It is that time again, the time in which I tell you that you’re a real author. Or a real writer, if you prefer, but that’s more imprecise as of course, you know how to write. You’re reading this.
Anyway: We must be the only profession in the world that not only has impostor syndrome in the sense of “I can’t believe I’m doing this and people think I’m real.” No, we’re like some kind of Velveteen author who just wants to be real.
When I started out I was sure I was profoundly unreal. Sure, I’d been published (a poetry chapbook) in Portuguese, but this was a new country, a new language, and….
Have you guys ever stood at the bottom of a mountain looked up, and it goes on and on, and it gets lost in the clouds, and what keeps going through your minds is “I don’t even have ropes.”
That was me, metaphorically speaking and “ropes’ in that case was “language.” I mean there were a million other things, including that I didn’t get the culture, and that I’d spent the last several years taking literature courses in college. It was the only way they’d let me take languages. And literature courses distort everything and are almost the anti-how-to-write teaching. But it started with words, because well, those are the tools of the trade.
How did I make it here on top of the mountain (the mountain being being published and read. The mountain of publishing? I’m stuck on a rock halfway up, wondering if my fingernails and my remaining life span allow me to climb it.) Well… blood, sweat and tears, fits, screaming, giving up, picking up again… (I never managed to give it up for more than 3 days. And that one was bad.)
I have a process. It’s just a bad process you shouldn’t imitate. It’s called: be very bad at something, try it anyway, scream, cry, throw things, say a lot of swear words, read everything on how to do it, then scream, cry, throwing things, invent new swear words. Eventually pick it up by the wrong end, and push on that until something gives, it goes sproing, and suddenly I know the thing/program/subject better than most “experts.”
(The other day Dan handed me a new program — I can’t even remember for what! — and told me to use it. I immediately told him “You know, you’re going to hear a lot of cursing from my side of the office.” And he laughed and said “Yeah, I know your process.” Which is when it occurred to me it was in fact a process. Just not a good one.)
Anyway, given my process, it took me a while to sell a novel. Heck, it took me a while to sell a short story. It took longer to sell regularly.
I don’t know now — I’m old — at what point I realized I was a REAL author and velveteen no more. Must have been when the first middle aged man squeeed on realizing he was in fact talking to me. (There are now dozens. I swear it’s a thing. Does this happen to anyone else? No? Yes?)
But anyway, right now I don’t doubt I’m a writer. I have the scars to show for it, too. The t-shirt wore through and is in the rag bag. I’m a writer. I’ll even admit to author, as distinct from writer. I also cop to novelist. And M.C.A.Hogarth has metaphorically chased me around the room hitting me with dictionaries until I admitted that someone with my bizarre and erratic “process” is in fact an artist not a craftswoman. (Yes, I know. I’m so shocked at Jaguar. She’s such a nice lady. But… well… when she’s right…)
Anyway, for all of you who are out there going “But I’m only indie. I just put a story or two up.” Stop that. You do the work, you’re a writer. (And if you’re not doing the work, go do it.)
People with that mind set end up signing really bad trad pub contracts or falling for all kinds of scams, because they want to feel real.
You don’t need that. You’re real. You write stories, you’re a writer. Work on getting better, not on being “real”.
So you can get off that circular track and start up the mountain (Come on up, the granite is fine) I am out of the goodness of my heart providing you with a certificate, suitable for printing. All you need to do is fill in your name. I signed it and everything. And look, I was “professionally published” (dear Lord) … 29 years ago, and sold my first novel 25 years ago. So I know whence I’m speaking.
You’re a writer. I said so. now go write.
Mad Genius Club 
30 responses to “The Velveteen Author”
Love it.
Love the certificate, and yeah, I too have a process, and it too involves a lot of, as a dear friend calls it “words of power.”
Hey, I don’t curse like a sailor, I AM a sailor, ergo, people curse like me, ergo I am a role model. Just not a very good one.
My version is more of a “Fuck, what is wrong with this thing, curse a lot while trying brute force tactics, and ramming head against the object repeatedly. If that doesn’t work, I get calm and analytic, and, usually by post calm attempt number three, problem is solved. But it seems I must try the “brute force and cursing while wondering what the hell I’m even doing, I have no training on this damn thing!” model first.
Why?
IDK it’s a weakness and a habit. But at this age, (I think I have you by a year or two if I remember right) I’m not likely to change.
I began describing myself as a writer who did a bit of secretarial work on the side (instead of a secretary/admin assistant who did writing on the side) after I was officially let go from my last full-time job. I was a couple of chapters into writing my first novel … and I think I must have wierded out the HR guy processing the paperwork for my dismissal. I was very cheerful and upbeat, because I was thinking of how much I was looking forward to going home and writing another couple of chapters that day, instead of five more hours of corporate hell.
I’m not a reel writer, I just scribble a bit. Not until I’m done. Too many story scribbles to make a scrabble game (what would you put on the tiles? Phrases? Plot hooks? Big tiles, that). I just want more stories! Stories in the head translated to pages is where it’s at.
I started writing after getting laid off. I got into reading Fan Fiction, liked the first 5 chapters of one story, and then found that there was no chapter 6. It just ended, and after 4 years nothing new had been added. If I wanted to read more, it looked like I’d have to write it myself.
So I set out to do that, with some degree of success. I’ve been writing ever since. I even have one long short story up on Amazon and it’s sold a few copies. So, yeah, I’m an Actual Published Author. I’m pretty far down on Larry Correia’s alphabetical author list, though.
I quickly discovered that the only way to learn how to write…is to write. I took Robert A. Heinlein’s advice: Tell the story. I found that there are a lot of stories in my head, and that wrestling them out of there onto a page (or screen) is hard work. But it’s worth it.
In the end, I write the stories I want to read.
I decided this morning (before reading this..no really…but I’m not surprised that I read this after making a decision, because the universe likes to laugh at me that way), that I would write up some affirmations/manifestations for myself to the effect of…”I get great dopamine from writing my stories.” As I’m usually working on projects for other people, formatting, covers, editing, etc…and my stuff never gets written. So, maybe the lure of dopamine from my own output my push my efforts a little higher on the importance ladder.
Blame me being a writer on Jim Baen. First he got me hanging out with all the disreputable people at the Bar. Someone commented people in science fiction books don’t do everyday things. Take their car to be worked on. Do laundry. Go to the bathroom. Go shopping in a supermarket…
So of course I had to write “Paper or Plastic?” where a fellow takes his new found alien friend grocery shopping.
Then Jam had to start Jim Baen’s Universe e-zine. Just in case I was getting discouraged waiting for a response on the book. I ripped off a novella called “Common Ground”. They said anyone could submit and get pro rates. The letter came back with a check. I think it was $706. I impressed the hell out of my wife.
Well, I just kept writing. It’s a sickness. It didn’t pay much the first four years. You get these ideas and put them in your folder to write about some day. You dream about your book and get up at 3am to make sure you don’t lose the idea.
I have 31 publications on Amazon and I’d keep writing even if nobody paid me.
We all would. We can’t help it. Like Van Gogh painting in the asylum.
Yep. For some of us, it’s the only thing keeping us out of an asylum.
Seriously, I no write, I get progressively less hinged.
…Also writing is Great Fun.
(I say as I tear my hair out trying to get the last 3-odd chapters of a draft to behave and let me write them, darn it! Currently having to hit the chapters in spots to write scattered bits at a time. But still, progress.)
“For some of us, it’s the only thing keeping us out of an asylum. ”
And has been, from the age of twelve.
And yes, it’s the most fun you can have by yourself. … as long as we remember to wash our hands afterwards.
Orphans is ticking along. Now I need to finish the revision of Witch’s Daughter and schedule pre-orders.
Awesome!
Chesterton wrote something about the mad artist asserting exactly that point. Writing, painting, whatever they did was what kept them sane, madness was not the cause of their genius, their genius was the cure (or at least palliative) of their madness.
The Baen Bar! I posted there many moons ago, but it took me until 2025 and a bald question from Sarah to actually publish. I swear I have to print and frame that certificate.
Brian: You are all Real Writers!
Crowd: YES! YES! We are all Real Writers!
Peasant: …I’m not.
Crowd: SHH!
-quiet hand raised- I be hobby writer. Not be too gud, but not too awful either. Just so-so, like play in my little puddle.
Mud puddles are fun, too. Don’t let anyone else know, they’ll all want to join in.
11B-Mailclerk: “AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!” (Runs out of full gear rainy day roadmarch formation. Jumps up and down in big mudpuddle three times. big splashes) “WOOOOOO! I LOVE this (TOOT)!!!”
SGT: “(Mailclerk!) Get (BLEEP) back in (HONNNNK) formation!”
11B-Mailclerk: “WOOOOO!” (runs back and gets in line)
Bunch of other grunts and geeks: “WOOO!” “AAAAA!” (mega-splashes) (Happy noises)
SGT: “I’m gonna kill that (BUZZZZZZZ) geek!”
(was so worth it…)
Hobby Writer is still Real Writer.
I concluded I was a Real Writer when I got my first rejection letter.
That’s what shoved me over the edge from “Trying to write” to “I’ll show YOU, you SOB!” You can’t fly until you’re out of the nest, sometimes pushed out.
Ah. I used to go past a hundred rejections every year by March.
Love those moments that Sarah describes. At LosCon last November, I was in a crowded elevator and one young woman thanked me for making some great points. I’m not sure which panel she was referring to, but it may have been the one about the state of publishing. At any rate, it got me pondering whether that happens to everybody or just me. OK, that’s my ego talking. Of course it happens to others. I’ve said the same to others myself, but…, just let me stroke my ego for a minute before bringing me back down to earth…, ahhh…. OK, go ahead.
One thing I’ve done is I have a file where I collect laudatory comments I’ve gotten (mostly from fan fiction so far). When I start to feel depressed, I can go back to it for my Sally Field moment. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rl_NpdAy3WY
I claim “Real Writer”.
The check cleared for my first commercial article submission. All of $25 dollars, but it cleared. I Got Paid.
(grin)
Bravo!
I have managed to stop throwing things…
SUCCESS.
[…] I MEANT TO POST THIS HERE BEFORE. MY PERMISSION FOR YOU TO BE A REAL AUTHOR: The Velveteen Author. […]
Heinlein noted that writers are timebinders. Korzybski defined ‘timebinding’ as THE unique human activity. Or as my preceptor said, if it ain’t in the notebook it didn’t happen.
He was right, and fans of science fiction embraced the idea. Writers (or “authors”) are indeed timebinders. They may be recording times that didn’t happen (yet, anyway) but the truth behind the story abides. It may be heretical to mention but there’s a pretty good case that THIS is indeed the oldest profession. Or second oldest, anyway, but I incline to oldest, as thought must precede action.
You are not just an author or a writer; you are engaged in the oldest unique activity that defines humankind.
I am a writer/author. Tried to get published with no luck. Amazon came along and 50+ novels were born. Thanks, Amazon. Thanks, readers. Still on Amazon at age 78. Still writing books. If I tried to get published today, I’d definitely have no luck. Old White Anglo Saxon Male.
I started writing and found I can’t quit. I don’t know what else to do.
It’s been an ugly couple of days, so I’ll leave it at that, and thank Sarah for the certificate. 🙂
It’s addictive.