Delimmas: Run or Write

I’ve finally realized that I can’t do it all. I used to hate that saying, but dangit if it ain’t true. And really: All? I can’t even do half, it seems. I can hardly do the bare minimum required of my days lately. Yet, I have these darn things in my mind called goals.

My priorities in life are being a loving and supportive wife, a fabulous mom, a caring and appreciative daughter, a valued employee, and a great friend – all of those things while honoring God and being a devoted member of my church.

My GOALS, however, are what I want to attain personally for this particular year, and when I established them for myself, they seemed pretty simple.

1. Get my book published.
2. Write another book.
3. Run three half marathons.

I know how to be disciplined. I understand what it means to sacrifice, to be single-minded and dogged in pursuit of something. I’ve done so before. It’s what I had to do to finish a novel. It’s what I did in order to train for my first half marathon. But looking back, I reached these goals at the expense of my priorities.

Whenever I’ve got my blinders on, racing head on towards my next goal, my so-called life priorities tend to get dumped and forgotten – usually, my husband is the first abandoned. In light of this, I’ve decided that my priorities this year must remain my priorities; and these goals of mine cannot interfere with the work I have to do in keeping these priorities. Which has left me quite anxious and, really, wondering if I will be able to manage my pursuits of keeping fit and writing stories. When the 9 to 5 is done, along with work from the part-time gig, and the family is fed and the house is clean, and the practices are over, there isn’t much time to write or run. What I’ve managed to do is take advantage of the hours when the family is asleep or when my youngest is at rehearsals, practices, and games to open the notebook or put on the Asics. Lately, it’s been the latter as I just finished my first half marathon. As great as that felt, I admit that I’ve had little or no energy to write. Running zaps me clean. Yet when I sit down to write, even if I’ve managed to put down a few hundred words, I’m left sad and guilty that I didn’t get a run in.

Ahh, First World problems. But you creative/sporty types know what I mean. And then there are those of you out there who will still give me a pathetic smirk, arms crossed, asking me why can’t I put in four miles and crank out 500 words a day. Maybe I can. Or maybe there’s a balance there somewhere. I just haven’t been able to find it yet. But I will keep trying, all while not letting my family and friends down.

Okay, okay. Time to hop on that treadmill. Or the computer. Which one? I don’t know. Hey, maybe I should add another goal to my list.

4. Become an expert on wine.

Ah, yes. This one I can handle with no problem.

Write On :: Diversifying

For the first, oh, two or three months or so after submitting my manuscript to the agent with whom I worked several years ago (remember that post?), it was a habit of mine to check my phone for emails about every 8 seconds, hoping for that response from her saying: Yes – your work is fabulous and fresh – of course I’ll represent you – I’ve even got a few editors in mind who are seeking just this sort of book!

With my first book – the one the aforementioned agent represented back in the day (which never found a publishing home) – she read it and set up an agent contract with me within about 5 or 6 weeks. So you could imagine my anxiety this time around with my latest submission to her when, after 5 or 6 months, I still hadn’t heard anything. I followed up with her at one point, and she was truly apologetic, telling me how swamped she was. Which I appreciated, understanding that her piles 8 years ago were likely not as huge; and she has a substantial list of current writers to manage. At least her response at the time was a ‘not yet’ instead of a ‘no’.

So I decided to chill out; tried to stop thinking about her response every dang moment of night and day. Kind of like with a break-up. You’re all consumed with the ex the first few weeks to months, wondering what he’s doing, if he’s thought about you. If he’s seeing someone else. You’re obsessed with it and it drives you crazy until, one shining day, you’re not. You haven’t thought about him and it’s wonderful and you’re so cool and you’re a normal, sane person. I became that sane person. I even decided to see other people – I sent query letters out to a new list of agents, one of which requested the first 50 pages. And I kept busy with other activities, other projects, lots of wine, lots of food. It’s nice to get to the point when you’re not overwhelmed by the weight of that ex.

Until he calls you out of the nowhere. That’s what happened to me. Working off site at an event in Pasadena, I assumed the short vibration of my phone was my daily Eater LA message or an email from Lululemon or Bev Mo. Instead, it was that response from the agent I’d been waiting for.

Only, it wasn’t the response I’d been waiting for. I didn’t have to read the whole email to get the message. I only needed to glance a few key phrases: sorry to disappoint…but unfortunately…all the best.

She did provide feedback, something I was grateful for, though I didn’t agree with some of her comments. And I realized then how subjective reading is; and how I’ve changed so much as a writer since that initial submission to her 8 years ago, before grad school; when chic lit was my thing. Nothing wrong with chic lit, but I do write much differently now. Not as funny, not as vulgar, not as quick. But that’s okay. And it’s also okay that my new story didn’t vibe with her. Not that my manuscript isn’t flawed or can’t be improved – but I can’t get all bent out of shape and become disheartened from this rejection.

So on to a Plan B or a Plan C, D, E; to edits and trusted reader friends; on to new agents and new queries and book contests and, possibly, self-publication. It’s surely time to diversify – I’m not ready to give up on this story. Not just yet, even if it means becoming completely consumed and obsessed and insane during the process.

Write On :: Finito

The Desk of Life

I’ve done it. After nearly three years at it, I’ve found what once eluded Mick Jagger and friends in the mid-1960s: (Yes!) Satisfaction.

And the How? happens to be because I completed edits on my 116,185 word novel. Satisfaction is truly the word that best describes what I’m currently feeling. Elation and giddiness, too, have arrived. But more than those, I’m extraordinarily SATIATED and CONTENT (still have my thesaurus by my side) to have worked through this process. Though I’m done with this phase, part of me is sad that the grunt of the job has passed. This is why I know I’m a writer – not because I wanted to get to the end, but for the thrill of the course itself.

New adventures await. I spent about five bucks to ship off all 360 pages to New York to be read by the agent who shopped around my first book many, many years ago (which wasn’t awful, but could have used some tweaking – good ol’ hindsight). In the meantime, new writing will commence. Another novel, and an attempt at non-fiction. That will be tricky since I’m such a fantasy-land kind of girl. I can’t even tell you the last non-fiction book I’ve read. But again, the process is what matters. So I’m looking forward to more writing, and anything else that happens to follow.

Keep pushing, friends.

Post Script
So, perhaps it was the Laser Jet ink that had me so high last night, going on romantically about the process of writing being so beautiful, so virtuous [It’s now the next day. I was waiting for my cute little picture to upload via Photo Stream to iPhoto. Took so long that I went to bed]. Not that I’m not buying the lemonade from my own stand, but really? REALLY? Writing is insanely stressful. And lonely. Pushing out meaningful paragraphs every morning at 5:00 am for the last five months (yeah, I missed a few days here and there), trying to turn a 10-page workshop assignment into a weighty, intelligible, imaginative story? Ignoring chores, missing out on lunches with co-workers, irrationally scolding my husband or kid if interrupted? This business ain’t the easiest, particularly with a marriage, two jobs, four kids, friends who like Happy Hours, and television … TELEVISION!

But okay, okay. It was still a thrilling ride. Especially these last few months when I promised myself to complete what had been my thesis (120 large font pages submitted back in April 2011), attempting to do so without my work affecting my family and job (I have to admit, my house hasn’t been clean since November). So I stand by my Satisfied. But itching, I admit, to see something grand happen to my work. It’s not just the process. It’s also the will to reach others. To connect to others with my words. When that happens, I’ll have to pull out my thesaurus again to pick just the right way to describe my feeling then. I have no idea what that word will be, but there’s a good chance that I may find myself Satisfied once again.