There were so many different topics I considered tackling for this column—the rash of fiction as memoir, the concept of perception based on what you think you’re reading, Brett Favre’s retirement after seventeen years and an entire career spent with one team, a feat that’s almost unheard of in the modern sports world these days (there was a writing corollary in there, I swear).
In the end though, I wanted to use this opportunity to say goodbye.
For those of you who have heard me talk about my women’s fiction project Breathe over on my personal blog, I had to say a very sad goodbye last week. We received our final rejection and the project is being shoved under the metaphorical bed. Those of you who have been along for the ride know what the project means to me and why it’s going to be hard to let go. This is hard on so many levels—for me, this story transcended special. It’s one that’s consumed me, in one form or another, for over five years. It was a germ of a story idea that was inspired by a beautiful song performance. (In fact, the original working title of the manuscript was that song’s title. My little homage.) Anyhow, it was one of those ideas that ferments in the back of your mind, the Girls in the Basement mulling it over and arguing furiously, because they know—they just know—there’s a story there. But they’re not sure what it is and you just have to let them fight it out amongst themselves until they’re ready to let you have it.
When they let me have it, it was a humdinger and frankly, scared the life out of me in that “Are you freakin’ kidding?!?” sort of way. I wasn’t at all sure I could do this story justice. But it wouldn’t leave me alone and so finally, I began working on it. And I worked on it and I worked on it.
As a writer, it was the most gut-wrenching, emotionally wearing, and ultimately amazing experience I’ve ever gone through. There was so much that I poured into every page and word. Breathe was my very own drill sergeant, forcing me to be better, barking orders that I had to keep going when I was ready to just go hide under the covers because I wasn’t sure I could. In a way, it was fortunate I had Adiós and Accent to work on in there—I needed the breaks they provided, but always, Breathe was there, my demanding lover of a story.
It’s the only manuscript I’ve ever worked on that when I got to the end—when I typed that final period on the final sentence—I promptly burst into tears.
My agent and I sent it out into the world with high, yet realistic expectations. The honest truth is, it’s a tough story that tackles tough subject matter in a manner that might seem taboo to many. And the rejections I received would reflect the dual nature of our expectations—consistent praise for my writing, for specific story elements, but as a whole package, especially in a women’s fiction market that’s very tight to begin with, a risk. I’d hoped it would be a risk worth taking, but not yet. Not this time.
Now, by no means is this the first time I’ve had to shove a manuscript under the bed. Any writer has those manuscripts—and every one I’ve shoved under the bed still holds a special place in my heart because I took something important—learned something about myself as a writer—from each and every one of them.
But Breathe? It was magic. Yet however much I might hate to, it’s time to say goodbye (to invoke another lovely song).
You know what I mean?
ETA: Addendum
I initially wrote this column a week ahead of time. Several days removed from the Black Moment, I’ve been slowly but surely coming to a surprising understanding. While I’m still mourning Breathe, I find too, that I feel an unexpected sense of lightness. I’m realizing how worrying about Breathe was hovering over the new project I’ve been working on since the new year. Always, in the back of my mind, I had this voice going, “This is so different from Breathe, if an editor buys Breathe, will they be interested in this?” Which I know is ridiculous and self-defeating, but I guess when you’ve lived with something as long as I’ve lived with Breathe, rationality takes a flying leap out the window wearing latex and a sparkly cape.
At any rate, I find myself really looking forward to this new project with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. The psyche, she is an odd thing, to be sure.
No related posts.
Enjoy your new project, and who knows? Breathe’s time may still come. The market changes and things may look very different a year from now.
What Charlene said.
I’d be amazed if ten years from now Breathe is not on the shelves right next to the other romance and women’s fic novels you’re currently hiding under your bed because the market isn’t ready for your voice yet. (I’m SO looking forward to saying “I told you so.” I may have an “I told you so” parade down the streets of Jacksonville. With cabana boys on a FLOAT.)
In the meantime, I’m glad you’re ready to move forward, because I’m sick of waiting for the next chapter of your current project. WRITE, already. Dammit.
Thanks, Charlene— and of course, you’re right. I think it was Barbara Samuel who was telling me she had a manuscript she waited twenty years to publish. This market and business overall, is such a crazy, crazy thing. All I know is I couldn’t have NOT written that story, you know?
Selah? Bite me. I have revisions to get through so you’ll have to be patient.
And do I get to be on the float with the Cabana Boys?
Aw, honey, it wouldn’t be a party without you.
Barbara, I have a similar MS–in the sense of what it means to me as a writer–sitting in wait for the perfect moment. I have no doubt that your time with come with Breathe and mine will, too, with Treading Water. It’s just another form of perseverance. I hope to have the chance to buy Breathe someday.
Wow, can I relate. I posted something similar at my own blog when the book that had finalled in the 2006 GH petered out among the editors it was with. I had so much of my heart and soul in that book that I found it difficult to write for the two years it was making the rounds.
But now that it’s “under the bed, waiting” I realize that I’m free to go in new directions.
Anyway, good luck and I hope that someday BREATHE will make it to the stores!
Yeah, I’ve got one of those books, too — written…four years ago, now? Rejected by the best in the business.
I realized the other day it was time to let it go. Maybe its day will still come, but that day ain’t in the near future, that’s for sure.
I’d love to read BREATHE, though. Just from what you said about it, it sounds right up my alley. Too bad I’m not a publisher, huh?
That sucks, but it’s good you are moving on. No book is wasted so take what you learned and use it in all your novels. Maybe one day the market will open up for your type of book. And you can say with pride, “I started that trend ___ years ago.” And then laugh evilly.
Thank you for your sharing this, Barabara. Our books are like pieces of our hearts, and it’s so painful to have to say goodbye.
Rejection happens to RITA-award winning authors, too? Your honesty with this difficult topic makes me feel better about my own struggles.
Sorry! Thank you for sharing, BARBARA. Need more coffee.
Marie, I hope your Treading Water finds its place as well. Amazing what these manuscripts grow to mean to us, isn’t it?
Leslie, oh ARGH, isn’t it aggravating to have a manuscript that’s acknowledged to be good, at least on some level, and yet find that it’s not quite good enough on others? Like I said, I’m glad I had other things to work on in the meantime, while BREATHE was out on submission, otherwise, I might have found myself curled up in a corner clutching my blankie.
Karen- time doesn’t make it any easier to let it go, though, does it? I thought I’d prepared myself for the inevitability, especially when over the holidays we were really winding down to the last few editors who had it and we all know what tends to happen after the holidays in terms of desk-clearing. Yet… it hit hard, knowing it was over.
Melissa- thanks. I really am looking forward to the project I’ve been working on—have gotten some good early response from readers and of course my CP is only willing to put up with so much procrastination from me.
Jill- absolutely they’re little pieces of our heart. And as much as all of my manuscripts have a part of me, Breathe has that little bit more. And yeah, rejection happens to RITA winners too. I know there are those who probably wonder why I would be so open about it, but frankly, I have nothing to gain by being secretive about it. Publishing is a business—what I write in terms of women’s fiction isn’t fitting the market right now and I have to either resign myself to that fact or to use it as the little devil on my shoulder, goading me to improve my craft, to make my stories that much more compelling, so that hopefully, one day I can break through.
So as long as I can accept the business aspects for what they are, I can continue to write what feeds my soul, if that makes any sense?
Thanks for sharing this, Barbara! I’ve been in a similar position lately, trying to find closure over a book of my heart that came close but didn’t sell. I’ve never stopped writing at any point, but it often felt like swimming through molasses. Recently I read my unsold heart-book for the first time in over a year. In some ways reading it brought the bitterness back, but I also decided that I had written a good book, and that I deserved to take pleasure in that even though it never made it onto bookstore shelves.
And I’ve noticed that since I re-read my heart-book, the passion for my characters and storytelling that I had when I was working on it have come back. Up until a few weeks ago, my WIP (the one you’ve seen the first few chapters of, Barbara) was really the book of my head–a cool idea, a fun mental puzzle to plot out. Now all that is still there, and I’m emotionally engaged with my characters.
Anyway, I really hope BREATHE gets its chance one day!
What a poignant post! Thanks for sharing your story here….and I bet that book will find its way into the world at another time.
Susan- “swimming through molasses” is such a perfect way to phrase it. That’s exactly how I felt with this new project in some ways—and also the feeling of being engaged with your head moreso than your heart. I’m glad to hear that you’re emotionally engaged with this new one now, because I really liked what I read of it and I can only imagine how it might read with even more emotional oomph behind it.
Barbara- Thank you.
You know, in some ways I felt that I was being a wee bit self-indulgent writing all of this out, which is very much unlike me. However, even though I was coming to terms with the inevitability, I still felt vaguely unsettled, as if there was unfinished business. That’s just how this story has been—a lot of things that are completely out of the ordinary for me.