As many of you know, last year I was involved in a year long Novel Incubator course at Boston's Grub Street, a non-profit creative writing center that offers classes for beginners and professional writers alike. The idea was that ten students started with drafts of their novels, and under the leadership of our two teachers (the wildly outstanding Lisa Borders and Michelle Hoover), and over the course of a year we revised and reworked, resulting a new full draft. I wrote a blogpost about my experience for the Grub Street's blog, The Grub Daily. Go ahead and give it a look-see, and then read the rest of the Novel Inc. post from the other writers in my class.
First, a quick spoiler: no, my novel's not done. It's on it's third draft, and I work on it most days, but no, it's not done yet. But, as Oscar Wilde says "Books are never finished. They are merely abandoned." I take that to mean that the book will probably never be as good as I want it to be, but eventually I will just run out of ideas of what do with it. At that point, I'll pour myself a stiff drink and toss it into the world of literary agents, thinking "Screw it. Just screw it all. What happens, happens. I don't care. I can't look at it for one more minute." ::glug glug glug::
Which is not to say I don't enjoy it, because I do. Writing a book is one of those life things that I've always wanted to do. In my parents' hope chest, there's a picture book that I "wrote" as a very young kid, maybe five or six. Hilariously, I was a recognition whore even then; the front cover is littered with "awards" for best book, best pictures, etc. If I'd known what a Pulitzer was, I would have given myself that too (the first picture book ever to receive a Pulitzer!!!). But here's the thing: writing can't be about recognition. Recognition is too sparse and too fickle to sustain anyone through the hours and hours and years of work it takes to make a book work. So, I've had to learn how to love the work of writing for itself, regardless of whether anything ever comes of it. It's still a struggle, but I'm getting better.
I'm hoping to "abandon" my novel by May, and then pitch the book at Grub's Muse and Marketplace conference. We'll see. And in the meantime, I'll keep working
First, a quick spoiler: no, my novel's not done. It's on it's third draft, and I work on it most days, but no, it's not done yet. But, as Oscar Wilde says "Books are never finished. They are merely abandoned." I take that to mean that the book will probably never be as good as I want it to be, but eventually I will just run out of ideas of what do with it. At that point, I'll pour myself a stiff drink and toss it into the world of literary agents, thinking "Screw it. Just screw it all. What happens, happens. I don't care. I can't look at it for one more minute." ::glug glug glug::
Which is not to say I don't enjoy it, because I do. Writing a book is one of those life things that I've always wanted to do. In my parents' hope chest, there's a picture book that I "wrote" as a very young kid, maybe five or six. Hilariously, I was a recognition whore even then; the front cover is littered with "awards" for best book, best pictures, etc. If I'd known what a Pulitzer was, I would have given myself that too (the first picture book ever to receive a Pulitzer!!!). But here's the thing: writing can't be about recognition. Recognition is too sparse and too fickle to sustain anyone through the hours and hours and years of work it takes to make a book work. So, I've had to learn how to love the work of writing for itself, regardless of whether anything ever comes of it. It's still a struggle, but I'm getting better.
I'm hoping to "abandon" my novel by May, and then pitch the book at Grub's Muse and Marketplace conference. We'll see. And in the meantime, I'll keep working
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