What Do You Need?

If the comments after my last post are any indication, the readers of my blog need sex. But that's not what we're going to talk about today. Oh . . . maybe a little. (I can't control your comments . . . so . . . )

Next Wednesday, a national magazine is flying people in from NYC to shoot me. As in a portrait, not guns. Apparently, they send one photographer, one assistant to said photographer, hair and makeup. And yesterday, the utterly lovely woman who is corresponding with me over this photoshoot, wrote me an email asking, "Would you like me to send a stylist?"

Have you spit out your coffee yet? I could have gotten a little snarky and written back, "Why? To choose between the ten identical black shirts hanging in my closet, or the three identical white blouses from the Gap?" Instead, I did what any self-respecting woman with really bad clothes does. I called Oldest Daughter, whose wardrobe drips with labels like Ralph Lauren, Juicey Couture, Chanel, Steve Madden, Dolce and Gabanna, and Coach. She lives for clothes, and as a perfect teeny little size, she always looks incredible. Her response? "Hell yeah, have them send a stylist." Then, "Oh good, let's go shopping."

Now, just to be clear, I have a bunch of fancy clothes for signings and book parties, but this isn't what the photoshoot requires. I need something nice, but casual. And having been shot for a couple of magazines before, I know they like "color" not black. So I wrote back, "Yeah, in some pathetic turn of events in my life, turns out I need someone to dress me."

I do. And that is when being utterly honest with oneself comes in handy. I know what I need.

And here we go . . . back to the writing. You see . . . in my writers' group, I have a brilliant writer who, when I meander, hauls my meandering writing ass back on the trail. I have an equally brilliant woman who can spot a cliche from 100 pages off. She also has a way with the poetry of words and description that awes me. I suppose they think I bring something to the table, too, or we wouldn't still be meeting all these years later. I know what I need. My guess is they know what they need.

I meet writers who don't believe in critique partners and groups. And that's fine. But then, truly, the need for self-honesty is even stronger. Like people who quit drinking or shooting up without A.A. or N.A. Can it be done? Sure. Absolutely. But without a bunch of people to tell your sorry ass when you're being an ass? Makes it more difficult, I suppose. We all find ways to delude ourselves. Our blind spots.

I sometimes smile (all right, I sometimes smirk) when I see people offering editing services. Because some of them have no business doing so. Editing is an art. You often get what you pay for. And just because someone has a degree in English doesn't mean they are capable. I've been an editor for 20 years. A ghostwriter. I've written 20+ books, have contracts for 7 more. But . . . I STILL need an editor. I still need my critique group. I still need someone to seize my pretty little phrases sometimes and say, "Yeah, this is really beautiful . . . but it doesn't belong here."

Don't delude yourself. As humans, we all need something. As writers, we all do, too. The fearless person looks in the mirror and says, "I know what I need" not "I can do it all by myself."

So . . . what do you need?