There is something very therapeutic about putting your personal feelings out to a bunch of strangers. You can pour out your thoughts on just about any subject without the worry of that agonizingly uncomfortable face-to-face moment. You know, that feeling you get the next time you see that friend after he had admitted, after a night’s worth of drinking, that he once had feelings for your wife. The next time you actually see him it’s never really the same again, just all awkward and sticky. Not actually knowing the people you speak or write to gives you that comfortable degree of separation that allows you to fully open up. Hmm…that would be a very good topic to post about, too. Perhaps I will. Anyway, this blog is for the few who can stomach taking a ride inside my mind. To hear the story about my little journey in life. Before we begin I should warn whoever thinks they are prepared for what is coming. First, I have come to the conclusion I am a naturally angry person. Not a “homicidal angry” or even a “Get drunk and beat up some frat kid angry”. No, I internalize. The “Boy, that pisses me off to no end! But I am not going to say anything” type of angry. I also have a very dry and a little off-kilter sense of humor. I find I am often the only one laughing at something in the room. Finally, I am intensely empathetic person who, at one time, could relate to just about anyone so strongly it has nearly destroyed me. What is this you ask?
That will have to be another post in itself. Now that that is over let us begin with post number one.
To start this thing off let me first say that I have written a book. It is good, so I am told. Well written and very interesting. Granted, all those who have told me are highly biased, friends family and such, but I will take compliments when they come. By the name of this blog you probably are wondering why I am not writing witty and quirky things about my children and pointing out the various ironic oddities of being a stay-at-home dad. Don’t fret, I will get to that. But right now I wish to tell you about the biggest project I have ever completed thus far in the thirty years I have been on this earth. Well, phase one of my project. Since I never figured I would get this far, I am pretty happy with myself. Well, was. You see, now I have started phase two of said project, which is publication of said book. Phase two is still very early. I have sent out 20 e-mail query letters to a variety of literary agents. I only used one source to get them all. The AgentQuery website or something like that. It’s only a start but within 2 hours I already got a “No”. A particularly ominous sign wouldn’t you say? It has been almost a month and only 40% actually took the time to e-mail me back. All “No”. I even got a personal e-mail from the president of some high tier literary agency who said maybe he is setting his standards too high but he just had too many clients at this time. I didn’t know if he was trying to tell me my query letter sucked or he actually thought about asking for more. Then I realized it began: Dear Author. Sooo…yeah, that hurt a little. I had really high hopes for an agent who just so happened to live down the street from me. He actually wrote an e-mail back saying it looked quite interesting, but no. He even put my name on top! I know I sound a “little” cynical and I know it’s just the beginning of a very long and tedious journey. But you know what? This sucks. This F’ing sucks a lot!
(As a side note: I am not going to swear in this blog. Why? Because I am thirty and dropping F-bombs and s-bombs is for when you’re a kid. If you have to constantly swear to emphasize your point you don’t have a good fucking point to start with. Maybe I will delve into more of that later.)
Do I sound angry? Frustrated? Perhaps, but not at the fact my first round of queries got zero. No, I am more mad at myself for getting so emotionally involved. When I started this whole project I promised myself I wouldn’t get all excited. That it was just something to as a creative outlet. That I could die knowing I wrote a book. How many people could actually say that? That I accomplished something creative that I could be proud of. That it was a fine hobby and that’s what it would always be, just a hobby. Buuuut, then people started reading it and they started liking it. So, naturally this got me a little excited, but I tried my hardiest to keep that in check. To keep telling myself that this is a very long project and the likelihood of someone with grammar skills on par with a chimpanzee and absolutely no writing experience actually getting published was realistically less then none. But of course in the back of my mind the little “what if” kept creeping up. The, “Hey man, you know what? You really got something special here. You could be DIFFERENT! You won’t find anyone who doesn’t like this book. You just might be onto something! You could be FRICKEN FAMOUS!!”
Then I started researching. Starting reading all the horror stories about it taking years and fricken years before you get published. That every single agent gets 8 billion queries in a single day. That your query letter is tossed into the garbage if you don’t even get the correct name or format right. That most of the time you don’t even get the courtesy of a return e-mail. Now that I think about it let me digress a tad. For those of you not in the “know”, a query letter is a short single page sent to prospective agents interested in the genre of your book. If they dig your idea they ask for a synopsis. Then, they MIGHT ask for some sample chapters. THEN, they MIGHT ask for your manuscript. Then they MIGHT pitch it to a publisher. The process is tedious and down right excruciating. I know, I know. I am whining. Again I am not angry at anyone or anything. Just angry that I let myself get so emotionally involved. But how can you not? I mean, really? What is more personal then putting your imagination out for the world to see? When someone reads your work they are, at that point in time, inside your head. No other medium can do that. If you are good at it you can make a reader see what you see, feel what you feel. It is both fantastic and horrifically frightening. The process of trying to get published is like having someone tell you your imagination isn’t good enough. That the hours I spent in the deepest dungeons of my mind, the place you lock up emotions so intense they have no name, trying to create something brilliant, was a waste. See how coming to terms with this is a little difficult? How, from my perspective, it is more then heart-breaking?
Yes, I realize there are hundreds, if not thousands of reasons why someone would not read my manuscript that have nothing to do with me or my ability to write. I am not in an agent’s shoes and have no idea what it’s like being them. That this ordeal is what all writers have to go through. Hey, you know what? Telling me that doesn’t help. How could it? I know that. I know I am not the first or the last who will flounder through this “bash your head against the wall” trip. In fact, thinking or being told that makes it worse. It just further emphasizes the point that I am nothing new and nothing special. A very negative way of thinking, wouldn’t you say? I warned you. But fear not, fellow readers. For I am dealing with this little issue the best way I know how. Quitting.
Quitting? Quit taking myself so seriously. That perhaps if I keep laughing at myself it will start being funny. When I started this blog entry, I stated writing to strangers is very therapeutic. (I told you I would get back to it) That not only do you negate the sticky face-to-face situations, you also get IT out of you. These feelings of rejection will pass. Perhaps I will get published perhaps I won’t, but soon I will reach a point where I understand that doesn’t matter. That writing is for me and anything else is just a byproduct.
Thank you for reading. My plan is to make this a weekly thing. Please come join me again.
