The business of trying to get your writing published is so different from writing itself. The writing part is natural, like an extension of myself or an appendage. It's a necessary thing--like breathing. To have an idea bubbling inside of me and not write it down is like trying to hold your breath too long. It's impossible and painful. The business of trying to get published is anything but natural. It requires writing query letters to literary agents, putting your work out there for perfect strangers to judge, and receiving impersonal, form rejections while hoping for a simple "can we see more?" The art that you've poured your heart and soul into for months, and sometimes years, can be tersely dismissed. No one chooses to be a writer. You either are or you aren't. I'm not implying that all writers are good writers. What I mean is that it is an involuntary thing. A way you see the world. Much like photographers and painters and sculptors. You see details and analyze and find beauty in the tiniest and often most mundane things (often that no one else cares about). I'm not implying this is a good thing, necessarily. I often find myself bogged down or overwhelmed with all that is around me. The point is simply that capturing that in words is a release. A relief. Breathing out.
Trying to get published is like giving birth. Long, arduous, and painful. But you know the end product is worth it. The problem is that there is no epidural for dealing with the agent/publisher submission process. But without it, your words simply sit in your computer where no one ever sees them. So today I sent out 17 queries in the hopes that someone thinks my novel is worth a second chance. Seventeen is my favorite number, so.... But I know that it'll be 17 x 20 before a nibble. If only I could hold my breath forever.

The Break is Over

I went to Alabama to visit my Mom and Dad over Christmas week. The solitude of the plane ride allowed me to dive into my manuscript a bit. After having some distance from it for a couple of months, I saw so many things to improve. Sam's comments were, as always, incredibly helpful. I also started hearing "the voices" again. Not ones of schizophrenia or psychosis, but the characters' voices. It's amazing how they become so real. Two of my characters, Jed and Lilah, screamed for more depth. I also opened the door a little to the soul of Grace (the title character) and ended up jotting down an interior dialogue prologue while finishing up packing my suitcase to come back to PA. I'm almost half-way into the revisions now and the thought of completing them is so exciting. But then there's the synopsis to write, the short synopsis, the author bio, the query letters...the publishing process is daunting. Time to get down to business in 2010 and get this thing out there.

Paralysis

So I have a manuscript peppered with Sam's revisions, my self-editing bible, and a rainy day. But despite having hours of work to do on this thing, I am paralyzed with indecision as to how to begin...

If I had nails to bite

Sam called. The edited manuscript will be here tomorrow. I can't wait to see his thoughts/revisions/suggestions. I hope he ripped it up!

A find

I stumbled on a poem I wrote while developing my ideas for Grace. I wrote this poem almost four years ago and, surprisingly, it encapsulates the character as she unfolded in the book. It was written as a letter from her to her husband-a suicide note of sorts. Now I need to decide whether to include it in the book somehow. Here it is, let me know your thoughts:

My mind slides back and forth like a breeze
caressing each branch of a tree,
gently rocking the chimes,
tossing the leaves about.
No longer still.
No longer steady.
No longer constant.
Just as the wind dies down at the end of the day,
slipping over the waves and chasing the setting sun,
I feel my mind kissing the tips of my fingers,
leaving me.
As the sea swallows the sun
the air stills and the darkness falls.
I pray for peace
and that my heart, too, will still.
For I cannot live in the place of the unknown
where I do not know my own name
or yours.
Where my mind is shut,
my memories sealed away forever.
For without them, I am but a shell.
No longer here.
Locked away in an abyss where no one,
not even you, my love,
can rescue me.
So because I sense that dark night creeping
and my love for you flickering out
I must leave you.
Please forgive me and do not be angry.
For it is not my intent to harm,
but to save you from an intense sorrow that would scar your heart,
change you from the man I love,
and rob you of your fondest memories of me.
To save our tender love and you from excruciating pain,
I leave you.

Interesting Quote

You never expect TV to provide lightbulb moments, but I just watched "Criminal Minds" and heard an interesting quote: "Better to write for yourself and have no public than to write for the public and have no self."

Sam called last night. He's about half-way through editing Grace and has some incredible ideas about making it better. I can't wait to see his notes! One of the most interesting parts of our conversation was about a supporting character. When I wrote the book, I could envision all of the other characters so well. But not Cooper. He was more the embodiment of an idea and philosophy. A voice to a position that needed to be included to round out a theme of the book. Yet this was the character Sam liked most. It's always so enlightening to hear how other people interpret your work.