Perseverance

I’m re-editing Mythos (how many times has this been now?) on the advice of my current beta-reader (beta-reader #2 has gotten very busy and hasn’t gotten back to it). Most of what we’ve found are little mistakes I should have caught myself, contradictions (oops!) and awkward and vague sentences. I’m halfway through the book correcting these.

I’ve also rewritten a couple scenes to be more suspenseful, but as always, the big question comes:

Will agents like it as much as I like it?
Yes, I’m about to go through the rejection cycle again.

I know we’ve been through this before. I get excited, I send queries, and I get rejections. Why do I keep trying?

I guess I have perseverance. It might be one of my best qualities — not giving up. It may be one of my worst, as shown by the time I let a Siamese cat scratch me 28 times until I finally petted it.

So I’m probably going to resubmit Mythos soon, as well as the freshly renovated Voyageurs. Both have been rejected. I don’t know if I’ll have luck this time, either.

Richard has instructed me not to submit any queries until I’m over this dysthymic (low-level depressive) episode. I’m working on it.

Full of revision

Sorry I haven’t been writing much lately. My doc and I are working on getting me out of a minor depression, but that hasn’t kept me from being productive. I’ve been working a lot on revisions, with a goal of making the work stronger without running away screaming from ever writing again.

I have a variety of feelings when I edit:

  • How did I miss that?
  • Oh no, not again
  • How can I make this stronger?
  • I love this passage
  • What is keeping this from being published? (I never seem to answer that question)
  • Why did I think the world needed to see this novel?
  • Should I continue editing? Trying to get published?
  • What reasons might someone want to read this?
I suspect that, if I were in a more positive place, positive thoughts would take over. If I’m hypomanic, then I start thinking I’m a genius. (Hypomania is great for self-esteem until it’s not.) 
I love you and miss you all, whoever you are. 

My worst fear

“What are you most scared of?”

“This scene: I am at a party in a green, shady place. There are lawn chairs around in a big circle, and people are drinking tall cool drinks or, in my case, wonderful coffee. Many people have come, some bearing small bags.
“I come to realize that I’m the honored guest at the party. I’ve only been the honored guest twice in my life — my sixth birthday and my high school graduation, and few people stopped to either event. I think there are twenty people here, and I’m nearly crying. People here — for me?
“I mingle — after all, this is my party — and make sure people have enough to eat and drink. There’s a beautiful berry trifle and a cake and cookies and pitchers of ice tea and lemonade, and I didn’t make any of it. It was here, simply here, for us. I move through a sheen of tears. I talk in my own peculiar way, not asking about the spouse and kids, but asking what they’re doing, what they’re creating, whether it be scrapbooking or music or a pretty home or quiet for themselves. 
“Then someone makes me sit down in my chair, which they have moved to the middle of the circle. And each, one by one, comes up to me and gives me a hug and whispers to me that I am loved, that I am important. They hand me stars and hearts and flowers from the bags. They have scattered all over my chest, galaxies of shiny affection.”
“I want to run away I feel so uncomfortable. I don’t deserve this. Instead, I burst into tears and tell them, all of them, that I love them. And I hug all of them, fearing that this will go away as soon as I blink my eyes, that this will all be taken away from me.
“That’s why it’s my worst fear.”

the drought

It’s six AM, and I glance out the window at a grey morning. The evidence of last night’s rain clings to the pavement, and the sullenness of the clouds hopefully bodes for another round today. Northwest Missouri, like the rest of the state, has been facing drought, and any rain is welcome.

My country has been under a drought for two years — a lack of compassion, a lack of integrity, a lack of decency. And I look at it and see how little I can do about it besides point it out. The man who bears the title “President” has taken our thousand points of light and trampled them into the dust. And he is protected in his position by fear and greed, and by the fact that politicians, not we the people, have the only power to remove him.

How easy it seems to be for his followers to discount his words and actions. He tries on the trappings of fascism, and they say, “He’s just joking.” He attacks our allies (those who hold democracy dear) and lauds authoritarian dictators, and they say “He knows what he’s doing.” He locks children, separated from their parents, in holding pens and they say, “They were breaking the law.”

Those children, some newly born, were breaking the law.  Think about that. The law is more important than ethical violations, than morally evil actions. The difference between law and morality is that morality addresses the right action — above and beyond the letter of the law. The law is not always right — Hitler’s actions against the Jews were legal.

I am frightened. I am afraid this drought will kill us.

Looking for affirmations about writing/getting published

I’m trying to work up the courage to start the query process with Voyagers again, after having my beta readers go through it. I think I’ve done as much as I can with it without handing it off to a better writer to take it over. I still want to try to sell it as contemporary fantasy because it’s not sexually explicit and I like my sex scenes meaningful and not over-the-top horny.

So I need to stay positive. Like my beta Sheri Brown tells me, “it’s not if you get published, it’s when you get published”. I don’t do positive affirmations for myself very well, and in fact am my own worst critic.

I need you to help me with some affirmations or good words. There are several ways you can get these to me:

  • comments here
  • email: lleachie at gmail.com
  • Instagram: laurenleachsteffens
  • Facebook: lleachie
  • US Mail: 203 E. Edwards, Maryville MO 64468

Touching base

So, I’m taking a couple days’ writing retreat in southeast Kansas after the memorial service for Richard’s mother. Surprisingly, Pittsburg KS has one of the best coffeehouses I’ve ever set foot in. I’ve drunk a small nitro iced coffee (after two cups at breakfast at Otto’s Diner, so I’m really caffeinated!)

I’ve missed writing to you. As I said briefly yesterday, I finally finished my first draft of Prodigies — but that doesn’t mean I’m finished with it. It only means that I have something to tear apart in the second draft part. Is there going to be a sequel? Let me edit this one first.

Pretty soon I’m going to put Voyageurs back into the rejection cycle. At this point, I’m not sure I’ll ever be published, but I might as well model perseverence for other writers. What I really need to do is get more beta-readers and get information on how to fix the other books.

Beta readers for Mythos — haven’t heard from you for a while. Let me know how bad that book is messed up!

Other readers — want to be a beta reader?

Dark thoughts

I go through periods of time when I have dark thoughts. Most people don’t talk about their dark thoughts, unless rhey are screaming at God (a pretty healthy thing to do) or if a very talented therapist pulls them out. I have had very talented therapists and I didn’t even talk to them about the dark thoughts.

The dark thoughts are like existential questions, but the answers already seem set in stone. Thoughts like “I have not contributed anything to the world”. “I don’t feel like I truly know anyone”, “I have always been weird (which is worse than strange, I could accept strange)”, “Nobody would miss me if I died”… And that’s where the abyss opens up and swallows me.

With my imagination, it seems like I should fantasize about my heroic self fighting my way out of the dank forest, but part of the darkness is that I do not believe that I deserve good. I get triggered by failures, small and large, and how could there be a hero within me?

I wish I could tell you that all it takes to get me out of dark thoughts is for someone (my husband for example) to say, “But I love you! You’re worthwhile! People would miss you if you died!” It’s not as easy as that. I can argue with the best; I’m capable of convincing you that I have no intrinsic value.

Sometimes something breaks through. Sincere words to hug to myself, small gestures, a chance encounter on the street. A memory of something that went well. Writing things that we’re not supposed to talk about, like dark thoughts.

Progress and Struggle

Sorry I didn’t write yesterday, but I was busy getting a good stream of writing done. I’m actually about 2-3000 words from the end of Prodigies, doing the wrap-up and solidifying a few surprises I added in. I can’t believe I’m getting done with this!

My next steps are:
  • Waking up my beta-readers for Mythos and see if they’re having trouble starting the document or it’s just life stuff keeping them from reading.
  • Finishing Hearts are Mountains 
  • Revising Prodigies and Hearts are Mountains
  • Find more beta-readers
  • Keep myself from falling into an ugly cycle
More on the ugly cycle. I’m struggling in the aftermath of Anthony Bourdain’s suicide. I think it’s hitting me, even though I didn’t know him personally, but because I share his philosophy of experiencing cultures through their foods. I don’t have the ability to travel as much as he did, but I still let that desire for adventures with people and hospitality to guide my steps.
I’m also struggling with it because I’ve had times where I have had suicidal ideations, those moments where I consider dying as the only way to get rid of an avalanche of pain. The surprising thing is that these moments don’t often happen in a depressive state. They’re just as likely to happen when there’s a triggering event that results in a downward spiral of emotion. During these times, I actually try to talk myself into a suicidal state out of habit, choosing the darkest and most miserable things to think about. The typical dark thoughts go as follows:
  • I’m not good enough
  • I’m too weird
  • Nobody loves me/cares about me.
These are hard to argue against, because they’re opinion and not fact. Depending on one’s yardsticks, my viewpoint is just as legit as an outsider’s, and my proofs are just as valid as someone else’s. Fighting these rationally only drives me further down the hole.
What I have to remember is that these feelings come from a place deep inside me, where my child-self hides and needs to know that she is loved no matter what. And she wants to test it and make it real, because she’s been disappointed too many times. 
I love her and will stay with her no matter what. I will not threaten to leave her if she’s not perfect, or if she’s a bit embarrassing. I will always be here for her no matter if she panics, or she snaps at me or argues with me. 
I will not let her fall.

Writing non-fiction: It’s totally different. But is it?

I’m alternating a chapter of a non-fiction book we jokingly call “the care and feeding of roleplayers” — it’s a book to help people preparing disaster exercises how to handle the various aspects of roleplayer involvement, including moulage. (Just as a reminder, moulage — or casualty simulation — is the art of making roleplayers look injured, often severely so. It’s one of my hobbies.)

What I’m finding is that writing non-fiction takes a different approach and skill set. It’s not that I haven’t written non-fiction before — I have several research articles under my name, not to mention a 67-page dissertation. It’s just that I’ve never concentrated on both in the same day, and I didn’t write anything longer than short stories at the time. Now — I have a goal to write on both the novel and the article daily, and I’m quickly switching up between the two items.

When I write non-fiction, such as the chapter I’m writing, I have to outline the article so that my writing flows from idea to idea. I have to do research in order to support the points I’m making in the paper, so that I am grounded in realism. My observations have to be grounded in facts, because my observations might be biased and not substantive. As I tick through the outline, I note that I make progress toward the whole, and that motivates me further.

Writing the novel, as I’ve found out from previous novels, takes not only imagination but discipline, because imagination doesn’t necessarily believe in deadlines. If I set a goal of, say, 1000 pages, my imagination is more likely to deliver. Likewise, if I have an outline of where the action’s going to go, my imagination has something to embellish it. I can’t escape research when writing fiction because the laws of physics, the names of places, and the technology doesn’t change with a slightly alternative Earth.

Strangely, it looks like writing non-fiction and writing fiction have a lot in common when it comes to the importance of structure, of research, and of goals. Where they’re different is imagination — and even then, non-fiction requires a certain amount of describing examples to illustrate concepts — and that’s imagination.

Oh, well, so much for today’s essay.