed."
It's enough to make you puke. I'm fine with disappointing myself now and again. But I hate to disappoint others who I care about. Which brings me to three helpful steps I take to pick myself up again after a setback.
STEP 1: HIT THE IDGAS BUTTON
What's the IDGAS button, you ask? My favorite expression in the world was uttered by John Riggins, the old running back for the Washington Redskins during their glory days of the 1980's. I'm not a Redskins fan, but I love this guy. He's a regular on local sports talk TV and radio shows here in DC.
He said once that what made Joe Gibbs (legendary Redskins football coach) so great was that after days and days of preparation--much of which involved late nights spent with his coaching staff drawing up plays at RFK stadium, many times actually sleeping at the park--after all that preparation, if something awful happened that week during a game, if the wheels fell off and the whole game came tumbling down around him, Gibbs had this amazing ability to hit the "I Don't Give a Sh!@##$" button.
I love that. The I Don't Give a Sh!@##$" button. Or IDGAS button, for short. Sometimes things just don't work out. Try as we might, now and then we get our face slammed into the mud. And there's nothing we can do about it. This happens in writing and in life (as I demonstrated this week). But I'm hitting the IDGAS button right now. I care, but honestly, not that much.
STEP 2: MOVE ON
To extend the sports analogy a bit further, like any good athlete, once you've disappointed someone--whether it be a mentor or yourself--you must move on. Sure, go ahead and wallow in the horror of it for a few hours or whatever, I'm not telling you not to be human. But then pick yourself up off the pavement, spit on your cuts and rub it in (like mom used to do) and shake it off. You cannot please everyone. It's not possible. It's even impossible sometimes to please the people who matter most to us, even while we're actively ignoring everyone else.
STEP 3: KICK ASS
Wait. Hold on. I know what you're thinking: "Chris is telling me to go out there and kick the world's ass to show the person (people?) I disappointed how great I am! To prove them wrong and savor the spicy juices of their delicious wrongness!!"
No.
I'm just telling you to go out and try something new next time. Being motivated by revenge or by showing people how great you are is a fool's errand. Just go out there and be the best you can be by trying a new approach. Do it for yourself, not because you want to prove the world wrong. Kick ass and take names, and do it because you're so awesome that there's no other way events could unfold.
You have this latent awesomeness that you have to set free. It's kinda like how I'm an Italian citizen. Ok, I'm not officially an Italian citizen. But I could be if I got all the proper documents filled out. My ancestors came from there, and the Italian government is super flexible about claiming citizenship. But to become a citizen of that great nation is just not a priority of mine right now. I am, however, as we speak, already an Italian citizen by their metrics: I just have to prove it.
You are already awesome. You just have to prove it by unleashing the awesomeness within you. And you'll do this by not getting crushed every time someone says they're disappointed in you or your work. By not becoming heartbroken if someone says something mean to you. No. You will rise above this and try new things to prove to yourself that your kick-assedness is still intact. So pick yourself up now--we've got work to do!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)