This month, we look at using writing programs to help you plan your novel, offer some awesome advice to keep you going and look at issues such as mental and physical health. Check out our latest issue now and be sure to add it to your library and sh...
Here is what I tell people when they ask me about the future:
"I'm an aspiring writer," I say. "I want to write books, change the world."
Predictably, I get one of the three following questions:
"You write young adult novels? Like Twilight?"
"What are your backup plans? Did you know that that's not a lucrative career?"
"Does aspiring mean that you haven't written a book yet? Or that, like, that you have and nobody wants to publish it?"
I've developed standards answers for these questions. They're unavoidable. They're awkward. And – unfortunately – they're laced with a grain of truth.
Because I have written a book. This much is true.
(The Twilight part – not so much.)
And it isn't a lucrative career, not for most people. It's a long road to the top.
For everyone who has asked these questions, and for everyone that ever will, here are my answers. Hopefully, when I meet with you over a cup of coffee, a Thanksgiving dinner plate, or a textbook, you'll understand – even just in a small way – that writing books sounds like a fairytale but actually feels more like falling barefoot in a thorn bush whilst running after Prince Charming (re: publisher. Agent. Editor.) instead of away from him.
Stage #1: The first manuscript. I'll rescind the above statement for a paragraph and say that yes, this is the fairytale part. You've got a solid idea and a killer lineup of characters, and if you can just make it through the middle of the novel (sometimes it feels like walking through the Sahara blindfolded), you're home-free. Great American Novel = Done.
Stage #2: The first round of edits. This is the point at which the world burns. (Kidding. Mostly.) Have you ever heard the phrase, "Murder your darlings?" Yeah, so – this is where the killing starts.
It's like "Saw" on repeat, because every time you decide to take out a character or erase a scene, it feels like you're severing someone's lifeline. It's painful and a little bit tearful, and you're probably going to swing between being, in your fortress of solicitude (re: bedroom) The Greatest Writer in the World to The Worst Writer in the World. Because, seriously – how did you think that first draft was good? (Hint: it was never as bad as it seems now).
Stage #3: The first query letter. You now have a fully-fledged, kicking-and-screaming novel all ready for the world to fall in love with. The first hurdle? Writing a letter that summarizes all your hard work and plot mechanisms and deep themes and everything in 3-4 paragraphs.
You need an amazing hook, because agents and editors are fond of just skimming these. Which doesn't, of course, mean that the letter can be kind-sorta- maybe good. It has to be the best thing you've ever written. EVER.
No pressure.
Stage #4: The first rejection. You open it, it says something like sorry, good luck next time, and you run for the fridge. Again, with the world burning. You hide in your bedroom (under your desk, because chairs are for people who aren't heartbroken), and you binge-watch a TV show with a beautiful actor, and you cry. And then all of a sudden you realize that this moment kind of feels like a breakup, which is weird. And you feel okay now, which is also weird. So you get up, and start writing again.
Stage #5: The first time you get a YES – cue happy dance. You're on top of the world and all of your friends think you've gone nuts, because you're just kind of spinning on your toes, but it isn't something you can explain. Because it just isn't.
Stage#6: The first phone call with a real-live agent. Hair done? Check. Coffee? Check. Casual-yet- studied outfit? Check. (Wait...this is a phone call...) Even so: to feel good, you have to look good. When you say hello your voice breaks, and when they say you have potential, you almost start crying. At that point, remaining professional is the last thing in your mind. But you still say, thank you for your time, and then hang up and freak the heck out.
Stage #7: The first realization that this great big beautiful journey is, in fact, a journey, and that reaching success will be much harder than you think. This moment is simple, and beautiful and bittersweet. You can finally acknowledge the heart, bones, and soul you have poured into this, the pain that accompanies big dreams, and the path that you have chosen to take, which will irrevocably change you, but now you know don't want to go back.
I'm on stage #7 right now. After four books and two almost-contracts and about twenty rejections, I'm still struggling to find a "home" for the stories that I believe so strongly in. But I wouldn't trade these stages, not for all the rational and sleep-filled and worry-free days in the world.
Because: this is the path I have chosen to walk on to pursue my future.
What will be yours?
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