Opening the Drawer on an Old Manuscript…again

I’m usually the last one to join the party.

Unless it’s a real party. If it’s a real party I am obnoxiously on time.

But I kind of find entertaining things late? I started watching The West Wing half way through season 7. I don’t go to midnight showings. In fact I usually don’t see things until they are out of theaters. I know what happens in them because of social media and that’s enough for me. I can find the necessary information. The habit even extends to books. I started reading Harry Potter shortly after book five was published. And I read the Twilight after the first movie was out because the company I was working for included me and my boss and our interns, and all of them were completely and totally obsessed with Robert Pattinson. I’m totally throwing them under the bus here.

I reacted to the Twilight books much as everyone else did meaning I inhaled them in all in one weekend.

They weren’t good. But they weren’t good in the way that your fourth or fifth piece of candy at Halloween isn’t good. They’re entertaining, and they make you a little crazy, but they’re not fulfilling or stimulating beyond the first rush of sugar.

The one good thing that came out of reading those books aside from a new interest in Laura Marling and a quickly passing obsession with Robert Pattinson (shut up he was pretty for a second there and then he hated everything and it was hilarious) was that I became indignant that something I considered so aesthetically and socio-psychically damaging and awful could be so undeniably successful.

And I started writing. I wrote and wrote. I wrote 411 pages. I had a charater. I had a plot. Stuff happened. I finished it, and I edited it. I printed it out and gave it to ten people to read. They liked it. I wrote a horrible query letter, and I got rejected a lot. Everybody does. I had some interest from one junior agent who gave me some really good editorial advice and told me to come back when I had worked on it for a little bit more. When the edits were in place, and I’d cut 50K words, and it was tighter. I thanked her gratefully, and I got to work.

procrastinationThen I got tired, and I put it in a drawer. I put it in a drawer because I’m a better editor of other people’s work than my own. I put it in a drawer because I’d been writing it for 2 years, and I was tired.

And now it’s been 2 more years, and things are happening my brain again. I listened to some great writing advice on an episode of the Nerdist Writer’s Panel, and I suddenly wanted to work on it again. The manuscript is sitting in various states in various harddrives in my digital drawers around my apartment. It’s in a couple of my digital drawers too. It’s in various states of disarray much like my real life dresser drawers. But ideas are turning over in my head again. Everything I see on Tumblr turns into a tiny little writing prompt that makes me want to open up Pages and get back to Lizzy and her adventure.

It feels like the morning after spring cleaning and the moment when you finally wipe away all the dust on your books. It feels like I might actually accomplish something with it this summer, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get my proverbial shit together, edit my manuscript, and get it on the querying bandwagon again.

I might need pep talks along the way.

I might need to be yelled at occasion.

I probably am going to have to step away from my book elf story I’ve been working.

But I’m kind of excited anyways.

talk-to-some-food-about-this

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