Writing Is Not a Competitive Sport

It seems like a very long time ago—well, actually, it was a very long time ago (1972)—that I met an editor who was in a race for her life. She edited the feature section of a major daily newspaper and was tyrannical in the way she ran her little fiefdom. She treated writers like second-class citizens, never returning calls, scribbling on carefully typed manuscripts, and developing a well-deserved reputation for rudeness. She only talked to me because I was a fellow editor.

I have no idea how old she was, though I had this sense that she was especially disdainful of young writers. One day she confided that she was indeed threatened by all of those fresh young faces coming out of the University of Missouri’s famed journalism school. “They are after our jobs!” she insisted. “And, if we’re not careful, they’ll get them.”

I could have learned one of two lessons from her: (a) Watch out for all those youngsters coming up behind me and don’t let them catch up; or (b) nurture talent wherever and whenever I see it. If they are better than I am, they probably deserve my job.

Fortunately, I opted for (b). I've never been sorry.

Form a New Habit: Look to the Left

My daughter has a saying: "If you think you have problems, look to your left." This week, I was forced to do just that. She has two friends who recently suffered tragic losses due to serious accidents.

Such costly accidents happen every day. They are the stuff of the late news on local TV stations. Most of the time, when we hear about them, we feel a fleeting sense of sympathy and then go on about our business. We don't know those people. But when misfortune hits close to home—when it happens to a friend or family member—the sympathy we feel is long lasting and deep.

Often, in the midst of our sincere caring and concern, we take a moment to give thanks for our own good fortune. Our problems, whatever they may be, suddenly seem tiny and inconsequential.

Thanksgiving is two days away—a sanctioned and appropriate time to be mindful of all that have, rather than what we don't have. It shouldn't take a close-to-home catastrophe to simply "look to the left" now and then.

What to do when you are out of your depth

I met with a new author recently who had taken her finished manuscript to a quick-print shop. The owner told her he could design and print her book for a few hundred dollars. He promised to show her a proof before he printed the final copies. When he delivered the book, however, it wasn't a proof. It was the final, printed book; and it was in a carton with many other final, printed books.

Unfortunately, the manuscript had never been edited, so there were many mistakes in its 240-plus pages. The "design" looked like it had been done by a group of first graders. And, in general, the book was about as bad as it could possibly be.

The printer didn't seem in the least disturbed. He collected his money, gave the author the files on a CD , and walked away. The story gets worse. The files on the CD were worthless and couldn't be corrected. The author was out her money and had no idea what to do next. In fact, she didn't even know what she might have done to prevent the current mess. She felt very stupid.

This author had never written a book before. She had been working on this one for many years and had no idea what the process of writing and publishing a book entailed. She was not alone. Many first-time authors are in the same position: They don't know what they don't know. They don't know what to ask or whom to ask.

Here is my advice. When you are out of your depth and don't even know what questions to ask, do two things. First, find an expert in the field; second, ask one question—What do I need to know?