RISK MANAGEMENT
by Deb Vanasse
My son wants to build an airplane in his garage. Not just any airplane, but an experimental, amphibious aircraft. As his sister pointed out, if it were anyone else, we wouldn’t worry about the actual follow-through. But her brother is off the charts in both his willingness to take risks and his determination to see a project through.
If he were inclined to be a writer, these traits would serve him well. In business, we talk about risk management as a way to minimize liability, but researchers also know that the most successful entrepreneurs are those who know when to throw caution to the wind and forge ahead where others hold back. Successful writers do the same. They’re not afraid to reveal themselves on the page, to go places they’ve never been, to let characters take over a story.
But a mere willingness to take risks does not insure good writing. When we’re innovative and unfettered, we’re bound to go in some directions that lead to dead ends. Projects die and must be abandoned. Characters fail us and have to be rethought. Plots twist and turn until they’re so convoluted that no one can follow or believe them. That perfect turn of a phrase ends up sounding stilted and overdrawn.
One key to good risk management is careful assessment and evaluation. How is this going? Where is it faltering? Do I forge ahead and hope to gain clarity and vision, or begin all over again? These are the hard questions that good writers must ask themselves. If they have the help of friends and colleagues in assessing where their risks are leading, so much the better.
What if you’re not prone to taking risks? Can you still be a writer? Certainly, but the sooner you accustom yourself to the minefield of this profession, the better off you’ll be. The cautionary side of the writer deals in calculated risks, balancing time and money and love of craft with all of those elements beyond one’s control: the whims of the market, the unlikely odds of getting noticed, the revolving door of editors and agents and their interests, the repeated slap-in-the-face rejections.
Our craft improves with our willingness to take risks. When we recognize that our first inclination is to write what feels comfortable and safe, and then we push ourselves beyond that, we reach those points of power that differentiate good writing from great. Does that mean that every project requires some sort of blood-letting of our innermost secrets? Not at all. But without some pushing, some experimenting, some self-revelation, even the best of writers will find their work growing stale.
So how can we enhance our craft by taking risks? Try out some projects that are just for fun, beyond your usual genre. Play with poetry. Write some lists. Journal a character outside of your comfort zone. Keep a dream journal. Forge a link with your shadowy subconscious and see what you discover there. Collaborate. Write a scene with a mystery that you haven’t yet solved.
Late in life, my mother has decided she’d like to be a writer. She has always been one to pursue an endeavor wholeheartedly, and writing has been no exception. She has written story after story, each one based on someone else’s life experience. These stories are technically fine but lacking in power. I urged her to switch from biography-based fiction to autobiographical creative non-fiction. Her first effort in the new genre is astounding in its power, insight, and voice. I understand why it was hard for her to make the switch. It’s tough to put your own life on the table. But taking that risk brought her writing to life.
And the experimental aircraft? My son has refinanced his house and ordered the kit. It will be an adventure. Not my kind of risk, but we all choose our own.
