Specifically, the
truth about your latest project? Some writers refuse to hear it.
Like the author of
the general market novel I abandoned last evening.
I'd been primed to
enjoy it, since I had read his first eight. But this was a prequel.
The author had jumped back six years, before the wartime events that
made his character unique.
Now the character
was bland. And without much to do. Throughout the first two chapters
I encountered only setup—no engaging story.
Maybe the author
thought the story worked.
But I can't imagine
how no one among the critique groups and beta readers, then his
literary agent, acquisitions editor, and copy editor, could have
failed to speak up. Could all these people have missed the initial
lack of anything to engage readers?
Or did the author,
enjoying a wave of success, choose not to listen?
No one succeeds
every time. Sometimes the idea isn't great, sometimes the execution
falls short.
Yesterday the
Rockies' pitcher didn't have his best stuff. In the bottom of the
fifth he walked three batters and gave up five runs. He hadn't done
well, and he knew it.
Literary failings
aren't like that. We can convince ourselves it works. Or that it
doesn't matter, since we've built a following.
But how long can
you count on fan loyalty—if you don't strive to deliver your best?
That includes being willing to swallow your pride and make changes
when trusted advisers dare to tell you something really doesn't work.
