A little recognition

I won a major award the other day. Okay, maybe not a major award, but it made me feel pretty good about things. One of my silly little radio commentaries received first place for writing in the 2010 Minnesota AP Broadcasters Awards.

Watch out Jane Austen!

I hadn't realized I'd been nominated, so the award came as an especially wonderful surprise -- just the thing to snap me out of my, what was going on, month-long funk. Now that I've had my press secretary (that would be me) deal with all the media requests surrounding this momentous event, I've had a chance to reflect on the experience. . . .

Honestly, I'm pleased as punch, but the last thing I want to do is make it seem like a bigger deal than it really is.Whenever I think of writers making a little too big of a deal out of their laudable (but still . . .) successes, I'm always reminded of that scene in Notting Hill in the bookstore:

Anna: Signed by the author, I see.
William: Yes, we couldn't stop him. If you can find an unsigned copy it's worth an absolute fortune.

Because the only thing we writers like better than seeing our name in print is seeing our names on a big ol' check from a publisher (or Publishers Clearing House, for that matter). And the writer's life is filled with oh-so-much rejection. When we do actually stumble upon some recognition, it's so tempting to keep patting the new feather in our cap until we've worn away all of its fuzz, acting like we have everything.

Well, obviously not "everything" since you got the feathers and the prince, didn't ya Kate?

I was interviewing someone in the fitness industry last week and we got to talking about how to succeed in the business world when you're your own boss. He'd been working to collect input from his clients (what we in the museum biz call metrics . . . museum people really can be kind of a buzz kill) so he would know how to improve his business. The issue was that people were more than willing to spill on what they liked about his gym but when it came to giving (constructive) criticism, they clammed up.

While praise is lovely and never fails to give us a warm little glow of stratification, we can only grow and improve if we are tested. Rejection just means there's still work to do. Criticism gives us an idea of how to go about that work.

Yesterday morning I checked my email first thing and found two rejections waiting for me from literary agents I'd queried about representing my novel. 

That'll keep me grounded. More importantly: it'll keep me working.