In the previous post, I wrote a paean to myself in honor of receiving a positive critique in a recent manuscript contest. I was shameless. Because the judge wrote Fannie Flagg twice on the score sheet, I used the name five times in my anthem.
I was moved to lavish self-aggrandizement by memory of my mother, who often quoted Damon Runyon: “He who tooteth not his own horn, the same shall not be tooted.”
Today I do a bit of un-tooting. Below is a list of things the song of myself didn’t include.
1. My entry did not advance to the finals.
2. The judge read only the first ten pages of the potential novel.
3. When the judge said that to get an agent I’ll have to find one who “gets” Texas and the South, she meant she “gets” Texas and the South and, as a result, my small-town setting and my dialogue. If she’d been unfamiliar with the vernacular, I wouldn’t have fared so well.
4. The selection process is subjective. I once wrote an entire post on this topic, but the story bears repeating: Five years ago an entry I submitted received a score of 80. The next year, in the same contest, the very same (unrevised) entry garnered 18 points. Judge #1 said the entry was funny. Judge #2 said that I should take a lot of workshops, read more books, and use MS Word to identify my egregious grammatical errors. And that my pre-teen protagonist’s parents were guilty of child abuse.
Oh dear. I thought I’d made peace with that. My point: if I’d drawn another judge this year, I might have come out with a much lower score, and my paean would be different in both tone and content.
5. In a sentence beginning, “My concern,” the judge says she “would have liked” something that last year’s judge, who read version #1 of the ten pages, would have liked as well. I’ll have to fix that–change the material without sacrificing the current dialogue, pacing, tone…
6. The novel isn’t a novel. It’s potential. It’s a WIP.
7. There’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip.
To summarize–Opening that envelope and finding compliments inside encouraged me. It lifted my spirits. It showed me a glimmer of hope.
But it didn’t complete the manuscript, get me an agent, offer me a contract, hand me an advance, put me on the best-seller list, fill my coffers to overflowing, or ensure me a spot on Letterman.
In short, I have work to do. Continued self-aggrandizement will only get in the way.
After all, I’m already fighting background noise. Radio station KFKD plays continuously in my right ear, reciting my virtues. The constant yammering makes it hard to focus.
On the other hand, the “rap songs of self-loathing” pouring into my left ear don’t exactly speed me on my way either.
So I’ll take the critique sheet from the envelope, and with a loving hand smooth it flat, and place it in a spot where it will be visible as I write.
Fannie Flagg has been in the back of my mind for years. It’s time to move her right up front.
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Thanks to Ann Lamott, author of Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, for exposing radio station KFKD for what it is.
M. K. Waller 
If this is a repeat I apologize. It seems I may have “erased” my comment before posting it.
I didn’t think you were being too self-aggrandizing–humility can be over-rated. Encouragement in whatever form is good. That which gets us back to writing is good. You seem pretty grounded to me. I’m not worried that pride will overtake you.
As for me, in a week or so, I will have the opportunity to put away my oft-repeated lament of “If only I had time to write!” Once those boxes are unpacked–or we have enough of a path to walk around them–I will have nothing but time. For the first time in forever I won’t be going to work at a real world job. Gulp! No more excuses….
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That’s what my mother thought about humility, at least when I tried it. It makes job interviews challenging; I tend to tell potential employers what I can’t do.
I’m so excited for you. Don’t wait until all the boxes are unpacked. Relax, get some rest, enjoy your leisure. Practice sleeping past the alarm. And begin writing.
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