Still, we soldier on, marching to the beat of our own private drummers, dancing to the personalized theme songs only we can hear.
I present the following illustrations of the Writing Life:
The Newbie Writer
There is a moment -- a split second, perhaps -- when the "I Think I Want To Write a Book" bug has bitten us, but the bite has not yet become a raging, systemic infection. Before then, we could turn our back on the Creative Muse, walk away, and live a normal life. Afterward, however, we are never quite the same.
We discover that the wonderful way with words we always prided ourselves upon having is not nearly as prevalent as we had been led to believe. Words, those tiny little chunks of communication, suddenly cease to be our friends and declare endless coups on our creativity and our confidence.
We've all been there at one time or another. The Newbie Writer looks much like this:
Sadly, after years of hard work, the scenario doesn't change all that much.
The Query Rejection
It's done! The magnum opus is finished! Edited! Polished! Vetted and gilded till it sparkles like a brooding vampire in the sun. It only took you
Then you wait.
Then, one day, it arrives: The Form Rejection.
"Thank you for the opportunity to consider your work. It isn't quite what we are looking for, and we do not feel strongly enough about your project to pursue it further."
It's the equivalent of this:
The Partial Manuscript Request / Rejection
Occasionally, the Law of Averages works in one's favor (much as the odd winning lottery ticket eventually occurs) and the Query gets past the Disco Ball of the Gatekeepers. Then the Powers that Be request a partial manuscript. Confetti flinging and mental bank account padding ensue, followed by an obsessive re-reading of the requested pages before sending them out, fingers crossed, praying to the publishing gods that THIS TIME someone will forget to say "No."
We start to think we've made it. Then, this:
... and the Broom of Doom sweeps away any thoughts we had of success.
Yet we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and live to query another day.
The Moment of Acceptance
It's here! We've finally made it! After
This calls for a moment of private celebration:
Ah, but the celebration cannot last forever. No matter how old we are, the Muse is a harsh mistress. She demands our attention and respect. We cannot dance in the attics or rest on our laurels for very long. Time is fleeting, and there are books that still beg to be written...