"If you want to write, write it. That's the first rule. And send it in, and send it in to someone who can publish it or get it published. Don't send it to me. Don't show it to your spouse, or your significant other, or your parents, or somebody. They're not going to publish it"
About this Quote
Parker isn’t offering inspiration so much as an exit ramp from the cozy cul-de-sac of “working on something.” His first rule is aggressively unromantic: write it. Not outline it forever, not talk about it at dinner, not wait for permission. The brusque repetition - “send it in, and send it in” - mimics the grind of submission itself, the ritual every professional writer learns to treat like brushing teeth: unglamorous, nonnegotiable, and oddly freeing.
The subtext is a critique of the amateur ecosystem that turns drafts into domestic artifacts. Spouses, partners, parents: they’re framed as emotional stakeholders, not gatekeepers. Their feedback may be loving, even smart, but it’s not consequential in the only way that matters if you claim you want to be a writer: publication. Parker draws a hard line between validation and outcome. He’s not anti-community; he’s anti-simulation. Showing the work to the people who can’t say yes is a way of keeping the work safe, because “no” from family doesn’t cost you anything, and “yes” from family means even less.
“Don’t send it to me” is also Parker stripping away guru culture. He refuses the fantasy of the anointed reader who will bless your talent into existence. Coming from a career crime writer who built a brand on efficiency and output, the advice doubles as a craft philosophy: your identity is proven by behavior, and the marketplace - indifferent, procedural, sometimes stupid - is the arena where that gets tested. He’s telling you to stop auditioning for love and start applying for the job.
The subtext is a critique of the amateur ecosystem that turns drafts into domestic artifacts. Spouses, partners, parents: they’re framed as emotional stakeholders, not gatekeepers. Their feedback may be loving, even smart, but it’s not consequential in the only way that matters if you claim you want to be a writer: publication. Parker draws a hard line between validation and outcome. He’s not anti-community; he’s anti-simulation. Showing the work to the people who can’t say yes is a way of keeping the work safe, because “no” from family doesn’t cost you anything, and “yes” from family means even less.
“Don’t send it to me” is also Parker stripping away guru culture. He refuses the fantasy of the anointed reader who will bless your talent into existence. Coming from a career crime writer who built a brand on efficiency and output, the advice doubles as a craft philosophy: your identity is proven by behavior, and the marketplace - indifferent, procedural, sometimes stupid - is the arena where that gets tested. He’s telling you to stop auditioning for love and start applying for the job.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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