Doubts and Decisions

Piles and piles of drafts, copyright Lori Gravley

I planned a new romance in early October, got my characters down, laid out my primary beats. I was ready for NaNo early because I had to travel beginning on Oct. 16.  

Then, I had time to think, and a new world began to form in my head.  A series of novels that would fit more readily in line with my brand for young people--interesting characters, a vivid world--ohhh, exciting.  So, I did some character development and decided I’d just pants a little with my beat cards (the note cards I have the describe each of the beats in general, I’ll talk about these in a later post).  

Last night was kick off, and . . . I wrote 1300 words.

Every single word felt like a struggle.  I went to sleep asking why. I often do this as sleep gives me answers that I sometimes can't find in the bustle of awakeness.  

When I woke up this morning, I realized it’s because though I love to write new things, love to create new characters and worlds, what I really need to do this year is to tend the old ones.  

In the past ten years, I have written: 

• twenty-five picture books

• one chapter book

• four poetry chapbooks.

• two full-length poetry collections

• one verse memoir

• two medieval mysteries for middle grade (in a series)

• two adult romances (with an entire world and possibilities for more)

• two paranormal mid-grade novels (in a four-book series)

• two stand-alone middle-grade contemporary novels

• a book about putting a poetry collection together

• a book of essays on writing

• a memoir about marriage

I have revised some of these projects upwards of forty times. I have sent them out sporadically, but still:

• I do not have an agent. 

• I do not have a book in the world. 

• I do not have a contract for a book. 

I woke up knowing that my plans for this month needed to change.  My world and my characters won’t go away, but writing my 41^st book wasn’t actually going to move my career forward.  

And I do want a career in writing.  I love the rush of energy that comes from creating a new world, it’s that post-partum joy of being a new mother that is such a rush.  But if I just keep pushing these babies out without helping them grow to adulthood, I’m doing my darlings and myself a disservice.  So, I’m announcing right now that this year, I’m a rebel.  

I will rewrite the book that I’ve been trying to rewrite for a year, Wild Things.  It’s a book I love and that I think might have a place in the MG contemporary market.  As a reward, I’ve told my world and characters that I will give them January and February to come alive in this world. 

After all, I’ll need something to do while I’m sitting around waiting to hear from agents about Wild Things.  

On Failure

Travel is inspiring, but travel for work can be exhausting and
can lead to failure. 

A couple of weeks ago, I talked about how much I loved challenges.  But I wouldn’t have loved them as much eight years ago when I was struggling with perfectionism.

Let me tell you where this is coming from.  I had a great January. Did the work, sent the work out, revised the work.  Showed up!  Hooray.  February has been more of a challenge (but not the good kind).

I love the job that pays my bills.  But, it means I travel long distances (which can be exhausting and disorienting no matter how much I enjoy it).  It means that I am with strangers 6-10 hours a day, which is about 100 percent more time than I usually spend with strangers.  I’m an introvert who needs silence.  When I’m working at my paying job (one or two weeks out of every two months, generally), the hours I write and the hours I gather in are cut back from a strong rope to a slender thread. 

So, in February, though it’s halfway through the month, I’ve only written eight poems.  Since I left for Kenya on Feb. 4, I’ve written fewer than 4,000 words.  Picture books are too bulky to carry, so I haven’t read any.  I have two on my laptop that I downloaded from the library, but I haven’t read them yet.  I have poems that need to be sent out.  I did post date some blog posts before I left, so at least that’s done.  But overall, I’ve failed to meet my goals.

Failed.  For a perfectionist, that's a powerful word.  In the past, failing to write poems from Feb. 5-9 as I did would mean that I wouldn’t write any more poems in February.  Maybe not even for the entire year. 

Here's the photo, taken in Kenya during rush 

hour that inspired my poem "Transfiguration."

This is a type of stork that my taxi driver said 

was only found in downtown Nairobi.  You 

thought geese were bad. 

Not keeping up with my word commitment would mean that I’d probably stop writing for a month or two.  But I’ve learned a lot about myself in the past eight years.  Now I know that just because I don’t always meet my goals , it doesn’t mean I won’t meet my goals.  It just means that I’m having a momentary set back.  I can get back to work on the goal when space (mental or physical) opens up. I can write a poem when I have the energy and quiet to find inspiration.  If I don’t have energy, I can forgive myself, take a walk on the treadmill, or sit by the pool and soak in the world.

Today after a twelve-hour flight across Africa and Europe,  I was sitting in the airport waiting to board my flight back across the Atlantic. I looked at a picture I’d taken on the drive to the airport and wrote a poem.  Though the travel can sometimes get in the way of my work, it also feeds my work. 

I finished a long chapbook last year inspired by my travels (Liminality) that is well on its way to becoming a full-length manuscript.  The book is about the places I’ve seen and by the otherness  and peculiar dislocation of travel. 

Now, on the plane, I’m writing this blog post.  I have free economy plus upgrades, so I have plenty of space for my laptop.  (All the travel I do has other benefits, too.)

I don’t have to meet every challenge I set for myself perfectly.  But challenges keep me moving forward.  Since I’ve learned to forgive myself, to be gentle and patient with myself when I encounter difficulties in my writing practice, I find that it’s easier to come back to the work. 

Note:  One book that really helped me think differently about my perfectionism was The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown.  It's helped me accept my wonderful imperfections (most of the time). 

In Praise of Duotrope

My writer friends have been singing the praises of Duotrope for over a year, but I resisted.  I wasn't sending enough work out to make it useful.  It was an unneeded expense ($5 a month), and I can't even remember what other excuses I made.

But as part of my impossible things year, I decided to send my work out more often.  My old index card system of tracking poems as I sent them out seemed a little outdated, so I looked at Duotrope again.  Then my friend Becky told me that when she got work back rejected, she immediately sent it out to two more places.  Rejected again? She sent it to three.

That sounded like a great idea, and a good reason to sign up for this list of over 5,000 markets for poetry, fiction, and non-fiction.  So, sign up I did.

And I'm so thankful.  It does make it easier to turn the work right around.  I have a list of favorite markets I'd like to send to, so when a poem that I'm sure is ready for printing gets rejected, I go to my favorites and send it out again, on the same day!

This morning I discovered an even better reason to love Duotrope.  On your home screen, it lists your average acceptance rate (don't know why I just noticed it today).  One rejection can send me reeling in self doubt, that's why the quick turnaround works for me.  But this is pretty sweet, too.  No way to let the negative bias take over when the statistics say this.

The $5 a month is money well spent.  Thanks Becky, thanks Lara and Debra, thanks Duotrope.

www.duotrope.com