by Theresa Garee | Jan 4, 2018 | Blog
“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” – Winston Churchill
Outwardly, December looks like a failure. I hoped to revise Twenty-Six Point Freaking Two, the running memoir, and submit it to additional independent publishers. I also wanted to follow up on some of the submissions I’d already sent. And I’d hoped to finish the first draft of Eat Your Toast, the daily meditation and practice book. But December got away from me.
Let’s blame it on Scarlet, the immensely adorable yellow Labrador puppy we got shortly after Morgan, my co-star in Twenty-Six Point Freaking Two, died. In addition to her actual care and training, Scarlet takes a lot of mental energy. I feel exhausted a lot of the time.
Even before Scarlet arrived, November had already worn me down. National Novel Writing Month which I love, drained me this year. Beneath my desire to achieve my daily word count was the sadness of Morgan’s final decline from congestive heart failure. We turned our house into a doggy hospice reminiscent of the final days with my father and it brought up emotions I hadn’t felt since I’d written about that several years ago.
And then Morgan actually died. Man. That’s such a punch in the gut even when you know it’s coming. I didn’t realize how sad I’d been until that happened. So when Scarlet entered our world two days later, I was already worn down and reeling. She’s a gem, but such a distraction.
As a result, I spent much of December staring blankly into the middle distance unable to find the mental space to do the work. I did a few things, but nothing near what I’d hoped and I feel disappointed.
I refuse to beat myself up for this however. It is a new year. Scarlet is nearly potty trained! (Yay us!) And one month will not make or break the submission process. So here’s to not giving up. Let’s move forward and continue courageously toward our goals.
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 | Jun 2, 2017 | Blog
“We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” – Winston Churchill
I hate to ask for money. I cannot remember a time in the fourteen year history of Write Now Newsletter when I directly asked. The newsletter has been my community service, a gift to central Ohio writers since January 2003.
There have always been expenses. I pay for faster internet, jangomail email distribution at $25 a month, site hosting (about $100 a year) and the domain name ($11.99 a year). These costs add up, but I was always able to pay them.
Then my site got hacked.
Fixing it has been astronomically expensive and time-consuming. Here’s a short list of the least costly items we implemented: website firewall and security monitoring system for $199 a year, new web host for an additional $100 this year, moving four related web domains for $50 a year, plus a virtual private network for $39.95 a year.
But I’m not tech savvy. So when I say “we,” I mean my web person. As a consequence, the biggest expense was the incredible amount of time this very well-trained, extremely professional, uber-responsive woman spent investigating what happened, removing all sorts of malware and malicious coding, recovering my data, and getting the site back on its feet.
How much time you ask? SEVENTY-EIGHT HOURS! And I know she did this because we communicated while she worked. The bill was $7,800 including a discounted hourly rate and hours she didn’t bill at all.
It was an awful hack.
If you enjoy receiving the newsletter, please support it by clicking this link. This unusual situation demanded drastic measures which resulted in huge, one-time expenses. I won’t hold out a hat again any time soon. But I am now. A virtual hat.
The link takes you to paypal which allows you to use a credit card or pay from your checking account. You don’t need a paypal account to use it. If you would rather mail a check, email me at nita@nitasweeney.com and I will happily send you my snail mail address. I’m too paranoid to post my address anywhere on-line. It had been on my site, but we took it down.
I value each and every one of you whether you support the newsletter or not. But if you can, I would truly appreciate it.
