My answer is easier than it used to be. When I finish a novel (and usually even if it’s just a story he isn’t going to handle) I send it to my agent. I also send it to a select group of readers (after politely asking permission) who explain to me how much work it still needs…

And I go on to work on something else while I try to get over the agony of waiting.

DNW

How about sitting on the couch together, pretending you also watch television, he thinks you’re great because you don’t yell when he changes to the ESPN channel, yet you are absorbed in the latest revision, or are jotting out more of what you’ve been dying to type out all day long, …

“Hon,” you hear above the pounding of the blood in your veins and the tapping of your fingertips on keyboard keys.

“Huh?” You kinda look up in a daze. Half in this world, half in that other.

“Did you hear that?”

“Wha-?” You’re blank.

He has the most heartfelt emotional look on his face since he asked for your heart, “That interview with the football coach. His wife has cancer, his son has MS, and his team comes over to his house every night to support him…” (or whatever the ESPN sob-story is this week).

“No. No, I didn’t hear that.” And you return to your writing on the laptop.

Another missed moment of intimacy, of sharing his interests – wasted. Justlikethat.

If only dating had been this honest.

And because of that, I’d like to add myself to the list of folks who advocate sitting on a “finished” manuscript for a while before letting it out. For me, to fully get away from the writing, I opt for mind-melting activities like playing video games and trying to win those cheap stuffed animals at carnivals. If I must write in the meantime, It’ll be something completely different, like writing dirty limericks. During the “sitting on” time, I actually WANT to derail the creative process–albeit temporarily–to clear the mind of bias. (OK, I’ll admit that a real good limerick takes creativity, not to mention an acute economy of words.)

A month later, when I put the train back on the track, I can easily spot the stuff that doesn’t flow. I even slashed an entire chapter out of my first book’s manuscript before sending it out.

I was glad I did: that mean-n-lean travel narrative book, published last year, has received tasty reviews, and managed to score a finalist slot in ForeWord Magazine’s Book of the Year Awards. Now if I can just get the book in the hands of Bill Bryson…

Oh, I skipped the search-for-an-agent part. I guess I’m lucky since nonfiction generally sells better than fiction, and my long term plan is to use my first book’s sales figures to score an agent for my next book.

That sounds great, huh? It was, except I have done it twice now, and come very close w/ editors and submissions.

Am back to querying, sending pages, awaiting responses.

My advice – don’t stop working – write the next book while you’re querying the first one. I now have three novels to shop and it won’t be too long before I’m working on the fourth.

Second advice – hope for the dream come true and that things happen quickly – but be prepared for a longer haul. Enjoy the writing process every single day – b/c the hurdles never stop. If only I had an agent turns into if only my book sells turns into if only my book wins an award/bestsells/etc.

Suzanne – Your story makes me happy!

Karen – Thank you for your story. Wow. And I’ve been searching for this article and finally found it. It’s the story of Joshua Bell, one of the best and most popular violinists of the era, agreeing to play in the subway to see what happens.

It’s fascinating, and it clarifies a lot, and also makes me like him all the more. If anyone has time to read this, it’s worth it, and it reads like a story from This American Life:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/04/AR2007040401721.html

I think I must have developed this skill when my husband and I were first married and we made our living selling his stoneware pottery at art shows. If you’ve ever sat in a booth surrounded by your wares for twelve or more hours a day and watched hundreds of people glance inside and then walk on by, you understand rejection. I remember one show where the fair-goers were definitely the beer and peanuts crowd, while we were trying to sell sculptures that went for several hundred dollars apiece. A single sale at the end of the final day brought in enough gas money to get home . . .

And yet at some shows, for whatever reason, there’s a good match between you and the shoppers, and you sell your stuff hand over fist.

Art is subjective, and writing is art. A no from an agent doesn’t mean any more than an art fair goer’s dismissive glance. And anyone who’s gone to an art show has been that person who’s looked into a booth and walked on by – I’ve done it myself. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with the artwork, and indeed, the booth might be crowded with other shoppers – just that it’s not right for me.

I think if a writer can adopt that attitude – that there’s nothing personal in a rejection; it just wasn’t a good fit – the rejections won’t sting as much. Oh, they’re still disappointing, for sure, because a rejection represents the closing of a door, but like I said before, all those rejections become nothing once we find the agent or editor who loves our work.