My struggle with validation as a writer

There's been some discussion stirred up lately that started with comparing self-publishing to traditional publishing and has ended up touching on the issue of validation. Agent Rachelle Gardner asked blog readers, "Why are you pursuing traditional publishing?" More than 200 writers responded, and one of the more commonly touched-on reason was validation. They wanted agents and editors to confirm their belief that their writing is worthy of being published. They want the validation of being told, "Yes, you are a good writer who we want to invest in."

Author Mike Doran put the spotlight on this answer in his recent post: Does Traditional Publishing Validate an Author? His assertion is that while traditional publishing can be a source of validation for writers, it shouldn't be the sole or even the main source.

A writer’s self-worth, motivation, professionalism, work ethic, and craft, should not require recognition from peers or professionals.

I entirely agree with this. Sure, those things help. Who doesn't enjoy having their writing praised? Who doesn't want to see great sales numbers? Yet if you are reliant on that external validation, if you need a regular dose of it to keep you writing (or to even keep you happy as a writer), then you have placed yourself in an extremely dangerous situation. It will be increasingly easy for you to lose focus on why you started writing in the first place.

How do I know?

Because I've been there. I've been at the place where I crave the validation that comes from traditional publishing. This can manifest in different ways, depending on where you are in your writing career. Maybe you're at the point where validation comes from a positive response to a query letter. Maybe it's positive feedback from your writing group. Maybe you have an agent (or an editor) and the validation comes from interacting with them as you prepare your novel for submission or publication.

My situation came to a crux a few years back. I was halfway through a novel, and I simply lost all desire to continue. I was frustrated by about a dozen rejections that all came in at the same time. I started thinking along these lines: "I'm taking too long to get there. Is this even worth it? What if I never get published? Maybe I should just throw up all my stuff online, maybe self-publish. It'd be faster."

Then I did a mental double-take. Wait. Faster? Worth it? Get there?

What exactly was I basing all this on? Was there some unspoken rule that if I didn't get a book published before a certain date, game over? Pack up and go home? If I got a certain number of rejections, did I get blacklisted from literary agencies? And what was I basing my idea of "worth it" on?

My perspective was skewed. Badly. It was painful to recognize, but it may have saved me in the long run.

What did I do? First off, I stopped writing for a couple months. This was partly to avoid burning myself out, and partly because I recognized that I was writing for the wrong reasons. I was seeking validation from the arbitrary milestones that I'd set up for myself. At the same time, I was mentally and emotionally punishing myself for not having reached those goals faster. It was a nasty cycle, and one I was relieved to break.

I took those couple of months and forced myself to reconsider my attitude and perspective towards writing. I knew it wasn't healthy, and if I truly cared about my writing, I needed to set myself straight before any joy I had was ground down to a fine dust.

I'm sure you've come across this question, whether with your friends, on a writing forum, or blog: "If you knew, without a doubt, that you would never get published or succeed as a professional writer, would you still continue to write?"

After taking the space I needed to clear my thoughts, I asked myself this and come up with an honest answer. Yes. I would continue to write. Some things would change. I'd probably not invest quite as much time in it. I might switch to short stories instead of novels. That sort of thing. But I love writing, in and of itself, and would not want to give it up entirely, even if I knew it would never get me published. It's a way I express myself. It's part of who I am, and that's what matters. Not whether someone else puts a gold star on my story, or whether it gets good reviews on Amazon. Yes, validation remains part of it. I still enjoy getting emails from my agent. I enjoy getting reviews from beta readers. But I'm not reliant on those things to make me sit down in front of a blank page and start pecking at the keys.

I do it because I love writing as a whole. It's an adventure, and I'm excited about what I'll see and experience along the way.

Finishing a story I've written before

I've got a first draft sitting on my computer. All chapter breaks in place, mostly formatted properly. Waiting for feedback so I can commence revision surgery (the blood! the horror!).

90,000 words.
Thirty-three chapters (this will probably increase after revisions).
Urban fantasy.
Working title: Parasomnia

Premise: A society of permanent insomniacs form the border patrol between the waking and dreaming realms, and one member discovers his sister is involved in a dream-smuggling ring.

It's always a great feeling bringing all the individual scenes and chapters together into a whole document. Of feeling I have a complete manuscript to deal with, and that instead of struggling to move things towards the finish line, now I can focus on making this as polished and engaging as possible. It's a new novel. A new opportunity.

Except I've written this story before. About five years ago, to be precise.

It used to be called Dyssomnia, and was an urban fantasy about a hotel security guard (also a permanent insomniac) who discovers he can interact with creatures from the dreaming realm. Chaos ensues--as the query cliche goes.

That first iteration of the idea actually did pretty well. I had several partial and full requests from various agents...but...there was just enough flawed about it that it was rejected, and I eventually shelved it. I recognized, after several attempts to revise it heavily, that the pacing was wrong. The character got introduced too sloppily. I was also aping another author's style and not writing in my own voice (something I didn't realize until much later).

It did not deserve to be published, and I'm glad it got rejected.

However, despite this, the original premise stuck with me. Every so often, I would think back and wonder if I should give the story another kick to see if it twitched. But I let it lie.

Then, a few years later, I signed on with my agent. One of the things you tend to do when this happens is start looking down the road and wondering what you might be able to offer after your first book sells...or if it doesn't actually sell and your agent asks, "All right, what else do you have that we can send to publishers?"

As I anticipated either of these possibilities, this idea once more started jumping up and down in my brain. It yanked on neurons and gave me a few particularly odd dreams. So I relented and decided to give it another try.

However, unlike the first time around, I didn't want to just give the original story another revision pass. I realized that wouldn't be enough. The flaws were too pervasive and subtle in places. It'd always remain crippled in some way. In order to give this story a chance, it needed to be broken down and rebuilt entirely from scratch.

And that's what happened. As painful as it was, I threw out all of my notes that had anything to do with the first story. Then I sat down with the most basic concept (guy doesn't sleep and fights dream creatures) and went through the entire Snowflake Model process that I normally go through with a new idea. The only thing I kept were two character names--but the characters themselves bear no similarity to the originals.

Lots of things got changed and introduced.

• The lone security guard now is part of a larger society. Very different character, too.
• Brand, spanking new plot. 
• Much more extensive mythology behind events.
• Higher tension, faster pacing. 
• Entirely new "system" of magic and interaction with creatures and realms.

Is the new version better? I believe so. I certainly hope so! It's still in revision-mode, and I'm already seeing the rough spots and spotty plot points. It has its own unique coughs and sputters that will need lots of fine-tuning. But I firmly believe it's a unique concept and a strong story, and I want to see it survive and thrive. I also hope that my writing has matured somewhat, and that I've made this story my own, versus copying someone else's style.

So why do I bring all this up? What's the point of chewing this cud?

Because it put me in an odd situation. I had to let go of an original story that I really loved, but at the same time found a way to reincarnate it, giving it a second chance. Up until then, I believed that after I received a certain number of rejections and shelved a manuscript, it'd be a waste of time to return to it. I had to accept that it wasn't my breakout novel and move on.

Yet the idea stuck. It refused to let go of me, however much I tried to set it aside time and again. So it's this odd dichotomy of learning to recognize when a story just has to be written, but also being patient enough to give it time to mature. (I've discussed patience before, in less-than-amiable terms). In doing so, I had to shed everything but the tiniest kernel of the idea and let it grow anew. It was tough, but worth the effort.

Will I do this with other earlier manuscripts? Doubtful. None of those early ideas have stuck with me as strongly as this one did. I prefer to forge ahead. To discover a new world. New magic. New stories.

However, if a previous story grips me so strongly, I may not have a choice in the matter.

How about you? Have you revisited old stories and seen new life breathed into them? Do you ignore all old efforts after a certain amount of time and effort?