I had so much fun last month, hiding away in Undisclosed Location to revise and polish a manuscript to send to my agent.
Who sent it right back with some cogent remarks as to why it wasn’t ready.
“Are you OK?” people ask when I tell them this. Sometimes followed by what a tongue-tangled friend used to call “asparagus remarks” about my agent.
They seem skeptical when I respond that not only am I all right, I feel lucky to have an agent who helps save me from myself. (If you already have, or manage to find, an agent like this, I hope you’ve placed him or her on the world’s tallest pedestal.)
The book was probably OK, too. But just OK. And remainder tables (not to mention rejection piles) are full of just-OK books. My mantra has always been “each book better than the one before,” and if this one wasn’t doing the job, then I’m happy to take another whack or two or three at it to get it right.
University of Georgia Carnegie Library
Without going into detail, his suggestions meant ditching about half the book. Admittedly, that part did sting. But only for about a minute. Now, a couple of weeks later, I’m back in the rhythm of trying to write 500 words on weekdays and please God at least double that on weekends, rediscovering the pleasure of writing new scenes that take unexpected turns. Today I was kind to my protagonist, sending her to a Carnegie library for her research—a nice break before I resume throwing spike strips across her path.
Also today, the reconstituted manuscript hit 50,000 words, a good halfway point where sheer momentum tends to take over. Far in the distance, but beginning to emerge, the ending awaits. For now, though, I’m going to focus on enjoying the journey.
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