She is kind and sympathetic, knowledgeable and wise. When you tell her your story was rejected, she tells you about the twenty-three rejections she once got and how she locked herself in the bathroom and cried and then burned the letters one by one in a fine, cleansing ritual. When you hit a brick wall trying to get through to an editor, she suggests an alternate path. When you’re frazzled, struggling to balance your writing life with the rest of your life, she tells you about the daily juggling act she performs. She – or he – is your is mentor, your counselor, your guide, performing the same function that the goddess Athena, assuming the mortal form of the first recorded mentor (whose name was Mentor), performed for the wandering Odysseus and his son.

We hear a lot about mentors these days, about formal mentorship programs at schools and places of work, about the art of “mentoring.” But what exactly is a mentor, and what can you expect from the relationship? As it is unlikely that Athena will meet you at the local Starbucks to offer advice over skinny lattes, where can you find your own mentor? And do you really need one? Should you instead consider being your own wise counselor?

A mentor is someone who has been where you’re going, who has met the challenges you see ahead for yourself, someone whose work – and perhaps life – you want to learn from or perhaps even emulate. Both role model and trusted adviser, a mentor can offer a sympathetic ear and a critical eye , a shoulder to cry on and, if need be, a swift kick in the rear. Less chummy than a friendship, less formal than the tie between employee and boss, more personal than a student – teacher relationship, the connection between mentor and protégé can last a lifetime.

Experience sometimes – although not always -- brings insight and wisdom, and if you can avail yourself of that through a mentor, you may be the better for it. Certainly conferring with a more experienced writer enlarges the scope (albeit vicariously) of your own experience. The relationship can be empowering and inspiring. It is, if nothing else, heartening to know someone who has succeeded in ways you would like to succeed.

But mentors are not – with the exception of Athena – godlike. They can only do so much. A mentor can share potentially useful war stories, help you network, put things in perspective, give you pep talks and offer insider tips. If you want career and life advice or suggestions on how to deal with professional and craft concerns, a mentor may be able to help. But you shouldn’t expect a mentor to teach you technique (take a class for that) or read and edit your work (join a writers’ group). You shouldn’t expect a mentor to get you published or hired or promoted. You shouldn’t expect a mentor to solve your problems. A mentor is not your Mom or your Dad, your agent, your psychoanalyst, your guru or your personal savior.

A good mentor is hard to find, and it is not difficult to understand why. After all, the person you would most like to have as your mentor is a busy and successful writer, just the kind of person who already has far too much to do without making time for you. He or she has gotten this far by focusing energy, by selfishly guarding writing time, by day after day, year after year, applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair. You are asking for this writer’s most valuable asset: time. And you are proposing what in many ways is a one-way relationship, with the mentor on the giving end and you on the receiving. Given all this, why would anyone agree to be your mentor?

In fact, some people do sign on. Their reasons can be altruistic or egocentric or, realistically, a bit of both. For many mentors, there is a satisfaction in lending a helping hand, in making use of their generally hard-won experience to smooth the path for one who follows. There is emotional or psychological recompense for playing a potentially important role in someone else’s life. For others, being admired is the motivating factor. Who wouldn’t want a kind of literary side-kick hanging on one’s every word? Still others come to the relationship with a need to control and dominate, a Pygmalion-like desire to mold a person in their own image. You will want to watch out for those folks.

Whatever the case, seeking a mentor takes time and initiative – and, even with a major expenditure of both, may still not end in success. Your mentor might be a writing teacher or workshop leader, or perhaps a local writer, journalist or editor. Or you may want to consider a “virtual” mentor. Many writers are on the web, and a significant number have personal/ professional websites. You can access these writers directly, introduce yourself, start a conversation and see where it leads. You can also be mentored by someone you’ve never met – in cyberspace or elsewhere – and who is totally unaware that he or she is playing that part in your life. For years I was mentored by Joan Didion and John McPhee, neither of whom knows I exist. But I learned and took encouragement from their work. I scoured interviews and reviews for hints about how they wrote and how they lived their lives. I call that being mentored.

But not everyone needs or wants – or is able to find – a mentor. If you see yourself as a pathbreaker or a pioneer, if you are particularly stubborn and strong-willed (and I mean that in the best way), you are undoubtedly committed to making it on your own. There is something to this business of “learning it the hard way.” A mentor might save you the grief, but in doing so, might also short-change your experience, stunt your growth or make you into a clone. The self-confidence you get by going it alone may be well worth the extra struggle. And, in the end, you may learn more – about your craft and yourself – than you would if someone had held your hand along the way.

Can you be your own mentor? Most definitely, yes. But this means much more than “getting in touch with your inner mentor.” It means doing some work. The advice, the tips, the cautionary tales you might hear from a mentor you can find yourself by going to seminars, workshops and conferences, by reading articles in The Writer, Poets & Writers, Writers’ Digest and other magazines, by visiting any number of websites that exist to help writers. The shelves of your local bookstore or library are crammed with how-to books for writers, including not just the usual How to Sell your Screenplay to Hollywood for a Million Bucks but thoughtful, caring mentoring books like Writing in Flow or Bird by Bird.

You can seek out other writers, colleagues and peers rather than mentors, through local book clubs and writing groups and find the moral support and encouragement you might need. Becoming part of a writing community also means the possibility of sharing helpful information much as a mentor might do. But ultimately, deciding to be your own mentor means taking control of your writing life. It means learning how to buck yourself up when you need to, give yourself stern lectures when warranted, take responsibility for both your failures and your successes and trust, deep down, that you know better than anyone else where you’re headed.

LAUREN KESSLER's tenth book is Clever Girl: Elizabeth Bentley, the spy who ushered in the McCarthy Era. She is the director of the literary nonfiction program at the University of Oregon and the editor of Etude.