It's all in my head.

I did a thing.  A publisher liked my book, and they wanted to talk with me.  To “pick apart some details.”  I had no freaking clue what that meant, except I was so nervous puking was a real possibility.  

They were nice.  Said nice things to me and about my writing.  Explained their company and how it all works.  We talked about our cats.  It was a good conversation.

I was honest about things like, “I have no clue what I’m doing.”  

I’m about 80% thrilled.  Thinking this is a brilliant opportunity and one I should seize.  The other whatever percent is like, “Oh my god, if I publish my book, then people might read it!!”  And I mean that with astonishing dread, not excitement.  

Fear of failure is a real thing.  

My mother said to me, “remember that you are smart and creative.”  I said, “thank you and please remind me sometimes.”  

When I wrote Fierce Grace, enough years ago that I can’t recall the time period precisely, it was set in the imaginary town of Hamilton Creek.  In my head I was picturing Oak Ridge, NC, a very real town about 10 minutes to my east.  

Fast forward a few years, and I wrote The Guilt of a Sparrow.  I remember the writing of that one vividly.  Because it was exactly one year ago, for NaNoWriMo.  It’s set in the fictional town of Fox River.  I loosely based this on a southern bluegrass-y version of Stars Hollow (you know, from Gilmore Girls).

I fell in love with this town, and it’s inhabitants.  Fox River.  (But also, of course, Stars Hollow).  

One day a thought bubble popped into my head, and it said:  Fierce Grace should take place in Fox River.  Then I could not shake this thought loose!  It stayed with me and kept expanding with new ideas and ways to make it work.  I ran this idea by a couple of my writer friends (Thank you, Stella.  Thank you, Kelly).  

Well.  I did it.  Yesterday I brainstormed, combined some lists, and got to work.  Today I finished the re-write of the first two chapters.  

The road to becoming a writer (and here I don’t mean someone who writes, but someone who has published their work) is rough.  It’s not clearly marked.  In fact it’s not so much a road as a barely delineated path.  

What I mean is that I have no clue what I’m doing.  I don’t know the next step.  I can look at my manuscript, see the words, make a million edits, but I don’t know where to go from there.  How does it get from my computer and into the world?  

Late last year the next Big Step for me was sharing my work.  Passing my story along to critique partners and beta readers.  Getting feedback.  Deciding what to do with feedback is another murky area with no clear directions, one that I’m still figuring out as I go.  What changes do I make?  How much influence do I let outside opinions have on my work?  And what if some reviews are positive and others not so much?  What then?  Do you scrap it?  Or go forward, regardless of what people think?  

Now what?!  

Do I submit this collection of words and thoughts to publishers?  Agents?  What’s the difference and which one do I need first?  How do I go about a query letter?  (Yes, I have googled this and found shining examples.  Writing a book and writing a Please Publish Me I’m Wonderful letter are two entirely different things).  

You can find the print for this art (without the quote added over top) here:  emmaleonardart

Look, I made a thing.  

I’m so excited for you to read this book. Guilt of a Sparrow. 

When I look back at November, it’s hard to believe that I wrote an entire first draft of a book during that one month.  Yet there is a 67,000 word document that proves it happened.  

It’s this:  Guilt of a Sparrow 

I then let that work sit for a few months.  That’s what the NaNoWriMo folks suggest.  I busied myself with other endeavors, and didn’t so much as peak at my work until March.   When I did finally open that file and sit down to read my words, I wasn’t sure what to expect.  I mean, it all came out in such a rush that I was half convinced it wouldn’t make sense.  Yet, it flowed fairly nicely, and the story was pretty decent - if I do say so myself - for a first draft.  I combed through, fixed little things, then sent it off to a few Beta Readers.  

When you’re supposed to let others read your work ... I’m not that sure.  I only know that I get to a point with a story that I’m at a standstill.  It sits there, and I don’t know the next step, and feedback can be helpful.  

Funny thing was I got such opposite responses.  One reader dashed out paragraphs in nearly every chapter that were unnecessary background/bio dumps.  Another reader loved every one of those, digging the extra info and the way it was presented.  I marked up my hard copy and laughed as I looked over the opposing suggestions.  

I am currently heavy into what I’m calling a rewrite.  I’m going through every single word, making tiny changes with word choice and sentence structure, and adding in even more sensory stuff.  I feel like I’ve finally found my voice with this book.  It’s me through and through, while being complete fiction.  Such a strange thing, writing.  

That book I wrote, it’s not about me.  It’s fiction.  

Only, that isn’t the whole truth.  Because part of me is in there.  My struggles and fears, they bleed their way into the story.  It’s about me without ever truly having me in it’s pages.  I am behind every word, but never truly there as the story plays out.