When I started writing fanfic, I had no idea what I was doing. My writing style was nowhere near what it has since become. (I look back at those early pieces and shudder at my formatting and dialogue style!) I simply wrote because I loved a video game so much that I wanted to give the characters new stories.
And so I wrote. And wrote. And wrote. I honed my skill. I got great reviews from readers who loved what I wrote. I expanded into other fandoms, consistently improving my craft.
Then, one day, I decided to go for it. Write original fiction. Now I have a novel under my belt, with two more to come to round out the series. I’ve queried agents. I’ve put my name out there in the hopes that someone will want to put my words into print.
And you know what? I have fanfic to thank for that.
Writing fanfiction gave me confidence. It gave me ample time to find my voice. To learn to edit. To format. Made me realize that there are readers out there for every genre, every type of story imaginable.
The reason I bring this up today is pictured below. The story in question was finished in 2015, after over a years’ worth of work. And even today, I still get reviews. (Side note: to anyone writing just to get reviews…DON’T. They are the icing on the cake and you should be writing because you enjoy it and it makes you happy.) This comment left me speechless. I actually teared up. To hear someone reinforce to me that I am indeed a good writer, and that I’ve chosen the right path is amazing. We all need to hear it every once and a while, especially when we’re having days where our characters don’t cooperate, our plot bunnies are out of control, and the writer’s block is at terminal velocity.
Fanfiction started me. Made me the writer I am today. I don’t write it as much as I used to, but it’s never far from my mind or my heart.
2017 is coming to an end.
I could write about the unbelievably crummy things that transpired (and continue to transpire) this year, but I refuse. Instead, I’d like to reminisce about the good things. Because for all the shit that happened (and there’s A LOT of it, let’s be honest), there was still an awful lot of good.
I finished the final draft of my first novel. I queried it out to agents. I finished the final draft of my novel again. *looks innocent* I started my second novel. I’m still waiting for a taker on my query, but goddammit, I did it and I’m proud–and in no way disappointed or disillusioned that it hasn’t happened yet.
My kid was awesome this year, totally taking his creativity and running with it. He kicked ass on his drums. He channeled his inner Bob Ross into some amazing paintings. He got into the next round of the National Geographic Geography Bee.
My husband stood by me through all my writing (and life)-related tantrums. He was the best editor and sounding board I could have ever asked for. He works so hard for our family, and I could never thank him enough for everything he does. And while his back is banjaxed right now, he’s making the best of it and trying his hardest to recover and get back to it.
So, what about 2018?
I’m hoping to have a published book by year’s end. Whether it happens with an agent/publisher or I do it on my own remains to be seen. I’ve still got a dozen-or-so queries out, so it’s a waiting game for a little while longer. If they don’t pan out, I have some other ideas and strategies in mind to get a physical book in my hand with my name on it. I’d also like to have the first draft of Book2 in the bag. As of right now, I’m not giving myself a deadline, but it’s nice to look ahead hopefully anyway.
Personally, there are some goals I’m hell-bent on achieving this year, so cross your fingers that I keep my promises to myself!
Thanks to each and every one of you: in my personal life, on social media, and wherever you might be. Thank you for supporting me, being my cheerleadeers, and making my world a better place.
Here’s to a new year. This one’s been a doozy, that’s for sure. But 2018 will only be what we make of it…so let’s do it up right.
It’s been one year since I finished my first draft.
I didn’t even realize it until Facebook reminded me, to be honest. I’ll chalk that up to being so engrossed in querying and writing the second book. But more likely, it was because I was building a settlement on Fallout4. Priorities, I know.
When I wrote that last sentence last year, I thought I knew what was in store for me. While I wasn’t wrong in my assumptions, some things certainly didn’t happen the way I envisioned. Some for the better, some not-so-much.
What followed that last line was months of revisions, revisions again, and REVISIONS AGAIN. Test readers. Incredible feedback. Worry. Anxiety. Countless hours of hard work and an occasional tantrum. And that was just getting the final draft ready.
My test readers were wonderful. The feedback I received was more incredible than I could have ever dreamed of. With their suggestions and opinions, along with those of my right-hand-man, husband/editor, I finally finished the fourth (and final) draft of my manuscript.
Then…came the tantrums. The hair-pulling. The head-desking. SO MUCH SWEARING. I thought the writing part was the hardest part. I was wrong. I thought the query letter-writing was going to be scary and difficult. Again, wrong.
I can honestly say now, after spending months doing it, that writing a synopsis for agents is the single-most awful thing I have ever experienced during this whole novel-writing process. Never in my life have I been so frustrated, so ready to throw in the towel. Cramming almost 170-thousand words worth of story into a synopsis was downright torture.
Synopses come in all shapes and sizes, and each and every one of them nearly caused me to smash my laptop. I started with what would become my “long” synopsis. It topped out just under five pages. Not many agents want one that long, but it was a place to start. And let me tell you, it was bare bones. It was so frustrating to have to get every important plot point in without making it too long.
Then came the “short.” If I didn’t already have short hair, I would have pulled any long locks out over this one. Condensing my five-page synopsis into two was downright impossible. I chopped. I slashed. I cried a few times. I PLAYED A LOT OF FALLOUT TO EASE MY VIOLENT RAGE. When I was finished, husband/editor and I agreed that it was the absolute shortest it could possibly be without sacrificing any more plot–which I already had done. It pained me to see my story smashed into *shhhh* two-and-a-quarter pages. I literally could not cut anything else, or I risked not being able to tell an already truncated story properly. Do I wish I could make it longer? Hell yes. Can I? Not really. So, I made peace with my short synopsis and called it finished.
We won’t speak of the agent who wanted a 2-paragraph synopsis. I didn’t even try. I did, however, swear a lot at the thought of attempting such a feat. It took me months to get it down to just over two pages. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that two paragraphs was never, EVER going to happen.
After those dastardly pages were written, I focused on the letters. They were, surprisingly, not as intimidating as I had expected. Many months before, I had drafted a rough template and it was very helpful in crafting the final, personalized letters. My research took me a few weeks, and afterwards I was armed with a long list of potential agents. My original deadline for first letter wasn’t achievable at the time, but after I extended it two weeks, I made it with a day to spare. The rest of the letters went out within a month.
I’m done sending them now, and have been waiting.
So far, there have been no takers. As of today, I have twenty-three rejections. And you know what? I’m one-hundred percent okay with it. Not bummed in the least. Not discouraged. Not willing to give up. It only takes one “YES.”
But what if that “YES” doesn’t come?
I’m okay with that, too. Self-publishing is always an option. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified of landing an agent. I’m scared of what an outside editor may want to do with my book. I’m scared of being under possible deadline for the second and third volumes. I’m scared of losing control over my pride and joy. Self-publishing would give me absolute control over everything–but also leave me with an incredible burden.
I’d have to do all my own marketing. Make a website. Set up sales. If I use Amazon, they at least cover me with a nice link and easy ordering. (But they also take a big chunk as commission.) I’d have to shell out money for art, a cover, marketing materials if I want to hawk my book locally and at conventions. But…I’d be in control of everything.
Maybe it’s my personal Kobayashi Maru.
If I get an agent, I lose control over a lot of things. If I self-publish, I open myself up to a whole host of new trials and potential problems.
So, for now, I wait. When all the rejections have come in, or the deadlines for such have passed and I don’t have any bites, then I think on the next step. I’m trying not to get too ahead of myself, (even though it’s fucking hard).
Book Two is very much underway and plugging along nicely. Some characters are cooperating, some are not. I’ve had a lot of days where I’m pissed at certain someones and ignore their chapters to work with those who are willing to be written. I have absolutely no timetable on completion of the first draft. Sometime next year would be ideal, but we’ll see how the summer goes with my louder-than-loud, clingy child!
2018 is almost upon us. Will it be the year I get an agent? Will it be the year a publisher prints my book? Will it be the year where I self-publish? Who knows? Until then, I keep on charging forward. One way or another, I will see my book in print, on my bookshelves.
And it’ll be so cool.
That’s right…QUERY TIME!
I would like to first say that I made my deadline, thankyouverymuch. My first query was sent Saturday, October 14h, TWO DAYS BEFORE THE DEADLINE.
I’ll wait for the applause to die down.
Since then, I’ve sent ten more. And–I’ve already received one rejection. And you know what? I’m totally cool with it. I took it like a champ. No tears, no bummed-out moodiness. I was surprisingly unfazed by it. I guess that’s good, right?
So now I keep on. I’ve given myself the task of sending five letters a day. My agent list is about fifty-deep, so it won’t take that long. Then…I wait. And wait. And probably wait some more. In the mean time, I’ve been working on Book Two, hurting characters because, let’s face it, it’s what I do.
The query party has officially started.
After careful deliberations, I have decided to extend my query letter deadline to October 16th. I hemmed and hawed, mad at myself for not sticking to the original plan, but in the end, I knew it needed to happen.
This final edit has been painstakingly slow, and I’ll admit that I’m picking this thing apart waaaaay more than I should be. Second-guessing every little detail has become second nature to me. The moment when you spend LITERALLY six hours trying to decide whether or not a list of somethings should be capitalized or not is the moment you realize things have spiraled out of control and you need to step back. (I walked away, did a twitter poll, asked my trusted friend, and finally came up with an answer. It was to NOT capitalize.)
After this final edit and format is finished, I still have to research my list of agents and cut-and-polish my query letter–which will then be torn apart and put back together again to tailor it to each agent’s specs.
While I’m disappointed in myself for amending the deadline, at least I can say I gave it a try, and was a big enough lady to know when I needed to surrender…for now. I was running out of time, and I didn’t want to send anything that wasn’t completely ready just for the sake of sending it by self-imposed deadline.
Off to edit chapter nine of 38 (plus two interludes and an epilogue), and begin the new countdown to query.