I had this idea to get back to a spot where I’m blogging more regularly, and I’ve actually drafted a couple of posts about my writing process and what’s actually worked for me, but I haven’t posted them because I’m just SO TIRED of writing about writing. As electrifying as a wordcount tracker is for me when I’m in the zone with a project, I am finding my own words about my own process incredibly boring right now. At the end of the day you’re either writing or you’re not, you know? You either did the thing or you didn’t. You either finish your book or you don’t.
I don’t actually believe anything is that absolute, but I have a headache and I am impatient with my own prevaricating—and my impatience is running up against the lack of a clear step forward for the novel that has been commandeering every extra iota of brain space since the idea first hit me over the head back in April. Because from here on out, there isn’t a right answer, is there? Like, there’s no one out there to tell you which edits and changes are correct. No one’s going to give you an A and say, “Good job, you’re ready to start querying agents!” So…how do you know? Can you trust your own assessment? If people are telling you it’s already really good, do you believe them? How much time do you spend trying to make it even better? How do you know if it shines?
I’m still collecting some feedback before diving into manuscript edits, so I’ve been trying to get a head-start on query letters. I’m hoping to hire some professional advice for my submission materials and would like them to be as polished as possible before then, and at this point I’m not expecting to make any major plot changes. And that’s wild, right? Like, borderline delusional, to feel so confident about a first-ish draft that I’m not expecting any major plot changes??? But query letters, man. Holy heck. The whole time I was writing this book, I was like, “This is the most marketable book I’ve ever written! It’s going to fit right into this queer sci-fi/fantasy niche, right next to Everina Maxwell and Freya Marske and Rainbow Rowell!” But actually writing that sales pitch, actually distilling four months of your life (200 single-spaced pages, 110,000 words) into a 2 – 3 paragraph summary—it’s grueling. It’s exhausting. It’s impossible. You’re endlessly twisting and polishing and rearranging, trying to hone and reshape the sentences so that you can see through them to the gold beneath, with no way to know if you’ve gotten it right, or if what’s beneath is even really made of gold.
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