…and know when to fold them.
I am the patron saint of mediocrity. Antonio Salieri, Amadeus
For the past few days I have been in a pit of rewrites for my novel. After a handful of rejections from agents, I have done what the internet told me to do: review my first five pages.
First I read them over and tried to lightly edit. That didn’t work. So I deleted them and started over. I have printed them out, draft after draft, scribbled on them, crumpled, ripped, chucked… And just when I thought I was getting somewhere I was told they were so overwritten they couldn’t be read. 😔 That sucked…
So I recoiled into a ball of self-pity and sulked, cursing the very notion that I had a right to write a book.
And now? I am finally getting somewhere, I’m close to trying to shop it again. I might end up in another sulking assball but that’s okay.
They say the pen is mightier than the sword. It might cut deeper too. But nobody said this shit was easy. My advice? If you want to be a writer, keep writing, write more, write often, and be tough. Your book is yours but it is not you. Separate the work from the person you are and be proud that you aspire to something, because that is something.
Write on writers, cheers, Amy.