In fifth grade, I attended the all-girls, private Catholic school I’d been in since kindergarten, with kids who had last names like Demoulas and Sterling (look them up). Sister Catherine, our esteemed leader, hated us all. But she disliked me less – or appeared to anyway – because I grasped English. I could diagram the fuck out of a sentence.
This was cool since the girls in my class were elitist snobs who knew I didn’t come from money. Having a somewhat friendly face around (even a nun) helps get you through the day, ya know?
In sixth grade, when my parents got divorced, I was enrolled in public school. I thought: HELLS, YEAH! Normal kids like me who will have ordinary, non-billionaire last names, also like me. (They were and they did.)
But those kids also figured I was just some snot who got tired of being surrounded by the same sex while her hormones went into overdrive. I must have ditched my rich pals in favor of a co-ed school so I could look down on the girls and steal the boys away, right? Seriously, in sixth grade, this shit is very real.
Anyway, making new friends in junior high sucks donkey balls. So I tried to suck up to Mrs. B, my new English teacher, hoping to spark a smile when she recognized my aptitude. It worked before …
Me: “Mrs. B, I looked at the next chapter last night and I saw we were going to be diagramming sentences. Can I help with that?” (I still smile and tear up when I see a proper diagram. Yes, I am that much of a geek.)
Mrs. B: “Becky, we’re not going to do diagrams. We’re skipping ahead.”
Me (crestfallen): “Why?”
Mrs.B: “Because it’s too complicated. Besides, no one needs to know how to diagram a sentence.”
We could spend the rest of this millennium talking about what that conversation means in the grand scheme of public education. Instead, stay with me for a sec.
I was bummed I wouldn’t have an opportunity to stand out in English. I had zero friends and having the teacher as an ally couldn’t hurt. (Desperate times call for desperate measures.) I was bummed I wouldn’t be able to do something I knew how to do well. When you go to a new school, you search for familiar shit anywhere you can find it.
BUT thirty years later, let me tell you, Mrs. B was right.
You don’t need to know how to diagram a sentence.
You also don’t need to know the definition of gerund, third-person omniscient, or denouement. I mean, if it’s your thing, if it turns you on to understand it all, I totally get it. I’m with you, actually. But the rest of the universe – writers and non-writers (the only two categories) – do not need to know this crap.
If you want to write, and an editor says your work bites because you change point of view or tenses too often, tell them to screw.
If you pour your heart and soul into something and an editor says, “You’re ruining your work with too many gerunds,” you could reply, “Pulling your head out of your ass might be fun.” (That might be the longest sentence I’ve ever penned. I’m blaming the fever. Plus, it’s funny.)
Generally speaking, writers are riddled with anxiety and self-doubt, but are compelled to write anyway. We can’t help it. We’re almost always desperate for validation, tired, overwhelmed and frustrated. We spend far too much time wondering if we’re talentless hacks wasting everyone’s time – including our own. We cry and hope, wait and pray.
We do not need help in the oh-my-God-I-suck department.
But more importantly, an editor succeeds when the writer he works with succeeds. So if an editor does not raise you up, stir your confidence, show you how to improve without crushing your spirit, walk away. (My policy for everything,by the way.)
For clarity, an editor should be firm. A good editor will even make you uncomfortable. Parting with precious words is difficult for every writer. But an editor should never make you feel like giving up. That’s just plain wrong.
So, no, you don’t need to know how to diagram a sentence à la sixth grade English. Leave the technical bullshit for the people who like technical bullshit. (Waves hand.) Meantime, just write.
• • •
Psst. Be sure to subscribe to the site in the upper right-hand corner. That way, I can send the sexiest, most liberating and inspiring tidbits of writing advice straight to your inbox.
When you push past the bullshit
Confused, overwhelmed, exhausted. Frustrated, resentful, burned out. Unsure, hesitant, sacred shitless… blocked.
Feelings we experience when we step up and go for it.
Yes, everyone.
No, it’s not permanent.
Hustle through it. Or cry, whine, beg and pray through it. Either way, it will pass. And once it does, you’ll find confidence, inspiration, excitement, and a bunch of other awe-inspiring shit. Don’t take my word for it, though.
Check out what these incredibly courageous writers have to say about getting down and dirty with me, cutting through the bullshit, and blissfully writing on their own terms. <– click-click.
Oh, and they have a message for you, too: Anyone can do it.
—
What did they learn?
If you want your work to be noticed, you have to use words that get noticed. That doesn’t mean swearing (that would be me). It means being you. It means writing without hedging. It means every time you think, Oh my God, I can’t say that, you better motherf*cking say it.
Take off the goddamn tie and nylons, break out your best black lace thong and let it all hang out.
And then you might think … But that doesn’t feel like business.
I know. Thank the gods. If it felt like business, you wouldn’t be opening up and connecting with people. And if you don’t open up and connect, if you aren’t vulnerable, your readers aren’t going to give a shit about what you say.
You have to wade through the fear to get to the good stuff.
You have to show people who you are and why they should care. Otherwise, your just one of a billion or so writers without a message that stands out. Rather than the author who throws her guts on the page and makes her words sing.
I don’t know about you, but I’ll take a little fear any day of the week if it leads to something lasting for my readers. To know that every time I crack open my chest and put it on the page, someone says, ‘Oh, it’s not just me?’ That’s success by any measure.
So, show some skin. Strip your words down to what your gut says is true. But first, check out what other writers have to say about it.
• • •
Psst. Be sure to subscribe to the site in the upper right-hand corner. That way, I can send the sexiest, most liberating and inspiring tidbits of writing advice straight to your inbox.
We don’t need help in the Oh-My-God-I-Suck Department
In fifth grade, I attended the all-girls, private Catholic school I’d been in since kindergarten, with kids who had last names like Demoulas and Sterling (look them up). Sister Catherine, our esteemed leader, hated us all. But she disliked me less – or appeared to anyway – because I grasped English. I could diagram the fuck out of a sentence.
This was cool since the girls in my class were elitist snobs who knew I didn’t come from money. Having a somewhat friendly face around (even a nun) helps get you through the day, ya know?
In sixth grade, when my parents got divorced, I was enrolled in public school. I thought: HELLS, YEAH! Normal kids like me who will have ordinary, non-billionaire last names, also like me. (They were and they did.)
Anyway, making new friends in junior high sucks donkey balls. So I tried to suck up to Mrs. B, my new English teacher, hoping to spark a smile when she recognized my aptitude. It worked before …
Me: “Mrs. B, I looked at the next chapter last night and I saw we were going to be diagramming sentences. Can I help with that?” (I still smile and tear up when I see a proper diagram. Yes, I am that much of a geek.)
Mrs. B: “Becky, we’re not going to do diagrams. We’re skipping ahead.”
Me (crestfallen): “Why?”
Mrs.B: “Because it’s too complicated. Besides, no one needs to know how to diagram a sentence.”
We could spend the rest of this millennium talking about what that conversation means in the grand scheme of public education. Instead, stay with me for a sec.
I was bummed I wouldn’t have an opportunity to stand out in English. I had zero friends and having the teacher as an ally couldn’t hurt. (Desperate times call for desperate measures.) I was bummed I wouldn’t be able to do something I knew how to do well. When you go to a new school, you search for familiar shit anywhere you can find it.
BUT thirty years later, let me tell you, Mrs. B was right.
You don’t need to know how to diagram a sentence.
You also don’t need to know the definition of gerund, third-person omniscient, or denouement. I mean, if it’s your thing, if it turns you on to understand it all, I totally get it. I’m with you, actually. But the rest of the universe – writers and non-writers (the only two categories) – do not need to know this crap.
If you want to write, and an editor says your work bites because you change point of view or tenses too often, tell them to screw.
If you pour your heart and soul into something and an editor says, “You’re ruining your work with too many gerunds,” you could reply, “Pulling your head out of your ass might be fun.” (That might be the longest sentence I’ve ever penned. I’m blaming the fever. Plus, it’s funny.)
Generally speaking, writers are riddled with anxiety and self-doubt, but are compelled to write anyway. We can’t help it. We’re almost always desperate for validation, tired, overwhelmed and frustrated. We spend far too much time wondering if we’re talentless hacks wasting everyone’s time – including our own. We cry and hope, wait and pray.
We do not need help in the oh-my-God-I-suck department.
But more importantly, an editor succeeds when the writer he works with succeeds. So if an editor does not raise you up, stir your confidence, show you how to improve without crushing your spirit, walk away. (My policy for everything,by the way.)
For clarity, an editor should be firm. A good editor will even make you uncomfortable. Parting with precious words is difficult for every writer. But an editor should never make you feel like giving up. That’s just plain wrong.
So, no, you don’t need to know how to diagram a sentence à la sixth grade English. Leave the technical bullshit for the people who like technical bullshit. (Waves hand.) Meantime, just write.
• • •
Psst. Be sure to subscribe to the site in the upper right-hand corner. That way, I can send the sexiest, most liberating and inspiring tidbits of writing advice straight to your inbox.