The blog of fantasy fiction author and writer Tarah L. Wolff

So I’m working through the final line edit of my monster book. And I am plagued. It feels so much like the longer I work on this the more I doubt my decisians, myself, my writing, my book.

Rejection

I’ve been dealing with a lot of rejection lately. Where I thought I was a shoe in to at least get a couple of short stories and poems published this year. They were all rejected. All of them.

The rejections are hard. Probably the hardest part of being a writer and the most absolute part of being a writer. You will be rejected; constantly. I know I am a decent writer. I know what I’ve submitted this year and in the past have been solid writing. However, I have come up against the wall of Minnesota. The wall that says, “We just don’t want what you write.” I can’t tell you how many times I have been rejected and then later met and the editor and I thought, “No wonder.” They didn’t want what I’m writing.

My writing is too cutting edge, too hard core, too in your face, too rock. And it always will be. In Minnesota what gets published again and again are vacation stories. Inspirational stories. Stories about working on your little log cabin. Stories written by baby boomers. I am rejected before I even start.

So do I change my writing?

Do I write the cutesy shit that makes me gag so I get published?

Do I pretend I’m a Grandma who remembers being taught how to cook from her grandma? Or a grand daughter who just can’t believe how sweet her daughter is? Do I pretend to find God in mere coincidence so someone will publish me? Do I pretend how amazing the water was on the lake last night even though it’s the same fucking water it’s always been?

I’m angry. I’m annoyed. I am hearing the same advice and truth I’ve given other writers a million times.

Good writing doesn’t get published. What the Editor likes gets published.

I am at a loss. You want to believe that if you work hard enough than you will get published. But that’s just not how it is. Day in and day out I am facing rejection. I am facing people telling me that my work is too realistic, too scary, too goth, too hard core, not sweet enough. How often have I seen people grimace with distaste not at my writing but at my story? How many times has my writing been so good that I have made people creeped out and even feel hate for one of my characters? Shouldn’t that be a good thing? The worst thing I can think of is that people would call my work “boring”. And yet, I’m getting rejected, while the most boring shit I’ve ever read is getting published. God forbid anyone publish something that pushes the envelope.

No one wants to read a hard story these days. I was sitting at a family gathering the other day and heard several adults there talking about how much they hate Stephen King’s books and how they only like books like Harry Potter and the Narnia series. I couldn’t say anything because what I would say to that would be nothing good.

Twilight.

I’m going to use the Twilight books as a comparison to what I would never do. Did I think the Twilights were okay? Of course, I’m a girl, who couldn’t love Edward? But by the last book I couldn’t stand them anymore. Not for the story but for the terrible disrespect of the story and the characters.

I guess I’ve been reading too many Pulitzer prize winning books. God knows, Twilight doesn’t compare. In fact Twilight looks like shit in comparison to Gilead (Marilyn Robinson) and the many other fantastic books that are out there to read today. I’ve come to the final realization of the major difference between the writer of the Twilight Series and the writer of Gilead and Good Housekeeping.

It’s About Respect.

When you read a book like Gilead you feel as though you are getting a real glimpse to a real person’s existence. You do not become the character, instead, you see the character. You see them in all of their incredible imperfections. In all of their grief and tragedy. In all of their triumphs and in their deaths. In the Twilight series, from the first sentence, it reads like fake fiction. The main character is an idiot. Stupid, one dimensional, shockingly unrealistic. Written in this way so the reader will become the main character. Written so the main character never rocks the boat, never makes a decision the reader wouldn’t like. never becomes a real person.

Gilead is an incredible show case of an author writing a story with unflinching respect for the main character and the decisions he must make, regardless of who doesn’t like it. Stephen King does this in all of his books as well. They are entirely character and story driven. You don’t become the character, you become their shadows. You follow them through all of their terrible and great days. And you stand in awe as the author lets those character make their decisions. And the author writes their stories without ever interrupting. Instead they read as though the authors don’t exist. It’s just the character, it’s just the story. And that is incredible to me.

Something like Twilight simply pisses me off. Where there is incredible writing in the world today, it’s a series like Twilight that the world wants to read. Regardless of good writing. No one gives a rat’s ass. The world wants a quick fix that they won’t have to think about, that won’t interfere or bother their little lives in anyway.

And Then There’s Me.

I don’t want to write a one dimensional, unrealistic, idiotic character that people can be. I want to write about a realistic, multi-dimensional person that people can see. I don’t want to write the easy stories. I don’t want to write boring shit that people forget. So, that makes me an absolute reject.

I want to be the writer of a Clockwork Orange and Animal Farm and Farenheit 451 of my generation. But I don’t think anyone will ever publish me to give me the chance. So I keep writing. I keep working. And I do hope that I will find the agent that appreciates this kind of writing. One day. I guess we’ll see.