A couple of years ago my writing seemed to be coming to a head and I was sure I’d be exploding onto the market in no time launching my career into the stratosphere. I drafted query letters, refreshed my website, branched out to spread the word; I poured everything I knew into succeeding, but it wasn’t enough. I needed help.
My stranger-friend in Boston, Lynette, provided enough of a light to keep me going. My next door neighbor found a major flaw in my manuscript. My wife has been patient, encouraging me to answer the one question I should not, by now, be having trouble with: what’s it about. Others have simply told me success is entirely a matter of making the right choices and that I will have to get there on my own.
People can be very presumptuous when least expected. I asked for help and they heard “carry me.” That upset me until I reminded myself that being misunderstood for any reason is an obvious problem for a writer. So how could I ask more clearly?
I don’t know why but one small nugget from my history class at Portora Royal in Northern Ireland has stuck with me, a kernel of wisdom following the disastrous Charge of the Light Brigade. “Don’t give orders that can be understood; give orders that can’t be misunderstood.” With that in mind I wondered if I was asking the wrong question, that instead of asking for help to succeed I should ask for help not to screw up?
