On Giving Up

I knew when I began this blog that one day things would be so bad I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to look for an appropriate photograph to go at the top of my post.  That day is here.

I had a bad critique of my novel last night.  The women giving the critiques have never read science fiction, so I didn’t expect that they would rave about my work.  Still, although they both mumbled something about liking my writing (always say something positive), they really hated it.  Really. Hated it.

I had a fairly thick skin about it last night, given the format of the meeting and the fact that neither woman was very knowledgeable regarding grammar and literary terms (which they freely admitted).  One told me that I was writing in passive voice, when what she meant was that I used too many linking verbs and should work to write sentences that are stronger–a fair criticism.  Over the years I’ve run into several writers who mistakenly think that every sentence that contains the word “was” is passive voice, so her mistake isn’t even surprising–and really, as an English major I sometimes think I have too much education for my own good.  Perhaps I’m being a grammar snob.  Make that probably.

The other woman at the meeting complained that my story isn’t being told in present tense, but later praised another manuscript for being in present tense–only it wasn’t.   The other manuscript was written in past tense; I think her problem with mine regarded a flashback written in past perfect tense.  Or maybe what she meant was that the other author, though she used past tense, nevertheless gave her readers the feeling that they were witnesses events as they happen whereas I fail to do that.  It’s not the first time I’ve heard this criticism either, but the last time the person thought I should literally write the story in present tense.

The main problem, in my opinion, is that I read my story out loud and then waited while the other members of the group spent 10 minutes or so putting their critiques together.  I’ve never liked this technique; most creative writing is not meant to be read out loud.  Rushing through a critique doesn’t give the person the time to give the text a deep reading.  I certainly felt I couldn’t give the other author a fair and thorough critique in 10 minutes.

I drove home last night convinced that these women were wrong, that they didn’t know enough about science fiction or about the technical aspects of writing to know what they were talking about.  I was merely a little put out that I haven’t yet found a writing group I can be comfortable in.  I even considered starting my own group.

By this morning I had convinced myself that if these two women, who don’t read science fiction and don’t know what passive voice is or how to tell the past tense from present tense, think that my novel sucks in the first 10 pages, then surely someone who makes a living judging novels–an editor, an agent, a publisher–will think it REALLY sucks.

Maybe I can’t write.  Maybe I’m just kidding myself.  Maybe the best thing I can do is throw out everything I’ve ever written, delete all the files from my computer, toss out all my writing books and turn my attention to something else.  I’ve never been so close to doing it than I was this morning.

Would I be happier if I just gave up?  What if I didn’t even write in my spare time, but swore off composing even a single fictional sentence?  There are days when I think that the pain I’m in is necessary to write well–an artist must suffer, right?  Sometimes I think that if I could choose between writing and happiness, I would choose writing.

However, there are plenty of days (like today) when I wonder if I have it all backwards, that it’s not my pain that informs my writing, but my writing that informs my pain.  Would I be able to deal with my grief, my fear and my loneliness if I only stopped writing?  Could I even put an end to my pain altogether?

I’m tempted to give it a try.