Writers owe all sorts of debts to all sorts of people. Even if you’ve never sold a word of your work, if you’ve ever taken joy in the creative process you owe a debt to someone, and probably a lot of someone’s. Teachers, your parents—other writers who have inspired you.
Growing up, my parents were always very supportive of my creative endeavors. This was always offered within the confines of maintaining other parts of my life—my grades, a part-time job. As long as I was doing well in school and otherwise taking care of my responsibilities, my parents were always thrilled to read something I’d written, and always acted like it was the coolest thing in the world. My father would take my typewritten manuscripts into work with him, photocopy them, and show them to his co-workers.
One of those co-workers actually copy-edited one of those manuscripts, once, peppering my pages with comments and feedback. It was my first experience with editing, and it had a profound effect on me.
Standing on the Shoulders of Giants
Without all of these people who directly or indirectly inspired me to write, I probably wouldn’t be. Or I’d be doing so in secret, never having gotten the support necessary to believe that my words are worth showing around to folks. As much as I like to imagine I am totally in charge of my life, the fact is a lot of people helped me figure all this writing stuff out, and it’s necessary to remember that.
The other side of the coin, of course, are the folks who discouraged me, and they’re just as important. Because if all you ever hear is praise and encouragement, there’ll always be a little seed of doubt, a little voice that keeps asking if it’s possible that someone only gets encouragement. It starts to feel a bit fake. Having a few folks shit all over your writing is healthy, because it legitimizes everything else.
And then, of course, there are the people who have bought me drinks over the years. Those people are the real heroes.