The Long Hard Road; Keep Telling Yourself that Writing is Fun...

 Recently I made a conscious decision to re-focus on what matters. Well, I made a conscious decision years ago to focus on my kids, but now it's time to dedicate time to my first child: my fiction writing.

When I was 27 I worked four jobs. A co-worker at one of my part-time gigs, John, found out I was a writer and that I aspired to writing a book. My main job back then was as a staff writer with a local newspaper. Didn't pay much. (See "four jobs", above.) One day, John wrote me a note with a photocopy of his hand (no idea why) and all the note said was, "Write the book." I kept that note, and I fondly remember John, about eight years my junior, who shared the same birthday as me.

And I went home and started writing my first novel, which became titled The End of September. Because it was the end of September. I remember scrolling words onto a yellow legal pad. Yeah, it was 1986. I don't know if I owned a typewriter, but I know for sure I did not even have a personal word processor as yet.

But I completed that novel. And a few years later my ex-husband edited it for me and we transferred it via scan to a personal word processor. A few years after that I picked it up again and then followed suit with two more in the series, The End of December and The Beginning of October. All of these have been in Microsoft Word since 2008. Yay!

In the late eighties I penned The Supplier, which you can find on Amazon if you click the links in this site. I published that via PublishAmerica in 2008. And that was it for novels for a long time.

But while I was out on leave after my daughter, Reese, came to us via the foster/adoption system (another blog for another day!) I wrote my first non-fiction book, all about the traveling I did with my husband and kids from 1997 to 2013. That's featured on this site, too, Vacation, published via CreateSpace/Amazon. Vacation Two will be out soon and it picks up where I left off in Vacation, where I stopped just before my daughter was born.

Meantime I've been writing short stories, poems, lyrics and even a TV sitcom script. I have hoards of other ideas and short outlines for future projects.

I left a job a year ago to take a temporary technical writing position. They laid off the writers right before the holidays in 2019. Thanks, guys.

But seriously, thanks. Because I have decided to re-focus on my first-born, my fiction.

Almost three years ago I received the inspiration for my next novel, which now is complete as well, Harley's Eclipse. While having completed novels before, I did not place as much time on pursuing publication. The Supplier was not printed via a vanity press, but it still was not published via the "traditional" way. Vacation was published on Amazon. I had no patience to do the research and query in order to obtain a "traditional" book deal.

This time, I want to do it the "right" way. I hear that agents are looking for debut authors. I hear editors and book publishers are seeking new talent. That's me!

I'm taking an online course about publishing, reading all there is to read about agents and queries, and linking with other authors and on social media. I am reading other novels. I am working harder than I ever did in any previous job!

Writing is hard work and it takes focus. Pitching agents is hard work. I am researching daily and I put together a spreadsheet with 40 agents thus far. The training I am taking recommends 50 before querying. Okay. And my query letter is nearly ready. My friend Lauraine reviewed all my passes thus far and I think she may be ready to kill me.

So next, the person who conducts the training I'm taking, my "coach", reviews my query. Meantime, I search for "beta" readers (just found out about that term this week!) and eventually an editor who does not charge an arm and a leg because I am unemployed.

I'm going all out, and doing everything right, but I am taking my time. I am not rushing and am NOT putting Harley's Eclipse on the back burner. No, no, no, no, no! I am NOT giving up. It's too good, and I'M too good to back out or place more emphasis on a "job" again.

I cannot emphasize enough that writing is hard work. Not the actual writing but the "unfun" stuff like finding agents, listening to webinars and meetings about writing. And then there's the never-ending story of editing. I finished Harley's Eclipse two years ago and I've edited it like seven times. The last time I did anything with it, though was summer 2018. I recently made some significant changes, now that I have time. I like the research part but I'm getting carpel tunnel.

For me, the actual writing is easy: I sat down and penned this blog in about 10 minutes and am proud to say it probably does not have any errors and reads pretty well. I've had the knack since I was six, when I told my dad I wanted to write books. That's the truth.

But I didn't do anything about it until meeting John at Sears.

Thanks, John!

And thanks, various managers who decided that software engineers are more important than writers. You see, I'm pursuing my dream, which is attainable. And this is very interesting stuff.

You can do it too!

The Sans Writing Experiment

 A night alone gave way to introspection about my writing. While I stepped away from the laptop to work my evening job, then return home, eat, and watch a movie, without other family distractions and goals, though I did not set out for this to occur, it happened: I came to the realization that this writing gig is work.

Of course I knew that. Perhaps I didn't really know it at six, when I told my father I wanted to write books. But I certainly realized it in my twenties, when I wrote my first novel.

But I didn't know that this career goal of becoming a full-time novelist was a job. A JOB. I've had many, and mostly just as a way to support myself and my family. I suppose I thought writing would be fun, because sentence structure, grammar, punctuation, and imagination come naturally to me.

But it's more than that.

Like I always say, as human beings, we never really know how we will react or what we will do until we are in the moment. I watched "The Stanford Prison Experiment" this morning. Those young men didn't know what they would do until they did it. Would they succumb to the "prison guards'" wishes? Would the "prison guards" act humanely? Even Dr. Phil Zimbardo had no idea, admittedly.

It wasn't until this last round for me, with my most recent novel, PENNY'S SONG, that I realized this writing thing is REAL. It can get real real. Really fast. And it's more than putting ideas to paper and more than structuring a sentence. IT'S A LIFESTYLE. One that requires dedication, focus, determination, courage, a thick skin, a sense of humor, and time. Lots of time.

Nearly four months ago I embarked on the final editing journey for PS. It was brutal. I repeatedly acted like a prison guard to my own writing, cruelly taking out well-loved phrases and putting filter words in "the hole." And walking away at the end of the day, feeling badly, not just for having "killed" some characters or watching idly as other guards, my critique partners, did, but having killed certain scenes and replaced them with others. That one scene was always a nice guy.

It was a trying three months.

Then came perfecting the draft query letter. I had about ten versions. Yes, they got better over time. Yes, the new "pitch" received validation from a literary agent at a virtual conference this month. Yes, I began querying earlier this month, receiving five rejections. Six, if you include the agent who wrote me two separate rejection emails. Yes, another agent who rejected my manuscript lauded my query letter.

But the kudos did come with a price. Not the conference fee, or the webinar fee, the fee for the excellent query review, the charge for the editors to look at my first four chapters, or the writing group monthly charge. A mental price.

I never missed a work shift in my life. Last Monday, my supervisor called me twenty minutes into my shift, concerned about my whereabouts. I had failed to put the shift in my calendar. And the next day, I frantically drove my daughter to gymnastics "early," to find her session starts at 5:30 on Tuesdays in the summer, something I had known for weeks and had done correctly until then when I dropped her off an hour and a half too early.

In all fairness to writing, I also have been readying my son for college and planned two parties, one for him and one for my daughter's birthday. But I missed my daughter's piñata and water balloon fight to participate in a live pitch, one that though positive, resulted in the "double rejection" I mentioned. And prepping for the virtual writing conference, though helpful, also was stressful. I don't take anything lightly.

Just like Michael Angarano in "Stanford."

Am I saying I'm quitting? No, I'm not saying that. All I am saying is that while I knew and fully expected writing to present some challenges, and I was still prepared and willing to embark on this path, I now also see what I can become in the throes of this career.

It's not just a job I can leave behind at five pm. It's not even one that gives me a paycheck...yet. In fact, I pay to do this work and do it well. It feels more like having a child. Except this child is never going to leave home. Even when I'm gone, these children, "The Supplier," "The End of September," "Harley's Eclipse," "Vacation," and "Penny's Song," along with my future children, will carry on.

Is it worth it, knowing my voice will continue long after I depart this earth?

I wonder what Dr. Phil Zimbardo would have to say about that?