Wounds are licked, and I'm climbing back on that writing horse again...
I'm still aiming to finish NaNoWriMo by completing 50,000 words in one month. I love NaNoWriMo. One day, I even hope to publish, although I'm not sure it will be something produced from these marathon, novel-in-a-month sessions. I highly recommend NaNoWriMo if you've:
a) Always wanted to write a novel [quit talking about it and do it!]
b) Do write, but it takes you forever to get one book done [NaNoWriMo will break you of dawdling]
c) Are stuck in the "always editing the same thing" rut [you can't edit and win at NaNoWriMo]
So, writers everywhere, jump on the NaNoWriMo wagon next November and write for the fun of it. Write for the glory of it. Write for the practice of it. And write just to say you've done it!
However, back to my own personal quest for publication...
No, wait, time for a commercial break.
Why am I doing this blog? Am I insane?
These questions may never be answered.
Wrong. There is an answer, at least for why I'm blogging this. Because I think there may be other writers out there struggling with similar issues (okay, it's highly unlikely that any other nutcase has been trying to write for nearly 30 years now without getting published, but hey...). There is an important lesson, and I think it is worth talking about. And I'm not doing this for purely altruistic motives. I've found if I *don't* write this out and communicate it with others, it festers. The old, "write it in an email, send it to yourself, and then delete it," just doesn't work for me. I need to communicate. With others. Not to myself. I talk to myself plenty, already.
This need to communicate is why I'm trying to be a published writer.
The Lesson to be Learned
No matter how hopeless your quest becomes, do not remain tethered to people who are not helping you just because you hope they will. Fish or cut bait. Remember that.
Once upon a time, I got an agent. In fact, a great agent. She worked in New York City, she hobnobbed with all the right people, she's got tons of people published, including some I personally know. But then she got a new job. And I just waited for her to contact me. I was afraid to find out the answer.
However, no matter how long I delayed the inevitable, the answer ultimately came (after I got the courage to bug her about my status) and I lost my first agent. These things happen, but I would have been better off finding out four months ago, rather than waiting because I was afraid of the answer. I didn't want to hear the truth.
Don't do that. Do let time go. You can't get time back. Don't be afraid of getting the truth--even if it hurts, you're better off knowing. And you may find that after you recover, you can do better, you just don't know it, yet. And for heaven's sake, if opportunity (in the form of another agent) calls you, don't say 'no' until you've really thought about it for a couple of days.
So, here we are, back to the continuation of my saga...
Three months lost. Time is still a-wasting while I fumble around trying to figure out what to do, now. But, I finished one more manuscript and I'll keep working on it.
Maybe this, then, will be a path into the promised land of publication. Or maybe not, but it's a damn sight better than sitting on my arse.