10,000 Hours
Giving up. It sounds so pathetic.
But I’ve been mulling something I dismissed when I initially heard it.
I was lucky enough, thanks to a friend, to sit next to agent Sheree Bykofsky at lunch one day a few years ago at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee’s annual Spring Writers Festival. She went around the table asking each of us what we were working on.
When I told her about my novel, she asked, “Is it the first novel you’ve ever written?”
I said yes.
And she said, “I never buy first novels.”
To be honest, I was a bit put off, but to be polite, I asked why. She said something that I didn’t listen to well, so I don’t remember it verbatim. But the gist was this: It takes one novel for a writer to learn how. One that should be buried at the bottom of a drawer or burned in the fireplace. Then the serious work can begin.
My takeaway message at the time was, “Don’t say it’s the first novel you’ve ever written in the cover letter.” I nurtured a deluded hope that I could prove her wrong. But now I think she was absolutely right.
For Christmas, I bought my husband a copy of Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers. One of the big ideas in the book is that it takes 10,000 hours to develop mastery.
I haven’t read the book yet, so I can’t speak for Gladwell, but it makes me think that Bykofsky was saying nearly the same thing: that the first many thousands of hours are apprenticeship. And she doesn’t consider apprentice-level work.
I’m pretty sure my first novel is dead. At best, it’s going to have to sit in a cryogenic tank for a few years until I can find the cure for what ails it.
But it feels like tuition paid, like I did my time. I’m ready to try something new with all the things I’ve learned. Something Bykofsky might consider buying when it’s done.
Hi Kris,
I wholeheartedly support and endorse you in burying your first attempt. Robert Frost has a poem called, I think ,”Building Soil” which says the same thing. Bury it, make up a ritual if you need to, say goodbye and move on. Move forward bravely. Nothing is lost. And be thankful for all you have learned in your apprenticeship. -Sarah
Sarah,
Your comment comes as such a relief to me. I’ve been terrified to admit this to anyone.
I talked with someone in my novel workshop yesterday, and was so relieved. She said she had a failed novel, too, and that I’d be better off moving on.
I don’t know why I was shocked, but I was. Somehow, I expected disapproval and judgment for not being able to finish the job. Why I expected this, I don’t know–my writing friends are universally supportive and wise.
Thanks for being one of my wise counselors.
Kris