The first book I ever sent to a publisher was a hot mess.
I spent years and years writing fanfiction, and I loved
doing it. At the back of my mind, I had always wanted to be a writer, and I had
a few original ideas penned, a book written—but no drive to do anything with
it. So, as my university undergraduate career slowly came to an end, I decided
to get my act together and look into publishing ventures. There was so much to
learn, and I still feel like I’m drowning in information about an industry that
outsiders think is easy-breezy.
One day, I stumbled upon an e-book provider that accepted
unsolicited manuscripts from writers without agents. I thought I had hit the
jackpot. At the time, I didn’t have anything that fit with what they usually
published, but then I found their prompts page. It was basically a page that
dictated what their editors would like to see for the upcoming year. There were
deadlines to meet and a bunch of different lines to write for—I was
thrilled.
I eventually settled on one that I figured I could make
work: historical romance. I chose the Victorian Era, and went with their prompt
to write about the life of a governess. Easy. I decided to add vampires to it,
because everyone likes vampires, right?
I finished the manuscript about a week before the
deadline. I then scrambled to edit this massive document myself. I think I read
it twice over, correcting things as I went along, and that was it.
That was it. No
beta readers, no editors, no proofreaders. Hot off the presses, I submitted
with a rushed query and a synopsis that was too long for anyone to care about.
I, however, thought I had just handed gold over to the editors at this
publishing house. Hell, I even mentioned my fanfiction in my query and just how
many amazing readers I had.
So, I waited. I even told a writing professor of mine—a published
author—what I had done, and he looked at me over the top of his glasses a la
Albus Dumbledore.
“So, you just sent it in?” he asked.
“Yup! They said it was fine that I didn’t have an agent.”
“Oh.” A long pause. “Well, best of luck. Let me know if
it gets published.”
I waited the twelve weeks it usually took for a response,
and was devastated when I received my first-ever rejection. I was stunned. My
work was brilliant. I had great characters, an interesting plot, and vague
historical accuracy that would probably fly with an uneducated reader.
Like I said, it was a hot mess. Looking back, I realize
I started my novel off with the main character in a stage-coach, where she
mulled over her life up until that point. It was dreary outside. Six pages of
introspection and exposition.
Cringe. Never mind that I hadn’t ever read a
Victorian romance before, but I thought I could get away with sending in a
manuscript that no other person has ever seen except myself. Rookie mistakes
across the board, and I thought I had learned my lesson.
I submitted something else to the same publishing house
for a different prompt a few months later. I had a professional editor look it
over, and she seemed to like it.
I waited again. I didn’t talk to anyone about it, worried
that I’d get my hopes up again by sharing the news.
And… rejection. This time I was genuinely hurt: I worked
really hard on the next manuscript, and I thought it was leaps and bounds ahead
of the first manuscript I sent in.
But no one gives you a publishing contract for “Most
Improved Manuscript Submission”. No one cares. Once again, I hadn’t let any beta readers
go through anything, and I assumed my writing experiences with fanfiction would
carry me somewhere special.
It didn’t. No even a little.
So, this time around, I have a wonderful team of beta
readers to kick my ass a little. I have people to tell me what they like, what
they dislike, and what needs to be scrapped.
Writers need to learn that this
isn’t a solitary art. It isn’t something you should want to do on your own,
even if you spend the majority of your time alone—just you and the computer/pen
and notepad. You need feedback. You need your ego checked. You need help. Take
it when it’s offered, you literate idiot.
