My New Year’s resolution for 2018 is to fail.
Most of my life, I’ve been so afraid to take any risk, even the most minimal one. I know I’ve suffered for it to the point that I have rarely finished anything in the thirty-five years I’ve been on this planet. I never even finished college.
Writing a novel, from beginning to end, is a huge accomplishment. No matter how brilliant or crappy, it is a big deal. Trust me, I know! I’ve done it a couple or three times.
When I first wrote Warped from beginning to end, I felt that sense of accomplishment. I felt that sense that I’d finished something at last.
Now, though, I realize that it’s not finished yet. Not quite. Even after six or so drafts, it’s not finished.
Any writer who wants to become a published author should know that writing the novel, biography, short story, poetry is only one hurdle. Well, okay, it’s a set of hurdles, but it’s still only a set – one section of track in the entire race.
That is when we get into the stickier part of the process. Writing is tough in itself. But to get someone to read your writing and buy it from you so they can distribute it for others to read is a much bigger bitch.
I mentioned in an earlier post that I had once believed that actual published authors were on a different plane of existence than I was. It’s not true. At times, it feels true. It especially felt true to a timid, paranoid person like me who never really stuck with anything long enough to figure out if she liked doing it or not. But, again, it’s not true.
Writing has stuck with me.
After I got sick and had to go to a kidney dialysis clinic for four hours, three times a week, I didn’t write very much. For three years I had a hard time reading or writing because of the medication I was taking.
Even after I was blessed with a transplant, it took several months for me to wake up again. I received the transplant in March of 2017, and I started writing by the end of July/beginning of August. I haven’t stopped since.
Now that I am more awake, alive, and feeling human again, I feel like I’ve been pushed in a certain direction. Clues and ideas have been shoved under my nose. Perhaps they had been before, but it is as though I’m finally noticing them. And they are everywhere. These, along with small boosts of courage and thought have brought me to the conclusion stated above.
Just a few months ago, I never would have considered reaching out and consulting an editor about my manuscript. But, for some reason, I did. I met with her on Saturday, and she gave me some really good notes, saying that my story is good and that I’m really close to where it needs to be.
I’d sent her the first hundred pages, and she told me at our meeting that she was really excited about finding out what happens in the story. While I am still debating about sending the full manuscript to her, I went away from that meeting feeling encouraged.
Finally, I’d taken a step. It might not have been precisely in the direction I needed to go, but I took it, and it paid off as far as I’m concerned.
My entire life has been filled with fear. I am the epitome of George McFly before he finds his own bravery, which is inspired by his own son from the future.
I don’t have the luxury of one of my future offspring visiting me here and now, telling me that I will make it as long as I keep trying. That’s it, though, isn’t it? Everything would be so easy if we had assurances. Sometimes we do, but most of the time we don’t.
Life’s a cranky bitch who craves chocolate and a Batman who is not an unshaven drunk.
That is why I’m planning to fail this year. I’m going to fail so hard, that it will leave a crater the size of my car in the street. I’m going to fail like no one has ever failed before! It will be epic. Songs will be written about my failure and played on lutes throughout the ages!
No one would know what success is without failure. It has taken me far too long to learn that.
This year, I’m going to polish up Warped to the best of my ability, with the help of some friends and beta readers. I’m going to figure out how to clear the next set of hurdles, which is writing a kick ass query letter.
Most importantly, I am going to submit my finished manuscript to publishers and agents alike and be rejected a dozen times over! Oh yes, 2018 is the year of utter failure and rejection! It will be glorious.
See, it’s not a matter of if I get published anymore, but when.
Happy New Year.
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