As a writer, I have worked for years to stay on top of my projects. My biggest one is my WIP (work in progress), which is likely to grow into a series. With the help of a supportive critique group, my writing is getting along well, and I decided to go on a writing retreat to focus on it outside the demands of work, paying bills, shopping, and trying to have a social life. I selected a vacation spot for a few days of nothing but writing. That way it didn’t matter if the weather was bad or not: I’d be sequestered in a little corner just writing away.
Before getting to the vacation, however, I participated in a writer’s group meeting featuring two people in the publishing industry. They planned to discuss some basics and tips. That’s in the future for me, but it never hurts to get some advance advice.
Imagine my shock when the publishers started talking about what doesn’t work in the industry, and I realized, to my horror, that they were describing me! I fit many of the descriptive caveats they were talking about, and then some. I had too few followers. My first installment was too long.
I had to make sure my mouth didn’t drop open, or I didn’t start crying. Fortunately, I was on mute. But there I was, my face a neutral mask on the Zoom meeting screen, feeling like I was the writer formally known as. . . . a melted snowball in the seventh sub-basement of Hell. Hopeless.
I never felt so depressed in my life. What was I writing a novel for, if it won’t make it out of the starting gate? Why should I continue risking arthritis in my hands typing away for no reason?
Then I remembered that our founding fathers said we were given the right to pursue happiness, but it isn’t guaranteed. Besides, these were two people from an indie press, small and exclusive, so maybe my story would not apply anyway, at least not to them.
My critique chapters have been written (more like revising right now) one set of 3,500 words at a time (that’s our group limit), so maybe I must dissect the story a bit shorter than I originally planned.
It’s quite a shock to the system to hear some negative news a few days before you’re planning to do the very thing they said you shouldn’t bother doing. I don’t care.
Some of the best works have come from the strangest of circumstances. Publishing a novel involves a bit of serendipity. Luck. Being in the right place, with the right manuscript, at the right time.
I brushed away the detritus of criticism, and I have decided to continue.
I’ve never been one to give up.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog 