Making it Through the Existential Storm

So I finished my first novel a while ago. Over a year ago to be honest. I attempted to shop it around. I sent it to a few agents and pitched it a few times in person. Every single agent said the same thing. "Sounds interesting, but we're not taking dystopias." That's cool. I get it. The Hunger Games was so hugely popular that it created a flux of repeat, mediocre dystopias and now everybody's bored with the genre. No worries. I was disappointed, but not inordinately so, and I don't mind putting it on a shelf for a while. It's a good book. I can wait.

That wasn't the cause of my existential storm.

So what do you do, as a writer, after you finish your first book? You write a second one.

Cue existential crisis.

What did I want to write? Probably not the sequel to my first novel even though it would be infinitely easy and doable. Nope. It's not that I didn't have any ideas for the next novel. I always have ideas. But which should I pick?

I started two novels. Both good ideas and very different one from the other. I worked on character creation and wrote outlines. I even started the actual writing on one. Then I changed my mind and started on the other. Then I stopped. Completely. I sought advice from my fellow writers about which one I should pursue. I listen closely to their opinions, the majority of which leaned one way, then I chose the other.

But underneath all of this planning and procrastinating, one thought haunted me. Should I start a new book at all?

As some of you may know, and many of you will not, my life is crazy. Pretty much all the time. I moved states, got a new job, moved into a new place, and I'm going back to school this fall. I've made other commitments, too. One of my best friends wants to collaborate on a webcomic with me. I've had a novella in the works forever and I'm still only half way through. Several of my closest writing friends sent me manuscripts to read which I haven't (and I can't apologize enough). I want to do everything. I want to say yes to every opportunity and I don't want to disappoint anyone, especially myself.

Because I have done. Over and over again.

When I was nineteen, I dropped out of college. There were a lot of reasons, and, rationally, it was the right decision for me at the time. I've learned a lot about myself and the world in the last five years. I'm ready to try again. But still, it terrifies me.

With all of this (and a lot more that would take too long to go into), should I even bother trying to write? How could I work full time, go to school full time, AND write, when I've barely been able to manage one of those things at a time?

But I've accepted that my life will probably always have a certain level of entropy. A certain level of instability and anxiety. That doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon.

So I've made some decisions. I've dropped a few commitments. I'm going to try hard to not take on any more. I will do what has to be done. And I will write.

Today I start my second book.

The Value of Leaving the House

As some of you know, about a year and a half ago I moved to Greenville, a small town in rural East Texas. It's a nice enough town and the people are friendly, but it's the kind of place where you meet people through work, church, or children. I have none of these things. So my range of social interaction outside of my house is limited to my brother, his family, and some of his friends. Otherwise it's just my boyfriend and our three cats.

So I've turned into a bit of a hermit.

Though without the epic beard.

I sit at my laptop and work on my book. I go grocery shopping once a week. Bob and I occasionally drive "into town" which translates to a 45 minute to 1 hour drive to some part of the Dallas metro. But that's about it. For a while, I didn't even really see my brother unless something was happening, i.e. niece's volleyball game, game night, etc.

But I have to be careful, because all of this "me" time, this wonderfully productive and creative coccoon ... well, it can be suffocating. No one can exist in a vacuum. Most of all someone who creates. We need to see people's reactions to our creations. We need to bounce ideas off others and be, in turn, inspired by them. So people like me, people stuck in their own little bubble, need to make an effort to leave the house.

I've got a lot of excuses not to. There's no one close to me. The closest writing group I found was an hour and a half away. The closest meetup for NaNoWriMo is about that too. Seriously.

But it gets to a point where you just have to suck it up and do what it takes. This last Saturday I drove to the opposite side of Dallas for a NaNoWriMo plan-in session in Denton, TX. Sure it was three hour drive there and back. Sure there were gas costs and I had to drive it by myself, but it was totally worth it.

I met some really great writers and people and I hope I'll force myself to keep in contact with them. I'm historically bad about that kind of thing, but all I need to do is make the effort.

I'm also going out to my brother's house once a week. Just to hangout. Just to talk and listen to someone different.

So I may be the stereotype of a lonely writer, and it's true, writing is a very solitary activity, but contact and inspiration and connections are like air to creative people. We get lost in our vacuum, our head-space. We need to break out and take a breath.

We just need to leave the house.

On Birthdays and Rejections

So yesterday was my 24th birthday. It was also the day I got my first rejection letter.

As a writer, I know that I am bound to get more rejections, that this is just the first of many. That rationale did not stop me from feeling desperately disappointed. In many ways it was a trauma. This was an agent that I'd met in person, who'd heard my book win 1st place, and with whom I'd felt the possibility of a connection. And after all that, she still didn't like my book.

So what did I do? I cried and called my mother. Then I sent out five more queries.

It's okay to feel sad. It's okay to be disappointed, but it's not okay to quit. I am a writer and, one day, I will be published. That's all there is to it.

I've got a long list of agents to query and I've got another book in the works. I'm going to keep writing and keep working and I am going to have a career.

I knew that the business side of being a writer was going to be hard and it is. And I don't like it. But that's part of what being a professional is. Doing the job completely, even the parts you hate. Because writing isn't just a hobby for me. It's what I do. What I want to spend the rest of my life doing, because in the end, the good parts - the stories, the language, the people - completely outweigh the bad.

So go ahead and cry. Then get back to work.

Rose State Conference Part 2: Finding an Agent

One of the best parts of any writer's conference is meeting amazing agents and editors. I've tried to narrow my focus and I pitched two different agents last weekend. It can be surprising which ones you connect with and which ones you don't.

I pitched last year to an agent who requested my manuscript, but I never heard anything back. A year later I was ready to try again.

For someone who always enjoyed acting, pitching creates a unique sort of stage fright. Perhaps it's more intimidating in a one-on-one setting. Perhaps it's just knowing that these people took time out of their busy New York lives to listen to a ten-minute talk about a book they've never read by an author they've never heard of.

So after you get the best possible pitch written, after you practice and practice (Not too fast! Enunciate!), after all of that stress and anxiety you sit across from an agent and you sell your book. Or try to.

This year there were some pretty big names at Rose State. The two I was most interested in were Regina Brooks and Marcy Posner.

                       

Regina is younger and has an interesting background (she worked as an engineer at NASA!) and for some reason, I just felt like we would click. On Friday, we were told to just sign with one agent to make sure everyone got a chance to pitch, so I signed up with Regina.

The next morning, I'm sitting outside of the designated room, waiting on my time when I notice the sign up sheets on the wall. When I'd checked earlier, all of Marcy Posner's slots were filled. Oh well, I thought. She wasn't my first choice anyway. But now, there were three blank spots where someone had whited-out names. What the heck. It can't hurt to pitch twice. I signed up for Marcy. 

With Regina, I started out a little rocky. There was no one to keep track of the times and I wasn't sure if I was supposed to go on in or wait until I was called, so I missed the first few minutes of my allotted time. She was very nice and I gave my pitch (which was a little rushed). She listened politely and pointed me towards a contest her agency does for YA books. She also gave me the name of another agent in her company that might be interested. Those all sound positive, yes, but the reception was less enthusiastic than I'd hoped for. To be honest, I was pretty disheartened.

So I went to lunch and came back. By the time of my next appointment, I was feeling pretty laissez faire. What happened, happened. It was good practice.

This time, everything seemed to work out perfectly. My appointment was at the beginning of a chunk of times so there was no one in front of me. Marcy was already seated and seemed a little bored, so I went right on in. This time, my pitch was near perfect. It came out more conversational and Ms. Posner and I ended up discussing the book for quite a while. She asked me questions about myself, about my writing process and what my goals were. We even chatted about various television shows and books we liked. Turns out she's a big fan of dystopic/post-apocalyptic fiction. Even though we started early, we ended up going over our time limit by five or six minutes! 

But I think the best thing was that she said she'd get back to me within a couple of weeks.

After waiting months and months for the first agent I pitched to (who still has never contacted me back), it was refreshing to speak to someone who was serious about me.

While it's still very possible she may not be interested in representing my book, it was a great experience. So now I sit here, refreshing my email every five minutes, cautiously optimistic.

Maybe she'll be the one.