So Anyway...

The anger has passed.  I'm quick that way.  Feel the emotion, get it out, get it over with and move on.  Five stages of grief in two days.  Works for me.  I mean, it's not like my cat died or anything. 

Now, there are those of you who probably cringed that I wrote that post at all.  We've all heard that were not supposed to bitch about our rejections online.  It'll kill the deal, or some such nonsense.  :shrug:  I figure letting it out and dealing with it is the best way to move on from it.  That I choose the blogosphere?  Well, this is my outlet.  I don't have people offline that I talk to other than family, and while my daughter, my mother and my husband are all sympathetic, they don't write so they don't get it.  You people here - you get it. 

I say, don't bottle this crap up.  If you're angry, say "I'm angry".  Admit it.  Don't belabor the point.  Don't make a whole big show of it by blowing the whole thing into a shitstorm of epic proportions.  Just admit you're pissed and then move on. I wrote that post and then settled in to work on research so I can start querying again.  Drained that big, puss-filled abscess of anger and then got back to work.

That's my process.  Them what don't like it or understand it?  Well, I can't help them.  I can only do what I do.

Of course, I was in the middle of doing actual work when weird and draining life stuff hit, but there's no help for that.  I did actually get two queries out before the avalanche of crap overwhelmed me and I went to go read.  (Reading = the solution to overwhelming crap avalanches.)

And today?  Well, today will be a better day.  I will do some more research and send some more queries.  I will write more than the piddlin' 400 words I got out yesterday before I sought solace in a book.  And if it all gets overwhelming again, maybe I'll go into the woods and saw some more dead wood.  If and when we ever get a wood stove, the stuff to burn will be cut into nice sections. 

What's on your plate today?  And are you someone who lets the emotions out or are you a bottler? 

The Five Stages of Writerly Grief

You all probably know about the stages of grief, but if you don't here's a good article on the typical Five Stages of Grief and Loss. Today, I'm going to use those to illustrate what happens when a writer gets rejected - because hey, we all grieve those losses like any other.  Sure, no one died, but it's a loss and it's painful.

First a little backstory - because I do love me some backstory*...

So anyway, after waiting a little over 16 months for this publisher who shall remain nameless** to make a decision one way or the other about Djinnocide, I received my lovely form rejection in the email yesterday afternoon.  And the rest of the afternoon went something like this:

Stage One: Denial and Isolation.  Okay, so I didn't hit the denial.  I got rejected and that was that.  The isolation part, though, went into full swing.  After shooting off a few emails to those people who've been waiting with me for this, I grabbed my trusty limb saw and headed out into the woods to be by myself.  Hubs later joined me, which didn't help with the isolation, but he got some of the bigger limbs, so it's all good.  And then when he'd had enough, I isolated myself some more.

Stage Two: Anger.  Yeah, I recognized this morning, I'm smack in the middle of this phase.  Honestly, I thought Anger was farther down the ladder, so I would almost be done with this grieving thing, but I'm not.  I'm still just pissed.

Stage Three: Bargaining.  I think I've been jumping around on the stages because I'm pretty sure I hit the whole bargaining thing in my head while I was hacking away at the deadwood.  Mostly, for me, this phase means I'm trying to figure out in my head what I could've done to make my work more publishable.  "I'll rewrite the beginning.  I can change it!  Just give me a chance!"  But no, the bargaining never really works.  If they thought that some minor change would've made the manuscript something they'd buy, they would've suggested it. 

Stage Four: Depression.  Yep, I went through this one last night for a brief period.  (Which is why I thought Anger was farther down the list.)  Know what I did to stop it?  I wrote a thousand words, ate a chocolate-chip peanut butter bar sundae with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce, then wrote another fifteen hundred words.  Fuck the depression phase.  Pointless and unproductive wad of crap that it is.  I got work to do.

Stage Five:  Acceptance.  I accepted as soon as I got the rejection that it was over.  I refuse to accept that Djinnocide will never sell.  Fuck that and fuck them.  (I told you I was still in Anger, didn't I?)  I will not be bowed by this.  It's a setback.  It sucks - hard.  But I will not accept that this book or any others I've written are unpublishable.  I will be published.  Even if I have to do it my own goddamn self.

(Anger is the most fun stage of grief.  Really it is.)

Right now, other than the anger - which is slowly petering out - I'm over it.  Like I said, I got work to do.  I'm smack in the middle of a rewrite, plus, now that my book is unencumbered, I can query with wild abandon again - with a new title and new query letter.  To that end, I renewed my premium subscription to QueryTracker.  

I will not be held down or held back.  I'm going out into the world to kick some ass.  Who's with me?

:Cue scene from Animal House where Bluto gives a thoroughly confusing pep-talk and runs from the frat house:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7vtWB4owdE

"Let's do it!!!"




*Which could conceivably be why I'm not published, but screw it.  I like my stories and that's all there is to it.

** Really.  Those of you who know the name, keep it to yourselves.  They're just doing their jobs and shouldn't be berated publicly for not wanting to publish my awesomeness.

The Book I'm Afraid Of

Several years ago I wrote a book that I love with all my heart.  It's a big book - not in terms of words or pages, but in terms of ideas.  It touches an important issue I think needs to be addressed - in a gripping fictional form.  And this issue throws people into two vehement camps - both of which sling venom every chance they get.

I pulled it out this morning and took a look at a couple pages.  Since the hero's name is Sean Finnegan, I had this idea I could post a couple pages of this book over at Tabula Rasa to celebrate St. Patrick's Day.  Reading the pages where I introduce Finn and lay down a little of his backstory made my heart soar.  It really is good - it's not just my imagination!

Then I thought about the reactions it would likely draw.

I envisioned an inbox full of nasty-grams.  I imagined friends becoming not-friends, acquaintances disappearing and perfect strangers hating me.  My heart pounded and I moved over here to write this post.

I'm afraid of this book.  I knew when I wrote it what it would be.  I wasn't afraid to write it.  I'm just scared as hell to have anyone read it...

Well, that's not strictly true.  I'm scared as hell people will know it's me who wrote it.  I'd be perfectly happy having millions of people read it as long as it was under a pseudonym.  I just don't want a target on my chest.

Although I'm afraid, I did send this sucker out on a round of queries.  Most typical, and a couple really negative.  One turned into a big, fat full request (which turned into a 'no response means rejection', but that's neither here nor there).  After which I gave up, stuffed it into a corner of my hard drive and let it gather dust.

Every once in a while, I take the book out and pet it.  But it reminds me of that textbook from Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban.  Like it's going to sneak out from under the bed and bite me.

Yeah, I'm probably blowing this way out of proportion.  My fears are probably irrational.  But then again, maybe they aren't.  And I can't risk that.  Not yet.  I'm not brave enough.

What about you?  Do you have books you're afraid of?  Do you touch on issues or do you stay away from them?  What about as a reader?  My mother hates books with deeper issues - unless they're done really well and the book doesn't shove the issue down her throat (which I like to think I did here).

(Added on 3/18/13 at 5:33am: Talk about kismet.  Here's a post about a new literary agent looking for speculative fiction that touches on social issues. Not sure if I'm going to jump on this now or wait until my life storm has passed, but I will be querying her as soon as possible.)

Who the Hell Do You Think You Are?

Or the All-Encompassing Writing Pitfall.

It goes like this...

"Who the hell do you think you are to try and write something like this?  You're not good enough.  You have no idea what you're talking about.  Everyone will laugh at you for this one.  Or at least every self-respecting agent who gets a glimpse of this will not only reject your book, they'll print off your submission materials just so they can set fire to the pages."

"And then there's the whole 'write what you know' thing.  Which you're totally not doing in this case.  What does a housewife from backwater, piss-ant, scrubby-ass Colorado know about the doings in Washington, D.C.  Who do you think you are, Vince Flynn?  ROFL  Right.  Go back to making shit up with your post-apocalyptic worlds or your genies and leave the reality to the boys and girls who know how to do it right."

"Sure, writing is all about making it up, but readers are going to see right through your smoke and mirrors crap. They're going to KNOW you're talking out the other side of your ass here.  What do you know about medical examiners and engineers and government agents?  Seriously.  You must've been pretty damn full of yourself to even start this project.  No wonder you can't edit it into something good."

"No wonder they rejected your other stuff."

"Hack."

The Truth and the Guilt and a Vow

I'd like to go back to a point I made in my last post.  I've been thinking about this a lot since I wrote it, and I think I might've only just skimmed the reality in my fumbling attempt to understand this.

If you missed it, what I said was: I wonder if other writers ever wonder if perhaps the reason agents are shifting to a 'no response means no' reaction to query letters is because as a whole agents are sick of being the bearers of bad news - as well as the targets for all the potentially postal writers out there.  Or maybe it's just that as a culture we seem to shy away from saying anything that might hurt someone else's feelings - even if it helps them in the long run.

But the more I think about it, the deeper it goes.  For instance, this morning a blog pal of mine posted her query letter and the first 150 words of her book, looking for helpful comments.  The other comments before mine were all 'this is really good' type comments, but I posted what I thought - which was basically that her query and her 150 were both pretty good, but they didn't seem to go with each other very well.

I hit Enter and the guilt set in.

Even though I did what the writer asked, I felt awful about being critical of her work.  I could tell she worked really really hard on what she was offering up.  Like I said, both pieces were polished and well-written.  Apart they seemed to stand perfectly well.  Together they missed the mark.  And this person is so funny and nice, I felt like a shit for saying it.

Maybe that's the feeling agents are trying to avoid when they go with a 'no response means no' (NRMN) policy regarding queries.  Can't say that I blame them really.  No matter how well-worded their form letters may be, someone somewhere is going to get their feelings hurt.  I mean, just look at me and that rejection I talked about a couple weeks ago.  He was perfectly awesome telling me what he really thought, and then I went and spoiled it by getting my feelings all dented.  Of course, his words helped me in the long run, but in that moment, I became a whiny baby.  "How dare you?!"

Waaa

Now, as I consider this and many other things, I wonder if maybe agents are using a 'NRMN' as much to protect the overly-sensitive feelings we writers tend to have sometimes as to protect themselves .  Perhaps if we band together, pull up our big-girl panties and take our lumps, agents can go back to saying what they really think - instead of just avoiding the truth.

Unfortunately, in order for this to really work, everyone would have to be on board.  All it takes is one total loon bad apple to spoil it.  But, I swear before the internet and everybody on it, that I won't be one of those writers.  Give me the truth.  It's the only way I'll learn.

(And as for the people who think giving someone the truth is a license to be mean?  Well, we'll discuss that at another time.  Needless to say, I don't allow that crap here.)

What about you?  Are you ready for the truth?  Will you stand with me as someone who is ready to hear the truth and let it make you a better writer?  Will you stand as someone who is ready to give the truth if that's what someone really wants to hear?

Like a Band-Aid - Right Off!

I know this is my blog quote for today, but it bears repeating...

"After rejection—misery, then thoughts of revenge, and finally, oh well, another try elsewhere." - Mason Cooley

Kinda poignant considering yesterday.

There I was typing furiously on my WIP when I happened to reach a pause point, and what I do when I reach those points is... you guessed it... check my email.  Here's how that went...

Wow I have an email in my Agent box. I open my Agent box, but for some reason it's sitting on the last email I read and not the new one.  I can see who it's from but not what it says yet.  Okay cool, this guy who everyone on QueryTracker seems to get immediate helpful feedback from has written me back.  Of course that thought occurs to me and then I immediately get nauseous.

What if it isn't as good as everyone else has gotten?  But I make myself open it anyway, because what the hell else am I doing this for, right?  If you never open mail because you're afraid of rejection, you'll never get the acceptances.  So, I opened it...

And it was bad.

Misery.  And thoughts of ice cream sundaes danced in my head.  The sweet siren song of something gooey and chocolatey and carmely - maybe with crushed cookie bits...  But I digress.  Needless to say, I felt like dog doo.  Especially since there I was, actually writing in the middle of the day of my own free will.  I was being a good little writer.  Besides, what he said was just mean.  And so wrong.  I mean, who the hell does this guy think he is???

Thoughts of Revenge.  Or in my case, getting pissed.  (Angry for those of you in the UK, not drunk.  Although that was a thought at the time.)  I whipped myself into a fine fury.  All thoughts of sundaes danced away.  I did what any fifth grader would do in a situation like this.  I said "Oh yeah, well I'll show you."  And I immediately whipped out a new query letter, showing him exactly why his estimation of my work was so damn wrong.  After all, he was basing his whole damn decision on the query letter for petesakes...

Which meant he wasn't condemning my work.  He was condemning the version of my work I offered him in those 250 words.  And he was right.

The moral of this story and, I hope, the happy ending is that the query letter I churned out in my little melodrama is ten times better than my old letter.  (Yes, I've had outside objective confirmation of this, so don't think I'm going off half-cocked.)  It will be going out in today's round of queries.  Keep your fingers crossed for me.

And to the above agent (who shall remain nameless for obvious reasons)... Thank you.  You were blunt and to the point, and while your words might've stung like ripping a band-aid off a particularly hairy patch of skin, in the end they helped me.

To the agents who're still considering that other letter, the story really is better than that lame ass thing represents.  So, I'd really appreciate it if you gave me a shot.  Read my work and then decide.

P.S. The above is an example of something we all could do when we get what we feel are hurtful comments.  Blow off steam, vent to a friend, and then ask ourselves if the comment really was hurtful.  Sometimes the most hurtful comments are pointing to things we need to change.

Have you ever gotten a hurtful comment that in retrospect was actually helpful?

And for your reader pleasure, hop on over to my other blog Tabula Rasa where I've posted the first three pages of Dying Embers and see what All The Hubbub is about.

* Bonus points if you can name the sitcom I got this post title from.

Breaking the Rules

Yeah, yeah.  I know you're not supposed to post rejection letters.  I also know you're not supposed to reply back to the agent who sent it.  I just couldn't help myself.

Because it made my day.

Thanks for sending me your query.  I like your premise and your opening pages are certainly exciting and get the story off to a strong start, but as you know, urban fantasy is a crowded genre, and I'm only taking on projects that completely blow me away.  Yours is very good, but when I came to the end of this sample I didn't feel like I just had to know what would happen next.  I'm sure other agents will feel differently, but I'm going to pass.

Best of luck with your agent search,

Cameron

Yup, that was from Cameron McClure.   I wrote her back and thanked her for this.  Because, really, when the shit is flying thick and deep, it's the little things that keep me afloat.  Nice and encouraging rejection letters, nifty notes from my blog pals, a sweet comment from my niece about my last book.  

So, I hope you'll all forgive me for breaking the rules.  It just gave me a little hope and I wanted to spread it around.

Speaking of hope, I just finished Discord's Apple by Carrie Vaughn.  Awesome book that meshes old myths with edgy dystopian fiction.  If you read it, you'll see how it connects.  After all, hope was the last thing left in Pandora's box and it's the one thing we all need when the world's going to hell around us.  (And damn you, Carrie.  You made me cry.  =op )

Got any good news to share?  Any hope to spread?  Come on, share the love.

You Rejected Me Because _____________

Since I'm out there in Queryland with my latest novel, I've been pondering the world of rejection.  I've been writing for seven years now and querying for six and a half, so I've pretty much 'been there, done that, nailed it shut and got the t-shirt'.  Over the years, there's been a lot of 'It's not you, it's me' and 'It's not me, it's them'.  There've been a lot of excuses and accusations.  I've been through the stages of denial - both slowly, pausing to wallow in grief and anger, and quickly where I jumped right to acceptance and stopped querying anybody for anything.

This morning, I'd like to take a moment and list some of the silliest thoughts that have come through my head about why I was rejected.  (All of which were split second thoughts and discarded almost as quickly as they came.)

You rejected me because...
- I'm a woman.
- I'm too outspoken.
- I'm not outspoken enough.
- I'm brain-damaged.
- Of what I said that one time on that one forum four years ago.
- You've already rejected me for three other books and think anything else I send is crap and therefore a waste of your time.
- I don't edit my blog and you think this genuinely reflects how my books are going to be.
- Of who I like on Facebook.
- Of what my teenage nephew said on my Facebook that one time.
- My voice sucks.
- I once said/wrote/commented that I like X and you hate X.
- I once said/wrote/commented that I hate Y and you love Y.
- My command of the English language rivals a retarded chimpanzee's.
- I'm not a Democrat/Republican/GreenParty/Libertarian... pick a party - I'm not it.
- I'm too gritty
- I'm not gritty enough
- I suck.
- You suck.
- Everything I've ever written sucks.
- Everything you've ever accepted sucks.
- I'm unlucky.
- I'm on the Big List of Blackballed Authors* (BLoBA) because of one or all of the above.
- I just posted this list of insane reasons why I might've been rejected.

Anyway, I guess my point is that we can always find something to blame our lack of success on.  Sometimes the odds of getting published seem almost insurmountable (or totally insurmountable, depending on the day) and I'm flailing around trying to put my finger on the exact reason why I just got rejected by my dream agent, my kinda dream agent, or that one newbie who you'd think was so happy to be an agent she'd request anything that doesn't totally suck - so I can fix it.

In the end, though, if I've done the very best I can do - both on the writing and on the submission materials - it's out of my hands.  I truly believe there are no bad thoughts, just bad actions.  So, I let myself think those totally whacked-out, irrational and sometimes insane thoughts.  And then I move on.

Because not moving on would be the bad action (or inaction).

Ever think some out-there thoughts about why you were rejected?  Feel free to leave them in the comments, and if you're worried about joining me on the BLoBA, be Anonymous - just don't be mean.

*you know THE LIST... the one they all have and share between each other that may or may not be on a super secret website only agents have access to

Weekly Update, etc.

I haven't written a damn thing this week. I did some editing on the weekend, but nothing major. What I did do was sit down to iron out a few things on Fertile Ground. And I wrestled with the real reason I write.

Part of the impetus for the wrestling match was a rejection I received. It was a nice rejection off a partial. She even welcomed me to send her my next project because she likes my voice. But it got me thinking once again about why I'm doing this. I feel like I lost sight of the initial reason I started writing in the first place.

Five years ago - well twenty-five really - I understood that I have stories inside me I need to tell. When I first started, that was all that mattered. I had a story idea, and I needed to make it more than just a bit of whimsy at the back of my head. I needed to put it on paper, to flesh it into a whole book, to give the characters their voice and see the whole thing live outside my neurons.

Everyone told me I was nuts. The few people I shared my premise with told me it wouldn't fly. It was crazy, and improbable, and one person even went so far as to email me proof of why my premise was lame. And then I showed the first five chapters to a new person - a guy I'd just started talking to online. He didn't give a rip about the improbable premise. He just loved the writing, and told me that writing was something I needed to do with the rest of my life. (I married him four months later, btw.)

Anyway, the point... Five years ago, I didn't give two hoots in hell what anyone thought or was going to think about my writing. I knew in my heart I was a writer, and even if that brilliant guy had told me I was nuts, I would've still written. (Probably wouldn't have married a man who was that short-sighted, but Spectacle still would've been written.) I don't know when that changed, but somewhere along the way, I got too wrapped up in writing what I thought people would want to read, and lost sight of writing what I wanted to write.

I mean, if I was under contract, I could see writing what I was being paid to write, but I'm not. I should be able to write whatever I want, and *snap* for what anyone else wants. I wanted to write a novel about what happens when fear takes over a nation, and I did it. I wanted to write a book about what happens when mankind allows nature to take precedence over human life, and I did it. I wanted to write about a future where abortion is a capital crime, and I wanted to write about a future ruled by socialism. So far no one (outside my circle of betas) has wanted to read them, but I'm proud of them all.

Writing this right now, I just had an epiphany. It's hard to explain, but here goes... it's not so much that I was writing things I don't want to write because I think they're things people would buy. It's that I thought that's what I was doing. The feeling I was selling out was killing me more than the actual selling out. (If that makes any sense.)

I really did want to write a suspense that centered around a psycho trophy wife, and I really want to finish this other suspense with the serial rapist intent on populating the world with his genes. I still want to see my funny PI series get published, and even the dark mystery in the small town that I never quite finished editing.

And that's okay. It's okay to want to write whatever, and it's okay to want them to get published. It's also okay if they never do. As long as when I type THE END (something I hesitate to do until the final draft), I can be stand up and say "I wrote this" and be proud of the fact.

I may never be published. I have to learn to accept that. I have to stop chasing the dream of publication like it's the be-all and end-all of writing. I have to just write, and let everything else figure itself out later. Because if I don't, each successive book will be crappier than the last until I hate myself and my writing and everything associated with this endeavor.

Sorry. I didn't mean to turn today's post into a forever vent. Sometimes it's just cathartic to write it all out. Thanks for reading down this far and joining me in my madness.

I don't know what the future will bring. This weekend, I'll be trying to work on the edits for Nano. Next week I may be back to work on Fertile Ground, or I might shift to EQ or one of the other stories that are waiting to be written. (Including the new SF piece I dreamed up the other night - literally.) Bear with me.

And if you've ever been in the same boat, commiserate in the comments.