Into The Great Unknown

Writing is a lot like gambling; if you play at it long enough you might just get lucky. That is what I tell myself every time I write a query, develop a proposal or send a completed manuscript out into the great unknown. It's hard to send your work out there. I mean, it's your work and in a great many ways, it is part of you. A representative of your creative self. An extension of yourself through the interpretation of your art. You baby it, fight with it, love it, hate it... and after you've picked apart all of its weaknesses, toyed with it, tweaked it and polished it - then you love it again. And after all of that, you diligently research possible markets for your work, your baby, and dutifully send it off to vie for publication and you wait.



And wait. And... well, you wait some more. You tell yourself that no news is good news. Your friends say things like, "Well, at least it hasn't been rejected"reminding you that rejection is the most probable outcome and it is only a matter of time before the rejection notices start pouring in. After all, it is the most probable outcome.



Suffice to say that landing an acceptance from a traditional publisher is a long shot, even if your work is excellent. Which is a good part of the reason so many writers have opted to self publish via Print on Demand companies. But even that isn't quite so simple and often P.O.D. contracts saddle the writer with the burden of high fees with very few, if any benefits.



Publication is the side of writing that is absolutely the most frustrating. Everything must be perfect if the writer hopes to attract the attention of an editor. Queries must light the fire of interest without being too long, or too wordy. It has to be perfect.



So you wait and as you wait you start to wonder if you did a good enough job. You start to doubt. And if, or rather when rejections roll in - you start to doubt your work. You pick apart the possible reasons why your query wasn't effective. You rewrite it. Edit it. Polish it and send it out into the great unknown again.



The fact is, you have to have a thick skin in this business. Critiques can be harsh, editors are usually quite demanding and rejections can sometimes be hard to swallow. But it is the way it is, and knowing that, the writer writes some more and dutifully sends their work, their baby, out into the great unknown hoping this time they'll hit the publishing jackpot - their name in print and a check with their name on it for their efforts.

Invasion of the "What if's"

Here I sit. Keyboard literally in hand... poised to bash my head into my computer monitor. I've had the same blank page in my "Word" program staring me down for about an hour. I had every intention of continuing my novel length work-in-progress (A.k.a wip) from my most recent stopping point. Actually, I ended a chapter and undecided on the direction I want to go, I opted to line edit and execute minor rewrites on all the chapters that led to this point. It was a good idea. Took a few days. Got a lot done.



It was a good idea... or at least, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I realize that in taking that pause rather than working through the stopping point, I failed to address the issue of direction. I didn't solve my dilemma rather, I sought to avoid it for as long as possible.



So now I'm left wondering why I allowed myself to duck for cover behind line edits. What stopped me. What made the end of this chapter a stopping point. Why was I so willing to pull away?



Could it be that my story really has no where to go? Is it dead? No, in fact I'm sure it is not. This story has taken on a life of it's own. It feels almost sentient to me. The characters breath and think and feel; they are perfect and flawed and in the world I've created in my wip, they are real. Okay, so the story isn't dead. So what's the problem?



Clearly, I'm at a transitive crossroads in my story. I could go in any one of several directions. But how to choose? What if I make the wrong choice? What if the idea sucks? What if...



What if I had sat down in my plot outline and ironed out my plot objectives rather than excuse myself by hiding in edits? Then perhaps I would not have found myself staring blankly at a blank Word document. I let the fear of the "What if's" distract me to the point of inaction. Duh! Didn't I see it coming?



Of course I did! I knew I was avoiding tough choices. I knew, I knew and I know better. I could kick myself for allowing the "What if's" to get to me. Plot transition needs to be addressed rather than avoided. Ugh. There is probably nothing as frustrating as being the cause of your own frustration.



Now I need to dig in and push through my own insecurities, so my wip can continue on it's intended path. And it has an intended path - I just need to figure out the twists and turns along the way.

Time Bandits

It seems like nary a day goes by in which some misinformed individual passes a judgment as to the flexibility of my writing schedule. People automatically assume that because I am a freelance writer my cup must certainly runneth over with scads of free time. After all, I work when I want. Therefore, I am endlessly called upon to run here, go there, be available at such and such a time... blah, blah, blah. And you know, for a while there - even I fell for it.



I figured, well, sure I'll do this for so and so. After all it'll really help them, seeing as they have to work and all. I can spare a few hours. If they needed me to come in a bit early to coach at the gym, they could count on me. I'd be there. It only meant going in an hour early, it was okay.



A chunk of time here. A smidgen of time there. No big. I could deal. I could work around it; I create my own schedule you know.



Yeah, I was in deep alright.



The worst part about it was that I was permitting my own work to be compromised and devalued by failing to demand that anyone, anyone at all, respect my time. Even myself. And it was nearly fatal to my creative works. The more time I spent pursuing the tasks everyone else prescribed me, resulted in completing my paying assignments during the hours I would have spent on my creative works had I held to my own schedule.



Finally, it was up to me to undo the damage. I had to start saying no. And it wasn't easy. People weren't very receptive to my sudden inclination to decline their requests of my time. Their response when I asserted my need to adhere to a writing schedule I likened to how I imagine a thirsty dog would react to the sudden removal of his water-bowl while he is smack-dab in the middle of drinking. Dogs don't like going thirsty, and people don't like hearing the word no. Unfailingly both respond with the same surprised sideways tilt of the head, wearing an expression that asks "Huh?" Some even growl. So be it.



It had to be done or my creative work would literally die of neglect. Robbed of its sustenance, its value, and ultimately its right to exist by the time bandits who would continue to raid my creative itinerary, unless I stood to defend it.



That's not to claim that my reclaimed writing agenda is without interruption. Life happens. Business need to get done, kids need tending, dogs need to be walked, house needs to be cleaned and, in my case, gymnasts need to be coached. It's like a smooth walk across a balance beam just before tossing a back Handspring that lands a little wobbly; sometimes you just have to grit your teeth and hang on, or the amazing thing you were doing has lost all its value.