I had an elaborate analogy involving writing and DNA sequencing and cloning and genetic engineering and stuff. But I deleted it because it was a bit crap. However, by telling you it existed, I somehow still get the kudos for my amazing ideas, without having to put up with the scorn that would result had any of you read what I wrote. Amazing how that works. Hey, in high school, when arm wrestling competitions were all the rage, I shrugged and refused to take part because I knew I’d lose. Despite me saying this, there was a small section of my classmates who were convinced I’d actually be able to beat them, if only I’d cut loose. See? Credit for nothing, in the face of all available evidence. People are funny sometimes.
Timely: I read in some of the comments on Teresa Neilsen Hayden’s essential blog Making Light that Robert Heinlein was firm that the proper response to the receipt of a rejected manuscript is to package it up and send it somewhere else. Don’t look at it, don’t dare edit it, just send it off. Keep it moving.
Of course, I’m no Heinlein, but I don’t think he meant it to apply only if you’re a writing god. It makes that perfect kind of simple sense – editors refuse good manuscripts all the time, so keep trying, and while you’re still trying, write something else and submit that too.
In the process of getting writing momentum going again I’ve realised that one of my continuing problems is having too many projects on the go at once. I have, seriously, about twenty to thirty live projects at any one time. With that many things in progress, ‘live’ becomes a creative description rather than an accurate one.
Now, on the face of it I don’t have a problem with this – I can justify time spent on every one of them.
The trouble is that they get in the way of each other. It’s too easy, when the going gets tough on something, to let it slide and turn attention to something else. There’s always lots of somethings else to turn to. Hey, that play you’ve been writing for four years about those guys choosing a video? Written twenty pages and some character notes and not sure what to do next? Not a problem, because look over here, it’s that comic script about one-hour parties you left half-done in 2000!
I’ve decided I need to sort this out. In my notebook I’ve made a priority list of projects to get sorted this year. I want to get rid of some of these long-lasting excuses. Bonus: by finishing things, I gain momentum and sense of satisfaction and confidence etc etc.
The dREAL ruleset was the first of these. It’s being distributed on the net at the moment, and people are making use of it, so that’s cool. And it’s a long-term project finished.
I’ve been taking down a few of the smaller ones as well. Now I’m back on to a big fish: Fell Legacy.
Fell Legacy was the fantasy novel I wrote a few years back with the support of Dale Elvy, whose own fantasy trilogy was published by HarperCollins. I wrote a damn good story that was sort of a Lord of the Rings in reverse – a muddy, angry, claustrophobic story about communities and friendships falling apart in difficult times. I sent it, of course, to Dale’s publisher, dropping the name and all. Sadly the manuscript was rejected. (I claim to this day that it was rejected because, of course, they have Dale – why would they need me? As this makes both Dale and me look good, alternative hypotheses have been deemed unnecessary.)
So I got this manuscript back, and then I went to the other side of the world.
It is the height of folly to have a completed, awesome manuscript on the shelf with but one rejection letter to its name. I have done that story wrong through my traveller’s neglect. On my list: Fell Legacy. Get it out there again.
So I have to get it ready to submit. I pulled open the file – 630 or so pages of manuscript. 130,000 words. Cool. And I can make it better.
Heinlein Alert! No, you fool! Wrap it up and send it off! Those who’ve been involved in my writing travails will know I’m always ready to re-draft anything I’ve written. I was sorely, sorely tempted.
But Fell Legacy had something I wasn’t happy with – a saggy opening. The most crucial part of the book, at that. Revise it, the voices said, reviiiiise it!
So I struck a deal with Heinlein. I would re-edit the prologue. And no more. I have forbidden myself to read over what follows.
And a matter of days later I’ve made the opening kick seven times of rear over the old version, and I’ve left the rest alone, and it’s all good. Time to knock on some doors.
Thanks Mr Heinlein. Thanks for helping me kick the habit.
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Everyone should go read Nate Cull’s blog entry on rockets and stuff, too.
~`morgue