Pale copies

In the movie "Little Women" Christian Bale, playing "Teddy" has a line that still haunts me. He and the character Amy are in Europe to feed their artistic souls and hopefully have their talents recognized by the people that matter. In response to Amy encouraging Teddy about his music he says, "My compositions are like your paintings. Pale copies of another man's genius."

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

I've feared becoming that statement since I heard it. To feel so much artistic longing, to feel the beauty of creating inside of you but never able to express it?

Oh my God, I can't think of a worse existence.

Here's the thing though, I feel today that maybe I'm facing it.

I'm real good at giving snippets of inspiration. A little nudge here, a character idea there, a scene, a line of dialogue.

But when it comes to the full on take the reigns and go aspect I fear that I may only project the "pale copies of another man's genius".

What has brought on this bleak outlook, you may ask?

I submitted to a literary contest in February. I never expected to win, my only hope was to be one of the eight finalists in my genre; baring that to have really good reviews.

Neither came true.

As part of the contest I receive two critiques, neither of which was particularly inspiring. One of them complained that in the twenty-six pages I sent, my protagonist was one note. Another accused me of "ripping off" Robert Jordan. One gave me literal line by line critiques, while the other simply told me that my scenes rambled on and that if I didn't change my second chapter he personally wouldn't bother reading my story if some idiot chose to publish it.

Of course they used slightly more...professional verbiage.

I know it wasn't as polished grammatically as it could have been. And that the synopsis left out the fact the war wasn't unending (as with Jordan) but instead the sisters would be the ones to end it and bring peace to the land. But I was more than a little annoyed to read that I should replace my dialogue with narrative and that my mandatory one page synopsis didn't have enough detail.

Maybe you're sitting here thinking "You should be more open to honest critique. What do you want everyone just to tell you how great you are and let you fall on your face?"

The answer is no, of course not. I like getting honest feedback, it's helped me a lot in the past. I'm not sure what the exact difference is here, but there is one. Perhaps it's feeling like I'm being told by two people from a well respected writers association that I suck the hind teat of the Fantasy genre, I'm a copy cat with no real talent (pale copy), and that I should simply be satisfied being a wife and mother and stick to writing Christmas cards.

I think in the absence of other feedback, the negative looms larger than it might otherwise. Only one person that I sent the book to after I'd finished the major revisions a month and half ago has finished reading it and said anything about it. She liked it, said it was a page turner. She doesn't read Fantasy books as a rule but she loved this one. She'll tell you that the fact that she's my mother-in-law doesn't color her judgement and for those who know Judy, you know she's telling the truth.

But nothing from any other friend or family member.

I understand people have lives, they have their own artistic and personal pursuits, families, jobs, responsibilities that take up every moment of every day. I get it, I really do.

At this point, though, I almost wish they'd just dump it in the trash and tell me they couldn't get through it; that the first two chapters didn't grab them enough to read it through to the end and that the only reason they are attempting to trudge along is because they're my friends and care about me. That the dialogue sucks, it's just not different enough for each character (a critique from the contest). That the concept has been done to death, that it's not original enough in the "sword and sorcery" sub-genre of Fantasy to really make it. That my prose is amateur and clunky. That it sucks the hind teat of Fantasy and should be relegated to the half off bin at Barnes and Noble.

The thing is, I never thought it was the next great Fantasy novel; not like Jacqueline Carey or Brandon Sanderson, or Jim Butcher's stories. But I always thought, or hoped, that it was good. A solid story, with interesting characters, and a villain you might love to hate. And at the very least a story my friends and family would want to read. That if it didn't find a publisher they would want to keep reading because they liked the story. I always thought that, at least, would be enough for me; if I could touch and entertain my friends and family with it.

Not to sound over dramatic, but at this point...well, the thought of building a nice little pyre and setting the damn thing on fire has crossed my mind today.