You Write Well, But...

That little coordinating conjunction always spells trouble. I used to be a professor, but now I’m an editor. I read many, many student papers—and now read many books—where the author doesn’t write well. I write well, but…

I ponder this as I have just received a nice rejection letter, this one from Two Dollar Radio. My writing is good, but not exactly what we’re looking for. My stack of such letters teeters over my head. Well, it would if I printed them out. It is easy to say no over the internet.

In a world where good writers have trouble publishing, what does that say about the publishing industry? I’m reading a novel right now that’s very interesting. On the literary front it can’t be called great, but it is a good book. The writing is good, but…

In publishing, the choice comes down to fit and money. You’re supposed to research your potential publisher—as if you’d have any time between working twelve hours a day, writing in the other four or so you have to spend awake, and trying to stay alive—to see if they publish your kind of writing.

An artist knows s/he is unique. I don’t know to whom to compare my book. Edgar Allan Poe, by far a superior writer to me, invented at least two literary genres on his own. Of course, he struggled to get published and died at a young age. Now he’s immortal.

Always the editor holds the keys. They decide if you write well, and if you do, whether you are worth publishing or not. Are you willing to die for your art? By that I mean wait until after you’re dead to have anyone notice your work?

Those of us who write because we’re writers don’t do it for commercial gain. We write because we’re writers. The writing may be good, but is there money to be made? Not just some money, but lots of money, we really mean.

Until you can show the greenbacks they covet, they will write you emails saying, “You write well, but…”

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K. Marvin Bruce

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