When people congratulate authors on their works, I sense it. I feel it at parties and coffee shops. The air vibrates with the sensation. I can't deny it; others, those who don't know any better, think that writing a novel only takes a loose idea. Anyone can do it. If they feel this way, then why are they patting those with published novels or soon-to-be-published novels on the back? If they think they could be in our shoes with the ease of a click of a mouse, then why do they continue to view us with a sense of curiosity? I, personally, hope that their curiosity grows and that these I-can-do-it attitudes stick around long enough to see that writing a novel with any sort of interesting story is only half the story. While a compelling novel is key, these days getting someone to buy that book is a larger than life feat.
My own tale is one that I wanted someone to believe in my novel and in me. And when it finally did happen, I realized that it had cost me. Discipline, dedication, and deprivation were all there. I spent every free moment pounding out the sentences, rearranging dialog and checking grammar over and over. I said "no" to Lifetime Channel movies, extra sleep and shopping with friends. I did manage to meet the needs of my children in between my long dates with Microsoft Word. Even when I sent the first three chapters to a potential agent, I doubted. Authors have frail egos. Something to do with breathing in too much discouragement. The encouragement from others, especially from those who think they could be doing what you are doing and will one day, some day, is almost non-existent. You are on your own, fighting between thinking every word your write is the best thing since chocolate and fighting to tell yourself that the three pages you just wrote are not even worthy of being used as toilet paper. Yet, for that inexplicable reason, you strive on. And on. Until, at last, that agent represents you, and sells it to a publisher.
The hard work has paid off and you venture out into the sunlight (which you never saw in front of your computer screen) to treat yourself to a cup of coffee. In your mind, you hear the band playing Ode to Joy and know that what you have accomplished is good and perfect. Even so, why is that when the air fills with the misconception of others that what you have done is common, you fall for it? Your ego teeters, the familiar doubt starts to creep over your coffee mug. What was your agent thinking? What is wrong with that editor? Surely she's been told that anyone can write a satisfying book? Then you smile because you know that once your wall was filled with rejection slips and now you have a contract and a publication date. And those who think anyone can write are still only talking. Yet, deep down, you can bet that as they look into your weary, yet happy eyes, they are well aware that they can't sacrifice what you have to get to where you are. Discipline, dedication, and deprivation were never easy practices, and no, not everyone can get published.
--Sign up for Literary Lyrics, the free newsletter for the novel RAIN SONG. Rain Song, by Alice J. Wisler, will be in bookstores this October 2008. http://www.alicewisler.com
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