Friday, January 11, 2008

still driving at night

I only want to write. And there𠏋 no college for that except life. --Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle

Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. --E.L. Doctorow

So here I am, facing a new semester of my tailor-made 孄raduate school,� where the next class is: Rewriting Your First Novel.

It is exciting to sit with the bulky, edge-tattered manuscript on my lap, and say to my sister: Pick a spot, and I𠑥l start reading! It𠏋 a familiar bulk, too. While I was editing manuscripts for Winepress and Zondervan, I always had at least one huge stack of pages, rubber-banded together, which makes this current stack a bit less daunting. (When I took my editing work to Barnes and Noble, I would sometimes take the manuscript out of my bag and walk it up and down the aisles, just to show it that it would, one day, be a real book, too.)

It𠏋 a little trickier to believe that for my own manuscript. (Though maybe I should walk it through Borders one of these days? Couldn㦙 hurt...)

This week, as I looked at it, and looked hard at it, I realized something. Remember those two editors I was going to send this to in December? One, I learned recently, actually asked for the complete manuscript, and at any time. Not sample chapters, not 𢘛ithin a year,� just the whole shebang. Whenever. (Obviously, this won㦙 be ready for some time.) The other, who wanted this within a year, asked for three chapters… of the completed manuscript.

There is no way anyone could call this manuscript complete.

And I don㦙 even know how much time it will take, this rewrite. It𠏋 my first time in the 𣫮ewriting� class, which is why I𠍿 sitting in the front, taking notes in a shiny new notebook, and reading every assignment. (As well as the 𩂈ecommended reading� list.)

So I made an important decision this week: I𠍿 not sending three chapters to that second editor in January. No queries, no samples, no nothing.

It𠏋 hard to pass by this freebie chance, the chance to send my work to a closed house (meaning: without an agent, I can㦙 otherwise send it to them). It𠏋 easier for me to reason: it will take five months to hear back anyway, and by then, my book should be done!

Most likely true, but still risky. And I don㦙 want to trap myself in a race to finish before the magic date. Cutting corners doesn㦙 seem to be the way to write books. (Heck, if I wanted a speedy career, I鏆 definitely be doing something else. Anything else.)

If I think hard about this, I begin to hyperventilate just a little. But I have to remember: is this career in my hands, or not? (Not really, not if I think that God is the one who brought me here, the one in charge of this writing endeavor.) Is it up to me to make opportunities, or is it up to me to make my book as good as I can? (Answer 弎� for 500 points, please.)

So instead of sending out my first three chapters, I𠍿 going to do my lessons and be a good student, will rewrite my entire book and make it stronger and richer than I could last fall. In the meantime, I𠑥l read market guides to learn and prepare for my next class: Sending Your Novel to Agents and Editors (and being professional about it).

So now I𠑥l invest the time I need to make this book really shine, really stand out. Fortunately, everything improves in revision. The first draft is just breaking the ground, or laying the track--revision is always where the best work, for me, occurs.

And when the manuscript is done, really done, I𠑥l send it to both editors. Even though I𠑥l have blown by the 㺸ne-year� deadline. I𠑥l be certain it𠏋 worth their time. And hey, the worst thing they could do is say 忛o.� -jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 01/11 at 06:40 PM
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