IWSG: The Fall Will Kill You

There’s a famous scene in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid where the title characters are trapped on a mountain ridge and a posse of hired guns is chasing them down. Sundance is prepared to fight them off, a fight they’ll likely lose, but Butch sees a way out: jump into the river at the bottom of the ravine. Sundance refuses. After a hilarious back and forth, Sundance admits that he can’t swim. Despite the desperation of their situation, Butch cracks up, not because Sundance can’t swim, but because he’s worried about the wrong thing. “The fall will probably kill you,” he says.

I’m posting this as part of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group, hopefully they welcome new members. Anyway, it’s been three months, give or take, since I released my novel, The Wind Maiden. I had no marketing plan, kind of on purpose, and kind of not, because I wouldn’t know what I was doing anyway. Well, anyone who’s published a book – or put their artwork on display, or released a CD, or in any way put their creativity on display for the would to see – understands the sheer terror involved giving it to the world. You also know it’s a thrilling kind of terror, like jumping out of an airplane.* Also like skydiving, the terror fades once you commit. Staring out the side of an airplane at 13,000 feet can get the hardest of hearts jittering, but once you’re tumbling through the air like a load of laundry, there’s not much point in being afraid.

 

My personal anxiety was simple: what if everyone hates it? I know it’s good, or good enough to be published, at least. I also know it’s not perfect, and good or not, everyone has different tastes. I braced my for the bad reviews. Everyone gets them, even the great ones like Neil Gaimen and Michael Chabon, and I’m not near their territory - not yet, anyway. So bad reviews are the price of doing business, and I was prepared for them. But there was one problem:

I was worried about the wrong thing.

I haven’t gotten any bad reviews yet because I basically haven’t gotten any reviews at all. I’ve sold some books, even to people I don’t know, but so far I have no idea if any of those people have even read it, or if they tried to and gave up, or heck, even if they liked it. I should have expected it: I read a lot, but before I saw things from the author’s perspective, even I never reviewed things, so I’m definitely not taking it personally.

On the other, I really need feedback. I was worried about bad reviews, now I’d kill for one,** This is my first book. I’ve gotten positive comments (and some critiques) form people I know personally, but the readers that don’t know me from Adam, they’ll tell me exactly how they feel, good or bad. And that’s what I want to know.

I’ve just got to figure out how to find them.

 

*With a parachute. I rather not experience the thrill of jumping without one.

**Metaphorically.

Genre Discrimination

Everyone seems to be using the same word to describe the publishing industry today: Shrinking.  Sales are shrinking, bookstores are shrinking, readership is shrinking.

However, one aspect of the literary world that isn’t in contraction, and in fact seems to be flourishing like never before, is the prevalence of genres.  Brand new writer?  Need a niche?  Just grab a dartboard and some Post Its.  Check out this list for just a “few” examples:

Literary Genres

I acquired this list from just a glancing blow at Wikipedia.  Deeper digging turned up even more genres, sub-genres, and basically just made up genres.  And you know what?

My MS doesn’t fit into any of them.

It’s easy (and not at all wrong) to be a fan of, say, urban fantasy, or historical romance, or hard science fiction, and decide you want to write in that genre.  You know the rules, the guidelines, and you can craft your MS within the safety of those boundaries.

But what happens when you just write a story?  When you give yourselves over to the characters and let them take you places even you couldn’t have imagined, must less a marketing department at a publishing house?  What happens when your YA tops 100K – by a lot?  Or when you have a novel that’s not quite science fiction, but not quite isn’t?

If you don’t fit neatly into a genre or a word count, people will tell you that your work is not marketable.  Does that mean it’s not good?  Not necessarily.  Traditional publishing is still a business, and the first goal of any business is to make money.  That’s not altogether a bad thing.  The prospect of profit will motivate a publisher to work hard to make your book the best it can be.  It’ll make an agent fight hard to get your MS sold.  On the other hand, it makes agents and publishers less willing to tread unproven ground, which means unless your MS fits neatly into the genre box, you’re less likely to get someone willing to take a chance on it.

I’m seriously considering inventing my own genre.  If there can be a genre called “post-cyberpunk,” then why can’t my characters have their own?

This is just one more reason the siren song of self-publishing is getting louder and louder.  I haven’t given up on the traditional route just yet, though.  Hopefully it won’t give up on me.

That’s the Best You’ve Got?

So I got my first rejection Tuesday morning.  It came at around midnight Chicago time, for some reason.  Despite knowing the odds and understanding the nature of the business and the overwhelming depth of competition, and knowing that I’d probably be rejected at first, I was still mildly surprised at my reaction to the form rejection email:

Meh.

Seriously.  I was almost glad I got it; it beats the limbo of not hearing anything, of wondering if you screwed up so royally it was all they could do to hit the delete button before any more damage was done, like Captain Kirk struggling to pull the warp drive lever before the ship explodes  (“Must…delete…query!”).  Or something like that.  Logically, every rejection is a setback, one more magnetically sealed security door keeping me separated from my goals.  Logically, I should try to glean any drops of info from the form rejection that help me understand what went wrong.

But really, I didn’t feel anywhere near the emotional reaction I thought I might.  I didn’t drop to the ground in my Nancy Kerrigan impersonation (Why?!  WWhhhyyy!?).  I’ll probably get two more in the next week or two I can add to the collection, though I’m not dreading it.  Which of course begs Nancy’s question.

Why?

Not “Why did I get rejected?” but “Why don’t I seem to care?”  I can’t really answer that.  It’s not because I have time, that’s for sure.  I’m not ancient, but I am a month from forty.  I don’t have the luxury to query a project for two or three years, give up, and move on to the next, and hope I can be published “by the time I’m thirty”.  Thirty was ten years ago.  I don’t want to just publish a book, I want to build a career, a body of work that I can leave behind as marker of my time here. 

Maybe it’s because I’m no stranger to rejection.  Don’t worry, I won’t hop on the psychiatrist’s couch here, but the realty is, I’ve had a lot worse.  Using a 300-word cold-call to convince an overworked agent that my MS out of thousands is the one she should commit her time and reputation to?  We’re set up for failure.  Rejection is expected.  We don’t cry when our lottery ticket’s a bust; we don’t rend our clothing when we’re not the thirtieth caller for concert ticket giveaways.  For every lucky (and deserving) duck who gets his book published, there are probably dozens of great novelists whose work will never be known. 

From a career standpoint, every rejection sucks.  From a personal standpoint, it really doesn’t bother me.  Maybe that’ll change after a hundred rejections, or even ten.  But for now, I’m rolling with it.  This is what we chose to do.  And we chose it because we love to write.

And no one can ever take that from us.

Should Auld Rejections be Forgot…

I was going to write a retrospective of 2010 today, the highs and lows, the accomplishments and setbacks, the losses and the discoveries.  It was a year unlike any other, although there were no major tragedies or triumphs.  It was a very workmanlike year, each up and down a small cog in the machinery of my days.  But put them together and…I don’t know.  It was significant.  I was going to share all that, as I’ve had no hesitation sharing things on here, but I’ve decided to keep it to myself, just this once.  I’m not sure why.  Just because, I guess.

It’s been a while – too long – since I wrote a piece about my writing escapades.  Christmas is over, 2010 is breathing its last, and the publishing world will once again spring to life, exploring strange new queries, seeking out new authors and new manuscripts, boldly going. . .

Never mind, thinking of something else.  My point is, vacation is over; it’s time to get back to work.

And I will have my query ready. 

I had a mini-epiphany while twisting, pulling, and spindling(?) my query to mold it into the shape of that most mythical of creatures – the Perfect Query Letter.  What’s perfect?  To hear some tell, it’s as much detail as possible; others want little more than a logline. 

The trick, I think (but it’s not a trick really), to a good query is not in the writing but in the research.  Research the agents that fit your work and craft a query to fit each one of them individually.  It may take a lot of searching, especially the agents who don’t blog.  Find out what type of query a particular agent likes to read and write that query.  Then write a different query for the next.  I can’t speak to the mindset of an agent, but I know I’d be more inclined to linger over a query written in the style I prefer.  If you get a box of candy, you may eat them all, but you’re going after the kinds you like first. 

Instead of trying to force your writing to be perfect for everyone, accept the fact that it’s not and narrow the audience down those who will like it (and maybe even request pages as a result), then keeping the core of your pitch, write another in a totally different style if you have to.  Maybe this agent focuses on plot, and that one is more interested in finding a fresh voice.  And keep doing it.  It sounds hard, but really, writing isn’t the hard part, is it?  It’s forcing your writing to please everyone that’s hard. 

Anyway, that’s my theory.  Those of you ahead me, who’ve done the querying already, can tell me I’m nuts, or “duh” as the case may be.  I’ll find out soon enough.  

First Contact

Yesterday, after six months revising and nearly three years writing my novel and over a decade before that of failed attempts, aborted story ideas, and general foot-dragging, I finally took my first baby steps into the business end of the book world.  No I’m not published yet not by a mile, but for the first time, I interacted (sort of) with an honest-to-goodness literary agent and a tiny piece of the literary world.  It may not seem like anything to those actively immersed in the world.  To me, however, Publication* is now no longer a mythical city on a hill, but an obtainable, albeit challenging, reality. 

I’ve spent the last ten years working on an ambulance.  Wonderful people, but not exactly the literati.  It’s been difficult just finding people to read my manuscript, finding like-minded souls to muse about the peculiar life of a writer, particularly an unpublished one.  I work a crazy amount of hours, and of course there are no writing groups in my immediate area.  My friends are all paramedics, EMTs, and firefighters; it would be tough starting a reading group, much less one for writers.  Therefore, like the solitary witch, I write without a coven; I edit with only an inkling of feedback.  And as I put the finishing touches on my manuscript and prepare with trembling hand to send that first query letter into the world, I do it alone.

Which was why this seminar was so important.  To hear from an agent in her own words exactly what she’s looking for, to have her address my questions and even look at my pitch proposal gave everything weight; it made it all real.  I can get Published; it’s hard work and could take years, but I know it’s possible.  There are people like me, no experience, no background in publishing, that every day are selling  their manuscript, or finding that perfect agent who’s passionate about their work.  I’m in the game now.  It’s the fourth quarter, I’m down by three touchdowns, and my offensive line has snuck off to Applebee’s, but I’m in the game.

As I get older, so much about life seems to involve endings.  This, however, is a beginning, and a big one.  And beginnings are so much better.

*I've decided to capitalize Published and Publication until I am Published.  Or until I get tired of it.