Writer: Which is the better career – janitor or hairdresser?
Editor: I take it you got my editorial notes.
Writer: Yeah. So tell me. Which one?
Editor: You already have a job.
Writer: Humor me.
Writer: Wrong. Janitor.
Editor: I didn’t know there was a right answer.
Writer: Exactly! Do you see what I did there? You just fell into my segue trap.
Editor: You’re talking about my notes, aren’t you. Clever.
Writer: I know, right? So about those notes…
Editor: Which ones?
Writer: Well…all of them. But let’s start with the one that says “you show great promise.” That’s just another way of saying “you suck as a writer” isn’t it.
Editor: No. It’s just a way of saying you’re not “there” yet. That’s why I wrote the rest of the notes. I’m trying to help you find your way.
Writer: Where exactly is “there”?
Editor: There? That’s the place where an agent reading your manuscript shouts “Yes!” so loudly she scares one of the nine lives out of the office cat.
Writer: Okay. So you think I’m not there yet. I get that. Are you saying I should self-publish?
Editor: No. I’m not saying that at all. If you want to do that, fine. But even if you choose to self-publish, you still want to go to “there.”
Writer: I thought I was nearly there until I saw your notes.
Editor: “Nearly” is an interesting word choice. Lots of authors are “nearly” there. So many, in fact, that you really can’t tell one from the next. Do you see how that creates a problem for agents?
Writer: I guess. But if I’m nearly there, why do I feel like such a failure after reading all your notes?
Editor: Blame The Maybe.
Writer: The what?
Editor: The Maybe. Tell me, why do you write?
Writer: Because I like writing.
Editor: You don’t need me for that. Why did you hire an editor?
Writer: Because I want to be published. Someday.
Editor: Right. What makes you think you’re worthy of being published. Someday.
Writer: I don’t know. I guess I hoped that maybe…
Editor: Stop there. See The Maybe? When you came to me, you were standing on the sunny side of The Maybe. That’s the side where hope lives. It’s a pretty great place. The possibilities are endless. Maybe you’ll be the next Stephen King. Maybe your novel will be as popular as The Hunger Games. Or maybe you’ll find just enough readers to write full time, even if you never reach the bestsellers list.
Writer: Is it so wrong to hope?
Editor: Absolutely not. But you were asking me why you felt like a failure, remember? Here’s why: when you saw you had work to do, you stepped to the dark side of The Maybe. That’s where doubt rules. Suddenly you’re thinking “Maybe I can’t write after all,” or “Maybe I’ll never reach my dream of being traditionally published.”
Writer: When I got your notes, I was still pretty pumped. I do want to be a better writer. But then…you really like the color red don’t you.
Editor: You’re speaking metaphorically.
Editor: It’s a strong metaphor, well-matched to the moment, and you didn’t follow it up with unnecessary explanation.
Writer: You’re giving me a writing lesson right now, aren’t you.
Writer: So you think I can do this? You think I can get “there” from here?
Editor: I think that’s mostly up to you. How are you at paradoxes?
Writer: At writing them?
Editor: At living them. A successful writing life is all about paradox. You have to be okay holding confidence and uncertainty at the same time. Then there are the publishing twins: idealism and realism. Love and hate? That’s the definition of writing in three words. If you can’t live in paradox, the writing life isn’t for you. Can you do that? Can you be patient and eager at the same time?
Editor: Which side of The Maybe was that?
Writer: The sunny side.
Editor: Putting off your career change, then?
Writer: For a little while longer. Yeah.
Editor: Good. Because I was lying before. You wouldn’t make a good hairdresser.
Writer: Why not?
Editor: You don’t know the first thing about cutting. Yet.
Writer: That’s a segue, isn’t it.