Wanna Be Author

I got some news today that has me feeling pretty bummed out.  What do I do when I'm upset?  I write about it.

So, I started writing a novel eons ago but didn't get very far and only got serious about finishing it in 2013.  I don't know if anyone has ever tried it but writing a novel is really hard.  I work full time so I had to work on it in my spare time on weekends mostly.  It took me two years but I finished it last year in July 2014.  It was 465 pages and around 107,000 words.  I had my mom read it and make some basic corrections on grammar and continuity.  Just whatever she saw.  I revised it and then revised it some more.  There were times when I felt really proud of what I'd written and then other times when it felt like the worst thing ever written.  I am told this is normal.  It was constantly floating around in my head for a while.  I'd think of things I'd want to change in the shower, at work, while I was in bed.  I'd jot them down and then go in and edit it later.  I'd read it again.  Add.  Cut things out.  Rearrange sections.  It just never ended.  It felt like the editing process could not end because I couldn't stop thinking about it and dreaming up ways to try to make it better.  Several times I had to force myself to put it out of my head altogether and take a break so I could look at it again with fresh eyes.  I did that a few times, then I got to the point where I wanted someone who was not my mother to read it.  I sent it to an Aunt who had asked me to read a children's novel she was writing.  She never got back to me.  This was either a really bad sign or that there was a reasonable explanation for it.

I did some more editing and then hired someone to do a copy edit to clean it up.  I wanted to get reader feedback on it, but didn't want the reader to get caught up in errors while they were doing it.  I wanted it to be in decent shape.  I also had that editor do a beta read on it to get some feedback.  It wasn't terrible feed back so I was still hopeful.  I edited some more focusing on cutting and tightening things up and got it down to 300 something and 105,000 words.  I sent it to my Aunt again in it's revised and much cleaner format.  I never heard back.  Which is fine, I suppose.  I don't think anyone that knows me could be brutally honest about it and that is what I needed.  Brutal honesty.  Either it's good or it isn't and I don't want anyone blowing smoke up my ass just to be nice.  I started looking for a beta reader online.  I really wanted to see where I stood with my manuscript so that I could make a decision about how to proceed from there.  Do I self publish?  Do I seek out an agent so that I can go the traditional route?  Do I put it in a drawer and never look at it again?  I felt good about it (which is hit and miss) but as the writer it is impossible for me to be objective.

Meanwhile, hubby's friend's wife and I discovered our shared love for writing over the last few years. Whenever we get together for double dates with our husbands we talk writing and it's been really cool to have someone to chat about it with.   I'm pretty secretive about the whole thing and have only told a few people outside my immediate family that I was even writing a novel.  Thank god I didn't go blabbing it around to everyone I know.  Now her, and this other couple knows just because of our chatting when we hang out together.   Sometime last year I found out that she won a prestigious writing award worth 30k and has a PhD from Yale in Biology or something.  Then I felt kind of silly for talking writing with someone of her caliber. Her last job was English faculty at a community college and before that a scientist.  She is brilliant.  Okay, whatever-she's really nice and humble and I'm writing a book too.  We've since been emailing and decided that we should get together on our own sometime for coffee. 

One person agreed to read my MS for free then flaked so I decided it would be worth it to pay for another beta read.  I stopped editing, found a decent price and anxiously awaited feedback-which I got today.  After reading her initial report I got a giant lump in my throat and couldn't feel my legs anymore because it was exactly what I was afraid of.  My novel sucks. She didn't say it in so many words, but that's the gist of it.

I'm a realist.  I am never going to be that person with illusions of grandeur or who refuses to believe that their shit don't stink.  That's not me.  Even when Mrs. brilliant-lets call her T congratulated me on finishing when hers is still in progress I was like, "big deal."  She says she wants to be where I am, however it doesn't do me any good if my novel is not worth reading. She insists I have to do something with it because I worked on it for so long, but just because I spent years working on it does not mean it's any good.  I mean, it was a great feeling to finish the novel.  I got a little teary eyed and I was really proud of myself.  The story I told was very near and dear to my heart.  It was a goal I set out for myself, I love writing and I was really excited to have done it.  It was exhausting and challenging, awful and fun all at the same time.  It was always something I was doing for me regardless if anyone else ever read it or if I ever published it.  That's what I said from the start and that is what I still believe.  I wanted to make it the best it could be and that was that.  So that's what I set out to do.

I was hopeful.  I knew it wasn't the next great American novel.  Not even close.  I didn't even assume it was good enough for traditional publishing.  Given the time it takes to query agents and the difficulty in getting an agent even when your book is amazing I was leaning towards self publishing.  There are a lot of self publishing options and some of those books are very good so I would not have been too disappointed with that path.  You don't get an advance, but I figured even if I could get one it wouldn't be more than a grand or two because I am a first time author with no publishing credits or MFA education.  With self publishing the expense is all yours, but you get a higher percentage of royalties and complete control over your book.  I was even contemplating quietly self-publishing and not telling anyone.  Just pop it up there on Amazon and put it to bed so I can get this novel out of my head space and move on.  Now that I finally got the feedback I needed it is crushing to realize that it's not even good enough to self publish.  It hurts, but I'm glad I know the truth.

Not everyone can string that many words together.  It takes a heck of a lot of effort and time.  Some people cannot even fathom it.  But really, almost anyone can write a novel these days if they want to bad enough, but not everyone can write a good one.  I had hope that I could, and it sucks to find out that I am just another in the long line of would be writers who think they can write a book.  I haven't really accomplished all that much in my life and this was the one thing that I had left to be hopeful about.  I wanted to do something really cool.  Something to make myself and my husband proud of me.  Hope will keep you going even if you have yet to begun.  Now that it's gone I feel lost.  And sad because it's more proof that Mediocre is my middle name. Gymnastics, School, work, looks, modeling, weight loss, blogging, writing.  I'm an average, mediocre person in everything I do.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, you make your own destiny.  I get it.  I know that, and the destiny that I make is mediocre.  It's just the way I am.

So getting back to T.  She is also writing a fiction book.  She has published essays, she has a MFA in creative writing, has attended several prestigious writing conferences, won a big award and landed an agent before her manuscript was even done.  I have never even taken a creative writing course.  Really, what did I expect?  Her writing a novel and me writing a novel are two very different things.  I have no doubt that hers will be brilliant.  She will likely receive a generous advance and get it traditionally published.  She is a real writer and I've just been dabbling, as I do.  Now I feel like the biggest idiot in the world to even have the audacity to talk "writer" with her and because my novel sucks and will likely not even be self published.  I'm not nearly as excited to talk writing as I was before.   In fact, I kind of want to bury my head in the sand and pretend I never even tried.  She will ask, and I'm not sure what I will say.

My poor husband really married a winner, and it's not just T.  It's also the other 'wives' in his group of friends with their brilliant careers and high salaries.  I know we would be doing so much better financially if I had a career or even a job where I got an actual raise every year like normal people.  I'm not saying they are perfect or that their lives are perfect or that it's anyone's fault but my own that I am where I am today.  I make my own choices.  I'm not even trying to say that I am the lowliest person on the planet, that my life is totally worthless or that I've not done anything good or decent in my life.  At the moment, I kind of feel that way but I know it's not true.  I'm not even saying that I should give up on my MS or give up on writing altogether.  I do realize writing is subjective and one man's trash might be another man's treasure and maybe I'll feel better about this situation later.  What I am saying is that I feel really sad and disappointed in myself now that my bubble of excitement and hope about my novel has been burst.  I really want to break down and cry, but I don't have the luxury to do so because I'm at work.

I just need a little bit more time to process.