So, You Want To Be an Author?
Be careful what you wish for, or something like that.
I have a funny story for you. It’s timely, given that we just celebrated Mother’s Day in the U.S.
After giving birth to my first son, I lay in the maternity ward of a hospital in Cambridge, Massachusetts. My swaddled baby slept in the clear bassinet at my bedside, and I had a view of the Charles River. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and I marveled at how life carried on beyond that window: the traffic on Memorial Drive, pedestrians bundled against the crisp air, a feeling of anticipation with the holiday season approaching. For me, the world would never be the same; I was euphoric, in awe of this tiny, perfect being, and of myself.
I also had no idea what I was doing.
Since I had been admitted the night before, a bustling team of nurses had managed the high drama of labor and delivery. I can’t remember how long I held my baby after he arrived, but when a nurse whisked him away for routine tests, I deferred. He was brought back to me, clean, diapered, and swaddled.
In the recovery ward, a nurse settled us both, then turned to leave. “Just press the button if you need anything,” she said.
I understood how this was supposed to go—in theory. You have a baby and you take care of it. But this was all new and suddenly this motherhood thing felt too real, too fast. A bit of a “what have I gotten myself into?” moment (and yes, good mothers can feel things like this).
“Wait!” I said.
The nurse turned.
“What do I do if he cries?”
No, I’m not kidding. True story.
“Pick him up,” she said with a shrug, then left.
Pick him up?
How?
Can I?
Somehow, I figured it out. By the time my third was born, I definitely knew what to do with my crying babies.
Last week, I had an editorial feedback meeting on my early chapters. As I wrote about in Remember, We’re Having Fun! I had put my nose to the grindstone and submitted my best work.
The good news:
My editor said I had a lovely turn of phrase, some beautiful sentences, and good characterization. Apparently I have a flair for description and natural, flowing dialogue (which, if you’ve written fiction, you know that good dialogue is a pared-down version of “natural” . . . which isn’t very natural).
The not-bad but hard news:
There’s work to be done, of course.
There were common easy-to-fix writing stumbles. Watch your adverbs (even when you think you’ve spotted them all). Avoid overwriting (guilty). Kill your darlings. A multilayered editing process should take care most of these issues.
The suggestions that threw me were more subtle. Can we increase tension here? Plant some clues there—but don’t give it away! Do we even need this scene? My editor’s positive, matter-of-fact tone reminded me of the nurse from so many years ago. Basically, “You got exactly what you asked for, and this is how it’s done. Now do it.”
I felt stunned. Overwhelmed. And, suddenly, flooded with self-doubt. Am I a skilled enough reader and writer to address the suggested edits? Some felt too nuanced. As the author, I can discard any or all of the suggestions, but I didn’t disagree with any of them. Each suggestion felt in service to the story.
Per my editor’s advice, I made no sudden moves. Instead, I met a friend for lunch. She reminded me that when we start to feel really uncomfortable and doubt ourselves, it’s often a sign that we’re about to grow. This advice helped, but I still didn’t know what to do.
As I brushed my teeth that evening, an idea popped into my head. And another, and another. I grabbed my journal and scribbled.
Babies and books are born daily, simulateneously ordinary and miraculous. Each journey requires trust in the process and ourselves. Just as a mother and her newborn are bonded, so are an author and her story.
After a few days, I returned to my manuscript, unsure of how those ideas might unfold in the story. That’s okay.
I only needed to pick it up and get back to work.
Thank you for reading. I’m so glad you’re here!
Have you ever had a moment of “Eek! I don’t know if I can do this!”?
Let me know. I love hearing from you!
Fabulous post, Maria. I don't have kids, but if I did, I probably would have asked the exact same question as you while holding a newborn!
It sounds to me like you the writing down, but I can fully appreciate the voices in your head challenging this. And I enjoyed your editor's response of: Don't make any sudden moves. Sometimes it's good just to leave a piece of creative work alone to sit for a while.
I have never been a mom but my characters have been. I look forward to the feedback from my editor. She is always right (so far) and I am eager to get back into the story to make it better. Given that I will wind up reading the same book at least a dozen times before it gets published, I had better love it. Like a child.