How could I have forgotten to tell you!

So the last time I posted about The Barunian Incident, I was 70 words short of half finished. And then I forgot to update again!

I FINISHED!

On January 24th at 5:40 PM, The Barunian Incident clocked in at 87,543 words.

And since the muse refused to be silent, I wrote 12K words of the sequel Tavilis Rex!

And then, of course, as she often does, the muse went back to Tahiti. I got stuck somewhere in chapter 5 of the new book. I'm not really worried about it. I say this with a nod to Mr. T Wanker, "the passion will return." In the meantime, I have work to do.

I sent the MS to a friend to read. Still waiting to hear what she has to say. She did say that she's in the middle and enjoying the book. So that's good.

I'm not really looking forward to the editing process, if the truth must be told. I joined a critique site that produced good advice during the test I made with the prologue. But it's still going to be a HUGE amount of work to send it through critique because for each chapter iIsend through, I have to crit a chapter of someone else's work. And then I have to read all the commentary and decide what revisions to make.

I did read the book again last week, and it still seems like a pretty good book. Maybe not enough sword fighting and too much love making. I've been keeping track of revisions I want to make. There are about three major ones and ten minor ones. I did at least one revision suggested in the critiques of the prologue. The shuttle launch was too much like the US space shuttle, and it shouldn't have been. That made a lot of sense to me since the book takes place like 5K years in the future. But some other things... dunno.

I'm also not looking forward to the marketing process. I've been trying to write a kick ass query for the book. My query for On the Edge got my foot in a LOT of doors (which were subsequently slammed in my face), but hey! It got me in those doors and even got a "what a fantastic query" from Ethan Ellenberg (who didn't want to read it, not his genre). I also have to do a synopsis... <funk> I hate synops. I hate them with a PASSION (see, Wanker!)! I am not looking forward to rejection after rejection. I got my fill of those with OTE. On the other hand, this isn't a skating book, so it is quite possible that it might actually SELL, which OTE didn't really have a snowball's chance in hell of doing no matter how well written it was.

Anyway, I have gotten past the delightful hours of drafting and now comes the hard work of critique, revision, and polishing, marketing and pitching, and taking rejections in stride... and the not giving up. I am going to try... not to get demoralized with this novel. If it doesn't sell, I'll write another one. Maybe even work on Like Chocolate and Cayenne (a foodie chick-lit that Natalie R Collins is always bugging me to write). I keep trying to convince myself that I SHOULD write it because it would sell... even when my heart isn't in it.

Oh dear.

I've just exposed myself as the consummate NON-professional.

I still want to write what my heart is in. With fiction, I allow myself that luxury. I spend a lot of time writing what I have to. On my own time, I write what I want to. And the truth of the matter is, if I write a foodie chick lit and it sells, The Powers That Be will want me to write another. And I don't want to. The future of foodie chick lit novels stretches out before me like an endless moving walkway at the airport. It's intolerable to go in a direction I don't want, to get on a plane I don't want, to take a trip I don't want... to get to a place that maybe I want to be. Alina Adams wrote 20 category romances before TPTB would let her write a skating novel (it sold like 25K copies too). I'm not sure I can do that.

See, JulieAnn, we don't disagree after all.

Utter nonsense

I have been having a completely awful last-7-days. I was away on business last week in San Fransisco. It rained the whole time and I was in constant pain from my arthritis (which the medical plan won't pay for a medication to control, but will pay for something cheaper which leaves me in constant pain). I did get to see a lot of people I care about, but it is just so much fun when you're sore and tired every moment of every day. Then I come home to disaster after disaster—I'm not even going to go into them—the worst of which was my oldest daughter getting the stomach flu AND appendicitis at the same time. And needless to say, I'm in a FUCKING BAD MOOD.

So, a dear friend who means well sent me the following poem "so you want to be a writer?" Go ahead. Go read it. I'll wait. And it just sent me through the roof. What utter and complete nonsense!

Writing is HARD. Writing IS rewriting. Writing is writing when you don't wanna. Writing is being critiqued. Writing is putting food on the table. Writing is not sexy and not glamorous and not always fun, expressive and a delight. Sometimes it's just damned hard work.

So this is my response:

The Professional Writer Responds to Charles Bukowski

If you can write when it's not flowing,
you're a professional writer.

If you can write when your heart, mouth and gut are dry,
you're a professional writer.

If you write despite how HARD it really is,
you're a professional writer.

If you do it for money,
you're a professional writer.

If you do it so you have a bed to sleep in and a roof over your head and a spouse to share it with,
you're a professional writer.

If you have the guts to sit and rewrite over and over and over,
Celebrate! You're a professional writer!

If you do it despite how hard it is to think about it, if you can write in any style any time,
you're a professional writer.

If you can write even when the roar of inspiration is muted,
you're a professional writer.

If you first read it to anyone and you take their critique with equanimity and incorporate their suggestions,
you're a professional writer.

If you're dull and pretentious enough to make a living instead of being a starving artist,
you're a professional writer.

The poseurs of the world have cried themselves to sleep wanting to be YOU.

Add to it.

Do it.

It's not rockets, madness, murder and suicide.
It's professionalism. Do it.

When the sun does not burn and the neither does the gut,
do it.

If you wait to be "chosen" you will waste your life and your talent and your drive.

Do it.

There is no other way.

There never has been.