I pause for a moment. Flyers is done. Some queries have been sent – to those agents not asking for synopsis; still have to finish one. Will wait until round two, I think. A few “no, thanks” already received. Not despairing yet. Still plenty of time for that. I could continue to fiddle with mss. Not sure that’s good idea. So I hover, waiting.
Ideas brewing. Some are swimming. Nothing is begging to be written.
Should I go back to reading?
Should I look for something quick and unassuming, something I can start and finished in three to six months, or should I plunge back into another three-year commitment?
So I finished The Flyers, the Swimmers, and the Walkers last night. I completed the final revisions, after much angst and after spending far more time on this project then I ever intended. 92,488 words. It’s done. Finished. Complete. I should celebrate. I even have a query written. There’s still the matter of the synopsis. Today’s task.
And then what?
When I’m writing, I’m full of hope, full of anticipation. When I’m finished, reality floods back in and the Voices start: who are you kidding? This sucks. Hope you like rejection ’cause you’re in for it big time.
Someone tell me how to shut the Voices up.
This isn’t just a manuscript. It’s three years of my life that I will never get back. Three years of typing, thinking, creating, falling in and out of love and then falling back in love again. Three years of fighting distractions, of struggling, giving up, starting over, giving up some more and starting again. Three years of working at an exhausting day job and writing during lunchtimes, early in the morning, late at night, weekends. In my sleep.
I had to buy a new keyboard yesterday. I wore the old one out.
Bye-bye, Grace. Bye-bye, A’Tac. Bye-bye, Jack – sorry I had to kill you off. Thanks for choosing me to tell your story. I will miss you.
In the interest of full disclosure, here’s an update of my (meager) previous postings:
— Simon and Garfunkel never made it to Edmonton.
— My daughter, even though she had her own pair, ended up with my shoes.
— I gave up on trying to rewrite that old mystery novel. Somethings should be left in the box.
— Harlequin rejected my romance novel at the query/synopsis stage.
— I never did hear from Mr. Really Big Agent about Stone Cloud. I guess that means no. Too bad. I’m pretty sure the world could really use another vampire novel.
Strangely, the only thing that upsets me is the shoes.
My New Year’s resolution this year was to stop writing for one year, and instead, read, spend more time with family and friends (the few I have left) and quit this stupid notion of ever being able to produce anything that anyone will ever want to publish, let alone read. Hell, at times I can barely stand to read what I’ve written. So I closed the file on THE FLYERS, THE SWIMMERS, AND THE WALKERS (I cried a little even though at that moment I thought it was the worst thing I’d ever written), and actually turned off the computer.
I was good for 15 days. I read the entire Mistborn trilogy (Brandon Sanderson). I even stated to read book one of the Wheel of Time series. I took out my sewing machine and made half a dress for my granddaughter who is scheduled to be born in April. I watched television. I went to bed at a respectable hour.
Knock off the snow already -- January from my driveway
Like I said, I lasted 15 days.
I have now written almost 10,000 words on a new novel. And I have retrieved FLYERS, which was very close to being COMPLETLY AND TOTALLY DONE, and I am 70 percent through what I hope is a final draft.
This is what I learned: sometimes it is possible to over revise. What I hated most about FLYERS was that I was making too many changes that were taking away from what is really a very simple story. I ended up going back and removing almost everything I had added and put back much of my first draft, albeit more polished. And best of all, it’s almost COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY DONE.
My other New Year’s resolution: Get back to blogging. It’s good for the soul.
Today: 12 degrees C or about 53 degrees F Sunny
I took a day and a half off. It was great. But an opening line popped into my head, begging me to write it. So I did.
I am working on rewriting a mystery I wrote twenty years ago. I loved the idea then; I was obsessed by it. I wrote the bulk of it in ten days and it was short-listed for a provincial novel-writing competition. But I was never happy with it, and always thought I would get back to it. In the meantime, I put it aside and went on to other things. But this line jumped out at me and I was hooked.
I think I have a hard copy of the old manuscript somewhere. I don’t know whether to look for it or not. Not that it matters. What I’m writing now is very different from what I wrote then. The plot is basically the same, but the details will be different, as well as the voice. I wrote 7,000 words this weekend. Not a bad start.
That’s Lola at three months. She is now nine months old
and desperately needs a haircut.
So, this morning I put my query and synopsis in the mail to Harlequin. Vampire Bob and the Barracuda Babes is finished.
But I’m at a bit of a loss. Now what? Do I go back to my previous work in progress? Do I resurrect an old work that has been calling me to rewrite it? Do I write another romance? Do I start something completely new? (I am certainly not lacking in ideas. I have a little list . . . .)
If it were summer, I’d be in the garden. Or even spring. Which I know is occurring in other parts of North America, just not here.
I could read a book. But which one? I have a stack of them. So many books.
Today: 6C Morning fog.
I finished the second draft of my romance novel last night. Writing 60,000 words with a minimum of subplots is certainly a lot easier than writing 120,000 words with multiple subplots.
A bit of a break and then a third pass to make sure it’s all connected and then I get to work on the synopsis and the query letter.
It’s a good feeling.