Publication is a Moot Point

I don't think I'm alone when I say I've been feeling the pressure of the un/pre-published life lately. Bills are stacking up. Unfulfilled dreams are starting to get cranky. Unmet goals are rubbing saddle sores into my sides. I've not achieved what I hoped I would have by now.

Indeed, I'm not getting paid to write. I'm not published. I'm not agented. And sometimes these rankling facts infect me with an apathy that makes even writing a chore. Do you know what I mean? It looks something like this:

But here's the thing. It's the main thing. And somehow, in the middle of all my striving and longing and journeying and bleeding and trudging, it manages to be the thing I forget most.

NONE OF THAT MATTERS.

No, I'm not crazy. Let me say it again. None of that matters! Not a bit! Not a whit! Not a Dr. Seussian Snit!

Sure, it'd be great to get paid to write. I'd love to have my books published. And I would be enthralled to work with an agent who liked my writing enough to champion it. But none of those things are the reason I write. None of them are why I started writing in the first place. See where I'm headed yet?

I just finished reading Emily of New Moon, a book by L.M. Montgomery (you know, the wonderful woman who gave us Anne Shirley?), and in it I found a certain amount of refreshment as a writer. As it happens, Emily Starr, the protagonist of the book, also longs to write for a living. But when her teacher demands to know why she wants this, he leads Emily to the heart of the matter--for her, and for all of us. He says:

"Tell me this--if you knew you would be poor as a church mouse all your life--if you knew you'd never have a line published--would you still go on writing--would you?"
"Of course I would," said Emily disdainfully. "Why, I have to write--I can't help it at times--I've just got to."

For me this conversation was like a knock over the head. Never mind that I've said this very thing many times before (I have to write! I'll go on doing it forever whether I get paid for it or not!); somewhere in the wild scramble for the prize of publication, I'd temporarily lost sight of it.

But I didn't start writing because I wanted to be published, or because I thought it would make me rich and famous, or because writing somehow impresses people. I didn't even start because I loved it--although that certainly plays a helpful role. It was because the stories in my head were all but leaking out of me, suffocating me with their need to be told. It was because I HAD TO.

And I think that's what we have to remember. Because that's the only thing that will keep you happy in your work. Doing it because you must--and because you love it. And if publication happens along the way, well... that's a lovely bonus.

What do you think? Why did you start writing? Do you find yourself getting distracted and consumed by dreams of agents and editors and publishing contracts so that your writing takes the back seat? Please share!

Ode to Aspiring Writers

I have to say, sometimes it sucks to be a writer.

Let me clarify.

Sometimes, when you realize who you are (a person who writes books), and what you are doing (trying to get published), and that you could not stop even if you wanted to, AND THAT IT IS REALLY EFFING HARD...it kind of sucks.

Unless...

Unless you realize you are not alone.

I was just pondering what we do, we pre-published writers. (It's really an insane thing, when you think about it.) First, we discover that we have a story to tell, and we decide we want to tell it. So we think for a while, and try to work out the best way to go about it. We name characters, we outline detailed plot charts, we develop character-arcs, we undertake the mind-boggling task of getting to know PEOPLE WHO DO NOT EXIST. We invent worlds.

We string together words to make sentences and paragraphs and pages and chapters. We watch the words fight, and then we sweat and bleed to make them dance, instead. We battle with our characters to get them to cooperate with our plans. We cry when we realize we are morons. We laugh in the shower and in public places when we understand we are also geniuses. We revise. Rewrite. Polish. Cut out our hearts and give the story to someone else to read.

We revise. Rewrite. Polish.

Usually seized by some unforeseen fit of madness, we draft one of those infamous and horrifying things called a Query Letter. This we send to a select list of elusive Demigods called Literary Agents. We spend days, weeks, sometimes months waiting in a prolonged state of anxiety, experiencing both crippling doubt and wild hope. When we log on to our email or check the mailbox, it is with such terror and pulse-pounding that we begin to fear a loss of hair, or an ulcer.

We get replies. They include nasty words like, "unfortunately," and "subjective", and "however." We cry, we mope, we consider giving up. (And for some sick, unfathomable reason, we save our rejection letters.) Then...

We revise. Rewrite. Polish.

We resubmit. We begin to wonder about things like sanity, and careers in Postal work. We get rejected some more.

Eventually, though, good things begin to happen. Like requests for partial manuscripts, and further requests for full manuscripts. Sometimes, these requests are made by agents we REALLY REALLY love. We walk around in a starry daze. We get rejected.

We revise. Rewrite. Polish.

It is insane, what we do. Because, at this point, the only reason IN THE WORLD we are doing it is because we believe in ourselves, and in our stories. Nobody's paying us. In fact, we're sacrificing a lot in order to do it. We're carving out chunks of time in obscure places, giving up sleep, omitting the extra fun stuff that normal people take for granted. And sometimes, it can feel endless and hopeless.

But that's where not being alone comes in.

So, listen: I believe in us. I believe in YOU, writer. No matter how many people wave their print-on-demand books in your face and say publishing is easy, no matter how many relatives and acquaintances smirk when they ask about your "little hobby," no matter how many times you have to answer doubtful questions after someone asks what you do for a living... I believe in you, and I believe in what you do.

And I believe that someday, all this determination and hard work will pay off. Keep writing.

Any thoughts? Anything getting you down in your journey lately? Or maybe making you hopeful? Share!

My Queries are Acts of Insanity

Why, I wonder, do I query in the time I've set aside specifically to work on the new MS? Why, when I have told myself firmly that I will wait until the 27th, when I have learned the results of the ABNA semifinalists selection?

And yet, the last time this happened, said queried agent requested a partial. Therefore, I have to wonder: is Insanity the best frame of mind to query from?

Now, for instance. I've just sent out another. Not because I couldn't wait--though feeling restrained from forward motion does take its toll--but rather because I felt irresistibly compelled, just like last time, to query this specific agent, and query her NOW. Reasonably, I know I'm not really losing my mind, but sometimes, irrationally, I begin to doubt.

Do other people query from clear-headed states? From the coolness of a well-trained mind, and taut self-control? Or do other writers suffer this same compulsive habit, much like a dieter lunging for a doughnut at the precise moment they had planned to be getting on the treadmill?

I've now lost an hour of planned writing. Planned treadmilling. But I'm done with doughnuts for now. Definitely until after the 27th. I'd better go refill the coffee cup and get down to business.