Pursuing Approval: the Perks and Perils
By Sarah Callender | August 8, 2022 |
The year is 1977. I, age six, am in love with my first grade teacher, Miss Thompson. What do I love about her? Everything! Her long red hair, curled by fat, hot-rollers. Her fluted-hem wool skirts. Her many pairs of high-heeled boots that come in eggplant, olive, black, and tan leather. The clip-clip sound of those high-heeled boots on classroom tiles. The stern way she deals with Alex G. (who shows me the naked pictures in National Geographic magazines).
I want her to hug me. I want her to love me. I want her to tell me to grow out my bowl-cut hairstyle so she can hot-roller my hair. I want to show her how many books I read during Silent Reading. I want to show her that I am an excellent math student.
Except I am NOT an excellent math student, and because I want to keep this shortcoming a secret, I make A BAD CHOICE: I cheat on a math quiz. I erase my wrong answers, write in the “right” answers, and take the quiz to Mrs. Erlin, the classroom aide.
“I think Miss Thompson made a few mistakes in her grading,” I say. “See?”
Mrs. Erlin has an oddly stretched-tight face. Her tan is too tan, her pink lipstick too yellow. Her hair is wispy and weird. She bends down to look me right in the eye.
“Sarah,” she says. “I think you changed your answers.”
“I didn’t,” I insist. “I really didn’t.”
Her face skin stretches tighter. “Sarah. You need to tell Miss Thompson what you did.”
Do you know of the uber-talented artist-writer, Austin Kleon? I stumbled gleefully into his newsletter this summer, and a few months back, Kleon mentioned his own gleeful stumble into the Dutch term, krul, the “flourish of approval,” the handwritten mark that teachers use to show their approval of a student’s answer on a quiz or assignment. It’s also the loopy thing at the top of this post.
And because I wanted Miss Thompson’s kruly-haired krul more than I wanted to do the right thing–admit my unethical blunder–I never said a word.
Forty-four years later, I’m an 8th grade English Language Arts teacher at a school where there is no teachers’ union, and my contract can be rescinded at any moment. My livelihood depends on my principal’s metaphorical krul.
Likewise, my unnecessarily stressed-out, high-achieving students believe that my literal krul will (or won’t) grease the wheels on the vehicle that will shuttle them to HarvPrinceYaleFord University. The krul also matters to my dear students.
And doesn’t the krul matter in everyone’s professional life? After all, the approval of others can result in earning praise, clients, contracts, raises, bonuses, promotions, and awards.
Well, then what about writers? If we define “success” as “getting our work into the hands of readers,” aren’t we also dependent on the krul of agents and editors?
But here’s the problem and the danger. If we write stories that we think will win the approval of others, especially the approval of the folks at Simon&RandomHousePenguinSchuster, instead of the story that’s impatiently tapping its foot, insistently rapping at the walls of our brain and our heart with its pokey knuckles, we don’t win. Traditional publishing is fickle. Tastes change. Trends change. Pandemics happen. In spite of what we want to believe, hardly anyone knows what will sell because hardly anyone can predict the future.
I wish I had known believed this.
After my first two manuscripts came close to selling, I thought I had nearly cracked the code. So I got to work on the third manuscript, the one that would finally earn an editor’s krul, but each time I sent a snippet to my agent, she replied with a gentle, “I’m just not feeling it, Sarah.”
No problem! I’ll go back to the drawing board. I’ll change the voice, the POV, the tense, the audience, the setting … and I did, so determined was I to finally give the folks at RandomSimonPenguin&SchusterHouse what I thought they wanted. But what was it they wanted!?!
My agent recognized what was going on (heck, a beach towel or a hamburger would have recognized what was going on), but I did not, and yikes o’ frighty, I wasted YEARS of my life.
Still, unless we are truly writing only for ourselves, I still believe the krul matters. I wanted my book in the hands of readers, and I didn’t have the skills or the will required to self-publish. How could I get a book deal without the approval of editors?
Then the lightbulb moment: What if instead of trying to seek the krul, I sought permission? Permission to trust myself, my agent, my critique partners instead of publishers? Permission to trust the insistent knuckles of my story?
This spring, a colleague noted how beleaguered and overwhelmed I was. My school was asking so much of all of us! But, I lamented, if I didn’t take on more, if I didn’t volunteer for all of the extras, would I get canned? My colleague grabbed a Post-it Note, and scribbled three words: Don’t Do It.
“Sarah,” she said. “Just say no.”
I thumbtacked that note to the bulletin board in my office. Sometimes we need others’ permission to give ourselves permission.
So how about today we give ourselves (and each other) permission to care less about the approval of agents and editors and more about our passion, our gut, and our stories? Permission to play with words and characters, to carve out time to write, to choose writing over weeding, folding laundry, cleaning the bathroom?
Permission to tell a friend that we need to reschedule a date because we are on a roll with our writing.
Permission to write badly, to start over, to say “Eff off, Ron!” to the mean-voiced voice that perches on our shoulder and whispers unkind things in our ear.
Permission to accept rejection not as a sign that we should stop writing, but as a necessary part of the process.
Permission to leave a critique group or to step away from those who aren’t supportive of our writing life.
Giving ourselves permission is far more powerful and persuasive than seeking someone’s chameleonic, shape-shifting, temporal, flourishy krul. Instead of letting our quest for approval result in wasting years and words writing what we think will sell, instead of cheating on math quizzes and lying to our beautiful red-headed teachers, let’s focus on permission, or as the Dutch would say, toestemming. In Arabic, al’iidhn. In Irish, cead. In Turkish izin. And in Latin, permission (ha!).
No matter the language, permission, unlike approval, is something we can grant ourselves.
Let’s try it. What toestemming do you need today? What al’iidhn are you already giving yourself? What’s the cead, the izin, the permission that will allow your story to ultimately land in the hands of readers?
Feel free to use a template if it’s helpful:
I, ________, give myself to ________ simply because ________.
Thank you, dear writers, for sharing!
Krul photo compliments of Wikipedia.
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
[coffee]
Wow, Sarah–I mean, I knew I missed having you here regularly, but today you’ve shown me that I didn’t truly grasp the full extent of how much I love having your voice in my writerly life.
My experience has been pretty darn similar, and the only very minor quibble I have with what you’ve said (not meant in a Ron-ish way) is that I don’t think the years of acrobatic reiteration of our work in seeking the krul of the fickle should be called “wasted.” I was struck last night to realize that I’m inside of two months from hitting the pub button now. I look around and see all the really good self-pub fantasy authors doing “all the things” out there, and I feel like I could (and probably should) be going through frantic pre-pub contortions. But then I realized something important: I don’t have to. I don’t have to do anything at all that I’m not comfortable doing. I mean, I want to succeed, and I’m willing to work at it. But, after all of these years, I’ve landed in a position to do this exactly as I see fit, at a pace that I’m happy and able to sustain (with my sanity intact).
I’m not sure I would’ve been able to do it this way at any previous point in my writing journey. By seeking that evasive krul, that felt so cruelly withheld, I’ve come to the fullest understanding and acceptance that the most important aspect of this is that I’ve stayed true to the stories with the pokey knuckles in my heart. So I can’t really call the years that brought me to this point, and this important level of appreciation, wasted.
Consider this final note of praise and thanks my expansive krul to you, Sarah. So glad to have you back.
Bravo! For years I also wrote for editors, big shot publishers, and literary agents who wielded their power over groveling writers at writing conferences. To the agent who said to you, “I’m not feeling it,” my response is, “writers no longer feel like wasting years of their life chasing your approval!” Options for writers have exploded. Perfect your skills, but write for yourself. Write your heart. Your readers know the difference.
Yes! It is SO true that readers can sense when writers are being something less than true to themselves or to the story. Each summer, I help rising seniors work on their college application essays. Students feel so much pressure to impress the college gatekeepers, when really all they have to do it share a sliver of who they are. When they do, when they don’t try to impress the admissions folks, when they just share who they are (and where they are going) in their authentic voice, the admissions folks must squeal with delight. It should be the same for us. :)
Thank you, Pam, for weighing in and sharing your wisdom!
Dear Vaughn. I have been thinking about your words all morning, and you are right: these years were not a waste of time. They were merely many, many moments of growth, practice, experimentation, evolution, learning, wrestling, and they helped me arrive at today. Which means today will help me arrive at tomorrow.
It’s the same with all of our jobs and relationships and experiences … good or bad, healthy or harmful, we can gather, recycle, incorporate, cull, donate (to the Goodwill), fertilize, assemble, refurbish, toss, and reassemble these experiences to form our evolving identity. And that’s how–if we are lucky–we become more of what we are meant to become.
Thank you for that truth. Makes me feel better about those years that I did NOT waste. ;)
You’re the best! xo!
Wonderful essay, Sarah, and so deeply human :-) I do think that the desire for approval is in all of us, no doubt reinforced by a culture that encourages competition over cooperation. I remember reading, years ago, about a study in which one group of kids received tons of generic praise (“Great job!) while another group received factual feedback on specifics (“I see that you blended two shades of blue for the sky in your picture”). Guess which group felt better about their work, in the end? So there’s that. When we fight for our own vision, we are fighting against a huge amount of conditioning that tells us that validation from others is what matters.
As a praise-junkie who will always be “in recovery,” I’ve come to feel that I need to acknowledge and greet the praise-seeker when she shows up (as she always will), rather than trying to banish her—pat her on the head and get on with my work. Because it never ends. I want a sign of approval from trade reviews, reader reviews on Amazon, awards contests. Sigh. And the other side of that is, of course, the willingness to accept criticism when it rings true. And to dig deeper and try again … Thank goodness we have each other on places like WU so we are reminded that we are not alone in all this and that it is so, so human! Thanks again for a great essay!
Yes, Barbara. Thank goodness for WU! I am grateful for this community every single day. This summer, I have been taking a course that helps English teachers grade/assess student work in ways that are actually more helpful than the traditional ways English teachers have always graded essays. Your words in this comment are 100% true!
Thank YOU for sharing your deeply-human humanity. If we can’t/don’t share with others, the world’s a lonely, fear-filled place. xo!
Very encouraging, Sarah, thank you.
Thank you, Priscilla. I so appreciate you taking time to comment! Happy writing to you. :)
I feel so much a part of your words, because I am living them. As a student, I always wanted approval, the highest approval. And so I became an A student. Even in college and later in nursing school, I worked like crazy to be the best. That’s not to say there wasn’t reward through all of those years. There was. But now, my dear novel is still in my computer. And I have two more in manuscript boxes. WU has kindly printed some of my essays. I blog and have followers. BUT I WANT TO PUBLISH MY NOVELS. So I am faced right now, with either getting an agent (that’s a big if) or going hybrid. Whatever happens, that yearning will never go away. I think it’s part of our DNA. It must be satisfied and yet for some, the writing is enough. For others….maybe not. Thanks for your heart, Sarah. It’s a big one.
Your heart, Beth, is a big and beautiful one. Thank you for the empathy and authenticity. I have often wished I was someone who could just be satisfied with the goal of writing a story … without the need to then share that story with a wider audience. But imagine how dull and lonely our world would be if writers only ever kept their stories in their drawers and computers.
Still, the decision to pursue a particular path to publication is not an easy one. Have you been able to figure out an “at least, for now” direction? And if so, what helped guide your decision? :)
Hah! I seek approval even from dead people! No seriously. I wonder what my mother would think of some of the things I write. I’ve been visiting my family in Texas and brought home a little bug (ear infection/bronchitis–I thought it just happened to kids lol) and on the mend but I really needed to read this today. Thank you, Sarah. I give ijazat (Hindi/Urdu) to take it easy, rest as much as I need to and do the one thing necessary. Be a Mary in a Martha world.
I love this so much, Vijaya. And I can just hear His words, “Oh Martha, Martha … why do you worry and hurry when really you should just …”
I hope you feel better ASAP. And thank you for your great role modeling. XO!
As an agent, let me ask this: Who is seeking approval, you or your novel? It isn’t your novel. It’s a novel, early or mature, commercial or not, learning or practiced. It may work for me, it may not. That has nothing at all to do with you.
You are a writer. You already have my approval. (Your does too, BTW. Well done!)
Your post, that is.
Ha, yes! Such a good question, Mr. Maass. This resonates for me as a parent too. I have a son in college, and my daughter will be entering her senior year of high school. As she/we are figuring out which colleges seem like a good fit, I keep reminding her that College X may think you’re a good fit, or College X might not think so. But it has nothing to do with her, her value, her worth, her potential, etc. It has much more to do with this question: Do the admission folks happen to be looking for a white girl from Seattle, one who loves XC and orchestra and wants to study Cognitive Science?
And the question her parents care about: Will you please offer us some merit scholarship money?!? Oy vey.
Thank you for sharing your wisdom and encouragement. I hope you and your family are all well and happy!
Five or so years ago I submitted an interview with a local author to a regional magazine. The editor insisted on picking too many of the wrong nits so I made it clear that the choice was to publish the article as submitted or nix it. It shouldn’t take a rocket scientist to guess the result. Another publication snapped it up.
About the time that Ms. Callender was nurturing an adolescent crush on her first grade teacher, I worked with an old proofreader who personalized the proofreader’s mark for “delete”, or the symbol of denial, with an additional flourish that resulted in an uncanny resemblance to the “krul”, the symbol of approval.
Jay, as a very old veteran PR/CE, I used the delete mark many thousands of times when manuscripts were submitted and edited on paper. I had a startled gut response to the graphic at the top of this page: it looks like a variation of a delete mark! But maybe not in Holland? Does it represent a cultural difference? Back in the day, how did Dutch practitioners of the noble arts of PR and CE distinguish “delete” from “you nailed it”? Does anyone know?
I wish I knew, Anna. But you’re right; just a bit of a line or a small squiggle can make all the difference!
It reminds me of an ad I saw years ago … it was published by a local school district, and it advertised and celebrated their exceptional “pubic education.”
Ooops! The power of a line-squiggle (and a good proof-reader).
Jay! I had the exact same thought when I first saw the krul … it really does look like a fancified “delete” mark. I guess the lesson is clear: one person’s “yes!” is another person’s “nope!”
Your article submission is the perfect proof of that.
Thank you for this lovely, humble, witty comment.
I tuned fifty this year, and after 31 years in this business of doing EXACTLY what you are talking about—namely, writing to gain favor with my agent(s) and publisher(s), the gatekeepers of our industry, I finally said f*ck it and started writing what *I* wanted to write.
No one can argue that I’m not a slow learner.
It’s a little terrifying, to tell you the truth. All these years, I’ve been a literary fiction writer masquerading as a genre fiction writer. Now is when the pedal finally meets the metal.
All I want to do is write the best book I am capable of writing. Full stop. No pandering, no ego, no “market considerations.” That’s not what I was put on this earth to do.
I’m here to tell stories. I’m here to creatively use language.
And so are every one of us who dare to call ourselves writers.
Good for you, Stacey! Your words resonate to my bones!
BeaUUUUtiful, Stacey! I will be fifty-one in the fall, so you and I are roughly twins, both in age and in slow-learnerhood. Do you think it was age (i.e. wisdom, confidence, maturity …) that resulted in your mindset shift? There is certainly opportunity for liberation as we hit middle-life. And, I think we are better able to shove our ego into the back seat (or the trunk) of the car and hit the road around the age of fifty. It’s a shame we can’t fast-forward through the slow-learner parts of our life, but it is a process, and as my college-age son likes to say, “Mom. You gotta trust the process.”
Of course, he says this when there is absolutely no process, plan, guide … and somehow he almost always sticks the landing.
I guess we can’t rush the process but we can trust the process. Thanks for sharing the story of your shift with us all. Your joy and asskickery is palpable! :)
We are ALL of us in this together, united by our compulsion to write. And it encourages me no end to know that you (and likely others) are arriving at the same conclusion: we are entitled to the labor, but not the fruit.
This business has changed dramatically over the past thirty years. If we reacted every time there was a sea change, we’d be curled up in a fetal position and clutching a bottle of Ripple. All we have is our unique voice and our stories. Whether the market wants that, doesn’t want that, doesn’t care or cares very much is, frankly, irrelevant. What IS relevant is whether we are telling the best stories we can without regard for how they are perceived. Nobody controls other people’s perceptions..
Yes, fifty was a milestone age for me. We’ve earned this. I’m quite comfortable in my elastic band leggings–and all that metaphorically implies ;-)
You keep fighting that good fight, sister.
As a child, I sought the approval of those who steadfastly refused to give it, no matter what I did. I chased the impossible and was willing to exhaust myself to reach it. I still do it, except now that approval doesn’t have a face (unless I want to say the face is mine). I could call it perfectionism. “It can be better, if I just…” Having literally written 2.5 million words since 2000, my writing finally settled into a comfortable place in 2016. Short stories abounded. There are a handful of novellas. Eleven novels, including an entire fantasy series, languish on my computer — because I have impossible standards. Meanwhile, more often than not, the fantasy novels I read fail to reach my impossible standard, yet sell. Therein lies the irony. While I’d gladly accept success, my goal is merely to share and maybe earn back my expenses. I’m close to letting the impossible go and your post is another step in that process. Thank you.
Thank you, Christina Anne, for sharing your beautiful story. The powerful of one’s childhood–isn’t it amazing!?! And now I am thinking about Philip Larkin’s poem, “This Be the Verse,” which I think shows the beautiful of a well-placed f-bomb … as well as the power of parents and caregivers in our lives.
Sometimes, when we can’t trust ourselves, we have to trust our loved ones, friends, mentors, colleagues, and in your case, your readers! They seem to know that YOU know what you are doing. :)
Carry on, brave lady!
Sarah, how DID you remember all the colors of Miss Thompson’s boots after all this time? You were clearly a writer back then, storing up the grainy details to harvest later. Incidentally, I cheated on math tests too, because my gifts were elsewhere, but I waited to cheat until high school, where my math teacher—no details, but a most unseemly man—would have enjoyed putting his boots to my head.
I continue to have approval anxiety to this very day, to my regret. But your heartening post is a consoling reminder that those reflex, spider-in-the-head reactions can be, if not wholly curbed, at least told to pipe down. Since my mother was an O’Brien, I give myself cead to tell those inner toxins to get thee behind me.
And here’s to the Miss Thompsons and all the teachers of the world, whose jobs seem more thankless than ever. Thank you.
Lovely Tom. I’m always so happy to see your name on WU. Thank you for the humor and humility you carry and sprinkle everywhere you go.
Your high school math teacher sounds SCARY, and it brings to mind my middle school math teacher who had anger management issues. Once, he got so mad at a student that he grabbed the kid’s ear, as if to haul him out of the classroom by his ear, and as a result, there was blood and carnage. And yet, miraculously, the teacher kept his job! Sheesh.
Please also give yourself cead to continue bringing your wonderful self to WU. The world needs wonderful you!
“Alas, I don’t feature self-published books on the blog. (I don’t have time to read everything, so that’s one way I limit what gets covered.)”
I would much rather be rejected on (lack of) merit.
I don’t normally even bother, but occasionally I find a blog I enjoy reading, and take a chance when there is no stated policy.
Or a contest that is a good match.
My distributor, Amazon, has made its own imprints inaccessible to authors, though it is possible some agents have access.
As far as I know, I am the only student from Colegio Guadalupe in Mexico City, a Catholic school for girls, who ever earned a PhD in Nuclear Engineering. I’m tough. I’ll survive.
It just occurred to me that the blogger was intrigued enough by my email to follow some of the links I supplied; I didn’t specifically mention being self-published.
You really are tough, Alicia! xoxo!
:)
Sarah, I love this post and I, like Vaughn, have missed your voice. :)
As a former all-A’s student and all-around performer (talent shows and dance recitals and sports and plays and musicals) I am well aware that I love to impress others. I think for me it is beyond approval. Deep down, I want admiration. No, wait…I think I spelled adoration wrong there.
Hoo-boy. It’s a problem. A pretty serious personal failing that I will always struggle with. My besetting sin.
What I know I don’t want is to compromise my writing (I want to write what I want, how I want, when I want) to fit the expectations of the publishing machine. Because then I’m just another author striving for attention (aren’t we all). And heaven forbid I ever be categorized as “just another” anything. I’m special. I’m different. I’m…hoping the sarcasm is coming through because I don’t want to lose the approval of anyone reading this comment right now.
I’m in the middle of a season of resetting my priorities, and your post (along with Dan Blank’s last newsletter, Don’t Fit In) has come into my life at the perfect time, reinforcing that I’m making some good and healthy personal decisions as it relates to writing and selling books. To that end…
I, Erin Bartels, give myself permission to trust my gut that I cannot sustain the pace that the industry has set out for me, simply because I am human. I give myself permission to slow down, to do things in a way that feels authentic to who I am and the life I want to lead, and to not worry about people forgetting me if I drop out of their feeds. Because I’m actually not that important in the scheme of things. And that’s okay.
Dear Erin. I adore your comment, and your writing, and YOU. And I’m not just saying that. And yes, I felt your sarcasm. :)
I almost made a reference to Dan Blank’s beautifully wise newsletter (about fitting in) in this post. He’s amazing … such a calming presence in my inbox, truly the voice of reason. AND your second-to-last line reminds me of Yuvi Zalkow’s fab post that touched on that very concept. I get such a kick out of him, and I loved the message … because it’s SO true! Why do we take ourselves so seriously, when really, we’re all just passengers aboard the SillyPants Express (Amtrak’s newest rail line)?
Here’s Yuvi’s Yuvilicious post: https://staging-writerunboxed.kinsta.cloud/2022/07/04/most-people-dont-give-a-bleep/
I hope you don’t mind if I steal your permission slip, add my name and my signature, then buy my ticket for the next leg of the SillyPants Express. Your wise words will keep me sane.
XO!
Great post, Sarah. Very helpful. Next to approval, praise, admiration, and constructive feedback, I have to pencil in validation.
Yes, Bob. Validation! We humans are such a funny people, aren’t we!
Totally agree. Here is the way I approach things. I’d rather write what my characters want told than change things to satisfy the outer (and inner) critics. I still accept any and all feedback on my manuscript. But incorporating developmental changes has to fit into the ‘truth’ of the story.
Yes, Peter. THAT is brilliant … we do need to pay attention to our characters AND to the feedback of others. But only trusted others.
Along those lines, years ago I had a writing partner who was so stubborn; she’d ask for feedback and poo-poo absolutely all of it. While getting defensive and snippy. It wasn’t fun for me. :)
Whoa, Sarah! This quote – “trust the persistent knuckles of my story” – is already on the post-it note stuck to my Mac, guidance for every day writing henceforth. Thank you!
Sarah! I was just cleaning out my email inbox, and found an old notification for a post on your Inside-Out Underpants blog. It took me to your last post in 2017. I re-read multiple posts, and then decided to google search “Sarah Callender Author” to see if I could find you again, and I’m so glad I did!