Writers in the Storm

by Jenny Hansen

I was just introduced to the Law of Loss Aversion on the marketing side of my life and was shocked at how much I see it in action in the writing world.

What exactly is the Law of Loss Aversion?

It describes the very human foible that we feel loss more than we feel gain. Researchers have proved that you will spend more emotion on a $100 loss than you will on a $100 windfall. In other words, a real (or even a potential) loss will be more severe emotionally than an equivalent gain.

The two researchers who defined this theory, Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman, actually showed that losses carry more than twice the psychological impact of gains. So it would be common for a person to feel an equal amount of contentment between not losing $5 and finding $10 on the street.

Loss Aversion is why gambling is so seductive. Marketers and casinos know you can’t deal with the pain of losing out on an opportunity. This is also why "10% off for today only" or "6 hours left" are successful marketing strategies.

Bottom Line: We hate losses even more than we love gains.

It's not completely rational, but it's true. Here's Loss Aversion in action:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBX-KulgJ1o

Managing Loss in Writing

Writing is a profession where we're required to accept loss as an intrinsic part of our jobs. We fight an uphill battle all the time, in my humble opinion. Writing is about heart and vision and drive. On the other hand, the Business of Writing is about numbers and sales and distribution.

We bring heart and emotion to our work. We have to, or the stories will suck. Or worse, they won't get written.

Yet the selling of our work is in many ways heartless by nature. Emotion has no place in numbers - you're either selling or you aren't. Marketing metrics are pretty black and white.

What do writing losses look like?

The losses writers endure can feel endless - like a thousand paper cuts in any given year. Some losses may feel smaller or larger, but all of the items below are usually perceived as losses.

• Rejection from an agent or editor
• Edits requiring you to change an entire story
• Not finaling in a contest
• Losing your manuscript with no backup
• Losing a critique partner
• Missing an important deadline
• Bad reviews
• Not having a contract renewed
• Your main contact leaving (ex: publishers, marketing firms, publicists)

What do our writing wins look like?

And just when we think about quitting...a "win" comes rolling in. They might look like:

• Acceptance from an agent or editor
• Edits showing that your [fill in the blank] loves your story
• Finaling in a contest
• Gaining a great critique partner
• A great review
• Getting a contract renewed
• Winning an award
• Making a "best of" list

How do you manage Loss Aversion?

So, if it's human nature to fear loss more strongly than we embrace joy, how do we keep ourselves motivated in a profession that guarantees loss? How do we fight against being more bummed out about a bad review than feeling joy over a good review?

In his Medium article, How Loss Aversion is Driving Your Fear of Failure, Daniel Schleien gives five solid tips about how to overcome loss aversion:

1. Be grateful.

Last year in our annual post on Writerly Thanks, I shared a quote from a conference I attended called LIFT:

"Gratitude lives in the same part of the brain as fear. You can’t feel both at the same time."

- Danny Iny

Especially amid a pandemic that included homeschooling (*shudders*), I badly needed Danny's advice. And I needed to read that there's neuroscience backing up those claims that a practice of gratitude actually rewires the brain.

Essentially, focusing on the things you're grateful for leaves less room in your brain for fear and angst.

2. Think long-term.

Lists help with this. Gratitude journals. Reminders on the mirror. Anything that makes you remember your wins will help keep your long-term goal-thinking more rational. If the losses take up twice as much of your energy, a review of your wins and a list of what you love about your work-in-progress will always save your writing day.

Stop being afraid of what could go wrong and start being excited of what could go right.

- Tony Robbins

3. Be honest about what could actually go wrong.

What is the worst thing that could happen? Seriously. If the positives aren't keeping you on track, take a moment to make a list of what could go wrong, and a plan for how to deal with it. Thinking about the fear of failure logically (when you aren't in the middle of a deadline) can help with the fear.

4. Create a strong information filter.

Stop letting all the negative news and information into your brain. Colleen Story calls this "doomscrolling." She did a terrific post about it earlier this year and offered amazing suggestions to help you keep your writing creativity strong. Seriously, set some Google alerts, curate some lists, and be selective about what you let into your writing brain.

5. Read books. Especially biographies.

Read books that make you happy, but also read books about people overcoming hardship. Memoirs and biographies are amazing for this. Kind of the "other people have faced this and I can face it too" mentality.

Pretty great advice, right? Seriously, read Schleien's Medium article. I took his 5 main points and riffed with them, but I really love the language and examples he used.

Final Thoughts

This is a glorious profession we've chosen, but the potential for loss is high and the fear of loss is real. I encourage you to be brave. Gain enough knowledge to have good craft, and then get out of the way and let your magical writing brain tell the story. Be selective in what you allow into that magical writing brain.

Most important of all, be compassionate toward that playful creative who lives inside you. If you care for your inner creative, they won't let you down.

Do you see the Law of Loss Aversion in action in your own life? How about in your writing? Do you have recent losses or wins that came to mind while you read this? Please share them with us down in the comments!

About Jenny

By day, Jenny provides corporate communications and LinkedIn advice for professional services firms. By night she writes humor, memoir, women’s fiction, and short stories. After 20 years as a corporate trainer, she’s delighted to sit down while she works.

When she’s not at her personal blog, More Cowbell, Jenny can be found on Facebook at JennyHansenAuthor or at Writers In The Storm.

Top Photo from Depositphotos by Vadim Vasenin

by Eldred Bird

In my last WITS post, Everything has a Story, I mentioned “The Maltese Falcon”. This movie revolves around what is arguably one of the most famous examples of a plot device known as a MacGuffin (sometimes spelled McGuffin). So, what is it?

Definition of a MacGuffin

Webster defines a MacGuffin as an “object, event, or character in a film or story that serves to set and keep the plot in motion despite lacking intrinsic importance.”

When we hear MacGuffin, most writers immediately think of an object like the falcon figurine from the movie, but as we see in the definition it can be just about anything. It might be a physical object, a specific character, or even something as intangible as an ideology or suspicion. It can be an event that pushes the main characters toward or away from something.

What does all this mean?

Basically, it means a MacGuffin is simply a plot device that usually has no other value beyond driving the plot forward—it’s a motivator. It’s not just a motivator for a scene or a chapter, but a common thread that weaves its way throughout the narrative.

A Brief History

Though the use of an object to drive the plot predates the MacGuffin, it’s believed that English screenwriter Angus MacPhail, who worked extensively with director Alfred Hitchcock, first coined the modern term. When asked about its origin in a 1939 lecture at Columbia University in New York City, Hitchcock, one of the most prolific users of the MacGuffin, explained it as follows:

“It might be a Scottish name, taken from a story about two men on a train. One man says, 'What's that package up there in the baggage rack?' And the other answers, 'Oh, that's a MacGuffin'. The first one asks, 'What's a MacGuffin?' 'Well,' the other man says, 'it's an apparatus for trapping lions in the Scottish Highlands.' The first man says, 'But there are no lions in the Scottish Highlands,' and the other one answers, 'Well then, that's no MacGuffin!' So you see that a MacGuffin is actually nothing at all.”

---

Some Examples of MacGuffins

An Object

We’ve already talked about the statue in The Maltese Falcon, so let’s go back a little further. When you talk about objects driving adventures, you need look no further than the Holy Grail, also known as the Holy Chalice. The pursuit of this most coveted item has driven tales from the Arthurian legends to Monty Python. It’s so well known that the term holy grail has come to describe any object of such rarity that people will do just about anything to obtain it.

Another more modern example is the sorcerer’s stone in the first Harry Potter book. The pursuit of the stone drives the plot forward and motivates the characters at every turn, even though we almost never see it and never witness its power. The same can be said for the horcruxes in last books.

A Person

People are often the center of a story, but it’s usually not one or more of the main characters. It’s a bit of a twist when the character driving the action isn’t even present for most of the story. One good example is Saving Private Ryan. While the entire film is about finding and extracting Ryan from the theater of war, he’s not the hero, or even a part of the action for the majority of the movie.

A less serious, but no less entertaining example of a person as a MacGuffin comes from the master himself, Alfred Hitchcock. If you’ve ever seen The Trouble with Harry, then you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t seen it, I’m not going to ruin it for you, but if you have a dark sense of humor (like me), then you will enjoy this one.

An example from my own shelf comes from my first book, Killing Karma. The MacGuffin in this tale is Rose McCarthy, James’ mother. Though she is never seen (the book opens at her funeral), it’s Rose’s influence that pushes James forward, as well as holds him back, as he learns how to navigate a world that is completely foreign to him.

An Incident

If you’ve ever read a murder mystery or watched a crime drama on TV, then you’ve seen an incident used as a MacGuffin. The crime that’s been committed isn’t as important as the journey the hero takes in solving it. In this case, the incident can serve to motivate both the hunter and the hunted.

In Rear Window, Hitchcock turns this type MacGuffin a little sideways, as he was known to do. The MacGuffin here is whether or not a murder has even been committed.

In North by Northwest, Hitchcock uses a case of mistaken identity to drive the action. The twist here is the fact that the man the main character is mistaken for doesn’t even exist—a true case of the MacGuffin being nothing!

Some Final Thoughts

While people mainly associate MacGuffins with mysteries, they are a useful tool in any genre. They can be anything from a lost love that haunts the protagonist throughout a romance, to the search for a rare record album that leads to a character’s ultimate redemption (I’m talking to you, Jenny!). Just remember that the specific object is never as important as the actions and reactions it creates.

Do you have a favorite in books or movies? What about your own writing? Maybe you’ve used this plot device without even knowing it. Let us know in the comments.

About Eldred

Eldred Bird writes contemporary fiction, short stories, and personal essays. He has spent a great deal of time exploring the deserts, forests, and deep canyons inside his home state of Arizona. His James McCarthy adventures, Killing Karma, Catching Karma, and Cold Karma, reflect this love of the Grand Canyon State even as his character solves mysteries amidst danger. Eldred explores the boundaries of short fiction in his stories, The Waking Room, Treble in Paradise: A Tale of Sax and Violins, and The Smell of Fear.

When he’s not writing, Eldred spends time cycling, hiking, and juggling (yes, juggling…bowling balls and 21-inch knives). His passion for photography allows him to record his travels. He can be found on Twitter or Facebook, or at his website.

Note: All photos used in this post are public domain images from Wikimedia Commons.

by Karen Debonis

If I had a dollar for every time I asked myself, “What is my memoir really about?” I’d probably have enough money to hire a pricey publicist. Although at the rate my manuscript is coming together, I may never need a publicist.

My endless work-in-progress has been “finished” five times since I started writing it in 1999, two years after my eleven-year-old son, Matthew, was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Each time I typed “The End,” I believed I had told the story I needed to tell.

Each time, I realized I was wrong.

In the past five years, since writing became my full-time occupation, I’ve done my due diligence: workshopping the manuscript with critique partners, submitting it for feedback from beta readers, paying a professional book editor. My manuscript has had a half-dozen working titles and subtitles, and the theme changed from “medical mystery” to “people-pleasing” to “personal growth.” I finally settled on people-pleasing.

I promised myself this was IT.

Then recently, it changed again.

My memoir’s narrative follows my young son's (and my) downward spiral due to his undiagnosed brain tumor, his painfully slow recovery, and our ultimate personal growth. His diagnosis was delayed, in part, because I was too afraid of conflict to stand up to doctors and loved ones who dismissed my concerns.

Last year, I was so convinced my universal theme was the destructive power of people-pleasing, I hired a web designer to update my website, and I reinforced my brand around that topic by creating and teaching a workshop, Wipe Your Feet before You Walk all over Me, (now on YouTube), and running focus groups and mother-daughter discussions.

Then, this summer, I asked my IRL beta readers to read my latest revision, Portrait of a People-Pleaser and the Son who Paid the Price. (Yes, it was a mouthful, but I’m a sucker for alliteration.)

Their main take-away: The story wasn’t enough about people-pleasing to support that theme.

I was stunned. After all this time, I’m back to the writing board?

Then, I quickly realized I’d heard similar feedback before—from editors, critique partners, my family. This time, the message got through and I realized my beta readers were right. But I worried that my carefully-built author platform would crumble—my website, my brand, my classes, my social media profiles.

My Book’s (and My) Identity Crisis

My story had a serious identity crisis. What was it really about? I asked my beta readers, and they suggested it had to do with motherhood. It sounded at once expansive, but commonplace.

In the people-pleasing publishing space, I had considered myself a big fish in a small sea because no other traditionally published, literary memoir with a focus on this topic existed. But the sea was so small, I couldn't find it. My tribe didn’t hang together like a school of fish; they were scattered.

When I tweeted my dilemma, Gail Boenning, a self-admitted "recovering people-pleaser” and author of two books, replied that, although many people occasionally say yes when they want to say no, not everyone identifies as a “people-pleaser.” It made sense.

But I feared entering the motherhood publishing space. I was certain to be a minnow in an ocean of  “mom-oirs,” half of them by mothers of a sick child. And I'm a weak swimmer. How would I stand out? How would my memoir survive?

I turned to those who’d survived these rough waters

Three pieces of advice to understand your manuscript:

Fellow memoirists on Facebook generously gave me advice, and three points stood out.

1) Let your book tell you what it’s about.

Kari L. O’Driscoll, author of Truth has a Different Shape: A Memoir, said, “Congratulations on letting your book tell you what it's about!”

I didn’t feel worthy of praise, because apparently, I hadn’t listened to my book, leaving mere humans to point me in the right direction. But knowing that my memoir had an opinion made me determined to tune in better.

2) Ask your story what it needs

Lorraine Segal, author of the memoir-in-progress Angels and Earthworms: An Unexpected Journey to Love, Joy, and Miracles took it a step further. She said,

“Allow the memoir to unfold. Allow it to be what it wants to be and ask it what it needs.”

I took her advice. Closing my eyes, I rested my fingertips on my laptop and asked, “My beautiful memoir—What do you need?"

Almost immediately, it replied, as if the answer was there all along.

“I need to be read,” it said. “Yes, I’m about people-pleasing—that is an integral part of the story—but if that's all it is, and the sea is empty of readers, no one will read the story. I'm too important to gather dust on a shelf, so let's make a deal. I'll go broad in what I have to teach, and you (Karen) go broad in finding me readers. Deal?”

Deal. I hadn’t known how wise my manuscript was.

3) Your memoir (or story) is the only fish in your sea.

Judith Hannan, author of Motherhood Exaggerated addressed my fear of getting lost in the overcrowded sea. She wrote,

“You are not a minnow but the same size fish as everyone else. There is only one Karen DeBonis ocean and you are the only fish in it. Write that story.”

It hit home. And, now that my manuscript and I are communicating better, this is what I know about its identity at this stage:

The new title reflects not only the story, but the work I’ve done to get it this far: Growth: A Mother, her Son, and the Brain Tumor they Survived. This version is about the clash between a woman’s naive expectations of motherhood and her son’s crushing needs, which destroys her confidence and threatens her stability.

I accept now that this identity may change, that my memoir and I may still miscommunicate, and that is all part of the process. Perhaps “finished memoir” is an oxymoron.

My critique group recently shared their feedback on my last chapter, and I finished my revisions. Now, I’ll go back to chapter 1 and start again.

I’ll keep asking “What is my memoir really about?” And this time, I’ll be all ears.

Have you had a book identity crisis? How did you resolve it? Please share your story with us down in the comments section!

About Karen

Karen DeBonis writes about motherhood, perseverance, and people-pleasing, an entangled mix told in her memoir GROWTH: A Mother, Her Son, and the Brain Tumor they Survived, available for representation.

A happy empty-nester, she lives in an old house in upstate New with her husband of thirty-nine years. You can see more of her work at www.karendebonis.com.

Top Photo by Kaushal Moradiya from Pexels