When I was a teenager, I swam competitively all year round. My coach told me I had the physical ability to be a top-level swimmer but that I would only accomplish that by learning to communicate better with coaches.
I didn’t know what he meant, but he illustrated his point by spotlighting a boy on our team who was setting concrete goals with the coach, analyzing what worked well about his stroke, and also brainstorming the ways he needed to break apart his stroke and rebuild it. In the short run, the boy was slower than he used to be, but his plan would result in much faster times in the future, as his technique improved.
I felt I was already a good swimmer, and I wanted to improve but not to experience slower times right away. Also, I was accustomed to improving my times by taking fewer breaths or by getting scrappy when someone swam close to me in a race. While I could tell when a race felt smooth or flat, I could not tell what made it smooth or flat. The risks of looking like a fool in front of the coach by trying to formulate questions or losing the race at hand were more than I could bear.
"Thanks," I told the coach politely. Though I showed up for practice and did all of the laps and drills, I never approached him again.
A few years ago, I thought I had finished my first book. I honestly thought it was good and was thrilled to be finished before I passed it along to a friend who reads constantly and who doesn’t mince words. She asked me what I wanted from her, and I didn’t know what to say. How did people even talk about what worked or didn't in books? I only knew the bottom line: I wanted my book on the shelves. "Is it ready to take to a literary agent?" I asked.
First, she complimented me for my efforts in writing the book and for sharing my “baby” with her. From that point on, she outlined the strengths and weaknesses. "I love the details, your family stories, and the dialogue. Your parenting skills are a plus, but you need to show them without offering preachy lessons. I also like your dark humor, but let the readers laugh without explaining the joke to them."
"Thanks," I told the writing coach politely.
"If you leave the book as it is, you will have no option but to self-publish, and there is nothing wrong with deciding to do that. It's your book."
For several days, I pouted and stewed. Next, I started reading her notes, over and over. Then I jumped right into rewriting my book. But I realized I was working hard but not smart. I needed to set short-term and long-term goals, break apart my chapters, and reorganize my book. I needed to generate new writing while preserving some of the old.
It was time to read published memoirs and think about why they worked and to read craft books that discussed how to blend story and character arcs with life lessons. Only after doing all of that was I ready to start writing an improved version of my story.
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