Oh my gosh, I'm having hallucinations...
Having recovered from that above coffee, I decided to to get on with the blog I intended to write.
I said, on my other site http://wishonawhitehorse.blogspot.com that I would not talk anymore about the book I am writing. I did not want to inundate people… But here…here you guys are writers. You will understand.
And you will
get this: “Why is it that a character in
your book named Alex on page 5 appears on page 122 named Susan?”
Publishers
and agents say that 70% of the work they sell in nonfiction, but I have decided
to write a novel. For years I could not bring myself to complete a work I began
some 30 years ago. I wasn’t a good
enough, I thought. (This could not be familiar to you could it?) Then it dawned
on me. I can do it. I love fiction. Fiction is a way to portray a message
without beating a reader over the head with it. It is story. We love story. I
can write it.
Last week my
daughter and I grieved bitterly when the television show Grey’s Anatomy (fiction)
killed Derek one of the main and most loved characters. That’s what fiction can
do to you.
So, here’s
where I am:
I sent a
query stating that the manuscript was 90,000 words in length (the sweet zone so they say) when it was only 38,000.
However they will take 75,000. Okay, 75,000. I can do that. What if they say yes, I
thought, I will be stuck.
They said
yes. Send the first three chapters—I have that. And a synopsis. I can do that.
The trouble was while I couldn’t get the manuscript from 38,000 up to 75,000, I
had trouble getting the synopsis down to 5 pages. They said they will take a month to three, to answer. Okay, I have time.
All along I
was taking the Disney Imagineers approach. When asked to do a project, even if they have
no inkling as to how to do it, the Imagineer says, “Yes.” Then they sit down at
their desk, beat their heads against it and do it.
The amazing
thing is, something happened after that week of beating my head against the
desk. I began reading, writing, researching, I added new scenes, I wondered how
to write dialogue, how to stop my cryptic explanations, how to flow down the
street into the people’s minds, hearts, their concerns, cares… I watched them, I
listened to them, I told their secrets. It was a dance.
And I am
still dancing.
