I recently signed up for a class with a firm that provides a variety of services to aspiring authors, including those with an idea who can take online classes augmented with over the phone coaching to start their project off right, all the way through to a class designed to help those who have completed writing a novel or memoir and need to learn all about the publishing process. I fell into the latter category.
I had met the founder of the company at a writing conference a little less than a year ago, and liked her enthusiasm and confidence and her commitment to helping writers. I had finished my first novel, and thought I was ready to pitch it, and did. It’s now in a drawer, and surprisingly, it is not shouting out for my help right now. Instead, I embarked on my second novel, a story that I had carried around for a while, and that came onto the page with relatively little angst. It had its moments, no doubt, but the story seemed more ready for me somehow than the first had been.
I signed up for the class to ready my pitch to agents, and back-timed the completion date. I would be ready by September. I worked through ten weeks of exercises. The class prepared me well for the hardest parts, providing encouragement and plenty of links to editors, coaches and writers who all lamented and advised on the query letter and the synopsis. Still, even with all the advice and preparation, cutting my novel of 83,476 words to two pages of the most salient part of the story, and then further to just a two paragraph query, was just as painful as they all said it would be, but at least I knew I was not alone. I spent more than one week on each, and another two weeks on researching agents and agencies.
Finally, I submitted my work to the reviewer tasked with giving me feedback. She filled my pages with questions and comments, and she made sure to point out three killer paragraphs in my writing that she loved. Here is what I remember from my first reading of her feedback. “You are not ready.” That’s it. Over the next week, I took a ride on the following roller coaster:
1. Day One: Deny
Obviously, you did not understand my work. In fact, you changed a few words in the synopsis that changed the whole story, and your comments from that point on were just based on something other than the reality of my novel. Maybe I should ask you to re-read again?
2. Day Two: Ignore
I need to work today. I will deal with you later.
3. Day Three: Shut Down
There are three themes to my book. Not one. How simple-minded a reader would only want one? I read all the comments again. I tweak a few words in my synopsis.
4. Day Four: Dim Light Shines
Okay, I thought about it. The book is about the third theme you pointed out. I attack the synopsis with this in mind to see what might happen, and it changes. I re-read the blogs and the other links provided about writing a synopsis for the class. I edit mine to two pages, and the two other themes now present as sub-plots, I think. Interesting result.
5. Day Five: Illumination
I see how where I started my book, page one, might be an issue. And I knew that info dump in the first chapter was questionable. You clarified. It wasn't just questionable, it was wrong. I rewrite without all that, shorten things, move sentences, edit them down, edit them out. That page long conversation that went nowhere. You thought it was clever, too, but called it as extraneous. I knew, but I loved it. So funny and so true. I pared it to what was important. It’s only a paragraph now, but the point is made.
6. Day Six: Experiment
I write a new beginning. I edit the rest of the first chapter again. I take my dog for a walk. I edit it again.
7. Day Seven: Awaken
I wake to read what I have written. I think. I close the file and hope that I do not open it again for one week. I think it just might be better after all.
In three weeks, I will resubmit it all to you, my dear and wise reviewer. Sit tight. Perhaps I will be more ready.