For the past few years - ever since right after I graduated college, actually - I've been working on a novel. It was slow going, but I wrote chapters here and there as opportunities arose (or as I got more and more desperate to have a creative outlet.)
This past summer, I finished it. And by "finished" I really just mean that my narrative arrived at a place that seemed like a natural conclusion, at least enough for one book. I went back and started revising the entire thing, and convinced myself that this month, November - and to be specific, this week - was going to be THE week to start soliciting for an agent or publisher.
I've been working on query letters and a synopsis. I've been double checking grammar and working out minor inconsistencies (hey, when a project spans years, there are bound to be a couple.) I started making statements like, "If I find out that this really takes off, maybe eventually I can be a writer full time."
Then today I admitted to myself that the book isn't my best work. Not by a long shot. I'm not saying that to be mean to myself, I'm saying it because it's actually true and over the past few weeks I've realized how much writing matters to me and how much I'd love to make a career out of word craft.
It matters so much that I don't want to even try to approach agents until I've gone back and majorly reworked a bunch of the draft. I don't want to risk losing future opportunities, or end up with the wrong publisher, or make the wrong kind of name for myself, as a result of deciding to rush ahead with trying to get published before it's truly ready the way I want it to be.
I know myself. I know my work. I've read a lot of books in my life, and I have a very good sense of what constitutes good writing. I know my capabilities. I'm frustrated because by spreading out the novel writing over a few years, I really spread out the thought and energy that went into it, and so the work as a whole is very inconsistent.
I deeply wish I could say that it's great as it is, because I've already spent years on it, and because I'm so excited about the story and ideas contained therein. Even worse, I know I'm typically a great writer but there are honestly a whole bunch of really uninspired, monotonous, unnecessary sections in the draft that I wrote when I was too tired, too distracted, too unmotivated, and honestly probably too overwhelmed by what I was trying to do.
Before this starts sounding too depressing, let me be clear: coming to this realization was the best thing that could have happened. I'm finally being honest with myself about what I want (to be a writer), and I'm finally being realistic about what it's going to take to get there. This means I'm actually closer to achieving my goal that I would have been otherwise.
Even better, I know I can do it, and best of all, I finally have the motivation that it's going to take. I'm in the home stretch - every day I get a better sense of agents and what they want, and every day I find myself thinking more coherently and expressively about the novel and the impact it's going to have. I'm going to be able to go back and change my draft into the version of the novel that it's begging to be, that I know is still inside me clamoring to get out.
It stinks that it's not going to tumble out to the wide world as readily or soon as I'd hoped, BUT I'm incredibly excited about how awesome this is going to be once I do finish it up the way it deserves to be finished. Normally I'm so impatient with anything I start or get excited about that I end up shooting myself in the foot in the long run.
Not this time. By God, not this time.
