The Magic of Mentorship
For National Novel Writing Month, author and actor Christy Cashman writes about how a good writing coach can change the trajectory of your life
By Christy Cashman
I’ve heard of writing workshops that have a reputation for being brutal. My question is: why? I would never go there. I guess there will always be times when a writer is hurt by the comments or criticism of their work. But sharing work in the process of a long-term project like a novel is like a mother hen getting off her egg and trusting that the elements won’t destroy its fragile stage of development. In other words, you have to be in good hands.
Sensible review and criticism will move your project along faster than anything. But it’s critically important to be mindful of who you share your writing with at the beginning. You can’t let people crumple your tender ego. At the same time, you need thick skin to look dispassionately at what a critical reader says needs to change. (I’ve learned not to share writing before it is well-formed, so I can hold my own with criticism.)
So, where should you turn?
When I began my first novel, I was already familiar with artistic forms of self-expression. I had worked in film, which is more collaborative to begin with, so I was used to brainstorming on screenplays and production—but prose writing was different. After deciding that I had a story to tell, I joined a novel workshop at Grub Street in Boston. This was a good start. Once you find that group to share your work in progress, it’s like a CPAP machine for sleep apnea: It keeps the fresh air flowing and opens the airways to new directions. The group was filled with sensitive readers who prioritized positive feedback, and many of my early teachers have remained close. When class ended the following summer and I sat in my backyard gazebo, I churned out pages I felt would emerge by September into a rough draft.
I fantasized about my novel being on display in the glare of bookstore windows, with me inside, happily signing away in various quaint shops, my readers asking when the sequel was coming. Yet as the work went on, I developed all the typical writing snafus. I had entered a kind of wacky existential turmoil, wondering if I’d gone nuts—if what I was doing was a total waste of my time, while my family and friends were having a blast in full summer swing.
It was then that two mentors arrived as if by divine providence. Call it synchronicity, a God breath, or whatever you want. One was right in front of me, and the other came in the pumpkin coach with a whole retinue. My dear friend Betsy, whom I’d known for fifteen years, was already a great mentor to me. I knew she wrote lovely poetry and stories, but, for some strange reason, I was nervous to show her my work. When she asked nicely to see the story, I realized deep down I did want someone to read what I’d written, and I trusted her not to lie. Even so, it was a big leap to give my pages to her that sunny summer day.
Once you find the group to share your work in progress, it’s like a CPAP machine for sleep apnea: It keeps the fresh air flowing and opens the airways to new directions.
There is no bleaker feeling than awaiting feedback on a piece of writing. Talk about heart-on-your-sleeve vulnerability. When I handed off the pages, I had no idea what her response would be. But because I knew her very well, I figured I’d be able to tell if she was dissembling. The next time I saw her face, my heart soared. Betsy was crying. She overflowed with praise. She told me that she figured it would be interesting and well-written, but had no idea how good the writing and the story would be.
When we met to discuss her feedback, she was concise with craft tips and disregarded things that would be taken care of with some editing. Instead, she asked probing questions, which granted me deeper insights. I felt that I could finally relax; I knew someone was on my side, and that we’d added a new dimension to our friendship.
Soon, my friend introduced me to another author she knew, Art, who had experience in areas that she didn’t. After I sent my work to him, he got back to me the next day. He loved the manuscript. And after some polishing, this dear man sent my book to his friend, a prominent author, and she recommended ways I could move ahead. Fast forward to the book’s release, she wrote an impactful blurb for me that, in turn, has opened even more doors.
There is no bleaker feeling than awaiting feedback on a piece of writing.
Yes, I had a fantastic mentoring outcome—Fairy Godmother to the Prince, to the Crown Jewels. But I was in my forties. Part of me wondered why I didn’t know I needed mentors until then. I now realize how necessary they were; these two had become invaluable and it felt like we’d known each other all our lives. I hadn’t realized how much I needed their support and encouragement. Now I see how mentors can change the trajectory of our lives. They often believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. What an incredible gift that I hope to pay back.
Mentors give a multifaceted kind of support that goes beyond teaching itself—a special elevation of caring and nurturing. It involves an unselfish appreciation of someone else’s predicament, and for me, writing is just that. Writer’s block is a place we often put ourselves that we work to get out of, and our mentors may hold some of those keys. They come as pats on the back, gentle kicks in the pants, or reminders that you must muddle through and not think too far ahead.
I wonder what would have happened if I would’ve taken the time earlier in my life to seek out my mentors and allow them to help. I wonder if I’d have given up had Betsy not been so overwhelmingly complimentary. Probably not, but the transfusion I received has been helpful ever since. Writing needs exposure. And, like an unhatched egg, the timing must be perfect.
Whomever you allow to peek at your work must be delicate and trustworthy. And it takes some people a long time before they can trust. For years, Art and I have been telling Betsy, “Dig those poems out of your sock drawer. Let’s see ‘em!” But she still hesitates and makes excuses for her work, as I sometimes find myself doing too. Mentors have their work cut out—but the reward is worth it.
Christy Cashman is an American author, actress, and producer who has appeared in more than twenty films, including Kettle of Fish, The Love Guide, American Hustle, Joy, The Descendants, Ted 2, The Women, The Golden Boys, The Forger and many others. The second youngest of ten children, Christy was named after Catherine Marshall’s novel Christy, and grew up in North Carolina where her love for horses began at a young age. When she’s not writing or working on production projects, Christy is most likely riding cross country through the countryside of New England or Ireland. She has also written two children’s books set in Ireland – The Not-So-Average Monkey of Kilkea Castle and Petri’s Next Things. Christy lives with her husband, two sons, their three dogs, and four horses. The family divides their time between Kilkea Castle in Ireland and their homes in Boston and Chatham, Massachusetts. The Truth About Horses is Christy’s first novel.
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