A Grownup Writer

I was at one of my first writers’ conference attending a workshop called Meet a Pro. The two pros in attendance were Don and Janet, two suspense writers who, as the class got going, started talking shop. Well, complaining. Both had recently received final proofs of their most recent books back from their publishers and were being asked to go through the manuscript one more time for any typos or repeated words. This was new.

“They’re wanting us to do their job,” Don said. “This is what they’re paid for. My workload goes up but my royalties don’t!”

This got an amen from Janet, but not much from the other writers who, like me, were likely thinking, I’d happily read a proof if it meant I could publish a book.

I thought of Don again when I received the final proofs for my review of my latest book from my publisher. I would never hire me to proofread anything. Edit, sure; but proofread – not a chance. Still, I was glad to read it one last time before it went to print. I managed to find a couple mistakes, and hoped the copyeditor who’d be giving it a final pass would find anything I’d missed.

There may come a day when I fatigue of this step in the publishing process. For now, I enjoy it all, even this meticulous work for which I am not particularly suited. I’m learning how the sausage is made. For many years, I didn’t want to know anything about how the sausage was made. I wanted my book to be transformed magically from a Word document into a three-dimensional object with a cover and a spine and a table of contents.

In those days, however, I hoped publication would transform me magically into something new. The more I write and share my work, whether in books or magazines or websites, the more I find the opposite is true. The great joy and privilege of writing is being exactly who I am. Proofreading feels like a rather grownup thing to do, requiring me, as it does, to take as much responsibility for the final product as possible.

And growing up is really not about becoming anything new. It doesn’t matter how my hair changes or my face changes or my politics or tastes in music change. Growing up feels like a process of discarding everything I’m not, everything I’ve tried to be but never was. What’s left, like a well-edited manuscript, is the good stuff, a story’s true heart, a life’s true form.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

Fearless Writing: How to Create Boldly and Write With Confidence.
You can find William at: williamkenower.com