As many of you know, I’m working hard at becoming a novelist. Through all the ins and outs and ups and downs of gaining an agent, I’ve realized something.
I’m enjoying this.
I’ve been trying to get published for eight years. Here are the stages in getting published. Write a book. Edit a book. Edit the book more. Send it to friends for critique and edit some more. Query it to agents, with a query letter and the first ten pages. Rejections. More queries. Try twitter pitch parties. Get requests. Query the first ten pages. Rejections. Get one request by an agent to see the partial manuscript. Send partial. Get rejection. New twitter pitch party. New rejections. Get request for a partial. Get a request for a full manuscript. Get offer from agent. Get agent. Agent tries to get you published. Agent gets you published. You’re published.
That’s the process, except that I left out 99% of the rejection.
Make no mistake, getting published is a full on war.
It’s strategy. It’s the right steps at the right time. It’s blood sweat and tears until you get your pitch exactly right. It’s rewriting your novel from the ground up. It’s finding allies and critiquing for each other. It’s finding every loophole, dodging every obstacle. It’s a mission, and it’s a process that takes guts and perseverance.
And I’m enjoying it.
As a matter of fact, I realized last week, I’m having the time of my life. Sure, I’m not there yet. But I feel real. I feel like a real writer because I’m truly, endlessly, furiously trying. I’m getting closer and closer, and I have the agent responses to prove it. And it feels good. It feels like a battle.
Maybe I don’t want a miracle. Maybe I don’t want a sudden POOF- I’m published! Maybe I want to see it a mile off, smiling and exhausted, full of euphoria, because I climbed this mountain every step of the way, and I know what it’s worth to reach the other side.