SOLITARY

In case you’ve ever wondered, this whole writing novels thing isn’t for sissies. It’s hours of time in solitary, scratching away on a notepad with a pencil or pen, banging away on the keyboard of a computer, agonizing over some damn scene that will not cooperate, pacing around the house trying to get your blood flowing again, only to sit down and go back to the same agony in hopes that you have a breakthrough, and the thing begins to move better (which it does - eventually).

Then there are the dreams (as in the ones you have while sleeping) - the ones that solve some writing problem, and the ones that replay your agony in your sleep. I like the first kind - surprise, surprise.

I am, as if you couldn’t tell, in the depths of writing agony right now. It won’t last and I know that. I’m an old hand at this. I just wish to hell it would shorten its run. I’m ready for the light at the end of this particular tunnel.

I was published once before and it worked out okay (from a sales perspective), but then some bad things happened in my personal life (involving the death of my mother) and some other bad things happened with my then agent (which actually only came about because of the break I took because of my mother’s illness and death).

So, here I am, in the desert once again, agent-less.

Make no mistake, the agent-less status is my doing - I let my old agent go.

No, you don’t do that because you had a bad day. You don’t even do that because you think you got a slightly bad deal on the last book. Not even.

You only do that, ever, as the absolute, last resort of all last resorts. You only do that after you have thought everything through rationally, reasonably, patiently, weighing all your options - while you’re sober. You only do that when you’ve tried everything and nothing else works. You only do that when not having an agent will be no worse than having your current one. That’s the *only* time you ever do that. So, don’t do that unless *all* of the above has occurred to you.

Why?

Because agents are too hard to get.

No, it is not easier to get an agent once you’ve been published. It just isn’t.

Is.

Not.

So, for all the aspiring writers out there, don’t delude yourselves into thinking that the previously published have some easier deal than you. Unless your name is something like John Grisham, Nora Roberts or Janet Evanovich (or others in the same galaxy of stars). If you live in that galaxy, then and only then can you call your own shots; but, it isn’t easier for the rest of us.

So, I must finish this manuscript first and foremost, and it must be wonderful (and it will be, by God). Then I will go out and query and do my best to find that agent who loves my work.

Before you Google the name on this blog - no, I was not published under this name before, and I’m not telling you what that name was. I’m not telling because I left that behind me. I’m writing something different now and it doesn’t need to be associated with the life I had before tragic circumstances re-routed my universe.

Being a person who believes in her dreams, I wasn’t about to give up on mine just because the world temporarily got the better of me. It was temporary after all. As Vincent Gardenia says in “Moonstruck” (playing the role of Cosmo Castorini) - “Everything is temporary!” [Writer credit: John Patrick Shanley].

The writing dream lives, and I work through all the solitary, crap days of sitting on my bum and pounding this keyboard and honing those passages until I just can’t stand it anymore.

And sometimes on nights like these, I take a break, put on a little Joni Mitchell “Night Ride Home” and pour myself a glass of Glenmorangie Quinta Ruban (neat), and wait for the edge to wear off.

Maybe I’ll write some more tonight, or maybe I’ll just *be* for a while, let my mind drift and unwind.

Then tomorrow I can start fresh. Maybe find that breakthrough. See the light at the end of this particular tunnel.

Take me home, Joni.

Bottoms up!

Polla filia,
J.F.