Where is it?

find xHa. Writing should be so easy.

Alas, I’ve been agentless for the better part of two months now and I still can’t seem to get my shit together. Which is not to say I haven’t tried, because I have.

Actually. . .

Actually, two months now and I think I’ve lost my way. I’m arift in a sea of indecision. Stuck in a quagmire of doubt. Trapped in a damn–

Oh hell, who am I kidding? Wasting time is what I’m doing. Like right now, writing crappy metaphors when I should be querying CHERRY or working on my ALBERT query. I gave myself permission to take a break until March 1st and here it is, March 4th now, and I’m still in a funk; still uninspired, still

Still I-don’t-know-what, and that’s a problem. What I do know is this: ALBERT’s query isn’t good enough yet, and CHERRY’s agent pool is. . .

Attribution: Bernard Bradley

Attribution: Bernard Bradley

Okay, maybe not quite as dire as that, but you get the idea.

But wait. I’ve done some writing-related stuff since March 1st. I went online, found and jotted down some new agent possibilities for CHERRY, enough to send out a decent batch of new queries. As for EFFIN’ ALBERT, I pulled up the query numerous times, messed with the thing . . . oh, and I updated my CHERRY agent list.

All good, right? And shining more light on the bright side, my CHERRY query is pretty damn solid, as is the novel. ALBERT’s solid, too. And SOULLESS is primed for digging in; that solid start just waiting for me to start working on it again.

But a writer can write the best query ever, the best novel under that shining sun, and never find an agent or publisher. No guarantees in this business, folks. And no guarantee one’s published novel will find a buying audience and yeah, I’m putting the proverbial cart before the horse now.

You know what? At this point, I really don’t give a crap. Seriously, I really don’t.

Or maybe I do. In fact, maybe I care too damn much. Or maybe the thought that all the work I’ve done has been for squat is too damn much. Or maybe I’m depleted. Hell, maybe I should just quit writing altogether, just hang it up I mean, it was a good run, right? Fun while it lasted and hey, I had my shot, I found an agent, dammit, which is good sight more than most writers can say.

Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

Or maybe I’m indulging in this protracted, post-agent melancholic bullshit, lamenting this setback and doing little to change it, which would be not only sickening, but down-right depressing. That’s not what I need right now. What I need is a swift kick in the butt to get myself moving again. What I need is to soldier through these doldrums and get myself back on track, on the stick, up on the saddle, into the swing. . .

Actually, what I need to do is quit writing metaphorical crap and start doing the work necessary to find me another great agent, who will find me a wonderful publisher for my stuff. To do that, I need to disengage from this sorry-ass state; fling off the sad-sack albatross hanging on my neck and weighing me down; shed this fatalistic hangdog attitude because, right now, not only can I not stand myself, but I don’t like what I’m doing–scratch that, not doing. My inability to move forward is getting me absolutely nowhere at all and serves no purpose, save wasting my precious time.

And yours.

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12 thoughts on “Where is it?

  1. You do realize today is March 4th, right? So…this post being posted on this very day is your call to arms. March forth! It’s the magical stuff we don’t quite understan giving you an order. Karma and all that. *hugs*

    • Oh my god, Elaine, you just gave me the chills. Then I got all teary-eyed, because you gave me a gift, you know that? Karma and all that wonderful, mystical stuff. . .

      *sniff*

      Now I shall have to get back to work, if only to prove you right.

      Thank you so much, my dear. Truly.

      xoxo kk

  2. Okay, so this is a black combination of obsession, depression, panic & resignation. Did I miss anything? 🙂 I know that place well. Lived there myself for awhile. In all honesty the only thing that worked for me was to leave it alone. Really leave it alone. I suspect you can’t actually keep it off your mind. It’s kind of like the stages of grief. You have to go through each stage until you’re at peace. Hope you can find a way to do that because you’re looking a bit like a squirrel in a cage right now. I feel so badly for you because I know how hard this is. There is no easy way out of it but just know we’re all pulling for you.

    • Nah, you didn’t miss anything. 🙂

      There’s truth in what you say, Linnea, which is tough to swallow because with everything going on in our world right now, my angst doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.

      Having said that. . .

      This blog is about the experience of writing novels, about trying to figure it all out–a multi-faceted endeavor, for sure, and personal to the writer, until it isn’t. Selling one’s stuff is business, not personal, but sometimes it’s tough to separate the two.

      I think that’s where I am right now: vacillating, and getting down on myself for doing so. It’s unflattering, so why am I sharing it via this blog? Part of the reason is selfishness: it’s helpful to me to get this crap out in the open. But the other reason is less about me . I suspect there are other writers trying to figure out this writing stuff, and just knowing one isn’t alone in that. . .

      Connection is the key. For me, this blog is a connection, a bridge between writers. I know how solitary the process of writing can be sometimes and thus, how important it is to know others are in the same boat, navigating these tumultuous seas. We’re in this together. We’re here for each other. Your post is evidence of that.

      Thank you, Linnea.

      xoxo kk

  3. Maybe I need to go to Absolute Write more again. If I had, would i know about SOULLESS? I’m missing out!

    I do hope you don’t quit. If we”re anything like each other, you write no matter who’s reading, or who isn’t. When you feel like. Sometimes I don’t write at all for awhile. Sometimes I do almost nothing but write. Strangers whose names I will never know have read my short stories more than my friends have. It is what it is.

    • Ahh, SOULLESS. Aka, DIARY OF A SOULLESS BOY. A real good start, a good premise, a good little novel-to-be if only I could figure out the story, which right now is a shimmering mirage. I haven’t posted too much of SOULLESS on AW. Maybe I should, it might spark something.

      As for writing no matter what, for me it’s been a weird journey. I started my writing ‘career’ after I had to retire from teaching. My first attempt at writing a novel was no less than manic; my second, a little less-so. Since then, I’ve become a much more thoughtful and deliberate writer, and my goal for writing has . . . maybe ‘evolved’ is the word. No longer do I find writing to be its own intrinsic reward. It’s a means to an end now: to write something, if not of beauty, then, at least, of value.

      You’re right, Jen. It is what it is.

      xoxo kk

    • Yeah, it feels that way. Which means I’m really indulging. Grieving is selfish, but maybe we need that sometimes.

      Just not for too long, lest we drown in a sea of our own salty ears, which is such an incredibly maudlin image that I’m smiling right now, which is always a good thing so thank you, luciesmoker.

      ❤ kk

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