Wednesday, August 25, 2021

In Which It Still Isn't My Turn, But I Keep Moving Anyway

 There's lots of good writing news in the middle grade twitterverse recently, and from my closer community of the #MGWaves. It feels like every time I check Twitter or Slack someone has just signed with an agent or announced a book deal. I've gotten to know some of these writers well and read works from many of them over the past year since I jumped into the writing community with both feet, and I can say with confidence that everyone I've seen announce news heartily deserves their good fortune. Most of them have been working toward this goal for years, some even longer than I have.

It's good to remember that what might look like an "overnight success story" could easily be that writer's sixth manuscript that they queried for a year and had just decided it was time to shelve when they got the full request that led to an offer. One of my friends who just signed with an agent received the email asking to set up a call to talk about representation literally 24 minutes after sending a text telling her critique partners that she was officially shelving the manuscript.

I'm still waiting for a story like that to happen to me. I'm actively querying a version of the second book I finished, which went through such a major rewrite that I kind of consider it my fourth book. I have not gotten any bites, but I recently rewrote my query and opening pages and just started sending that version a week ago, so there's still hope. In the meantime, I still have a small handful of queries out for my third book, the one that I should probably have shelved months ago, but that I keep firing off an occasional query for because I love it so much I can't bear to completely shelve it until I've run out of agents I'd like to work with who might love it. This one has also gone through not quite a rewrite but a very thorough revision including changing from third to first person since I began querying it late last year.

In the meantime, I'm plugging away at my fourth (maybe fifth, depending on how you count) book, which I currently think is the best one yet. Whether that actually proves to be the case will only be seen if I can actually finish the thing. This first draft has taken way longer than any other first draft I've ever written because I have my fingers in so many pies right now. I keep going away from it to tweak the books I'm still querying and fire off a few more. Add to that the days I just can't bear to look at it because I'm sure it must be a flaming pile of you can guess what despite my feelings about it and my critique group members' feelings about it, because if I actually knew how to write surely my inbox would be flooded with full requests.

Add in the mental fatigue from the pandemic that never ends, and keeping at the writing game can feel like a Sisyphean task. Push that boulder of a finished manuscript up the hill, and the rejections will come crashing down on you and push you right back down. So, why do I do it? Why do I keep creating these stories and throwing my babies out to the cold, cruel world? Why don't I just get a regular job that doesn't come with a regular side of rejection? Because rejection is and always will be part of the writing game. Once you get an agent, editors start rejecting you. Once you get a book in the world, readers start rejecting you. There is no stage at which a writer is entirely shielded from rejection.

First, I realize I'm in a place of incredible privilege because I don't have to work another full time job on top of writing just to keep a roof over my head and put food over the table. Yes, my kids are demanding and a 24/7 responsibility in some fashion (even the 16 year old), but it's not as if there aren't parents out there who have a full time job in addition to writing. 

It's partly because I love it. Books have always been a huge part of my life, and I've had stories living in my head as long as I can remember. It's also because I believe my stories have a place in the world that isn't completely filled. I want girls with ADHD to have a character they see themselves in. I want kids with type 1 diabetes to see a kid like them accurately portrayed in a book. I want kids who feel different in any way to see characters who are outside the norm in some way going on adventures and just living life.

Someday I believe my books will be on the shelves of libraries and bookstores. It might be a version of stories I've already written, or it might be that those stories serve as a stepping stone for me to continue to polish my craft and what ends up on shelves is now only a seed in the depths of my mind. There may be an agent reading a query that will lead to a full request and then an offer right now. The agent who eventually signs me may not even be an agent yet. 

I hate this uncertainty, and I don't always have the mental fortitude to remind myself that if I keep working and don't give up I will get there someday. There are definitely days when I spend all of my time wallowing in self pity. If I want to make it, however, I can't stay down there. I need to get up, dust myself off, and do the next thing.

This summer my family took a vacation to the Rocky Mountains. It was breathtakingly beautiful. It's also a whole lot farther above sea level than Kentucky, and the thinner air literally can take your breath away. All my family members are in much better shape than I am, and there were times we were ascending on hikes when I wasn't sure I could make it. But I did it. One step at a time. Here's a picture of me at 12,000 feet. No, I did not climb all 12,000 of those feet.



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