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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."
~K. Richardson
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WIP: Teaser from "You Remind Me of Summer"
From the SF story I’m working on, “You Remind Me of Summer”. Think it will end up being 6-7k.
Madhur hesitated in the doorway of the bar. No sign on the outside other than a weathered metal plaque set at eye level to the right of the door. It showed a complicated red knot on a chipped white background.
This was dangerous territory but it was also anonymity, a place where no one would be looking at her flags. The privacy field inside kept all such information unavailable.
Someone was coming up behind her and there was nothing to prevent them reading her right now, so she gave the metal knob a twist and pulled it toward her to slip inside.
First impressions: booze-scented brown darkness broken by a single strand of red and green Christmas lights, tables centered in pools of yellow light from overhead lamps, constructions of spiderwire and sickly glow crystals. Along the back wall, a photo mural tried to provide the illusion of looking out onto a great deal seascape from a high cliff, but stains and a few tears made the illusion ineffectual. Underfoot, plas-crete, worn and a little slippery. A dim jukebox pulsing out a watery rendition of “I’ll be Home for the Holidays.”
The air smelled of sweat and alcohol and here and there a whiff of cologne or perfume. The inhabitants were varied ““ even a few nonhumans and mechanicals, but most shared a uniform dispirited look, a slump to their shoulders that made them seem aged and discouraged. Many nursed drinks, but three teenagers lounged at a back pool table, talking trash talk to each other as the balls clacked defiantly against each other.
This morning on the train into the city, she’d looked out the window and seen three young deer, springborn, now nearing fall adolescence, playing with each other by the side of highway running parallel to the track. They darted back and forth; one reared, sharp little hooves flicking out in play, catch me if you can, full of fearless stupidity and no thought for the cars rushing past so close to their play.
Then they were gone, and the landscape kept flickering as she tried to ignore the porter’s stare.
She chose one of the few empty tables, close to the wall, sliding into a wobbly seat, touching a faded video display, freckled with dissipated pixels, alight, tabbing through the choices, contemplating beer and onion rings. Her mouth watered at the thought not just of the greasy food, but the sensation of being unlooked at ““
— then someone sliding into the seat across from her, a woman perhaps two or three decades senior, face unfrozen by the conventional anti-aging techniques, but instead wearing tattoos across forearms and cheeks, purple streaks almost as faded as the menu.
Alarm blared against her nerves, but she refused to let her breath quicken or her tone be anything but bland. “Thanks, but I’m not looking for company.”
“Neither am I if bedplay’s what you mean,” the woman said sharply. Her hair was a silver Mohawk, tipped with blue along the six-inch strands that stood up like a parrot’s crest. She looked strong, was Madhur’s first thought, like some sort of warrior goddess cum blacksmith or stevedore.
“I just want conversation,” the woman said, “and any man I talk to is going to think I’m trying to pick him up, even if I lead with a denial of that. Humor an old broad and entertain me this evening. Unless you really do want to be by yourself, in which case I’ll slide off and leave you alone.”
Colette's husband used to lock her in an attic to force her to write. Don't assume a mentor is going to go that far. You're the only one who determines how productive (or not) you are.One of the things that sometimes comes up when talking to new writers is the question, “How do I acquire a mentor?” There’s a glazed and desperate look in the eyes of each querier, and sometimes a bit of professional jealousy, because occasionally we see people in positions where we’re not convinced they really should be, and an easy explanation is that a mentor’s personal pull helped get them there.
Well, maybe. But I don’t know that the kind of mentor people are envisioning really happens that often. They’re thinking of a wise, kindly figure who will guide their career through writing advice, secure them spots in anthologies and magazines, and make sure they appear on award ballots.
That’s pretty goddamn rare, and sometimes what one is attributing to the influence of a mentor is actually the writer’s hard work and talent for networking. And networking helps a lot — but it can’t substitute for enough skill to write at the professional level, at least in my opinion.
I do have people who have helped me along, and they’ve been great. I don’t think of any of them in this light, though. They’re people I can go to for the occasional sanity check or word of encouragement, sure. But are they out there sedulously working away on my behalf? No. They have their own careers to build, their own projects to promote, their own words to write.
You can’t just wait for a mentor to arrive. Or even just mail someone and say, “I want you to be my mentor.” You need to a) be writing and b) be getting yourself out there through publications, participation in social networks and message boards, and working with other people. One of the most valuable things I did for myself was agreeing to help edit Fantasy Magazine. Beside teaching me a ton, it brought me in contact with a number of people. I even got to hold a manuscript from Tanith Lee in my hands and email her how excited I was to be publishing something from her.
And take classes, for Pete’s sake. That’s one of the best ways to not just improve your craft, but do a little networking on the side. I tell my students to let me know when they publish something so I can spread it on social networks, although that’s a somewhat self-serving act – it helps me publicize my classes when I’m able to point to people getting published and take some smidgen of unwonted credit for it. 😉
Let’s say you do find a writer who’s further along in their career path than you are, and who seems to be amenable to providing you some guidance. What then? Well, be a good mentee and help them help you. Here are my suggestions for doing so.
Be proactive. Don’t limply wait for a mentor to lift you up. A mentor is not an excuse to stop working on your own behalf. Do shit. Look for opportunities to get your name out there, just as you would without a mentor.
Be responsive. Answer e-mails. Let them know what you’re up to. Don’t be one of those flakey writers who vanish for months and then reappear with daisies in their hair, acting as though they had never been gone. Don’t let suggestions slide by without acknowledgement.
Be appreciative. Say thank you or acknowledge their efforts in other ways. They don’t have a quota of people they need to help each month. Every minute spent helping you is being taken from their own store of work time, and for all of us, that’s a valuable commodity.
Listen. If your mentor suggests something, either do it or tell them why you’re not (and have a good rationale for that). (See also: Be responsive.)
Be pleasant to work with. Save the cynical or curmudgeonly attitude for elsewhere, and don’t be a sad sack bemoaning your own lack of talent just so you can evoke reassurances. Positivity, cheerfulness, and good humor make for someone who’s pleasant to help – negativity, gloom, and humorlessness make it a discouraging, uphill battle.
Be a good sport. A mentor has their own life. And they may have other people they’re helping. In fact, if they’re helping you, they probably do. Don’t act like a jealous sibling if they’re paying attention to someone else.
Be a good citizen. It’s never too early to start paying it forward, to helping other new writers publicize their work. Volunteer to read slush or help staff tables at a convention. One of the best ways to promote yourself is by promoting other people, even though that may seem paradoxical.
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