The End is Near

*****

Just when I got used to 2008, 2009 decided to close in fast. In the spirit of reflection and the hope for continued growth, I’d like to reexamine 2008’s goals and see how well I met them.

#1 ~ Design and implement an effective blog.

Done.

#2 ~ Get 4 more publishing credits.

Done.

Not only did I meet this one, I did way better, publishing 10 stories in 2008.

#3 ~ Get paid for a piece of writing.

Done.

I didn’t make millions, but I was offered a few honorariums for my work. It felt good and I'm pleased it happened.

#4 ~ 1 publishing credit in a semi-prestigious market.

Done.

Between The Burning Black being selected for EDF’s 2008 Best of Anthology and my author interview with EDF in early December, this was a great year for having my work acknowledged.

#5 ~ Finish a novel. Any novel.

Not done. But, I’m working on Folly and have finally selected a novel to commit to. What’s more, I’m extremely pleased with what I’ve accomplished thus far in the second draft. Folly’s a winner and I’m very proud of it.

I’m starting a new novel workshop in January. That should move Folly forward. I expect by this time 2009. I’ll tick this one off my list.

#6 ~ Successful 2008 NaNoWriMo.

Also not done.

This one was intentionally left undone. With the first drafts of two novels wrapping themselves around my ankles, drafting a third was risking breaking my authorial neck. November was hard. I yearned to write a crappy novel. But I’m committed to Folly, so I watched the days tick by and dreamed of writing recklessly next year.

Now for a few unexpected successes from 2008.

1) The great week at Rhinelander School of the Arts.

By far, this was the best thing I ever did for my writing. I’ve never been so energized, inspired, excited and exhausted by my own work. I’ll go back, as soon as family fortunes permit it.

2) Being reunited with some old online writing buddies.

I swore I wouldn’t get involved in another online critique group. I was wrong and this is one time I’m happy to admit it.

3) New writing buddy Jane.

Jane’s been a great source of support. I’ve loved sharing what little I know with her. She’s a tremendous talent and I’m so happy to have her as a writing pal. I look forward to our learning more from each other.

And finally, a few setbacks:

1) While I’m pleased with Folly, I wish I was moving faster on revisions. I seem to get bogged down with the tweaking and honing. Clearly, this is something I need to get better at.

2) I had to walk away from Somewhere on the Road to Me, at least for now. I love that story. I love those girls. But until I earn my revision chops, I need to let it rest in peace.

Looking back, the successes far outweighed the setbacks. It's been an amazing year for me as a writer, full of growth, opportunity, inspiration, friendship and joy. As we march forward, I wish all of you these same blessings and the satisfaction that invariably comes with them.

The Beauty in Rejection

*****

A week or so ago, a writer friend emailed to ask what was new with my writing. I filled her in on the highlights: small forward progress on Jamieson’s Folly. Two rejections on short stories I’d submitted.

She emailed me back how badly it sucked that I’d had my stories rejected, how awful she felt for me. As I read her response, I remember shrugging my shoulders and thinking, “Gee, it’s not that big of a deal.” I appreciated her commiserating with me—that’s what friends are for—but what interested me most was that I’d crossed an important threshold in my writing career. I’d learned rejection is part of the process.

It got me thinking. Back a year or so ago, I was sick at heart over every single rejection I got. I remember whining (and I mean WHINING) to my writing workshop buddies over the endless rejections I’d gathered. I was angry, too. How could these editors not think my work was gold? Were they just too stupid to get it?

They weren’t. But I was. Back in those days I didn’t see rejection for what it is: opportunity and conditioning for publishing.

As for opportunities, I think rejections offer a few:

One, rejections opened the door for me to view my work with fresh eyes and see where I could grow and develop. Any time I get better at my craft, that’s a very good thing.

Two, the opportunity to mature. My stack of rejections fueled my hunger to publish and to do that, I needed to improve. To improve, I needed to get past my fragile ego. To do any of this, I needed to work hard and persist. I think rejections serve to separate the wheat from the chaff. Quitters get rejections and give up. Those who persist grow and develop into better writers. Writers who persist and work hard eventually get published.

Now conditioning: It’s hard when an editor responds to a hopeful submission by saying he thinks my story sucks. But it’s harder to have my work published for all the world to see and have people flagellate me publicly. Rejection taught me: some people say rotten, mean things about my stories just because they’re rotten, mean people. And some people just don’t like my style. But those early rejections helped me toughen up. To learn we’re all different and we all like different things. To not to take people’s opinions too seriously. Rejection taught me to be tough and discerning. I listen to everyone, then sift through for what’s useful.

Back to my friend: she’s an extremely talented writer with lots of potential. She’s new to submitting, so I think those rejections have more sting. She received her first acceptance a few weeks ago and I confess, I was a little jealous. Everything seems so easy for her. Her acceptance came on say her third or fourth-ish submission. As for me, I’d gotten something like 15 rejections before I ever had anything accepted. (To make things worse, that magazine failed before my story got published, and I persisted through another long dry spell.) But in retrospect, I’m grateful for the beauty that came from the rejections. I hope she gets to endure them, too. Her potential will only be met if she faces a little adversity. Like in life, it’s the way we grow.

Tangled Destinies

*****

I didn’t sleep well last night. A front moved through, triggering wave after wave of thunderstorms. Nothing overly threatening, but loud enough to keep me awake. And as so often happens when I can’t sleep, my thoughts turned to writing.

For whatever reason, I started thinking about my legacy of bad writing. I’ve been on this topic a lot lately, for some reason I can’t quite pin down. But last night, I found myself going back further than ever, to stories I’d written 20 or more years ago.

One story in particular came to mind. It was a dreadful piece I’d written for Redbook’s annual short fiction contest, a trite bit of crap titled “Tangled Destinies.” Lord, I’d had high hopes for that thing, in spite of the fact that I was entering one of the toughest contests out there, tantamount to climbing the Mount Everest of literature.

Not only was this a literary marathon, it was a test of technical endurance. This was back in the days of the electric typewriter, and I was about as good a typist as a writer, so I had to retype each page over and over, agonizing over creating a perfect copy. I can’t tell you how many sheets of paper I discarded, how many cuss words I uttered over my suddenly uncoordinated, clublike fingers. I must have worn out a whole ribbon on 19 lousy pages.

The premise of “Tangled Destinies” was simple. It was a romance set in Colonial America, just before the revolution. My protagonist, Miranda, is a spy named Rebel who ends up deceiving and falling in love with the Nicholas, a cousin she’s been engaged to since her birth. There’s enough romance, misdirects and adventure to choke on--a regular cavalcade of unbridled sauciness, clandestine meetings, and cascades of riotous auburn curls. There’s also quite a bit of spirited flouncing and flirtatious, snappy repartee. Ambitious miss that I was, I even included a prologue and an epilogue, because God knows every 19 page story needs those anchors weighing down the storyline. I remember sending it off with hope singing in my heart. It was a masterpiece and I was damn sure I’d win.

Obviously, I didn’t win. And the heartbreak of losing almost discouraged me from writing again. I’d been convinced I was so naturally gifted as a writer, I was sure to be a Nobel prize winner by age 21.

Last night, all these years later, with the sound of rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning silvering the walls of my bedroom, I found myself wondering: what if I’d given up back then? The thought was sobering. It would have been so easy to give up, to tell myself I didn’t have what it takes, to avoid the heartbreak that inevitably comes when we writers put our work out there for evaluation.

Needless to say, I’m glad I didn’t. As bad as “Tangled Destinies” was, it represented a landmark on my journey as a writer. It was the first piece I ever submitted, so I learned something about the process. Most importantly, I learned about disappointment and how to bounce back from it. I still have a long way to go, but I’m a lot better writer now, with much tougher skin and a better attitude about working my way up the ladder. It’s been hard work, but it’s been worth it. And most encouraging, if I’m this much better now in my 40’s, imagine how good I’ll be in my 50’s and 60’s. There’s something innately encouraging in finally grasping that I’m a work in progress, not an aging old hack who missed her window.

I dug out “Tangled Destinies” this morning, all 19 yellowed pages held together with a rusted paperclip. One of the benefits of being a paper packrat and rather accomplished filer is that I have such things at my fingertips. It was every bit as dreadful as I remember, but still, I think there was hope for that young writer with the big dreams. I've recreated it in electronic form for my personal archives and submit it here for your amusement. Get a tissue. Empty your bladder. And get ready for the parade of jaunty adverbs, hysterical historical errors and glaring plot inconsistencies.

Oh, and one additional disclaimer: absolutely no meticulous research went into the creation of this literary masterpiece. My source was only what I remembered from a high school history class, where I spent more time writing notes to my girlfriends than listening to my teacher. I don’t even remember who he was, so that should tell you something.

A Good Day, Indeed

*****

Saturday stands in the annals as a very good day, indeed.

The day hadn’t started out promising. I’d gotten up late. The house was a mess, the kitchen counters cluttered, dishes in the sink, my husband and daughter milling about, looking for me to whip up breakfast. I was less than 30 minutes from opening our weekend garage sale and I still hadn’t found time to shower. I was about as flustered as I can get without going into full-scale meltdown. So what did I do? What I always do when I’m flustered and don’t know what to do first.

I sat down and checked my email.

I tripped into fantastic news. My flash, “The Burning Black,” had been published as Every Day Fiction’s story of the day.

Regular readers (Stephen) may remember: my acceptance from EDF marked my first foray into a paying market, something I believe is a significant step in my career. Granted, I made more selling a bundle of homegrown rhubarb at our garage sale, but being paid was a good feeling nonetheless. There’s something satisfying about being offered even the smallest honorarium for my work.

Even more gratifying were the comments and generous ratings Burning Black received. It’s good to know people are reading my work. And it’s good to know they’re enjoying it. For the most part, we writers work in isolation. It’s easy to find reasons to give up. Small successes like publication credits and kind comments carry a weary writer far, serving as rejuvenating protein drinks for the lagging soul, as balm for the oft-rejected heart.

As I clicked close my email, I thought things couldn’t get better. Then I sold loads of baby stuff and fattened my daughter’s college fund with a whopping $250. I met the nicest lady in the whole wide world, who gave me a fistful of bookmarks she’d made from old greeting cards. Her mission: to remind people how much Jesus loves them.

Yes, a good day on so many levels. I stand rejuvenated, soothed, vindicated, my beleaguered heart and soul ready to write.

One last bit of business, if you haven’t read Burning Black yet, here’s a link. Comment if you feel inclined, either here or on EDF. I welcome and appreciate the feedback.

Sweet Satisfaction

*****
It’s been a spectacular week so far.

After a several week long dry spell, I finally got an acceptance yesterday. My 750 word flash, “The Burning Black,” was accepted by Every Day Fiction.

I have Writer’s Digest to thank for this little piece. “Burning Black” was my submission for their last Your Story contest. I wasn’t sure what to write about when I first read the prompt—a character finds something on the kitchen table that shouldn’t be there. But then I remembered my much longer story, “The Walnut Tree” (which has been floundering under the editorial consideration of Ep;phany for over 6 months now.) I liked “Walnut Tree” and felt there was more to explore with Peter and his dysfunctional, manipulative family. And talk about the ultimate challenge! Who’d ever think of cramming a 4500 short into the 750 word limit dictated by Writer’s Digest? Yep, yours truly.

I was happy with the results. I didn’t make the Your Story finals, but I liked the story enough to shop it around. And first time out, it fell into the hands of some sympathetic editors.

As of now, I don’t know exactly when “Burning Black” will be published. But, this marks an important milestone in my career. This will be the first time I’m getting paid to write something besides software manuals. It isn’t much, just a few dollars really, but it’s the start of a new phase for me—paid, professional writer. (Wow. Just typing those words makes me pause and shake my head.) It feels good to tick that goal off my 2008 list. Until the next rejection comes, I wallow in sweet satisfaction.