Rejection

One thing I learned, first from research, and now from experience, is that writers get a lot of rejections. Of their work. I'm trying to remember that. It's my work that they don't want, it's not me. And actually, they're not really rejecting my work. They're just saying that they don't want to read more of it. (I know, it may be splitting hairs, but it still makes me feel better).

Here's how it works: You write a query letter, which is about 250 words that should attract an agent or publisher to your book. Based on that 250 words (assuming they read the whole letter), they make a decision. No one claims that the process is objective. Just the opposite, it's completely subjective. If the agent likes post-modern crime novels featuring dragons and talking cats, then you either provide that, or they reject you. Even if you do provide that, they may still reject you.

The rejections, if when you get one many, are form letters. Really nice, kind, and encouraging form letters. Actually, "letter" is too strong a word. It's more of a note, or maybe a sentence. And it means nothing, absolutely nothing, except, "No thanks." There's no feedback about your actual work. It just means they won't ask for "pages."

Pages means that an agent invites you to send a portion of your book, She reads a little, then decides if she wants more pages to read. If she's bored, she says, "No thanks." Then you send more queries. (And guess what? Even if you find an agent to represent you, you have to go through the whole process again with a publisher. See why I'm still a working consultant? The road to publishing is paved with boulders the size of Mt. Rushmore.)

(It would be better if they just put NO in the subject line of the email and let it go. That would save everyone time. I'm not being bitter, just practical. Literati In The Know say not to give up until you've sent at least a hundred queries for a book. And someone has to read each query. Since the rejections don't really say anything, just keep them simple and streamlined. No.)

Anyway, it's important to stay positive during this gut-wrenching, heart-tearing, blood-boiling, kick-in-the-teeth dance of nix, pass, rebuff, turndown, brush-off, veto, renunciation. Oops, there I go again.

Hence my word cloud. It's pretty, and the biggest words acknowledge that I do work, and they thank me for the effort. (I wish that "Best" denoted agents' assessment of my work, but that's just how most of them sign their responses.)

I like the look and feel of my rejection word cloud, and we'll see how it changes after a few more weeks.

Seventeen years later...

Like many people, I've always dreamed of writing a novel. And getting it published. Nearing forty, I figured I'd better get moving. I took some creative writing courses, published a couple of articles, and visualized myself sitting on a gray metal folding chair in front of a huge open bay, with palates of my hardcover book piled behind me: proud, happy, accomplished!

Visualization really works, sort of. Not that I would have wanted any other life, but instead of a novel, I got married, renovated a hundred year-old house, raised (well, partially, they're just starting high school) two children, ran a consulting business, moved to Michigan, cared for aging parents, opened a booth in a local antique mall, kept running a consulting business, finding antiques, raising children, caring for others, and now here I am. (Oh, sorry honey, and being a wife, that's a really important one, being a wife).

Seventeen years later, I did finally write a novel. Three actually, although only one is finished. But more on that later. Business slowed, kids grew, loved ones died, and it turns out that "antiques" now come from the 70s and 80s, so all my stuff is too old and no one wants it. (Hah! That's true on more than one level! Not talking about you, honey.)

When I'm feeling generous, I give myself credit for writing a novel when work slowed, instead of sitting on the couch watching NCIS and eating popcorn. (Well , not during the daytime anyway). When I'm feeling less generous, I think that all my time writing has not paid me one penny. It hasn't (yet) even earned me an agent, publisher, or contract. But I've loved every minute of it.

So, welcome to my blog. You can travel with me, see if the dream comes true, and commiserate if it doesn't. Oops, perish that thought. Only positive vibes from now on.

Also, if you'd like to advance me $50,000 to finish the other two books, you can publish all three! Another $50,000 next year will get you sequels, new novels, you name it, I'll write it.

(For those of you who aren't part of the Literati In The Know, like me, that's a joke. Asking for a $50,000 book advance is like funding your retirement by planning to win the lottery. Pipe dream, chimera, castle in the sky, fantasy bubble, fanciful scheme, fool's hope...delusion).

So seriously, I'd settle for $20,000 and a car.