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Tourette's


As rain began to patter across my windshield, I listened to a teacher in New York who was fired from his job because he has Tourette's Syndrome. His distress and grief came through and I felt for him. What, I thought, a story.

Obviously, it isn't a good story, in that it isn't a story about good things. But it was a good story because it had merit. It had worth. And I thought that it'd be so nice if my life had that, too--a story of worth or merit.
That isn't to say that my life is bereft of anything dramatic or interesting. It's just that my life is so simple, so padded, so convenient that I hardly notice the bumps as bumps--they all feel like mass potholes when, in reality, they're mostly just pebbles.

I guess a large part of it is that I spend so much time talking about writing and teaching others about writing and thinking about writing that I never sit down and hammer out sentences, putting one letter after another until the page is blank.

Part of this feeling comes from a couple of milestones: One, I started revising Writ in Blood a while ago and have tucked away just over a quarter of it. It hasn't been easy; the story is stale to me, having gone through it so often. I'm ready to be done with it, but only my own pigheadedness is letting me push through.

Two, in a week or two I'll be 'celebrating' my anniversary of having finished the book. I was without quidditch back then, so my Saturdays were filled with writing. I still remember--quite vividly--the feeling of wandering around UVU trying to finish the book once I got kicked out of the library. Now I'm wandering around, wondering how in the world I can balance everything I want--while knowing that I can't.

Three, I did submit to an agent in New York.

Four, I did get rejected by an agent in New York.

Five, I talked with Brandon Sanderson for about an hour and a half this week, listening to him share his experiences about publishing. He read over the first page of my book (which was really exciting, though for me, when I'm really, really excited, I'm rather calm and collected--unless it involves roaring at dinosaurs). I thought he'd have dozens of small recommendations on how I could tweak it and slim it down.

He didn't have one.

In fact, he called it dense, poetic, and contemplative--which he meant neither as a compliment (which is how I took it, since that's what my book's about) nor as an insult. His point was that the writing was good--it just might have a hard time selling. There's nothing wrong with starting books out with dense, poetic, and contemplative prose, but that's going to be hard for others to jump into. It's worth it (I like to think), but it isn't easy. And, since I have no brand name to lever, it's a majorly uphill battle.

He told me to write another book.

Six, we're expecting our third kid this July, and I always seem to start a new book when a new kid is born--something I had mentioned before--and he said, jokingly, that I was going to do it anyway, so I may as well.

So I'm at this really distinct point at my life: I may have pushed this book as far as I can get it (except for the final revisions, of course), and I may have enjoyed my quidditch life as long as I can. With a new baby on the way, a thirtieth birthday celebrated, and another school year (almost) down, I can't really see the pathway forward.

As the rain came down on my car, I almost envied the man who had lost his job to Tourette. I guess it feels like my life has writer's block--but at least he still has something to say.

Comments

Unknown said…
You should let me read your book! I would love to write a book and have it published, but I'm an extremely impatient person. Good for you for sticking with it, best of luck!
Mimi Collett said…
That is SO COOL that you got to talk to Brandon Sanderson.

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