Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Dialogue with Myself in the Rain



I’m sitting in the coffee shop, not really writing, just messing around. It’s raining too hard to leave, though, and I have a blog I’ve ignored for almost two months. I’m trying to write a session proposal to speak at a reputable writers' conference. It's a big deal. I’m not a big deal. Not yet, anyway.

One thing the conference committee wants on the application form is my ‘expertise with the proposed topic.’ I’m an expert in Being a Failed Novelist.

Yet that’s no longer true. My book came out recently. Perhaps I could skew my talk about How I Booted Out of the Epic Fails. But then my novel might be an epic fail.

How did I get that book contract again?
Oh yeah: Persistence and Plan B.

That title might work. My expertise is in continuing to write in spite of the astronomical odds against me.

There are innumerable reasons not to become a writer where you can avoid facing blank pages and blinking cursors, spending too much time inside your head, and ending up writing in the rain.

One could have a life.

But what is a life without pursuit of what charges your batteries?

Like any ineffable passion, writers write in spite of the rain, in spite of the odds of success and money are so remote that being hit by a meteorite is more likely.

Another question on the conference application is to list three things attendees will learn.

1)                  Writing the novel was the easy part.
2)                  Even if you have an agent, a book contract, or have begun a new project, you need to invest time in managing the details toward the book’s publication. It won’t get done for you.
3)                  Your friends and family don't mind that you write, but they don’t want to hear about the process. So the introverted writer must become part of a community of writers.

The committee also wants my life story in 100 words, a 50 word summary of my presentation, and worst o all, a photograph of me.

So here I sit next to a rain soaked window as high winds knock down tree limbs, contemplating persistence and Plan B, wondering if a photo of my cat will suffice.



Happy Writing.

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