by Theresa Garee | Nov 3, 2018 | Blog
“Not that the story need be long, but it will take a long while to make it short.” – Henry David Thoreau in a letter to Harrison Blake, November 16, 1857
In elementary and high school, I belonged to a 4-H club to train dogs for obedience. My rat terrier, Tony, and I won first place at the Ohio State Fair two years in a row. We had a great trainer, a retired factory superintendent, Louie Levengood who had raised and trained award-winning golden retrievers for decades.
As a big show approached, Louie would run a hand through his white hair and remind us it was time to “turn down the screws.” We were to become precise, tightening our training the way a woodworker might give a screw a few final turns so the head is flush with the wood. Minor imperfections we’d let slide earlier in the season took on new importance.
If Tony did not sit close enough to my heel or was not looking straight ahead as he sat next to me, I gently corrected him. If he did not come quickly enough, I corrected him. Every detail was important. This paid off. Both years, the state fair judges explained, these details were what led each judge to place Tony and I a few points ahead of the nearly perfect Doberman, Precious, and his young woman owner.
It’s time once again to turn down the screws – this time with my memoir, Depression Hates a Moving Target.
My deadline, December 1st, approaches like an oncoming train. While I trim, trim, trim, I’m also fixing lingering problems: info dumps, too much telling, and dialogue that doesn’t carry its weight. These tasks require focus reminiscent of those days I spent in the large yard near our barn, walking Tony around and around. Stopping and starting again and again. Correcting. Praising. Perfecting. Over and over and over.
I’m under no illusions that the book will be perfect. This isn’t the state fair. But I know I have the skill and patience to improve it. With Louie’s voice in my ear, I will do my best.
by Theresa Garee | May 3, 2018 | Blog
If it doesn’t challenge you, it won’t change you.” — Fred DeVito
I’d been running for five and a half hours through the rural countryside surrounding Xenia, Ohio. My tired legs were intermittently cramping and the bottoms of my feet ached. I’d run out of catchy songs to sing to myself and all the mantras I’d been chanting sounded stale. The trees lining the rails to trails which had looked beautiful earlier that morning were now closing in and I thought I might suffocate. I was right on schedule, twenty-three miles into my third full marathon. “I really want this to be over,” I thought. “But it’s not and I still have to get back to the car.”
My next thought made me laugh, “This is just like trying to get a book published!”
Throwing in the towel would be a relief – for a while. I could simply stop at the next water station and ask the EMTs to haul me back to town. I could simply start fresh on a new, more interesting, more marketable writing project. That’s what I’ve done with every other book I’ve begun. I never called it quitting, but I never saw those books to fruition either.
While I still don’t have a publisher for my memoir, Twenty-Six Point Freaking Two, I have some great prospects. And even if none of those pan out, I can still self-publish. It is exhausting, but also exciting – just like the final miles of a very long race. It’s no time to quit even though I’m really really tired and everything hurts.
So I remember what I know how to do: continue. Just now. Just here. This moment. Feel your feet (even if they hurt). Do one thing and then the next. Right foot. Left foot. With writing, prepare the newsletter. Send it out. Wait to hear back from publishers. With running, just keep going.
I finished that marathon and I will finish this book. You have my promise.
What is your marathon? I want to cheer you to the finish.
by Theresa Garee | Nov 3, 2017 | Blog
“Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfills the same function as pain in the human body. It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things.” – Winston Churchill
I’ve spent the past two years collecting rejection letters from agents and publishers. If I were to print them, I’d have a fistful.
The generic “this isn’t right for our list” letters don’t bother me. Even the ones that say “memoirs don’t sell” don’t get under my skin. But when a letter is more specific and there’s some possibility the agent or editor could be on the right track, I get twitchy. And that’s what I need to attend to. The more twitchy I get, the more likely they are on to something.
I choose to believe that the vast majority of people in the publishing industry work there because they love the written word. But they are also bombarded by so many submissions that they have to make a quick decision based on their gut and their experience in the market. Do they miss from time to time? Of course! Remember Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance? It received 121 rejections before going on to become a best-seller. But more often than not, since editors and agents work in the field, they know what they are talking about.
My job is to not let this feedback derail me. My biggest critic is myself. As a child, I may have internalized my perfectionist father or a teacher with biting words, but now that I’m an adult, it’s my voice I have to deal with. My job is to listen, thank the voice for trying to help me, because that’s what it thinks it is doing, and figure out if there’s any truth it it.
It’s very similar to what I do with an agent or editor’s specific response. I thank the person for the feedback and for taking time to respond. Few editors and agents reply at all. When one takes the time to write something more than “it’s not what we’re looking for,” I thank them. Then I let my emotions simmer and let the feedback sit.
While I’m waiting for my jets to cool, I do something else. I might read someone else’s work and offer feedback. I might submit to other agents or publishers who only want a proposal, a query, or a few chapters. That way, if I decide to revise, I’m sending parts that won’t be changed later. Or I enter contests that have upcoming deadlines so I won’t miss an opportunity. I stay busy.
Once I’m calmer, I look again. Is there truth in the feedback? If so, how can I incorporate it? I try to see the critic as a friend. I’m not alone in this endeavor. There are helpers all along the way.
by Theresa Garee | Aug 3, 2016 | Blog
“Writing is a socially acceptable form of getting naked in public.” – Paulo Coelho
That’s exactly how I feel sending queries to agents. Naked. Even if I weren’t an off-the-scale introvert, submitting my memoir, Twenty-Six Point Freaking Two, to agents would be terrifying.
But guess what? I’m doing it. I met my goal of querying one hundred, carefully selected agents before the end of July. And guess what else? While thirty-three percent of the agents I queried have said “No,” some of those rejections were accompanied by compliments.
One agent said, “You write well.” Another referred to my book as “original and engaging.” And my favorite rejecting agent wrote, “[W]e found much to admire here in this inspiring story, not least of which is your spunky and very relatable voice.” Although they weren’t taking on my work, their comments affirmed I had written something worthwhile.
Most of the responses have been one line answers. “It’s not right for our list.” Or, “I’m not the right agent to represent this material.” Those are easy to take. They remind me this is a business. A very subjective business. An agent may like my writing and even my voice, but if she doesn’t believe she can make a profit by spending the many hours it takes to sell and herd my book through the publishing process, she simply can’t take it on.
I’ve only had one difficult rejection. In it the agent was more specific about what she didn’t like. At first I felt defensive, but I consulted the developmental editor who helped me with the current draft of the book. She reminded me that the book this agent wanted simply wasn’t the book I had written. That was all. It didn’t mean I had written a bad book. It didn’t mean another agent might not want it. But for now, my job was just to stand behind the book I had written.
Since August is typically a slow time in publishing, I don’t anticipate hearing from too many more agents until September. In the meantime I’m researching contests and small publishers, and taking slow walks with our aging dog. If I hear anything else, I’ll keep you informed. I’ve been posting more often on my Facebook author page. Please feel free to follow along there. I’d love to hear your thoughts there and in the comments.
