I’m in the post-writer’s conference frenzy of creativity.
For the past month I’ve been living in my writing cave, communicating with the outside world almost exclusively by sticky note. I leave only for the bare necessities. It’s true woman cannot live on bread alone, but she can survive nicely with the three C’s: crock-pot, coffee, and chocolate.
After my eight minute meeting with the agent at the conference, I had a lot to consider. He was exceptionally nice, and expressed sincere interest in working together. However, after a few days of mulling it over, I chose a different direction.
Ultimately, I’ve made it this far as an indie, even with significant setbacks due to my health, and I want to see it through to the top of the steps in Philly.
I need to have my “Rocky” moment.
(Don’t worry. I have maintained a friendly, professional connection in case there is a future opportunity to work together.)
The conference gifted me the opportunity to see how far I’ve come. I met a new friend who was genuinely excited for my little glimpses of success. It was a wonderful opportunity to reflect on the experience I’ve gained along the way and to remember how timid I felt when I first embraced the journey toward authorhood. I also learned a ton of exciting things from more experienced writers who are indie, traditional, and hybrid published.
I made another connection at the conference which has been absolutely life changing.
I met an editor, and she’s not just any old editor, she’s a freaking wizard.
Good news? In a matter of days she helped me figure out “the unsettled something” that has kept me from publishing for the past eighteen months.
Bad news? She gave me homework. It was homework that involved using sticky notes in as many different colors as I could find. (Okay, it wasn’t bad news.)
Me at the corner store, in yoga pants and a ponytail:
Chocolate? Check. Every sticky note on the shelf? Check.
Then I set to work taking the entire manuscript apart and putting it back together. I’m not going to lie. It was anything but pretty.
I laughed. I cried. I ate all the chocolate. I drank buckets of coffee. My kids ate cereal for dinner. My cat even stopped trying to get my attention.
It was like open heart surgery without anesthesia, but with colorful sticky notes.
After several hours my writing cave looked like utter, colorful chaos and I tweeted this desperate plea for help:
And I spent Valentine’s Day like this:
Never fear, I made it past the “What on earth have I done?” phase and “the unsettled something” is *POOF* gone!
I’m on to the “Publish or Bust!” phase, aka the “crock-pot, coffee, and chocolate (and sometimes wine)” phase.
So, cue the “Rocky” theme song.
*Adjusts lucky Halloween socks, refills coffee, grabs another piece of chocolate, returns to writing cave*