"I'm not interested in writing short stories. Anything that doesn't take years of your life and drive you to suicide hardly seems worth doing." - Cormac McCarthy
I complain a lot about writing books, about how difficult it is, how I'm not very good at it, and how whatever book-length work I'm currently tackling is going nowhere. More than once, experienced writer friends have suggested I work on shorter pieces. "Why not essays, magazine articles, or blog posts?" my well-meaning friends say. I've published all of those and they aren't enough.
I love the enormous puzzle of writing a book. I love the structural problems, the all-consuming nature, and the possibility that one day, I might have my name on the spine. I love the heft of a book and the heft of the book journal I carry with me when I go to a coffee house to write. The book journal for Twenty-Six Point Freaking Two is over three hundred hand-written pages. It details my efforts, step by step, and has come in handy several times when I've done silly things like saved two different versions of the book in two different documents with the same name.
And what's more compelling than pushing myself to the edge of madness? I mean, I'd prefer not to go back to the psych ward, but it doesn't feel like meaningful work if I'm not dashing myself against the rocks. I hammer out first drafts (often in November) and spend years thereafter polishing and refining, content even as I'm driven nearly insane. My poor husband. Let's all take a moment to light a candle for him, shall we?
I'm not saying I'm good at writing books. I honestly am probably more suited to shorter projects given my low energy level, short attention span, and the fact that I'm easily confused. That's why I use yWriter software to keep track of things.
Currently, I'm fighting a bit of depression about Twenty-Six Point Freaking Two having queried more than one hundred agents and received either rejections or no response. I've also queried two niche publishers and received no response from either of those. I'm not ready to self-publish, but it's time to take stock, figure out the next right steps, and continue to nudge agents.
Over the past twenty years, I've worked on nine books, none of them yet published. I refuse to give up. Twenty years. Some days I fear I've accomplished nothing, but that's not true. I've learned how to write books and trained myself not to quit, both admirable skills. And I have the scars to show for it.