Up and down; up and down. Writing is hardly an equitable life. It’s a game of swelling emotions, of thrill and grind and anxiety, both in the actual writing process and in the surrounding business. At the moment I’m feeling bruised and battered. But I’ve come through and I find I’m still on my feet. Soon I’ll be back on the march.
I’ve been trying to get published for the last seven years, on and off. Looking back I can see clearly all the mistakes I’ve made, not least in sending out material that wasn’t ready. But I’ve had nearish misses on the way. I’ve had hopes raised only to be toppled onto the harsh rocks of reality. So I’m older and wiser and know that every submission, every letter and email that goes out is dead as soon as it leaves my possession. It’s the only way to survive. Court failure, defy it, dance with it. Shrug your shoulders and let it fly; if it brings back good news… Well, there are still plenty of ways to drop the ball. No sense in getting carried away.
So what am I to do? Well, I’ve got another rewrite on my plate, but I don’t want to get round to that just yet. I think I need a little time to gather myself, to really think about what kind of novel I’m writing and how the archetypes work. I’m going to do a little reading, a bit of concrete planning before I go any further. Maybe you’re saying that I should have done this before I started to write the damn thing, and you might be right. See, I’m still learning. I hope I never stop.
And if nothing else, these ups and downs are telling me more about myself as a writer, my strengths and weaknesses. Dialogue’s getting better but my plots need work. I can create a great setting but still struggle to communicate a character’s depth… And now I know some things aren’t working I can work on them. It’s not enough for me to churn out novel after novel for the few pence I could scrape up through self-publishing (not to diminish self-publishing; see previous posts for my thoughts on that). I want to write well. I want everything I do to be the best that I can do. I want this not just to be a hobby but a profession. That’s a dream, of course; only the very, very best (or luckiest) writers make a living from their books. But there ain’t nothin’ wrong with dreaming.
So for the moment I struggle onwards with Australis; whilst I hit the library and talk to authors and try and grow outside the strictures of my own work. But it won’t be long now, won’t be long, before I’m back scowling at the computer screen and desperately bending Night Shift into even tighter knots.
I’m still not entirely sure why I’m doing this. But for sure I’m going to do it and do it to the very best of my ability.