I suppose in many ways I am very much a newbie to the writing community. I have, after all, only been on this path shy of two years. Nevertheless, I have found the journey toward publisher-ship a most arduous one. One of my professors in grad school used to say that nothing in life that is worthwhile comes easily. This road certainly seems to suggest much wisdom in his drawl. Since the completion of my first novel, "They Flutter Behind You", I have been met with closed door upon closed door. While my experience thus far has no equivalency to that of Stephen King, who claims to have enough rejections to paper a wall with, I have had not a single nibble upon the fishing line of my efforts. To date some forty-some-odd submissions have yielded not a single positive response to my inquiries.
One of my literary hero's , the gifted and brilliant Barbara Kingsolver states, "Writers work successfully in so many different ways, I never assume that what works for me is best for someone else. But if a common denominator exists among us, it might be attitude: the enterprise of writing a book has to feel like walking into a cathedral. It demands humility. The body of all written words already in print is vaulted and vast. You think you have something new to add to that? If so, it can only come from a position of respect: for the form, the process, and eventually for a reader’s valuable attention.
"But if you’ve got a writer’s blood in your veins, you’re going to do it anyway. So it’s a project of balancing the audacity to do this work, and the humility to keep trying until you’ve gotten it right."
I find myself here at this juncture between audacity and humility. I think the words I have penned are good. Zero humility in this assessment. I think too that they require an audience in order to confirm this evaluation - perhaps even less humility here. That someone - anyone - should give up their treasured time in order to read words I've written demands an arrogance reserved for the ilk of Donald Trump. Yet I believe they are - worth reading that is.
I ask myself Barbara's final statement, have I "gotten it right?" And here I have no clue how to unlock the answer. The story has been told. The characters, each, in my arrogant estimation, have voices unique and appropriate to their existences. They have taught me more about themselves than I could have ever endowed them with. As their creator they have given me more voice than I them. Yet, I must confess that I have no clue as to whether a single word of this novel deserves the eyes or attention of those who love literature. I only hope that they do.
So I shall persist. I will continue to knock upon the e-doors of each agent and publisher I feel can well represent the epistolary genre of my work, and in the mean time keep writing. If Barbara's right, I can do nothing else. For the need to create upon the page burns like fire in my belly and upon this keyboard.
My second novel is now complete. Perhaps, "The Secret Keeping Chase", will grab the attention of readers in a way that "Flutter", as close as she is to my heart, never will.