Improving My/Your Reading

So most of you who read this blog know that part of my job is to develop manuscripts. I read material at an early stage and do my best to help authors write the best book they can. A lot of it is about calling out what’s already there, helping authors discover the real stuff within.

It’s also about readers. Sometimes authors have a hard time seeing what will be of the most service to readers. They want to serve them, but seeing the way can be difficult.

It really is an honor to do this kind of work. It is (if I dare say it) artful work. But here’s the thing I’m learning right now. My job these days is to improve my own reading.

I read a lot of manuscripts, and honestly I’m really tired of reading schlock and then trying to turn schlock into gold. It’s wearisome.

So, I hereby swear off working on schlocky stuff. If I see it before acquiring it, I’ll reject it—no matter how important the author is. If I see it after it’s been contracted, I’ll threaten to cancel the agreement unless the author figures out a way to fix it.

And here’s the thing. I may sound selfish in all this, but actually if I stick to my guns, we’ll end up publishing better books. Improving my own reading means improving your reading too.

But here’s my question. Does this principle have broader application? Are there other cases out there when doing what’s best for you leads to what is best for others as well? It’s not always the case. One thinks of soldiers giving up their lives for their comrades. But I’ll bet it’s more often the case than we want to admit.

Sometimes doing what’s best for yourself in this sense is hard work. But it is a good thing to do, and it helps others too.

So go ahead. If you were to do what’s best for you today, what would that be? Go do it. The rest of us give you permission; in fact, we thank you for it.

Mentors

When I was a little tyke, eight or nine, I used to walk down about ten houses to Mr. Jaspers’ place. Typically Mrs. Jaspers answered the door, and I’d ask her if Mr. Jaspers was up for playing catch. More often than not he’d be out a few seconds later, and he threw the ball with me. Mr. Jaspers taught me that if you’re going to catch a ground ball, you have to get your body in front it and be ready for it to bounce.

In high school it was Mrs. Sommers, my drama teacher. Mrs. Sommers was an animated, somewhat eccentric, passionate woman. My other teachers were a bore, but Mrs. Sommers brought us all to life with enunciation exercises like repeating “the lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue” over and over again until we sounded good enough. Recently my high school classmates honored her at a reunion. As person after person stood up to give their tributes to her, I remembered how twenty years ago Mrs. Sommers made no secret of her struggles with infertility. I wish I’d had the presence of mind to stand up at the reunion and announce, “Mrs. Sommers, behold: your children!” Because it’s true.

I’ve had many other mentors over the years: bosses, therapists, authors, friends I look up to. Mentors have a way of showing up when we need them most.

You have them too, of course. Maybe it’s time to send a note to one of them and say thanks.