- by Jennifer Stevenson
I wanted to write because my whole family was bookish. From birth I was raised to be a writer. Someday. When the family thought I was worthy. I did a lot of writing, mind you, but it took me forever to get around to submitting anything. So rule forty-two is, Submit something.
Well, no, rule forty-two is, Write something. Oldest rule in the book.
So I wrote something and after a suitable ice age I submitted it and then I thought, well, it’s Wednesday, it can’t possibly get there until Monday, and then I should give ‘em the rest of the week to open the box and read it, and of course they’ll want revisions, so no point in starting something new if I’m gonna get a revision letter any day now, right? After a year or two I would tire of waiting on the rejections for that manuscript. Rinse and repeat.
All you writers can stop laughing.
I had good intentions. Caution and perfectionism held me back. Lack of confidence led me to save ideas until their whiskers whitened. My dear departed mother used to say, “Do as I say, not as I do,” and I can think of no better advice to share.
So that’s my best advise to you all. Write more. Submit it! Then write some more without waiting for the universe to notice your submissions.
In the interest of getting some pages done today, I close with some messages from my office walls:
“Dare to be bad.”
“I can fix a bad page, but I can’t fix a blank page.”
“Never save bits. Put ‘em in. Make a big mess.”