What's the Use?

A Reflection from Realm Makers

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of attending the Realm Makers conference out in St. Louis, MO, for my second year in a row. I was so excited to go again, especially because I was able to prep far in advance this time (perhaps a story for another time, but last year I realized I got the wrong kind of ticket a WEEK before the conference started)! Anticipating the questions and conversations about my manuscript, and knowing I was pitching it, I spent the month prior making every edit necessary. The process took three different grueling writing lock-ins, including a session of removing every unnecessary “that”.

Going into the conference, I was confident in my manuscript and who I am as a writer!

Coming out of it… well, I’ve even surprised myself.

I’ll admit, my first day was a bit of a struggle. Swimming through the countless connections to be made was like fighting a rip current, and all I could think about was making the right connections. Needless to say, I didn’t feel I was bonding with anyone. The sense of belonging last year brought was quickly fading as my mind waged war with who to talk to.

Maybe I was only nervous for my pitch appointment they next day.

After fifteen agonizing minutes of presenting, questions and answers, I walked away from the agent with my held my head high… until I returned to my room and had a massive cry.

Now, if you know me, I beg for constructive criticism. Having other eyes on my work is super important to me because I know how tunnel-visioned I can get. So I’d like to think I can handle discussions dissecting my work pretty well when I know it’s coming.

But this hit me like a stray left-hook on my blindside. Because I didn’t receive constructive criticism on my story. Instead, I got criticism on my fit in the market.

It’s been well known to me that my writing style is a massive liability for a publisher. Not only am I a debuting author, my manuscript is a true epic fantasy (about 400 pages in length) with lots of characters, worldbuilding, and made up words. What’s worse is that my writing style is what has been described as Tolkienesque, containing the echoes of an author that the current fantasy market doesn’t reflect.

Mind you, I take that as the highest compliment.

But it does mean that the chances of achieving traditional publishing are slimmer, and this appointment only confirmed that. After all, could the beloved J. R. R. Tolkien secure a traditional publishing deal in today’s market with The Lord of the Rings? Not likely. And would he be able to advertise himself the way it’s almost required to nowadays? Probably not. (Tolkien didn’t even like allegory, you think he wants to assign amateur TikTok tropes in his stories?)

This fifteen minute appointment left me with one dooming thought. It didn’t matter how much studying, time, love or effort I put into my writing if I didn’t fit the market and couldn’t convince enough people to want to read my book.

Staring into my room’s mirror with red-eyes and a crushed soul, for a moment I felt a little unlovable.

What’s the use of being a good writer if it means nothing to the market and the online algorithm of acceptance?

But on the other hand,

What’s the use of online and market acceptance glory if you can’t be proud of the written product?

It seemed impossible to me, so I figured that I needed to decide which one mattered more. The answer was all too clear.

My attempts at making the “right” connections left me feeling unfulfilled, and my current social numbers deemed me unworthy even though I tried. Yet the suggestions I received to “fix” my manuscript would make it unrecognizable to me. Thinking of the revision time it would take made me sick. Thinking of turning my story into a mincemeat version made me sicker.

As I held the beginning chapters of my manuscript in my hands, I reflected on my all my years of work on it. This is a story that has grown up with me. It’s seen my worst and my best, and likewise I’ve seen it’s worst and best too. We’ve gone through revision after revision together, creating something better each time. Once we found our style, I knew it was right. After all, it was a college professor of mine that first told me it was Tolkienesque. It was a classmate that shared with everyone how it made her feel like she was reading her favorite classic. It was a friend that told me it had her crying with a sense of wonder.

Their testaments were what solidified my path. This was the story I was entrusted to tell. I’d only forgotten how to be a good steward of what came with it by getting distracted by the surrounding shiny things. My goal of success isn’t defined by getting published with that sweet guaranteed “NYT Best Sellers” deal. Success is knowing my book changed someone through authenticity and raw Truth. The Holy Spirit was quick to remind me that I was fighting for control over something that was outside of my abilities to begin with. It revealed how closed off emotionally, mentally, and spiritually the fight made me.

With a prayer of repentance, a steady breath, and a quick touch-up in makeup, I left my room with a single resolve: I was going to let myself make friends. Not connections. Because if I wanted my book to change someone by being authentic, then I needed to be authentic. And I was going to let God lead each friend to me.

For lack of a better term, it was like magic. Barely fifteen minutes passed between me leaving my room and bumping into someone I had met the day before, who suddenly involved me in a video with her and one of the event teachers. Later I was having dinner with two other girls and having the deepest discussion I think I’ve ever had over a bowl of tomato soup. The whole next day I was bouncing around people who were eager to chat, pray, or help formulate ideas for the next project. There wasn’t even a question about if I would have to sit alone for the ending keynote. Five friends surrounded me instantly! The conference ended with a late night “after-party” of sorts with a wonderful group of new friends, a few pizzas, and conversations only writers would think to have.

All of it brought more healing and encouragement than I think they all know. And to them, if they happen to be reading this, thank you. You really are blessings in this realm.

I left the conference knowing I have LOTS of work to do about intentionally befriending others online and in-person (Charisma, lets say, is not one of my natural charms unless you count a feigned sense of confidence mixed with morbid humor attractive. And my willingness to let people in emotionally is even less naturally occuring). More importantly, I left reminded of why I wanted to write in the first place and what authorship really means to me.

Next year, I want my top goal to be passing along the encouragement I received to the next person that needs it. Not just by connecting with them, but investing in them.

Because it's not about the book deal or flattering the market. It's about the words that change a life.

That’s the use of being a good writer.