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matrilI find myself in a bit of a slump, writing-wise. This has happened before and will doubtless happen again, yet it always hits me hard.
The last novel I wrote was, how shall we put this, not my strongest effort. It was the first sequel I've written in a long time, and I went into it with only the barest of plot outlines. So it's too short, and not super-cohesive, and I'm sure has many other flaws I haven't even begun to uncover yet. It also happens to be the second in a planned trilogy, but I know I can't move on to the next book when this one is still such a mess. I really like the first one (and it absolutely needs a sequel, no question of that) so I want to make the follow-up worthy of its predecessor. However, as I've mentioned many times before, revisions and macro editing are my least favorite parts of writing. Without a fresh draft to create, I feel dried-up.
What about my other writing outlets? Well, I just wrote two enormous fan fics, practically novella length. I thoroughly enjoyed the process of writing them, but I don't know that there's much point in posting them. I have vague notions of setting up a Star Wars pseudonym with my Archive of our Own account - heaven knows I have a backlog of hundreds, maybe thousands, of pages of fics that I could upload - but I'm wary of entering the SW fandom full force right now, having disliked the non-Lucas film so thoroughly. With everyone gushing about it, who's going to get excited by a bunch of massive introspective pieces on Padmé's role in the prequel movies? And yet fanworks seem to be the only outlet for my fiction writing that has any pull for me right now. I mean, look at the ridiculous number of Les Starwarbles songs I've written, even when the only people drawing excitement from it other than me are my husband and my daughter. (Signs, at least, that I very much married the right guy and I'm raising my daughter to be pretty much my clone.)
In the way of non-fiction I've been writing weekly posts pretty consistently on my Wordpress Blog, in a series on women in speculative fiction. I enjoy it, but it doesn't quite satisfy me the same way as writing fiction. Plus, it feels a bit too much like shouting into the void. I've had a number of random bloggers start following and/or liking that blog, but from the looks of it they're just fishing for a mutual like/follow - they're not leaving comments or showing any evident interest in starting a conversation. I'm well aware that if I started leaving comments and showing an interest in starting a conversation on other blogs I could make it more likely on my own blog...but it's a huge challenge for me to stick my neck out like that.
Speaking of which, I'm still sending out queries for Silver, but it's starting to feel pointless. No interest. Last year I did have one agent (or agent's assistant, anyway) request a partial, which was absolutely thrilling!! and terrifying!! and then they passed. Don't get me wrong, it's farther than I've ever gotten in the querying process before, and she had some helpful specific thoughts about why she passed. And even an open offer that I should re-query after polishing my writing, since she liked the concept of the book. Awesome, except that terrifies me even more. Because I just can't seem to assess the point at which my writing is good enough. I'm in a frame of mind now that every re-read has me loathing my writing more and more. I need more objective readers, except to get a reliable beta reader you really need to be a reliable beta reader yourself so you can return the favor, and what the heck do I know about how to be a good writer? If I knew that I'd be published by now. :P
Times like these I have to ask myself - why do I write? Is it only to get praise from readers? Do I really feel like it's a waste if I don't eventually get published? No...I wouldn't take it that far. I write for myself, first and foremost. I always have and I always will. Still, there's an undeniable yearning to be able to share that writing with a nice big group of readers. I don't know why. Ego? Validation? Is it the height of arrogance to assume that what I write is so good it just has to be propagated to a wide-spread audience?
This is undoubtedly a symptom of a larger existential crisis, the one I undergo routinely every month or so. With my kids in school and a large part of my day free from specifically scheduled responsibilities, it's easy to feel useless, to ask such melodramatic questions as "What is the point of me??" Having too much time on my hands is a far better problem than being too busy, of course, and I try not to be too whiny about it. But I really believe there is an intrinsic need within us to feel useful. Particularly in a way that makes us feel uniquely useful. I care for my children and our home; that's of the utmost importance. And tons of parents do that. My brain automatically discounts it. Yes, of course I take the kids to school and make sure they're clothed and fed. Any decent mother in my situation would do the same. But what do I have to contribute that I alone could offer? Writing seems the clearest answer, as I've always considered it one of my strengths, the thing that most defines who I am and what I love to do. Have I only ever been fooling myself to think that? Am I the most egotistical fool for needing any of this validation? Just be content to be an ordinary person, wash the dishes and do the laundry and pick up the kids from school. Be content with my little hobbies in the in-between time. Contentedness, however, remains perpetually elusive.
The last novel I wrote was, how shall we put this, not my strongest effort. It was the first sequel I've written in a long time, and I went into it with only the barest of plot outlines. So it's too short, and not super-cohesive, and I'm sure has many other flaws I haven't even begun to uncover yet. It also happens to be the second in a planned trilogy, but I know I can't move on to the next book when this one is still such a mess. I really like the first one (and it absolutely needs a sequel, no question of that) so I want to make the follow-up worthy of its predecessor. However, as I've mentioned many times before, revisions and macro editing are my least favorite parts of writing. Without a fresh draft to create, I feel dried-up.
What about my other writing outlets? Well, I just wrote two enormous fan fics, practically novella length. I thoroughly enjoyed the process of writing them, but I don't know that there's much point in posting them. I have vague notions of setting up a Star Wars pseudonym with my Archive of our Own account - heaven knows I have a backlog of hundreds, maybe thousands, of pages of fics that I could upload - but I'm wary of entering the SW fandom full force right now, having disliked the non-Lucas film so thoroughly. With everyone gushing about it, who's going to get excited by a bunch of massive introspective pieces on Padmé's role in the prequel movies? And yet fanworks seem to be the only outlet for my fiction writing that has any pull for me right now. I mean, look at the ridiculous number of Les Starwarbles songs I've written, even when the only people drawing excitement from it other than me are my husband and my daughter. (Signs, at least, that I very much married the right guy and I'm raising my daughter to be pretty much my clone.)
In the way of non-fiction I've been writing weekly posts pretty consistently on my Wordpress Blog, in a series on women in speculative fiction. I enjoy it, but it doesn't quite satisfy me the same way as writing fiction. Plus, it feels a bit too much like shouting into the void. I've had a number of random bloggers start following and/or liking that blog, but from the looks of it they're just fishing for a mutual like/follow - they're not leaving comments or showing any evident interest in starting a conversation. I'm well aware that if I started leaving comments and showing an interest in starting a conversation on other blogs I could make it more likely on my own blog...but it's a huge challenge for me to stick my neck out like that.
Speaking of which, I'm still sending out queries for Silver, but it's starting to feel pointless. No interest. Last year I did have one agent (or agent's assistant, anyway) request a partial, which was absolutely thrilling!! and terrifying!! and then they passed. Don't get me wrong, it's farther than I've ever gotten in the querying process before, and she had some helpful specific thoughts about why she passed. And even an open offer that I should re-query after polishing my writing, since she liked the concept of the book. Awesome, except that terrifies me even more. Because I just can't seem to assess the point at which my writing is good enough. I'm in a frame of mind now that every re-read has me loathing my writing more and more. I need more objective readers, except to get a reliable beta reader you really need to be a reliable beta reader yourself so you can return the favor, and what the heck do I know about how to be a good writer? If I knew that I'd be published by now. :P
Times like these I have to ask myself - why do I write? Is it only to get praise from readers? Do I really feel like it's a waste if I don't eventually get published? No...I wouldn't take it that far. I write for myself, first and foremost. I always have and I always will. Still, there's an undeniable yearning to be able to share that writing with a nice big group of readers. I don't know why. Ego? Validation? Is it the height of arrogance to assume that what I write is so good it just has to be propagated to a wide-spread audience?
This is undoubtedly a symptom of a larger existential crisis, the one I undergo routinely every month or so. With my kids in school and a large part of my day free from specifically scheduled responsibilities, it's easy to feel useless, to ask such melodramatic questions as "What is the point of me??" Having too much time on my hands is a far better problem than being too busy, of course, and I try not to be too whiny about it. But I really believe there is an intrinsic need within us to feel useful. Particularly in a way that makes us feel uniquely useful. I care for my children and our home; that's of the utmost importance. And tons of parents do that. My brain automatically discounts it. Yes, of course I take the kids to school and make sure they're clothed and fed. Any decent mother in my situation would do the same. But what do I have to contribute that I alone could offer? Writing seems the clearest answer, as I've always considered it one of my strengths, the thing that most defines who I am and what I love to do. Have I only ever been fooling myself to think that? Am I the most egotistical fool for needing any of this validation? Just be content to be an ordinary person, wash the dishes and do the laundry and pick up the kids from school. Be content with my little hobbies in the in-between time. Contentedness, however, remains perpetually elusive.
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no subject
Date: 2016-03-11 11:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-12 02:03 am (UTC)I've avoided Twitter thus far as I suspect that its character limit would have me obsessing far too often over composing perfect pithy tweets, but I may surrender eventually, as I know that's where a lot of publishing types do their networking. Sigh. I do link to my blog posts on Facebook, but obviously that's a more limited audience, and most of my extended family and friends/acquaintances aren't particularly engaged by my very specific niche topics....
no subject
Date: 2016-03-12 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-13 12:42 am (UTC)