I can’t begin to explain how nerve-wracking writing these letters and
emails are. They go against everything I
was taught as a child. Parental
disapproval was tremendous when I bragged on myself. “Don’t be a show-off. No one wants to hear it,” I was told over and
over. Yet when it comes to marketing and
selling myself, it’s all about sharing the accolades.
Maybe that’s why I tend to suck at self-promotion. It’s a hard thing for me to do. My entire childhood was composed of a litany
of how I should eschew such chest beating and blaring of the
accomplishments. I’m not even that good
with receiving gratitude. If I do
something that earns thanks, I’m apt to slink away with an embarrassed look on
my face. I don’t know how to accept appreciation
gracefully because it feels like I’m being boastful about something good I’ve
done. So you can just imagine how hard
it is for me to shove myself in the spotlight and invite people to look at the things
that I can do, the very things that pay the mortgage and buy my groceries.
My career as a writer is half writing and half marketing and
promotion. Some days it’s all about
look-at-me-and-buy-my-product. I have to
convince people I’m great. I have to
show off. I have to brag. It’s not enough to list my
accomplishments. I have to be
enthusiastic about them so those who can help my career along are inspired to
do so. So here I am, bragging and cringing
inside as I do so, feeling like the world’s biggest narcissist.
That’s part of why I hope to snag an agent. I’d be much happier with someone else
pronouncing my abilities while I sit back, look away with a demure smile, and
say “Aw shucks.” (That reminds me; I
need to work on that demure smile thing. I’ve been told I don’t do demure very well.)
To attract an agent means I have to trumpet about myself, however. I have to do the very act I hope to
eventually be saved from. The thing is,
I know that I’ve done some really good writing, and it’s been well
counterbalanced by the lame-brained crap I’ve committed. I should be able to talk about my strengths
without feeling like the world’s biggest farce.
Yet I can’t do it comfortably.
So I’m off to write yet another letter to another agent, pronouncing
why he/she will be lucky to add me to the client roster. You can be sure I’m wincing the entire time,
imagining that agent reading my letter and saying, “Who does this Tamara Jock
think she is?”
I think I’m a pretty good writer, actually, and an okay person in
general. It’s just super tough for me to
tell you that.
No comments:
Post a Comment