Tag: artists

The morning began as usual, checking my twitter, facebook and email accounts before I stuck a toe out of my warm, cozy covers.

 

Did my post post?

 

Did my scheduled tweets tweet?

 

Did anyone RT them? Comment on them? Reply to them? Even see them?

 

Get more speaking engagements. Submit more articles. Write more controversial stuff, like her. Write more edgy stories, like him. Promote more books for people so they’ll someday help promote me. Comment on that-one-blog so the agent notices. Read three more blogs and comment on them, too.

 

My posts and tweets and updates sound stupid. My blog looks outdated. The only responses I ever get are crickets chirping. I shoulda posted a link to that one-really-good-writing-article. Why didn’t I RT so-and-so? People might pay more attention to my writing if I RT someone with a little more Klout. I’m too messed up for that industry professional. I’m not messed up enough for the other.

 

Does any of this stuff matter?

 

 

Oh, yeah, my manuscript. The thing that pulls my heart. The story that makes my gut churn with excitement and fear, possibility and hope.

 

The publishing journey glitters. Veteran authors, publishing houses, editors and MFAs pull us like the sparkling bodice of a circus dancer, flipping and tumbling effortlessly through the air, her partner eagerly waiting to catch her in his arms and raise her into the air for applause.

 

And yet, we who write for publication must be careful. We sit in the dark stands under the Big Top, munching on popcorn, coveting glow-in-the-dark necklaces, lost in the illusion and elusive space between what is real and who we are.

 

Like many of you, I’ve been a hobo on this circus train since my youth, curled in a small, black space under a box car, hoping no one will find out I’m there, spying, watching and mimicking every move . . . while at the same time hoping the Ringmaster will discover me, dress me in the finest costume of tulle and sequins and tights, crown me princess in the center ring.

 

At some point, as each of us steps into the publishing business, we must decide to whom–and for whom–we will perform. I suppose a piece of every life involves some degree of performance. But how big a piece we give up, well that part’s up to us.

 

Good magicians, like good circus performers, don’t tell you their secrets. But I will tell you mine, and it is this: YOU are the main act.

 

 

Because you are the artist.

 

No matter which trapeze the business has you swinging from–commodity or compadre–you’re the one with the words. Anything the business brings beyond that is a side show compared to the talent, skill and gift you bring to the center ring . . . a gift that can’t be enhanced or revealed, covered or consumed by a shiny costume.

 

I re-discovered this recently as I read over pages of a document my grandfather left my grandmother, printed words etching a burning love story into the cold stone of history.

 

My history.

 

The beginnings of another new novel.

 

You have a history too, and from behind the cage bars it scratches and roars to be told. Feeding it isn’t enough. You must let it loose and tame it. Balance the weight of it on a small, round stand. Parade it carefully in front of the masses.

 

There’s a hoop only you can soar through. A tightrope only you can walk. A story only you can tell.

 

Don’t lose it in the spotlight. Don’t let it become ensnared and choked out by the ropes and pulleys, smoke and mirrors.

 

Do this, and you’ll survive–and perhaps even thrive–in the publishing circus.