Oh, the Slings and Arrows

So, I received a request for a full by an agent (WAHOO!). She just finished it and said that "though i am a strong writer," she's going to pass (BUMMERIA!!!). She prefers that i take out a huge chunk of it and develop other storylines--basically do a major rewrite.

And, well, i'm not interested in doing a major rewrite. I think for my own mental health, i should move onto a new novel. Something fresh. You cant spend your life on one novel, one story, one argument. You'll just go insane that way. Maybe at some point (if the novel doesnt sell on its own merits), i will consider rewriting (after the requisite 5 year distance).

At any rate, i cant help but feel disappointed and deflated. What a bummer. Is this what i have to look forward to? It makes me not want to bother with the whole query process and jump straight back into the next project.

Okay, i'm going to go drown my sorrows in some Indian buffet.

The End

I am coming to the end of my novel. Yeah, i wrote one, right before the SP (havent we all?). Somewhere in my brilliant brain, i decided that i had to write a novel before i wrote a screenplay (even though all my experience in creative writing up until that point revolved around playwriting--four of them). I guess as a former math geek, i did the math and decided that the odds of getting published were far greater than the odds of selling (and producing) your screenplay (and they are). But, in retrospect, that's such dumb-ass logic. Write what you want, for God's sake, and leave the odds to the mathletes or those obsessed with thinking that they have any control over their lives. Ha!

And so, well, here i am, finishing my novel. I shelved it a while back due to life's intervening issues. But now, i'm dusting it off as i query the great SP.

Here's the thing though... After all this procrastinating, i find that i really really like coming to an end. I've been afraid of it, afraid that it wont end well, afraid that it wont make sense, afraid that it wont be any good, afraid that i wasted all this time, afraid that i havent done a thorough job--afraid to let go.

And i didnt want to let go. I didnt want to say good bye to the characters. I didnt want to face the music--face the fear that once i truly presented this for publication it would be rejected...all that hard work, rejected.

And it may well be rejected or it may not. But at least it's finished, done, complete. It no longer whispers to me in my sleep, dredging up scary dreams, giving me sleepless nights, constantly nagging at my subconscious to finish what my soul started in earnest.

My soul is not interested in what publishers or producers have to say (though my ego very much is). My soul was only interested in completing the argument that was my novel, let those two lovers find each other and unite.

And now it's done, and i feel a peace i never before imagined. In the end, letting go wasn't so bad. It may even be called delightful--a release and a harbinger for new beginnings.

At the very least, it may finally give me a good night's rest.

I used to think that i can be whatever i want to be. As i get older, i find that i can only ever be what i was born to be.

Wow, it's been months since my last post...you'd think i didnt write or aspire to write or something. Actually, i have another blog. And, you know what, i think i have issues with calling myself a "writer." Like suddenly, i'm expected to write really well because i'm a writer. And well, i find that i can't. Or i dont. I just write. I cant account for how well i do, and if pressed, i would say not well, naturally. Does anyone write really well naturally? Well, i can think of a few people who write well and i dont write like them, so obviously, ipso facto, i dont write well.

So please permit me to write suckitudinously. I cant take the pressure to perform!