Success! Or Not.
Tuesday, February 10. 2009
The plethora of comments on a recent blog post brought home to me that the definition of success is very subjective. This topic is a broad one, so in this post I'll focus just on one aspect of that elusive state of being: At what point can I consider myself "successful" as a writer?
My personal, very specific criterion has been the same for the last few years, and it is this: I want to become a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Why? Because one's writing must meet a certain minimum level of quality in order to qualify one for membership. Specifically, I'll need to get a few spec-fic short stories or a novel published, in professional markets. If I meet the qualifications, and become a member of the SFWA, I'll feel I can truly call myself a spec-fic writer.
That's not the end, of course. I'd love to get multiple novels published, have a best-seller, be able to live solely on the proceeds from my writing. All those goals are going to be much more elusive than SFWA membership. So I think joining that august body will suffice as a goal for the near future.
I'm curious how others measure a "successful writer." I maintain that enjoying one's own writing is necessary, but insufficient for success—I must have validation from others to be confident that what I'm putting out isn't time-wasting dreck. These "others" must be knowledgeable either in the individual or in the corporate. The former means agents and publishers; the latter would represent a large number of consumers. That is, I'd want my work to be admired either by a "gatekeeper" in the industry, or by a sufficiently big crowd of supporters that I don't care what the cognoscenti might think. (This sentiment also sums up why I'm not a fan of self-publishing.)
One must have goals; this is mine. Now off to continue slogging toward it.
The plethora of comments on a recent blog post brought home to me that the definition of success is very subjective. This topic is a broad one, so in this post I'll focus just on one aspect of that elusive state of being: At what point can I consider myself "successful" as a writer?
My personal, very specific criterion has been the same for the last few years, and it is this: I want to become a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Why? Because one's writing must meet a certain minimum level of quality in order to qualify one for membership. Specifically, I'll need to get a few spec-fic short stories or a novel published, in professional markets. If I meet the qualifications, and become a member of the SFWA, I'll feel I can truly call myself a spec-fic writer.
That's not the end, of course. I'd love to get multiple novels published, have a best-seller, be able to live solely on the proceeds from my writing. All those goals are going to be much more elusive than SFWA membership. So I think joining that august body will suffice as a goal for the near future.
I'm curious how others measure a "successful writer." I maintain that enjoying one's own writing is necessary, but insufficient for success—I must have validation from others to be confident that what I'm putting out isn't time-wasting dreck. These "others" must be knowledgeable either in the individual or in the corporate. The former means agents and publishers; the latter would represent a large number of consumers. That is, I'd want my work to be admired either by a "gatekeeper" in the industry, or by a sufficiently big crowd of supporters that I don't care what the cognoscenti might think. (This sentiment also sums up why I'm not a fan of self-publishing.)
One must have goals; this is mine. Now off to continue slogging toward it.
My personal, very specific criterion has been the same for the last few years, and it is this: I want to become a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Why? Because one's writing must meet a certain minimum level of quality in order to qualify one for membership. Specifically, I'll need to get a few spec-fic short stories or a novel published, in professional markets. If I meet the qualifications, and become a member of the SFWA, I'll feel I can truly call myself a spec-fic writer.
That's not the end, of course. I'd love to get multiple novels published, have a best-seller, be able to live solely on the proceeds from my writing. All those goals are going to be much more elusive than SFWA membership. So I think joining that august body will suffice as a goal for the near future.
I'm curious how others measure a "successful writer." I maintain that enjoying one's own writing is necessary, but insufficient for success—I must have validation from others to be confident that what I'm putting out isn't time-wasting dreck. These "others" must be knowledgeable either in the individual or in the corporate. The former means agents and publishers; the latter would represent a large number of consumers. That is, I'd want my work to be admired either by a "gatekeeper" in the industry, or by a sufficiently big crowd of supporters that I don't care what the cognoscenti might think. (This sentiment also sums up why I'm not a fan of self-publishing.)
One must have goals; this is mine. Now off to continue slogging toward it.
The Devil Is in the Details
Monday, February 9. 2009
I'm bombarded daily with too many details that I just don't need.
I was listening to NPR (All Things Considered) on the way home from work today. There was a piece about how employees are getting in trouble because of things they've posted online which are unflattering to their employers, and also traceable back to them personally. The interviewee, an apparently random technology columnist from Texas, gave several specific examples of this phenomenon.
Now, this isn't really news, and I'm a little disappointed in NPR for spending so much time on it. I'd certainly heard about the danger—and resolved to avoid it—years ago. Perhaps the proliferation of blogs and Tweets has led to an influx of the uninitiated, and so for some the message was timely. But at the end of the segment, I was struck with the feeling that I'd just thrown away five minutes of listening time on details I didn't need.
It harkens back to a common theme on this blog: there's not enough time in the day as it is, so wasting it in any way is a serious crime. Here, I could have done with a much shorter piece—a gentle reminder to myself, a primer for newbs. But the level of detail the interviewer and her foil provided seemed much greater than truly necessary to make the point.
So I'll add no further detail myself except to say: Everyone, please get to the point as quickly as you can, and let's move on. Of course, this only applies to nonfiction; for entertainment, please keep all the details...Stephen King's unabridged The Stand notwithstanding.
I'm bombarded daily with too many details that I just don't need.
I was listening to NPR (All Things Considered) on the way home from work today. There was a piece about how employees are getting in trouble because of things they've posted online which are unflattering to their employers, and also traceable back to them personally. The interviewee, an apparently random technology columnist from Texas, gave several specific examples of this phenomenon.
Now, this isn't really news, and I'm a little disappointed in NPR for spending so much time on it. I'd certainly heard about the danger—and resolved to avoid it—years ago. Perhaps the proliferation of blogs and Tweets has led to an influx of the uninitiated, and so for some the message was timely. But at the end of the segment, I was struck with the feeling that I'd just thrown away five minutes of listening time on details I didn't need.
It harkens back to a common theme on this blog: there's not enough time in the day as it is, so wasting it in any way is a serious crime. Here, I could have done with a much shorter piece—a gentle reminder to myself, a primer for newbs. But the level of detail the interviewer and her foil provided seemed much greater than truly necessary to make the point.
So I'll add no further detail myself except to say: Everyone, please get to the point as quickly as you can, and let's move on. Of course, this only applies to nonfiction; for entertainment, please keep all the details...Stephen King's unabridged The Stand notwithstanding.
I was listening to NPR (All Things Considered) on the way home from work today. There was a piece about how employees are getting in trouble because of things they've posted online which are unflattering to their employers, and also traceable back to them personally. The interviewee, an apparently random technology columnist from Texas, gave several specific examples of this phenomenon.
Now, this isn't really news, and I'm a little disappointed in NPR for spending so much time on it. I'd certainly heard about the danger—and resolved to avoid it—years ago. Perhaps the proliferation of blogs and Tweets has led to an influx of the uninitiated, and so for some the message was timely. But at the end of the segment, I was struck with the feeling that I'd just thrown away five minutes of listening time on details I didn't need.
It harkens back to a common theme on this blog: there's not enough time in the day as it is, so wasting it in any way is a serious crime. Here, I could have done with a much shorter piece—a gentle reminder to myself, a primer for newbs. But the level of detail the interviewer and her foil provided seemed much greater than truly necessary to make the point.
So I'll add no further detail myself except to say: Everyone, please get to the point as quickly as you can, and let's move on. Of course, this only applies to nonfiction; for entertainment, please keep all the details...Stephen King's unabridged The Stand notwithstanding.
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