Patty Dann and I met in New York City when we were both struggling writers, though she was a lot less struggling than me. I once attended a party at her Upper West Side apartment with friends of hers from The New Yorker and Columbia University, where she earned an MFA in creative writing. She was then working on a novel that she had put away and tried to forget about because she felt it just wasn’t good enough. But she never tossed it—a good thing.
One day she announced she had rescued her manuscript from cold storage and was rereading it with the idea of maybe working on it some more and smoothing out the rough spots. This may have been because her agent wanted to have something from her to sell to publishers.
“You know it’s not as bad as I thought,” she said. “It’s not half bad.”
That novel turned out to be Mermaids, a critical success in the uber-competitive New York literary scene, which became a huge commercial success after Cher and Wynona Ryder starred in the movie of the same name based on Patty’s book. From there Patty went on to do very well. She has contributed stories to the “Modern Love” series for the New York Times while authoring a number of acclaimed novels and nonfiction books, including one on the craft of writing. Her writing classes and mentoring of writers at the West Side YMCA and other workshops prompted New York Magazine to name her one of “the Great Teachers of NYC.”
I was thinking of Patty the other day because she gave me two pieces of advice I’ve always remembered, and that may be useful to others who like to write, who aspire to write professionally, and who may even have poems or a novel stashed away somewhere that they are not sure what to do with, if anything.
Patty and I worked together in the programming department at the Arts & Entertainment (now A&E) cable network. Its offices occupied an upper floor of a midtown Fifth Avenue building. At the time I was living in an apartment on East 11th and “A” Street on the edge of Alphabet City in the East Village. It was a fifth floor walkup about the size of a closet. I shared the apartment with roaches and water bugs; they, however, paid no rent. One water bug I encountered in my bathroom was such a sturdy specimen it sounded like a walnut being crushed when I stepped on it.
Leaving our building you never turned right on the street, because that would have taken you deeper into the drug-riddled, crime-infested, violence-heavy no go zone that was Alphabet City at that time. Some Sunday mornings, when things fell eerily quiet, you could explore a little of the experimental art scene that was developing there. Alphabet City is now a hipsterish, trendy enclave thanks to those pioneering artists, many of whom have been priced out of the area and can longer afford to live or have studios there.
On weekday mornings I turned left up to First Avenue and then headed through Gramercy Park on my way uptown to A&E’s offices. I always left enough time to walk to work, never riding the subway or bus. It was the same after work—always walked home. Once you get to know the neighborhoods and learn where not to go Manhattan is a great walking town. It’s the best way to learn a city: walk it.
In those days I was trying my hand at writing short fiction. I showed a few of my stories to Patty and this was the first piece of advice she gave me: “Be more gossipy,” she said. “Write like you’re sharing stories, over coffee, with a friend.”
This is terrific advice. I wish my style was more like that. By “gossipy” she does not mean being mean or malicious or dishing dirt. She means: Talk about people and what they truly wish to know, the issues, small and large, that concern their lives. Be more conversational. Imagine your readers are like a good friend sitting across from you at the table. They’re eager, open, a friendly welcoming audience. They want to hear a good story, something juicy maybe. Give it to them.
A good gossipy conversation flows easily from topic to topic. So does good writing, no matter the style or tone you’re writing in.
The second piece of advice Patty gave me was not as welcome. After handing my pages back to me she said, “Don’t send these out. Don’t submit them. They’re not ready. It will hurt you if you do.”
These were hard words to hear, especially considering how hard I had worked on the words on those pages. I did not mind her bluntness; I admired it, I appreciated it. This is why she is such a good writing teacher. She is willing to tell her students what they do not want to hear.
But I have a quibble with the idea of waiting until that perfect moment when you feel you are finally ready to submit your work to an agent or editor or publisher. Here I turn to a different sort of teacher, Hall of Fame Dodgers left-hander Sandy Koufax. When asked how he knew what pitch to throw in a tight situation in a game, he responded with a philosopher’s wisdom: “It is better,” he said, “to throw a theoretically poorer pitch wholeheartedly than to throw the so-called right pitch with a feeling of doubt. You’ve got to feel you’re doing the right thing—sure that you want to throw the pitch you’re going to throw.”
What is true for baseball pitchers is true for writing or any other creative pursuit as well: Put it out there. Believe in it, and put it out there.
Are you going to stumble, be ignored, passed over? You bet. Rejection is inevitable. Lots and lots of it. No matter how ready you think you are, no matter how good the piece is, in nearly every case it will be met with studied indifference. After receiving a rejection letter from a publisher William Saroyan scribbled on it, “I reject your rejection!” and sent it back to him.
Keep pitching, keep submitting. If you leave that work of love that you labored on for so long locked away in a drawer for all eternity, what good is that going to do you or anybody else? Who knows—that drawer of yours may contain another Mermaids just waiting to be set free.
Last word: One of the pleasures of writing Tilting West is getting emails from readers and subscribers. Sometimes people say to me, apologetically, “I’m not really a writer” or “I don’t know how to write.” On the contrary, virtually every piece of correspondence I get is interesting, well-written, and sometimes even gossipy! Keep it coming. Everything is much appreciated. KevinNelson@substack.com.
Tomorrow, a special feature by guest contributor Gary Horstkorta: “A Flight to Remember.”
Wow! Kevin, I just read this today - wonderful to read - I confess I don't remember either of those words of advice. The second one certainly seems harsh!
Thank you! Yeah, I've been around a little bit more than you might think. This morning I said to Jennifer affer she read it, "You know I wrote this piece with Leyna and Alison in mimd. I think it's the kind of thing they might enjoy." So it's very sweet that you did indeed like it.