Labor of Love

I know the term labor of love very well. Writing has been my hobby for well over thirty years. Even though I’m fully aware how unlikely it is anything I write will ever see the light of day in the publication world, I still do it. Mostly because I can’t picture my life without it. I’ve had some limited success with writing in the past: a handful of newspaper articles, a play produced from a script I wrote, a contest win or three. But the big one for me, the book, has proven elusive.

About fifteen years ago I wrote a short story called “The Ghost of Lake Emily,” about a couple of kids and a haunted lake. I liked it. I showed it to some people. Many liked it, but some thought it felt incomplete. They didn’t like the abrupt ending I had used and wanted to know what was going to happen next. I would think, “There is no next. That’s the end. You’re supposed to wonder.” Years later I thought back to it and reconsidered: “Well, where could the story go from there? They wake up the next morning....” Pretty soon I had enough to turn the story into what could someday be a book. After a few years of false starts and wrong directions, I managed to find the voice I felt was right for it and turned it into a richer and more exciting story than it had been originally. I showed it to more people. Some liked it, some loved it. I was very proud with what I had.

In the meantime I had written another manuscript I was very proud of which I had started submitting to literary agents with the hope that it might get noticed. And amazingly it did, by one newer agent out in New York looking to build a client list. She didn’t take me on, but gave me a lot to think about. I shelved that manuscript for some further revision at another time and instead refocused on trying my luck with Emily. This went absolutely nowhere. No interest, no sparks, nothing but form rejections. Were the sample pages I was sending too weak? Probably. Was my query letter not enticing enough? Very likely. Did the experience leave me a little jaded and frustrated about how the industry behind children’s literature had become dishearteningly formula-driven? Most definitely. And yeah, that was largely an excuse I made for myself. But sadly it’s one that I still think is more than a little true when I look at some of the brainless crap that shows up in the book orders I pass out to my students.

Accepting that Emily wasn’t going anywhere, I shelved it. I thought, “Maybe if I get another manuscript to break someday, I can pull this one out and use some publication leverage to give it a chance.” But time passed, ideas percolated, and Emily wouldn’t stop poking at my brain. I looked at it with a more critical eye and saw many things that could be better. I started to see different directions I could try. And most importantly, I reassessed my reasons for wanting to see something I’ve written get published. Was it for the money? No. Only about 0.00006% of writer’s in children’s literature have any real financial success. Was it for the glory? Not really. Of course if I’ve written something I’m proud of I’d like people to see it and know why I’m proud, but the dream of becoming a literary icon and basking in the attention of that is far out of the comfort zone of someone like me, so introverted I’m not even comfortable with the warm and fuzzy community-building activities that happen too frequently in elementary school staff meetings. (Though I’ll grant even having to endure one of these activities every seven years would be too frequent for my comfort level.)

So where does the drive to publish come from? I’ve come to realize it’s about achieving the goal and reaching the point I can legitimately call myself an author; to prove I’m at a level in my craft where it’s something I CAN do. To walk into a bookstore someday and see my name on the shelf, even if it only happens one time. (And yes, as pretentious as it sounds, I’m comfortable using the word “craft” like I did -- if you knew the kind of time I’ve spent on it recently, you’d know why.)

Late last summer I decided to take “The Ghost of Lake Emily” out and give it another try. But this time, I did it with a plan. I wanted to mold it into such a force of nature that by the time I started submitting it to literary agents, it would be impossible for all of them to say no. I revisited some of the feedback I’d received from past readers and found ideas I wanted to try. I dissected the original, removing some characters, developing new ones, adding new dimension to old ones. I mapped out the progression of three overlapping story arcs and figured out how they could compliment each other. I put together a plan of action that had me spend last fall in meticulous preparation, culminating in NaNoWriMo 2011, when I spent the month of November rewriting the entire novel into a brand new draft that wound up nearly twice as long as the previous version had been. And then I took some built-in time off. Because man, was I tired.

Then a couple weeks later I started the revision process, listening to some early feedback from a handful of first readers I knew I could trust to look past the glaring mistakes and comment on the overall structure, and using my own critical eye to attack it. I rewrote passages that didn’t work, took out words, and sentences, and paragraphs, and sections, and chapters that were unnecessary. I did a lot of clarifying, sought out inconsistencies that needed repair, tightened up the dialogue, and did a cursory check for as many grammatical errors and typos as I could find. And then last night, or more accurately very early this morning, I finished.

Is it the force of nature I want to be? Not yet. Is it ready for me to try and submit? Not even. But it’s streamlined (about 15,000 words shorter than it was a month ago), it’s polished, and stands as a fair representation of what I’m hoping it will eventually become. Most importantly it’s ready for people to see.

I don’t like asking people to read my writing because that carries an awkward sense of obligation in too many cases, but I’m greatly hoping people will WANT to read it. So with this post, I’m letting the world know it’s out there. I’d be thrilled to have you read it and I’m only waiting for you to ask. Maybe you were halfway following my word count progress on Facebook in November, or you just recently learned I’m a writer and you’re curious to see if I’ve got any game, or you’ve been following “Summer Vacation” for awhile and are interested to see what I do with fiction. If any of those things apply to you, here’s your big chance. It is children’s literature, but it’s also a full-fledged novel, well over 200 double-spaced pages if printed. The target audience would be the voracious readers of the 10-14-year-old age group, so it’s far from being a kiddie book, and since it turns out I actually know a great deal about kids and what they like to read (since I see books in their hands every day), I think this is something those big readers will eat up. So if you’d like to read it, or if you can think of some kid you know in the target age range who is a big reader and might be interested in sinking their teeth into a good creepy story and giving feedback on a work-in-progress, I’m more than happy to get a copy to you. Since it is kind of hefty, I’m holding off on printed copies until I get an idea on just how much interest there is -- why print 10 copies if only seven people want to see it? Frankly I’m hoping that some people (if not a lot) would be okay with, or even prefer, electronic copies. Those I can send out at a moment’s notice and would give you the option to read it on whatever device you have, or print at your own discretion.

I’m mostly just wanting to get the manuscript in front of as many eyes as possible, both to share it and collect whatever opinions there might be on whether or not it’s working. Like I said, it’s polished, but I’m far from done working on it, and getting as much feedback as I can from as many different people and types of readers as possible is always a helpful resource.

So if you’d like to be one of my earliest and most valued readers for the new and (I think) greatly improved version of “The Ghost of Lake Emily,” send me an e-mail. Or comment on the Facebook link that brought you here. Or post something on my wall. Or text me. Or message me through Words with Friends, or Facebook. Or write me a letter. Or send me a tweet. Or give me a phone call. Or knock on my front door, or my classroom door. Or stop me in the hallway and tell me you’re interested.

Not that I’m begging....