rejection and starting over.

Now that I have come to the end* of the writing and editing process of this novel, re-named Lost Lily, I am in what I like to call the endless winter. The season of searching for an agent, sending letters cold turkey to people who have nice offices with windows overlooking Times Square. At least this is what I picture when I am depressed and generally disenchanted with the search, hopeless, and totally self-effacing about my ability to write anything at all.

People often ask me, "So what happens now? You get it published?" I usually kind of laugh, maybe sigh internally, and say, "Perhaps."

Once you have edited the stew out of your manuscript, taken it to the point of perfection, and then sat down to edit it once again, you may be ready to search for an agent. Once you have secured an agent, he or she has to job of pitching the idea to a publishing company. At this point, I believe I am ready, but I may end up back at the drawing board.

I drafted a query letter as well as a synopsis of the novel. The query is a brief, spirited pitch of my idea. It does not summarize the entire story, but rather gives a summation and a kind of hook. It says, "HERE I AM! This is why my novel is worth reading." Authors often send queries to dozens, if not hundreds of agents before they get a bite. The query letter was the hardest thing for me to write. To sum up my passion and my plot in less than 200 words was a high challenge and I spent about 25 hours working on it. I recently re-read the letter, and I think it stinks. I need to write a new one. So it goes.

A synopsis gives the entire plot, start to finish. It does not tease the reader or keep any secrets hidden. This is the agent's way of quickly reading through the drama to see if the story is any good. This, too, is very short, but also needs to read in some way as the novel reads, needs to contain the spirit of the story.

Each agent has his or her own preferences about how and what they want to read in a query. Everyone wants the letter. Some want the letter and the synopsis. Some want the letter and the first ten pages. Others want the letter, the synopsis, the first 50 pages and the god parent-ship of your firstborn son. Some want e-mail, no attachments please, and others want good old fashioned United States Postal Service, Sir.

To date I have sent approximately 14 query packages. Have heard back from six, I think, all shaking their heads "no" in one way or another. Some of the letters are canned, and they start with "Dear Author semi-colon" One actually said "Dear Virginia," which made my heart skip a beat, but it was also a thanks-but-I-don't-think-your-project-is-what-we're-looking-for letter. I don't have hard feelings, and in a way I even love this part of it, this sweaty uphill climb. And as you read this blog you might feel sorry for me, like this is impressive work, but it really isn't because this is what every novelist does, especially if she has never published anything before. I have to admit, though, last night when I got the DearAuthor letter from an agency I really really liked, I was bummed and did not very much enjoy the episode of NCIS we happened to be watching.

But here is the brightness: Yesterday I stumbled upon a video of a speech made by J.K. Rowling at the Harvard commencement ceremony in 2008. J.K. Rowling is a hero and I listened to that speech and was lifted up! This is what she said, fragmented and patched together, verbatim:

"Poverty is not an enobling experience. Poverty itself is romanticized by fools... Failure meant a stripping away of the inessential... Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I re-built my life...It is impossible to live without failing at something unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all, in which case you fail by default... As is a tale, so is life. Not how long it is, but how good it is is what matters."

Now J.K. Rowling's rock bottom was way far down below sea level and I don't dare begin to compare my life to hers, because my life is pretty rosey, but here is what really struck me: POVERTY IS NOT AN ENOBLING EXPERIENCE. It's true. And in some ways, this writing--this exhausting, passionate, furious work of writing--that amounts to ZERO money (to date) and ZERO credibility feels a little like poverty. And it is not enobling, only pressing to keep on.

But as I digest, this is the gold that is left after it has been panned out of the dirt: I love this. I love to write. It is the only thing I have ever wanted to do. It is my dream, it is my passion, and I am doing it. This is the reason I am doing it! Because I LOVE IT.

J.K. said that when she was totally stripped all she had was a little typewriter and a big idea. Mmm, that's good folks.


On Wednesday I finished the final edits and cried at the end. Not because I was done, but because the ending really moves me. I sent the manuscript to my friend's sweet mom, Jody, who owns a print shop downtown. She prints my stuff for free, because she believes in me, and she tells me every time I swing by to pick up the pages that I can't quit. She printed it for me Wednesday. I went to Target and purchased the prettiest binder I could find. Lost Lily is sitting, bound the cheap way, on my desk. It's sort of my first real, perfected, official novel. Then, after lunch, I started outlining the next one. I have got a big idea and I love to write.



*"the end" can be only loosely applied to this stage of the book process, as I do believe I could continue to edit Lost Lily over and over again until I wore holes in the keyboard of my Mac. This is a transient "end," if even that.