Writer’s Conference Series, Part 2
Four am. I woke up to the van’s alarm. At a writer’s conference in a lovely mountain setting, I knew the sound might disturb the occupants of nearby cabins. I jumped up to switch off the alarm, checked out the window to make sure the van was secure, and settled back into bed. I had a good two hours of sleep ahead, three if possible.
But my mind refused to comply. It was early morning on the third day of the conference. Questions jumbled into my head. “Where do I go from here?” “Is my book ready?” “What else should I do?” “Which agents should I follow up on?” “How do I know I’m making the right choices?”
How do I know I’m making the right choices?
I tend to be a perfectionist. This trait can be good, and it can be bad, depending on what I’m applying it to. When I’m editing the work of another, it is good to have a high level of professionalism. I have never heard back from an author whose book I’ve edited with a comment like, “You’ve given me way too many comments for improvement” or “I think you over-edited my book.” I’ve also never received negative feedback, and clients are usually very happy with my edits and suggestions.
But when it comes to my own writing, specifically my long-term works (aka books), my perfectionism can be a problem. Anne Lamott’s statement in Bird by Bird comes to mind:
“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life … I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”
So I’m not really afraid of dying. But I’m terrified of making the wrong decision about my manuscript. I got the idea for my current work in progress (WIP) in 2012. In 2013, the first draft was complete. Since that time, I have revised and rewritten it after input from friends, other writers, and even an editing client or two. But it’s still not ready. So while finishing the manuscript, I have been thinking about other aspects of the writing process … particularly the publishing.
And I keep drawing blanks.
These days a question for a lot of writers is, “Should I traditionally published or self-publish?” I am not going to delve into that topic here, as it would be a blog post on its own (coming soon). But it is one subject I’ve spent hours of time reading, discussing, and praying about … for the last three years. It still is not clear.
Another question that has risen time and again is, “Should I get an agent?” And on its tail, “How do I know who the right agent is for me?” A fair bit of air time during the conference was devoted to the topic of agents, and my thoughts grew muddied and confused. I’ve been considering the subject for two years now. And it still isn’t clear. (Another upcoming post.)
I had also spoken to an agent the previous day who mentioned that the particular style of book I’m writing is … well, he gave me the word picture of a funnel. Hundreds, thousands perhaps, of writers producing those types of books. They cannot all be published, especially the traditional route.
So that morning, thanks to a rabbit and a car alarm, I tossed. I turned. I rearranged my pillow. I rearranged my blanket. I thought. I prayed. And I grew more confused. I began to cry, as quietly as I could.
“Why,” I asked the Lord, “after so much time trying to find clarity, am I still not sure? I don’t even know how to find the right path for my book, much less which direction to go to publish it.”
It seems silly writing about it now, crying over my book. It’s not like I got a rejection letter or a negative critique. My own thoughts and obsession with making the right choice had me in a tizzy. I knew I had to get to the core of what was bothering me so much. And it came to me.
I was afraid.
Terrified of going in the wrong direction and regretting it later. What if I self-published and ruined my chances for traditionally publishing? What if I signed on with an agent and later discovered he is not the right one? What if? What if?
I was not just afraid; I was paralyzed by fear.
But at least I had seen it. Now what could I do about it? My tears refused to cease as I asked God to help me. I didn’t want to be afraid anymore.
I felt the urging in my heart: Go back to the beginning. The beginning of what? And then I knew. The beginning of my writing journey for the book. It was an experience that had left me in tears in the parking lot of my college campus. That day, sitting in my car, I had begun to write. And those words were the dawning of the book.
A promise was its core. “If I be lifted up from the earth, I will draw all men unto me.”
Self-publishing. Traditional publishing. Blog posts. Facebook posts. With an agent; without one. My mission remains the same. It isn’t really about the questions. Yes, study. Yes, research. Yes, do the homework and the cost-counting. But when all is said and done, I am called to one purpose.
I write to lift up the Cross.