Fantasies, Aspirations, and Goals

The average self-publisher sells about 250 copies of their work.

Hearing this statistic floored me. I have no doubt that it’s accurate. It’s just that — that’s not a lot of copies. I thought I was being conservative when I set a goal of 400 copies if I self-published.

I thought I was being realistic when I ruled out thousands upon thousands of copies and the New York Times bestselling list. It turns out that my scaled back fantasies — even the 400 copies if I self-published — are too unrealistic. Without realistic grounding, our aspirations are set by our fantasies, and our aspirations in turn set our goals.

It’s time for me to figure out how to pare back my goals, fueled by fantasy. My fantasy was that I would have an agent and would find a publisher of size (say, one of the Big 5) and go on a book tour where someone else made the arrangements for me and I didn’t have to buy my own copies to sign and sell.

In a way, this is freeing. This makes me realize that having 20 readers of my blog is perhaps normal, and that the agents who reject me need to so they don’t starve, given the odds of someone picking up a book and reading it.

It also means that I will never get external validation of my work if I gauge success by my fantasies. How many readers is “enough” if the average self-published book gets 250 reads? What does a rejection mean if the object is not quality but saleability?

My goals will stay the same:

Get picked up by an agent or publisher, avoiding vanity presses and publishing mills

If the above doesn’t work, research and develop an effective self-publishing strategy, avoiding self-publishing scams

What changes are the standards for success. I’m still working on scaling down my expectations. This will be difficult.

Writing Superstitions part 2

I’ve written 1200 words so far on Gods’ Seeds* as I tackle the time-honored question, “What is the best way to begin this book?” Beginnings are important, so rather than just letting the writing flow (as I do with the rest of the book), I work harder to make the beginning shine right off.

I think it’s a superstition with me that I need a strong beginning but can just let words flow for the rest of the book and edit later. I do have my superstitions around writing, though. Nothing so obvious as a lucky shirt or favorite chair.

I plan to write in this blog every day, even if I write a fluff piece about coffee or cats** , because I believe that if I give this up, I will give writing up. So I write this blog in the morning, usually 5:30 AM Central US time, almost every day, even through depressive episodes, because I believe that if I give it up, I will give up being a writer.

Do I have other writing superstitions? As I use a computer for composition, no favorite pen, no favorite shirt, no favorite place in the house (today I’m writing in bed, propped up, with my Surface propped up on a lap desk because it’s Sunday morning and I can afford to be lazy today). Nope, just the one where I stick the beginning of the novel.

Maybe I need more superstitions — where I can’t write without coffee, or I pet my cat 14 times before I write or I have to wear my thinking cap*** or … naaah, I’ll stick to the superstition I have. It doesn’t limit me much.

* I will change the name of this. See yesterday’s blog as to why I haven’t yet.
** Or coffee and cats.
*** I typed this “thinking cat”.

Decision Point

I’m at a decision point:

Do I edit Reclaiming the Balance, or do I start writing?

I think I’ve stated this before, but I haven’t written anything new since I finished Whose Hearts are Mountains back in November/December.

It’s time to write. It’s time to get reacquainted with the story line and with my main characters, Leah and Baird. I’m taking some retreat time this weekend to see what I can get going as a start.

I’m a writer again!

Editing into the Future

On my second editing pass through Whose Hearts are Mountains, I realize the story reads better than I thought.

My first edit is for word use, and I mostly eliminate as many of the passive verbs — have, had, has, was, were — with some fixing of awkward sentences as I see them. This gives me at best a choppy feel for the story.

My second edit is a reading edit, where I read to hear the sentences in my head and make sense of them. The book sounds good in my head.

Whose Hearts are Mountains isn’t even the next book I’m sending to developmental edit. I’ll send Apocalypse, which is the merciless edited version of three novels, first. But I have good feelings about Whose Hearts are Mountains that I didn’t expect I would have.

I still have to start writing a new novel soon. The only novel I have left to edit is Reclaiming the Balance, and that one has some necessary stylistic divergence (use of gender neutral pronouns for an intersex character) that I’m afraid will get in the way of its success.

I’m still wondering what I will write next. I have a few leads but do not feel passionate about any of them, mostly because they’re sequels to things already written but not yet accepted. Perhaps I’m looking for a new idea.

I am not inspired

So, I’m done editing Whose Hearts are Mountains, and I’m still at Mozingo on my writing retreat. But I don’t feel like writing. What am I to do?

Here’s my problem — I don’t have any inspiration for a new book. I haven’t since I finished Whose Hearts are Mountains (writing, not editing). This is part of the reason I’ve been editing the back catalog for eventual developmental edits.

I have an outline for another novel, but my brain feels like a brick right now. I wrote a sentence, a first sentence, and it dropped like lead, inert and boring. I don’t feel that energy of attraction to anything I’ve writing.

I think a good amount of this is how hard I’ve been trying to get an agent and how utterly fruitless my efforts have been. I’m discouraged, and it’s hard getting motivated to write when there’s a backlog of unread novels.

Wish me inspiration. Wish me luck. Wish me good spirits. Wish me love.

Another round of killing my darlings

This morning, I’m editing a story for a short story contest. When I first wrote the story, I wrote it as an origin story for one of my characters and an exploration into cross-cultural relationships. For the contest, I knew I would have to edit out about 500 words to meet the word count.

But then, in the middle of editing words out, I realized several things. First, that the story could and should stand alone from its original purpose, so I edited out references to the magical realism world it came from. Next, embarrassingly, that there wasn’t enough tension in the story to make it memorable. I want to place the biggest part of the tension internally, not externally, even though there’s tension in the relationship between the two characters as well.

Writing is this process in which getting the ideas down on paper is only the first part. Refining the story into something that’s not just readable but skillful becomes the harder part. The hardest part is looking at what you’ve written with a critical eye, carving away parts of the story that do not serve their purpose, no matter how much one loved them when they were written. This is why the rule of editing is “Kill your darlings,” because in effect that is what the writer does in polishing.

I’m off now to kill my darlings.

Seeking direction again

(Note: I am experimenting with larger print for a reader of mine.)

Idea for my next book from the idea file:

Luke Dunstan, 6000-year-old Archetype, serves as a liaison between the immortal Archetypes and the humans whose cultural DNA the Archetypes hold. An edict from the Archetypes’ Maker bids the Archetypes prepare to return these memories in the trust of the humans. Facing their loss of identity, the Archetypes draw battle lines; countless human lives are at stake. It is up to Luke and one young woman, Leah Inhofer, to stop the battle of Archetype against Archetype.

*******

I really need to get back into writing. Or at least editing.

I’ve been editing a bit, but even then I often skip out on it because it’s tedious to go through a document to kill all the extra “have had has was were”. I haven’t written on a novel since finishing Whose Hearts are Mountains in December. I have some old ideas in my file (see above) but no new “a-ha” falling in love with the idea motivation.

Writing the blog every day, as I mentioned yesterday, is my lifeline to writing. As long as I write in my blog I’m still a writer. Right?

I’m afraid that if I keep getting rejections, my current lack of commitment puts me in an easy place to just walk away. This might be a good thing for me in the greater scheme of things, but it’s not good when I think about being a writer.

So I’m musing about what to do. Again.

Ready to Quit?

My tarot reading for today (Deck: The Good Tarot, a positive psychology/affirmations deck) says it’s time to decide whether I want to continue writing or not.

For all my threats of giving up, I’m not sure I’m ready. The problem is that when I want to quit, I’m running on feelings and moods, which in my case can run rather intense. What’s worse, I’m running on that primordial soup of past hurts that it’s easy to fixate on:

I thrive on recognition.Recognition is the positive attention that kept me going through a rather negative childhood.

I don’t deal well with rejection. (Who does?) As an overweight, highly intelligent, awkward child, I received a lot of rejection so I tend to overreact to it.

I don’t like being made a fool of, having been the butt of jokes much of my life. I’m afraid I’m being a fool by continuing to hope.

On the other hand:

I see myself as a hopeful person

I highly admire perseverance

I like the image of being a writer (although I wrestle with whether I need traditional publishing to feel like a writer)

I like writing. A lot. Editing, not so much. Querying — I love the optimism I feel when I send out a new query. I hate rejections.

I love to have people discover my writing.

The key, though, is that if I quit only to find that someone picks up Prodigies, I would un-quit in a second. If I had readers, especially ones I could communicate with, I would write with and for a community.

Quitting won’t get me what I need. So, how do I get what I need out of writing?

Writing Every Day

I have been writing this blog for 21 months on nearly a daily basis, and in a few cases, more than once a day. I’ve missed a week at a time during times I was fighting depression, but for the most part I’ve stuck to this blog. It’s become part of my being, part of my definition as a writer.

Writing this blog wasn’t always part of my definition of myself. Neither, for that matter, was writing in general. What it took was a discipline of writing every day.

Writing every day is not an easy thing. First of all, one has to commit to an action that may not feel natural. I write every morning, generally between 5:30 and 6:30 AM (today is an exception; I didn’t get up at my usual 5 am because it’s a snowy weekend). I can guarantee that, at first, writing a blog first thing in the morning was not something I felt moved to do. Now, because of the scheduled habit, I write my blog almost every morning.

Writing in general wasn’t a habit at first. But after a NaNoWriMo or two, I discovered that 2000 words a day (most days; I think my average per day is more like 1500) wasn’t difficult. So I ended up with somewhere around six novels to play around with, and I’ve been writing for seven years.

Right now I’m not writing because I discovered editing time is as important as writing. So I have the goal of editing at least an hour a day, and so far I’ve been pretty successful (but I have about 5000 more words to add to Voyageurs, and this will be a bit tough. Whee.

Habits aren’t very sexy. It’s much more compelling to be that writer who does nothing but write for days, forsaking everything but coffee (or in the case of Coleridge, some prime hash), who shuns responsibility while feverishly writing. In reality, most writers are not that person, nor can they be. So writers need habits to take the slow, sure course of writing.

Although writing binges, within reason, are a good thing, because it’s fun to feel like the crazed stereotype at times.

We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet …

I don’t make resolutions, because they’re more wish than goal without the supports that will make it happen. However, it is my custom over New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day to do all the important things I want to incorporate in my life. In other words, I prefer my superstitious tradition to the superstitious tradition of making resolutions. Go figure.

Therefore, in the next two days, I need to:

Write. Yes, I haven’t given that up yet. I am writing this (because I want to maintain the blog) and I will hit my head against the dev edit of Voyageurs which somehow needs 24,000 words without extraneous information. Or maybe I should write the first page of a future novel.
Eat well. I’ve actually been doing that for the most part for almost three years. I’ve lost 65 lbs from my heaviest. I’d like to lose 20 more pounds, but my body doesn’t seem to want to, I don’t want to fall back into old habits.
Walk. This is something I need to incorporate in my life. I need to find more supports to walking because it’s not something I love to do.
Work. By this I mean start to organize my new semester. I will probably set up my new semester calendar today or tomorrow.
Self-care. Good smelling bath and a facial mask for fun. Rose perfume (which I got cheaply — it’s a sample size).
Reach out to others. This has been very difficult for me lately. My fears of rejection have multiplied with all the writing rejections I’ve gotten.
Laugh. Oh, hell, I don’t need to try to do that. I laugh all the time.

Love and best wishes for your New Year (if you celebrate this version of New Year)!