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This past October, I received the news from my literary agent that the novel I'd been laboring over and believed was finished, needed more work before she could take it out to market. It was hard enough to accept this judgment, let alone share my disappointment with anyone--particularly my readers, in spite of the fact they've always remained remarkably loyal. Perhaps I was simply embarrassed to admit it. After all, I had made a few declarations that the manuscript was complete, and that I was on my way to finding a publisher. The process of writing this book had already been somewhat painstaking, beginning back in October of 2015, when--after two years of writing--I received the advice of an established writer and editor: pitch the first 350 pages and begin again. After much contemplation, I decided to follow her suggestion. That brings me to October 2016, a year later, when I found myself with 450 brand-new pages of completed manuscript.
I sent it on to my agent, and this time she was the one to tell me that I had once again failed to reach my goal, although in an entirely different way this time around. Initially, I couldn't hear or process her evaluation: she felt that the novel should not be abandoned--but instead further revised.
Even though I had polished every page until my brain ached, I nevertheless needed to accept that I still had a lot of work to do. I trust my agent and value her experience, so I listened to all she had to say and resolved I would try to push myself through one last draft. This acquiescence, however, came with a steep emotional price tag. THE NECESSARY EVIL OF CRITIQUE Depression saturated the following days.
One that was dark and deep, though I carried on with my life anyway. But, on a morning not so long afterward, as I brushed my teeth, the novel's protagonist began to whisper in my ear. From her came a new idea. And then another. By the time five o'clock rolled around, I had scribbled down forty-one revisions I planned to make.
And now, some four months after I'd submitted the manuscript to my agent originally, I am happy to say I've almost finished those numerous and significant changes. With great satisfaction, I can see how much I've improved and transformed the novel. I have to admit that, in so many ways, she was right. I suppose the point in exposing my failures and regenerations in this writing process is to share with you the value of accepting criticism, enduring the agony of starting over, and learning to revise and adapt to changes in our plans--be they large or small--in order to achieve our dreams. Sometimes we have to let go of old ideas in order to reveal a new direction.
In a novel, beginnings and endings change, as do titles, characters, points of view, scenes, and plot lines. The only constant is in knowing what you want to say--rather than knowing how you want to say it. Going back to the starting gate in order to get to the finish line can be a harsh reality that requires both perseverance and fortitude--two qualities every writer must possess in abundance. YOU ARE ALL THAT YOU NEED TO SUCCEED My mother, the late poet, Anne Sexton, wore a medallion around her neck--which I inherited and still wear--that is inscribed with the Latin phrase: 'Illegitimi Non Carborundum.' This means, in rough English (if you will excuse the expletive): 'Don't Let The Bastards Grind You Down.' I reminded myself of that sentiment as I soldiered on with countless revisions and rewrites. While no specific person was 'grinding me down' back in October, it did feel, at the time, as if life itself was trying to squash my desire to see this through.