Where I've been, and notes on being an unpublished author

Last week I disappeared into the black hole of editing a novel I was entering in a writing contest. Each morning I told myself that by the end of the day I'd post a note here, explaining why I wasn't blogging. Each night I shut down the computer, vowing to post the note in the morning.

Last night I completed the entry process, and now I'll be in limbo until March 16th. So here's your note. And here's a shiny new blog post.

I've been an unpublished author for a decade now. I have a funny feeling that this is and will always be my reality: brown hair, blue eyes, size 6 1/2 M shoes, unpublished author. I have no idea whether this is ok with me or not. I used to think it was a temporary state, like carrying around ten extra pounds. Now I know that my hair color is more temporary than my authorial status. And the ten extra pounds? We're not even going to go there.

So what's it like? Embarrassing. That's the first word that leaps to my mind. It's just damn embarrassing to be hawking your life's work like some kind of snake oil salesman. Writing query letters, wondering which tone to strike: blustery confidence, or abject humility? Straightforward has proved useless, and the old businesslike model I used to print up on expensive paper and send out via snail-mail now strikes me as heartbreakingly naive.

But writing queries is easy compared to the task of summarizing a four-hundred page novel in four paragraphs, while trying to obey the standard exhortations: use your very best writing! If you can't write a compelling synopsis, who's going to read your book? Make it shine!

Probably the hardest thing of all is the pitch: define your audience and explain why your story is relevant. Generally, an audience is defined this way: "Readers of Famous Bestselling Author will be interested in this book."

Me and Margaret Atwood, man. We're peas in a pod. (As to relevance, my question is: Why? Can't it just be fun?)

And how about that bio? They assure you that it's fine to write about your life, but at writers' conferences, they admit that all they really care about are your publishing credits. If you've got some, they'll give you a second look. If you don't, be prepared to wax poetic on the great handicaps you've overcome to produce this life-changing novel.

See? Embarrassing.

Then there's the constant rejection. I'm a connoisseur of rejection letters. There are the form letters: Due to the volume of requests we receive, we are unable to answer your query personally. We have read your submission with interest, but we feel that it does not meet our needs at this time. Blah blah blah ba-blah. There are the nice ones with the handwritten notes at the bottom: I really think you're almost there! Keep working! There are the unintentionally cruel ones: Have you considered self-publishing? There are agents who don't bother to respond at all, and some whose response is incomprehensible: the rejection letter received in reply to a request for submission guidelines, for example. That was a good one. (Huh? You won't even tell me how to submit?)

Some things I've been spared. I knew a writer who received, in lieu of a letter, the first page of his manuscript back with the word NO! written in red ink, and little red holes where the reader had stabbed the page with his pen. That hasn't happened to me. Yet.

Would I like to be published? Sure. I'd like to feel validated. I'd like to think those hours of midnight oil weren't wasted. I'd like to cash a check.

But then again, maybe not. Setting up book-signings sounds like a whole new ball-park in the experience of humiliation. (Hello, I'm Local Author, and I'd like to sign copies of my book at your store. Yes, Local Author. Yes, that's my name. What do you mean, you aren't stocking my book? Oh, I see. Well, thanks for your time.) And what if the reviews are horrible? Or worse - what if no one is interested in writing a review? What if it's reviewed as humor? Lord, that last one gives me palpitations.

Still. I entered the contest. I'll let you know how well I do. Don't expect good news, though. I'm the unpublished author, and I'm guessing I'll be lugging that label around for a long time. It weighs about ten pounds.