When I started writing, I knew it would be difficult. It’s hard to write. Constantly accessing the voices in your head, asking them to speak, and transcribing when they do is the type of behavior that gets many people arrested. Maintaining the firewall between what really is, and what must seem so real that people will believe it, is complicated and exhausting. Pouring time into the process is necessary, and since most of us are adults, we have to borrow that time from other things, usually things we either enjoy or are constrained to do in order to eat.
In point of fact, I wasn’t at all sure that I could do it. As exhaustively chronicled here, I love to write, but I am not a fanatically disciplined person. Since discipline is even more critical to writing success than creativity, I was reluctant to proclaim that I would be able to be a writer for more than a month or two – since I had never been able to do it before.
Turns out, I was able to. I do have the necessary discipline, all things being equal, to be a writer. It impinges on my family life to an alarming degree, and it causes other problems that may or may not make it worth it. But I can do it. That, at least, I know.
Being a writer and being an author, though, are two different things, to me. I am a writer, because I write. I am not an author – by my own very personal and subjective definition – until someone publishes my books. Someone not me, or my father, bless his soul. I would like to be an author, I think. The path to that is rocky.
One of the ways through it is to sign with an agent, who then represents the work to publishers. I like the concept of agents, as I use that same essential model in lots of other places in my life (as a loan originator, I am the agent for my clients on their mortgage file). I think, for some of my work, that I would like to have representation. At the very least, I want to understand how that part of the industry works, and not just from hearsay.
Repairers is good enough, I think, to make it over the bar and into real publication. Alpha reading on it is supposed to be complete today, though I can already tell that most of my readers won’t get their edits to me all at once, today or any other day. So a little at a time. Part of me is excited for this. Part of me dreads it. But I have to do it.
If nothing comes of the book, and it very well may not, then I’ll go the Jones Ink route and have the book published under my own imprint. I’m going to collect rejections, though, first. Meanwhile we’re about halfway finished with Steal Me Out, Steal Me Back, novel number 3. And the final edits on Producing on Purpose are done, so that comes out next week. And, and, and.
Wish me luck.