There's a reason why I started this blog, and I'd like to explain it. I have other places where I write about my general life. But I needed some place where I could start keeping track of this long road to publishing that I'm on. As a writer struggling to get published, it's wonderful for me to see people who have not only been published, but have made it pretty far. It's even more wonderful if I can look back at their journey and see that they really did go through all of the crap I'm going through in the beginning.
So while I figure this blog might be boring for a lot of people to read, anybody struggling to get a book published, or even just struggling to write a book, may appreciate knowing that they really aren't alone in that boat. Look closely. See that short girl at the back of the boat. *waves* Hi! That's me. Good to see you. Hang on. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.
I have a lot of determination. I've stopped saying things like "if I can find an agent" or "if I could get this book published." No, no. Now I'm saying that WHEN I find an agent and WHEN I get a book published, and WHEN I make it big in the publishing world, I'd love to be able to look back at the path I took and know that, while I may have had a few times when I was literally dangling out of that boat, I managed to pull myself back in and make it through the rapids. Hopefully relatively unscathed.
I also realize that I have a lot to say on this blog right now. So expect to see many, many posts over the next couple of days. And then don't expect to hear from me for awhile. And then expect to see many, many posts over a short period of time. Because that's what I do and who I am. I get on blog writing kicks and then save it all up in my head like a blog camel.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Sometimes it take a frying pan to get things through my head
For as long as I can remember, it's been my dream to be a published author. I've always loved reading and writing, and I'm sure it helped that my dad loved both as well. I had a lot of other dreams when I was a child, of course, like being the first female president of the United States of America. But my dreams of being an author never faltered. They got pushed to the side sometimes, but they never really went away, just hovered in the background waiting for me to remember.
I think a lot of people want to be authors when they're younger. They think of it as this glamorous lifestyle, flying off to grand locations for book tours and signings, movie deals, huge royalty checks, etc. I'm sure I only thought about those types of things when I was younger. After all, that's what being an author was to me.
I also know I didn't have any real understanding of what it took just to sit down and write a book. A few times over the years, a story idea would come to me and I'd just sit down and write. One time I wrote 10 chapters in just 3 days...then I never wrote another word of that book.
Almost 2 years ago, about 5 months after my dad passed away, I decided I needed to focus on one of my life goals, which was writing a whole book. I was tired of starting books and never finishing them and I needed to find the drive to get all the way through 100,000 words. I was pretty proud of myself when I finished that book, Just Average, in only 11 days. I couldn't understand why it took some authors years to write one book.
Then I started doing my research to figure out how to get it published. And that's when it all hit me. The query letter was the first step, and I have to say I tend to have a hard time getting past that step. I just want to write. I wish I could hire somebody to take care of all the rest of it for me. But still, I got a query letter written, then started researching agents to figure out who to send it to. I was super organized, with my Word file open where I had tables inserted to keep track of each agent, what type of material they represented, what their email addresses and websites were, the date I sent them a query and the date I received a reply.
And I sent out a whole 5 queries.
Impressive, right?
It wasn't fun. I didn't get those immediate emails, begging me to let them represent me, telling me they would fight with other agents for the pleasure. And it became increasingly clear to me that even if I managed to find an agent, it could be years before that agent sold my book to a publisher, if it ever happened at all.
So I told myself I needed to work on my query before I sent any more out, and I didn't touch it for a year. I discovered a funny thing about writing books. While you're writing it, you can think it's the best thing ever written. Set it aside for a month or two and then go back and read it. I discovered that Just Average was just that....average, if not horrible. The writing wasn't awful, the concept wasn't terrible, but it was so scattered and unorganized and there was really no easy way to fix that.
Instead of working on that book, or rewriting the query like I kept saying I was going to do, I started on my next book, Unrequited. I took some more time on this book....a whole 14 days. lol Oh, I actually took much longer in the grand scheme of things. I planned it out, did character sketches, wrote outlines, I even got 3x5 index cards and wrote down each plot point and played around with the order that I wanted everything. I decided that I could put my "super organizing skills" to use in writing, as long as I didn't get ahead of myself and start writing the book before it was planned out.
And really, Unrequited wasn't awful. It wasn't great. But it wasn't awful. I was extremely happy with it while I was writing it, of course, and even right after I got done. I spent over $80 printing and binding copies for friends to read so they could tell me what they thought. I wanted to get some editing in before I started on my query. But then....nothing. I did the same thing really. Put it away for a month or two and then when I went back, I realized how juvenile the writing sounded, how immature my main character was.
But it was a starting point. I think the scary process ahead of me was a bit too daunting and I just kept telling myself that I'd get to it eventually.
Well, it's been almost 2 years since I first started researching that process. And you know what? I'm ready now. I'm not walking into this blindly, and I'm not that same naive girl who dreamed about the glamorous life of an author. I realize it could take me years to get any interest in my work. I realize that even if I manage to get one book published, there's no guarantees that I'll ever publish another one. I also realize that any advance I get would be minimal at best, and I'll be lucky if the royalty checks are enough to keep me in Mountain Dew long enough to write my next book.
But you know what? I don't care. Now that I've accepted all of that, I'm ready to get back to the reason I wanted to be an author in the first place: I love to write. I just finished writing my 3rd book, Life After Death. I wrote this one in.....about 8 days. And I spent a whole 2 days editing it. (*Side note: I spent about 8 months on this book really. The idea came to me last spring, but the story wasn't completely there. So I let it marinate for awhile. Then spent a couple of days outlining it before I started writing.) And yes, for now, I'm pretty happy with it. Give me a month or two and we'll see if I still feel the same way. In any case, once I get some feedback from my test audience, and do my 2nd edit on it, I'll begin working on my query.
Until then, I'll keep writing. Because that's what I'm in this for. The writing.
I think a lot of people want to be authors when they're younger. They think of it as this glamorous lifestyle, flying off to grand locations for book tours and signings, movie deals, huge royalty checks, etc. I'm sure I only thought about those types of things when I was younger. After all, that's what being an author was to me.
I also know I didn't have any real understanding of what it took just to sit down and write a book. A few times over the years, a story idea would come to me and I'd just sit down and write. One time I wrote 10 chapters in just 3 days...then I never wrote another word of that book.
Almost 2 years ago, about 5 months after my dad passed away, I decided I needed to focus on one of my life goals, which was writing a whole book. I was tired of starting books and never finishing them and I needed to find the drive to get all the way through 100,000 words. I was pretty proud of myself when I finished that book, Just Average, in only 11 days. I couldn't understand why it took some authors years to write one book.
Then I started doing my research to figure out how to get it published. And that's when it all hit me. The query letter was the first step, and I have to say I tend to have a hard time getting past that step. I just want to write. I wish I could hire somebody to take care of all the rest of it for me. But still, I got a query letter written, then started researching agents to figure out who to send it to. I was super organized, with my Word file open where I had tables inserted to keep track of each agent, what type of material they represented, what their email addresses and websites were, the date I sent them a query and the date I received a reply.
And I sent out a whole 5 queries.
Impressive, right?
It wasn't fun. I didn't get those immediate emails, begging me to let them represent me, telling me they would fight with other agents for the pleasure. And it became increasingly clear to me that even if I managed to find an agent, it could be years before that agent sold my book to a publisher, if it ever happened at all.
So I told myself I needed to work on my query before I sent any more out, and I didn't touch it for a year. I discovered a funny thing about writing books. While you're writing it, you can think it's the best thing ever written. Set it aside for a month or two and then go back and read it. I discovered that Just Average was just that....average, if not horrible. The writing wasn't awful, the concept wasn't terrible, but it was so scattered and unorganized and there was really no easy way to fix that.
Instead of working on that book, or rewriting the query like I kept saying I was going to do, I started on my next book, Unrequited. I took some more time on this book....a whole 14 days. lol Oh, I actually took much longer in the grand scheme of things. I planned it out, did character sketches, wrote outlines, I even got 3x5 index cards and wrote down each plot point and played around with the order that I wanted everything. I decided that I could put my "super organizing skills" to use in writing, as long as I didn't get ahead of myself and start writing the book before it was planned out.
And really, Unrequited wasn't awful. It wasn't great. But it wasn't awful. I was extremely happy with it while I was writing it, of course, and even right after I got done. I spent over $80 printing and binding copies for friends to read so they could tell me what they thought. I wanted to get some editing in before I started on my query. But then....nothing. I did the same thing really. Put it away for a month or two and then when I went back, I realized how juvenile the writing sounded, how immature my main character was.
But it was a starting point. I think the scary process ahead of me was a bit too daunting and I just kept telling myself that I'd get to it eventually.
Well, it's been almost 2 years since I first started researching that process. And you know what? I'm ready now. I'm not walking into this blindly, and I'm not that same naive girl who dreamed about the glamorous life of an author. I realize it could take me years to get any interest in my work. I realize that even if I manage to get one book published, there's no guarantees that I'll ever publish another one. I also realize that any advance I get would be minimal at best, and I'll be lucky if the royalty checks are enough to keep me in Mountain Dew long enough to write my next book.
But you know what? I don't care. Now that I've accepted all of that, I'm ready to get back to the reason I wanted to be an author in the first place: I love to write. I just finished writing my 3rd book, Life After Death. I wrote this one in.....about 8 days. And I spent a whole 2 days editing it. (*Side note: I spent about 8 months on this book really. The idea came to me last spring, but the story wasn't completely there. So I let it marinate for awhile. Then spent a couple of days outlining it before I started writing.) And yes, for now, I'm pretty happy with it. Give me a month or two and we'll see if I still feel the same way. In any case, once I get some feedback from my test audience, and do my 2nd edit on it, I'll begin working on my query.
Until then, I'll keep writing. Because that's what I'm in this for. The writing.
For my first post, I will perform magic tricks....or go back in time...or something
I thought it would be appropriate for me to do this on my first post. I made this blog to keep track of my writing, and my goals in that arena. And I guess, maybe, to connect with other writers, agents, publishers and stuff.
So last October, I wrote a blog on MySpace. I want to repost it here.
And the other day, I wrote a follow up to that blog.
And that's it for now since nobody is reading this but me. And it's almost 5:00 in the morning. And I haven't slept yet. And I should probably get some sleep. Probably.
So last October, I wrote a blog on MySpace. I want to repost it here.
October 5, 2009 - Monday
 | If found, please return to: Jade Winters http://www.jadewinters34.blogspot.com Today I realized something that's been missing in me for awhile. My hopes and dreams. Like anybody, I had some. I had some big ones, that I've had since I was a little kid. Mainly writing a book and getting it published. I had other ones that developed over the years, with my photography and drawing. Not such big dreams, but goals that I was working towards, at least. But what happens when your life stops being about pursuing hopes and dreams, and becomes about survival? Because that's all my life is about anymore. On November 6th, the house me and the kids are living in is going to be auctioned. Which means we'll be homeless. So my quest to find a job just became so much more important and my time is quickly running out. I feel like I'm slowly suffocating and there's nobody around to give me some oxygen. If it were just me, really, I know I'd manage just fine. After all, I have 2 vehicles (that both run like shit) that I could sleep in if I had to, and plenty of friends who have offered up places to stay until I can find a job and get us a place. But I can't put the kids through the uncertainty of not knowing if they're going to end up on the streets or if we're going to be split up again. And I can't inflict my hoard on any of my friends. lol I'm afraid they wouldn't BE my friends anymore after that. But that's my stress that I'm dealing with on a daily basis. I guess in all of that, I forgot that I once HAD dreams. So what happens to those dreams when your life becomes about survival? I've been told that the dreams are still there, and once I get past this hurdle, I'll find them. I'm not quite so sure about that. I can't seem to see beyond November 6th, and honestly, I've lost any will I had to ACHIEVE any goals right now. I just don't care about them. So I wonder....do you think once my survival isn't an issue anymore, those dreams will come back? And if so, will they come back untarnished? Or will they forever be stained with the stench of stress and worry and "it's never gonna happen" that goes through my head any time I try to focus on those dreams right now? |
And the other day, I wrote a follow up to that blog.
January 14, 2010 - Thursday
| Life is still about survival. I'm not sure when the day will come that it doesn't feel that way to me. Perhaps never. But I've realized that somewhere in this fight to survive, I have to find a way to keep my dreams from dissipating. Over the last week, I have breathed new life into them, and watched them blossom before my eyes. I started a book last spring. The story wasn't clear in my head, though, so I had no idea where it would go. I ended up only writing three chapters of it, then put it aside with the excuse of needing to formulate it better first. I don't expect that anybody who doesn't write will truly understand this, but I do believe that the story itself hadn't grown yet. It needed to figure itself out. Last Wednesday, I pulled out the small amount of notes that I had and it all just started coming to me. So I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote. And today I wrote the epilogue. Many times over the last week, I didn't feel like I was writing a book. I felt like the book was writing itself. Other times, I struggled through the chapter, paying way too much attention to word counts. I tried to tell myself to just forget about how short the book was going to be and let it be written. And so I did. And now, of course, it's a bit short like I knew it would be. I'm at a little over 77,000 words and it really needs to be a minimum of 85,000. But I'm not worried about it. I'll go back over it this weekend and add in the descriptions of things that were very clear in my own head as I wrote it, so I skimmed over them. I have confidence that I can fairly easily get this book up to the word count I need it to be at, but I can't begin to tell you how frustrating it is to have those numbers in my head when all I want in there are words. I'm getting this book polished. I'm determined to. And then I'll write a query and get it polished to match. And then I'll start contacting agents. And while I'm doing that, I'll work on the next book. I understand the frustrating life of an aspiring author. I've been living it for awhile. I also understand that most authors don't earn enough money to support them. And you know what? I don't care. It's never been about money for me. It's about having stories in my head and allowing them to come out. And it's about putting them on paper for other people to read. I honestly hate all of the concern about word count, queries, agents, editors, publishers, contracts, royalty checks, blah, blah, blah. Somehow in all of that, I think the story itself gets lost. I just want to write. But what's the point of writing something if nobody will read it? My main dream, the one I've had since I was about 8 years old, is to see my book on the shelf when I walk into Hastings. Or Barnes and Noble. Or our Spokane Public Library. That's all I care about. So if I manage to get a book sold, and the first advance they send me is pennies? I don't care. That's not why I write. But I do know this much: When I finally get that first book published, it will be dedicated to my dad. And when I finally get that first advance check or royalty check, I'll be using some of that money to print and bind my dad's poems. They're right here in a file folder next to me, a file folder that is so full, it's overflowing with words that were typed by his hand. It's my honor to re-type those for him, and put together a book that my kids can pick up and read whenever they miss their grandpa, or want to know more about him. Because writing was his dream too. And he followed that dream in a lot of ways, because he WROTE. He just never got to that point where he made money off of his writing. I'd love to achieve that dream for the both of us. |
And that's it for now since nobody is reading this but me. And it's almost 5:00 in the morning. And I haven't slept yet. And I should probably get some sleep. Probably.
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