Well That Was Stupid

So here's what not to do. You remember those posts from the beginning of the year? If not, scroll down the page and take a gander. I haven't posted much this year so they're still easy to find. To summarize, I was all enthused about my novel FAMILY JEWELS. It turned out great, it showed wonderful progress in my own skill as a writer and was receiving positive attention from agents. I insisted, even if this one didn't work out, I was on my way. I would not be defeated.

And then I did something stupid.

I bought into the attention. The attention was strong and it was quick, and it was from people whom I wanted to receive attention. You know those lists you're not supposed to talk about where you have your favorite agents (pieced together from their clients' works, their online presence, and perhaps meeting them at conventions despite the fact they may not be the best fit for you). Yeah, we all have that list. Well the top of my list jumped on my query. Multiple full requests, private messages over Twitter, the whole thing. It's the kind of story published authors tell later. "I thought my early work was so awesome but it was shit. But I kept working and working and when it really was ready, it all happened overnight." And it certainly did feel like it was happening overnight. Two days after my first round of queries, I had multiple full requests. Holy shit, ride that roller coaster! And they were from people on my top five. Including the agent I've wanted to work with most since before she became an acquiring agent and was still an agency assistant. This is IT! Woo hoo!

So I did something stupid.

I waited for my happy ending. I stopped querying other agents, because I was about to get my happy ending. Why would I want to dangle my genius in front of them only to yank it away to work with the person that as about to ask for a call at any moment. I waited. I started my next book. Actually, briefly, I started a sequel to FAMILY JEWELS, but I'm superstitious about that kind of thing, so I started a new novel. And then I waited.

Then I focused on the beginning of the roller derby season and I did a LOT of roller derby. Also, I waited. Then I followed up because it had been a couple months now and I hadn't heard anything, which was odd given how so many people were interested at the beginning and that all of them should suddenly fall silent at the same time. Did the internet break? I didn't get the memo. That's all right. I have this new novel and I have roller derby.

And then I did more derby. And I did less new novel. And I did MORE derby. And I did less new novel. And then I stopped writing.

Because I'm stupid.

Four months of silence from people who showed an interest in my work more effectively killed my creativity than five years of rejections. If this is how the people who like your work treat you, what's the point? Of course, that's just my brain pouting. People have reasons. They get busy. Their actual clients need attention. They change jobs. Who knows, but it's wrong to think it's malicious. (And less wrong to think they brought it on themselves, but we all have obligations, so I don't hand wave that away as easily. I allow a grace period where "overworked" becomes "unprofessional" and I'm still trying to figure out where that line is.)

Either way, I started writing again yesterday. I started by deleting 250 words and then writing 500 or so. They weren't very good. They weren't very bad. But they were more than I had written in the weeks before. Last year, I was hip deep into my second draft. In years before, I was usually on my second novel. This year, though, I'm still on a first draft, and for all my inability to ever give up writing, my enthusiasm for professional publication has been smothered by months of silence.

I'd say I almost prefer rejection, but that's stupid. There's still that chance I'll get an email saying, "Sorry about not responding for forever and a day, my hamster had cancer and things have been hectic here. I loved what I read. Is it still available?" and I'll be able to answer, "Strangely enough, it is."

The Invisible Friend

This might work better as a short story than a novel, but it's an intriguing idea I want to write down before I forget. I was watching a record on Hit Record (or perhaps it was this one) and started to think about Peter Pan's shadow. It's not often you see a shadow articulated away from its person unless it's actually a shade, an apparition or some kind of specter. You never see a shadow as a shadow with nothing about its nature more sinister than a person whose very nature is bound to the person who casts it.

This got me thinking on various scenarios. The one I found most intriguing was one where a boy is lonely, and he creates an imaginary friend. But he's too old for imaginary friends. He needs something more tangible but there is nothing. Nothing but his shadow. He can play ball with his shadow (assuming he throws the ball against the wall), he can put on plays with his shadow, tell stories at night, and never be alone.

In fact, his shadow is so real that he discovers it is real. There is a person inside his shadow, one just as lonely, one just as desperate to leave his world behind. And so he does. He takes the boy's body and gives him his.

In the end, when the two are righted, the boy hasn't gained some newfound appreciation. For what he had. He's heartbroken, because in the end, his only friend in the world abandoned him as well. He really is all alone.

(Sorry for any typos. I wrote this on an iPad two-handed, and the autocorrect can get a little aggressive.)

All In?

I was speaking with an agent a few weeks back, and we got on the subject of self-publishing. As has been recorded here, my opinion on self-publishing has evolved as self-publishing itself has evolved. I won't say it's changed, because that loses the nuance of my progress. The majority of self-published work I read is tear-your-eyes-out bad. Sure the gatekeepers have been tossed aside, but for all their difficulty, those gatekeepers added a degree of value. Bad stuff still gets through, but not so much.

Conversely to that, good stuff also comes out of self-publishing and it can be an avenue for certain circumstances that best benefit the author. That's my position (and will remain my position going forward): do what's best for you and your career. That does not require me to pick one side over the other. I pick both sides. (Likewise, the DOJ is incredibly on the mark and off the mark at the same time with its anti-trust case. It's shocking how much I agree with things they say but for totally different reasons and how much I disagree with their proposed solutions, but that's a different conversation.)

Anyway, (I haven't had a lot of sleep over the last week. I apologize for rambling), I was talking to this agent and we discuss self-publishing and whether I have considered it, which I have. The second time THE TRIAD SOCIETY came a hair's breadth away from getting me representation, I was heartbroken. It's good enough! I cried. I know it's good enough! I'm so tired of being rejected! Why is this so hard?

And that is why I don't self-publish. Because it's easier to publish (not to be successful at it, but to publish it, it is sooo much easier). And once it becomes that easy, why would you ever want to do it the hard way again? My goal is to gain representation and publish with an established publisher. I will self-publish a couple titles, most likely, in the future, but that is not my goal. So if I self-publish now, that goal is over and lost. I will never endure rejection after rejection when I can snap my fingers and have a book appear (and I make ebooks for a living, so before you say "it's harder than that" keep in mind I've been making them for close to a decade now).

Also, said agent with whom I had this conversation asked to read THE TRIAD SOCIETY. In between heartbreak and now, another agent asked to read my best work. Given how close I had come before, I obviously chose this one. I tweaked a chapter I was dissatisfied with and sent it off. She dropped the truth like a hammer. "This is not your best work." End stop.

I determined a rewrite from her feedback and began said rewrite for this request. My scope for the rewrite flopped right away. As soon as I revised the setting, the actual plot fell apart. It couldn't happen the way I envisioned with my new constrictions. But as I went over content, I saw two things. I LIKE this story. I like it the way it is. I don't want to change the scope or lose the plot. Also, it was NOWHERE NEAR MY BEST WORK. What the hell was I thinking? What a lost opportunity. I have truly grown as a writer because I'm looking at this and I want to reach through space-time and slap myself. What was I thinking sending this to agents in such a state.

Which makes me hopeful for this time around. It's better. It's significantly better than it's ever been before. If she turns it down, will I self-publish? Probably not. The last time I said "It's good enough!" I was wrong. Perhaps I'm wrong this time too. Perhaps I have more growing to do.

To quote Kima Griggs from The Wire, Sometimes you gotta play it hard.



And with that, I'm going to go drown myself in coffee so I can get through the work day. Night night.