Friday, November 17, 2006

Good grief

Yes, Miss Snark, I can believe that I finally understand your angst.

I can't help but wonder how many Nano-books will clog your email box on Dec. 1.

The reason I can't help but wonder is because I can't believe that people are asking me if I'm going to actually going to send my newly "completed" novel out to unsuspecting agents and publishers on Dec. 1.

My answer? Not if I expect to publish in this lifetime!

Granted, I have proven my Nano-point. It is very possible to exercise my constitutional rights, and write 50,000 words of utter garbage in 30 days. In between the sixty-some thousand words of alphabet barf I regurgitated in the last twenty-two days, I have witnessed glimpes of a story that I truly want to pursue.

I have proven the Nano-point. In order to become a writer, one must write. One must risk writing badly, even.

In order to become an author, however, I'm inclined to think one must know that good writing is born in flashes of brilliance between page after nauseating page of crapola. That, and a good dose of timing and luck. Reaching this moment of enlightment requires writing, and lots of it.

Honest, I'd tell you what my book is about, but I'm too busy praying to the sacred Oracle so that she may choose to enlighten me as to the deep literary message embedded in my meaningless drivel.

I'm sure the brilliance is there.

I wrote therefore I am a writer. But before I submit it to Snarkarina, or anyone else that matter, I have to revise. I have to kill someone on page one and insert a cameo of George Clooney. Quite naked.

Then I can submit it with confidence.

Or not.

Of course the "or not" scenario requires admitting that some people should just stop writing altogether.

P.S. Do you think I can get a million dollar advance in hand before the holidays?

P.P.S Click here for an (unedited, its Nanowrimo folks) excerpt of said novel. Then you can decide for yourself whether I should go on writing or not. :)

P.P.P.S. Of course, I didn't say I'd listen to you.