Yeah, I’m finished the book.
I am ALL THAT AND a couple of bookends. Move over JK Rowlings, the new Lit “It Girl” is movin’ in!
Now I’m gonna kick back and wait for those royalty checks to show up in my bank account...
I’m waiting....
(Could you get with the program? I got bills to pay!)
Still waiting...
(Think you could you, uh... move it along?)
Still...
wait---ing...
hmmmm....
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Hark!
What is that deafening silence I hear?
As far as I’m concerned any moment now someone should come knocking on my door, acknowledge the writing genius that I am and offer me a three book deal that will put all my kids through school debt-free, fix the credit my ex-husband ruined to live a life of leisure, and give me raison d’être behind every dotted “i” and crossed “t” I ever wrote with the sweat of my soul, while justifying every sleepless night spent in front of my computer instead of out socializing like a normal human being.
Or not.
Because that’s not the way the universe works.
While there are overnight success stories of beautiful women being plucked out from their dreary jobs as supermarket cashiers so their faces can grace the cover of a magazine (à la Michelle Pfeiffer), chances are if I get a job at Walmart in the hopes that some publisher will stop me in the middle of scanning their toilet paper and say: OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE TO QUIT THIS DREARY JOB RIGHT NOW AND COME WITH ME. I BOOKED YOU ON OPRAH FOR THAT NOVEL YOU WROTE I CAN PSYCHICALLY SEE SITTING ON YOUR SHELF - it’s not gonna happen.
And frankly, I think that’s when most people give up.
They spend all this time and energy into something creative and when they’re finished they realize:
What? You expect me to do MORE?
And unfortunately, most writers totally suck at promoting themselves - we are after all suppose to be socially challenged as every stereotype attests - that’s why we chose to be writers in the first place - so we could live out our emotionally protected lives in the confines of our tiny apartments living large through our keyboards while ordering take-out from the same Chinese restaurant every Friday night at exactly the same time until we die at the age of 89 with our seven cats - alone but carrying a faintly recognizable name to some foreign lit undergrad student in a remote college somewhere in the Bahamas.
But not me.
I say to HELL with that.
Time to kick that stereotype in the ham n’ eggs.
I CAN’T WAIT to show you a thing or two about what I got.
I learned something from a professor in university about writing exams that I’ve carried with me forever. She was my Shakespeare prof (and not an easy one to please). But when I was sweatin’ like a marathon runner on mile 26 about the upcoming final, she turned to me and said:
“I don’t know why people don’t like writing exams. It’s your one opportunity in school to show everything you’ve got. I used to love it”.
After I got over thinking she was on crack, the truth of her statement sunk in and I realized she was right.
From that moment on, I knew that all the work you do behind the scenes is something that sits as unfinished business until you actually do something about it. And part of that equation is ruffling your feathers to someone else about it - the public and perfect strangers.
And that is some scary stuff.
‘Cuz ironically, it ain’t over when you write The End. Writing the book is only part one of a three part mini-series (writing, promoting, and sustaining).
It makes me wonder how many great works of art are sitting somewhere on a shelf or what dusty paintings are hanging on faded walls that no one else will see because someone didn’t realize the journey they undertook did not end when they completed their piece.
For some perhaps it did... but never for those of us who do what we do because we can’t imagine doing anything else.
If life is one big learning experience, then you realize it’s not enough to work on your craft. Bringing your talents into fruition is simply one part of the equation.
The other, is the piece that all artists struggle with - am I good enough? Will someone actually want to read my stuff and pay to do it? Look at my painting in a gallery? Pay to watch me dance? Do I risk showing someone else?
I am fortunate that in spite of my insecurities I’m not afraid to make an ass of myself and face rejection. Putting myself out there as a viable business investment (which is really what selling yourself to a publisher amounts to) is something I embrace with the same enthusiasm I had when I wrote every exam in university (except maybe for Civ Pro in law school- that was bitch).
And I’m not saying I wake up every day thinking, I can’t wait to hurdle another obstacle. But I do wake up thinking:
Just hang in there and keep at it. One of these days you’re going to hit critical mass and just when you think it’s not going to happen, it will all come flooding your way and this time, you’ll be ready.
So this week as I struggle over writing the perfect query letter (and my much larger proposal - in the hopes of convincing some lit agency or publisher they will fatten their retirement fund if they bank me), I take the advice of my professor with me.
It's time to show ‘em what I got.
Let the chips fall where they may. Gods be with me.
