Sitting Tight

Here is a place I haven't been before.
Actually Prague is also a place I haven't been before but this isn't about Prague.  Or anywhere else.  This is about a place called Here.  Or Now. Or Here-and-Now.  They're probably twinned or something.

I never really took my writing 'seriously' until just after my Mum died.  My marriage died at the same time and I wasn't sure how to grieve or which to grieve for first.  I got very confused, a little lost and what with finding myself a single mother all of a sudden and having to try and prop up self, daughter and father, I turned to the only thing I ever found comfort in and that was writing.  Getting it all out of my spaghetti-brain and onto a piece of paper/screen was the only thing that made any real sense.
 
Then I joined WriteWords.  I was thrilled  to find other people who loved to write and loved to talk about writing and I was delighted when they started telling me how much they enjoyed reading  stuff I'd written. I can still remember the real sick-fear of clicking the 'upload' icon when I posted the first chapter of the book I was writing.  And the very bad sleep I got that night and the trepidation I felt before logging back in to see if anyone had said anything.  Followed by pure elation when I read the comments - a feeling I shall never forget.
It was how I would imagine it feels on those Makeover programmes when you've spent most of your life feeling a bit left out and a bit lonely and suddenly you're coming down those steps and there's a whole load of clapping, cheering people greeting you and telling you how lovely you are.  That's how it felt.  And I wanted them to be my friends forever.
I still do.

And if it hadn't been for this amazing writing group that I found myself a part of, then I'd never have dreamed of even thinking anything I wrote was worthy of anything like proper publication - in a book with a cover and everything.  But this seemed to be the way to go.  After all, I'd had a couple of shorts published and a poem or two... heck I even won a load of Mills & Boons and a pink telephone in a BT/M&B scriptwriting competition, so I must have had 'something' going for me.

So publication it was, then.  Not exactly Publication or Die.  But pretty near, it's sometimes felt.

And Now.  Here I am.  Waiting.  Oh, so patiently.  Four books later and nearly a decade later, I've been having some very encouraging correspondence from one particular Agent concerning the Teenage book I've written.  And even though it's been on a super-massive rewrite journey, had three different endings and enough 'darlings' killed off that it could start it's own Am-Dram society, I still love working on it.  Last week she mailed me to say she'd "love to read anything I've written" - which has given me a renewed writing energy I always knew was lurking about somewhere.  I just needed the encouragement to let it shine. So now she has the final version.  And some chapters of another YA book I'm halfway through.  And ideas for three other books that are being all patient at the back of my head and waiting for their 'time' to come.

I'm very good at sitting tight and waiting.  Especially if what's coming is worth the wait.  And even if it isn't what I hoped for, I know that right now I'm Somewhere I've never been before.  I got this far.
I'm Here.

Agents Do Not Breathe Fire! by Guest Blog Winner - Catherine Hughes

Although writing has always been a big part of my life - my song lyrics were legendary at school! - it has only been quite recently that I’ve started writing novels. Knowing that I would need to amass significant knowledge about the publishing industry, I read - all around the internet and beyond - about how to get an agent.

Agents, I discovered, were tricky, difficult characters with exacting standards. Heaven forbid that there should be a typographical error in your submission, or that your query letter (or email) should be too informal or, indeed, too formal. Don’t ask questions; don’t chase manuscripts unless a significant portion of time has passed; revere and venerate agents, and don’t expect them to be nice to you. They don’t have time.

The thought of submitting my first attempt at a proper novel was, to say the very least, daunting in the extreme. But, being of the ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ mindset, I sent out a stack of submissions.

Most of the fifteen agents I queried sent me standard form rejections. One did not reply at all and still hasn’t. But, to my surprise, one or two of the agents I sent my work to responded in a friendly, helpful manner. One chatted to me using email one evening, checking out my query as we ‘spoke’, and one even requested a full, seeing potential in my work even though my query was neither as flawless nor as confident as it ought to have been.

Because, as it turns out, agents really aren’t these distant, heartless, pernickety types at all. OK, well maybe some of them might be, but I’ve had contact with quite a few now and it seems to me that the majority are pleasant people doing difficult, time-consuming, and often demanding work.

My second novel is a love affair, in that I am in love with it to an extent that wasn’t true of my first. And, when I sent it out to agents (some of whom had seen the first novel and some of whom had not) my hopes were high. Sadly, it did not (although I had two requests for full manuscripts this time) garner any offers of representation, but several agents took the time to send me personal, encouraging responses. One in particular urged me not to give up, telling me that I ‘can definitely write’ a phrase that is now etched on my heart forever. I wasn’t suitable for her list, but she took the time to communicate to me that I would, in all probability, be a good match for another agent, and to keep trying.

I’m not saying that you can be slapdash about your queries, or that they should be anything less than the very pinnacle of your efforts. But my experiences have taught me that most agents are like me - clever, positive people who love books and love writing.

Not fire-breathing dragons waiting for the slightest excuse to toast your work.

Catherine Hughes is a thirty-nine-year-old web copywriter who lives in wild and windy Wales, with her four children, husband and three cats. She is the author of two as-yet-unpublished YA SF novels and is currently working on a fantasy trilogy that attempts to explain our rich lore of myth and magic. Despite having a degree in Law, she is really a very nice person, who blogs at http://dailyimprovements.blogspot.com/ on the theme of making small changes each day towards a better life .

Well done, Catherine, great post! You should receive your prize soon!

Forget Halloween - Writing is Far Scarier.

Why?


1) That first time you show your work to someone, breath held, eyes shut, heart knocking on your chest. Will they laugh? Smirk? Struggle to soften the blow that your work is rubbish? Be it a relative, friend, writing group or online acquaintance it takes guts to put your work out there. So, whatever the outcome, Congratulations! You’ve done the equivalent of opening your eyes in the dark.

2) That first time – lots of firsts here – you submit your story, be it one thousand or one hundred thousand words long. Why is this scary? Because the result more often than not will be a large brown envelope landing in your hall, bearing those brutal words Not for us. Yet you’ve confronted your fear, you’ve stepped well and truly into the aspiring writer’s Haunted House. One way out is the door of publication and to find this exit you must confront all manner of spooks – the dreaded synopsis, the hellish cover letter, the eternal rewrite, the shattered confidence… It takes a brave – some might say foolish person – to take this path.

3) Next you must hold your nerve and ride the two-faced ghost-train of success. You get an agent, get a contract and your day of publication arrives, yippee! But then, hello scary sales figures and alarming Amazon rankings and a devilish deadline for Book Two. And ultimately you must grapple that ghoulish question – will my contract be renewed?

4) It’s scary how writing stirs her cauldron and casts her spell on your once steady emotions. Now you feel intense envy at fellow authors who write more eloquently, get four book deals or meet Will Smith (you know who you are!) Tears are shed over rejection, high cackles let rip over positive–sounding emails or the production of an occasional bit of superb prose. Up and down, we are at the mercy of this literary mistress. Our happiness is no longer under our own control

5) The night-time terrors. Mine? They revolve around the thought that on my deathbed, I shall still be a struggling writer and a wail will escape my lips as I tot up all the hours I have pursued my self-indulgent dream, and realize that they would have been better spent achieving other things. Like getting fit. Like cooking my family nothing but home-made meals. I could have learnt to wind-surf or kept a tidier house. I could have done volumes of charity work or brought in more income. In other words… I have wasted my valuable time on this earth.


So why do we write? Is it a choice? Can we ever cast aside the demons of this pursuit? I have tried but its seductive song always lures me back, with the promise of great rewards…

Halloween isn’t scary, with its witches and zombies and ghosts. No, far scarier is being lucky enough to discover your calling, but not knowing if you will ever truly do it proud.