Writing Insecurities

So I just got back from writing group. And because I've been on a diet and am a lightweight anyway, I'm a little bit happy and a lot bit introspective, and thoughts are flying around in my head.

Mainly though, what the fuck is going on with my novel? Can I just throw that question out there, where nobody has the knowledge or power to answer it? Because I sure as hell don't know. I wrote like... half a page a couple weeks ago. That's it. Nothing else in probably over a year. This is the thing I want to do with my life, and yet I can't even manage to work on it even once a week? Why? What is happening? What's wrong with me?

Okay let me be fair to myself. I am feeling a little overwhelmed. I have gotten so much positive, constructive, and negative-but-constructive feedback on my novel from writing group that I have pages upon pages of notes of things that need to be rewritten or deleted or expanded upon or whatever. And I look at those pages and I look at my novel and I go, fuck. Where the hell do I even begin?

And then I wonder, of course, is it even worth putting more effort into this thing. Is this book worth the time? Will it ever be at a place where I can feel proud? Where it could get published? A big part of me says no. No, it never will be. You've never done it before, why should you do so now? Why should you succeed now when every other time you've tried you've gotten it wrong somehow?

I just don't even know if my book is all that good, at its heart. My mom loves it, but of course she does. And yeah, maybe the writing is good. Maybe the dialogue is so snappy or whatever. But that's not a novel. Y'know? And everyone else in writing group seems to have such a solid grasp on what makes a good plot, or character arc, or dramatic tension. And I feel like I come at my novel completely blind, like I'm just throwing random shit at the wall and seeing what sticks, with no understanding of character motivation or dramatic tension or anything. My brain just gets stuck on the details and I don't know how to look at the bigger picture. Will I ever be able to? Am I just deficient?

What am I even doing? Should I be writing something new? Sucking it up and trying to edit this book and see what happens? I can't decide and I'm discouraged and unmotivated and I don't know how to proceed.

Writing is really hard. Like, really hard. And the hardest part is battling the self-criticism and negativity I pile upon myself until I'm buried. I just wish I knew how to be confident in my work and create something that I know 100% is worth my time.

Tiny Rut

I just had a fleeting moment of, "Oh, I should post pics from my trip to Northern Ireland on St. Patrick's Day because Ireland!" but then realized I'd have to dig out my external hard drive and then pick which photos to use and edit them and all of that business, and promptly said fuck it, so here's an old Instagram of my car.

Okay wow so I started writing this post about half an hour ago, but got super engrossed in this tumblr devoted to man-buns. Which is, obviously, my new fave place on the internet. Goddamn, why don't more dudes grow out their luscious man-hair and turn it into a man-bun? Sure, some girls think it's gross. You don't wanna date those girls. I feel like if I were a man, I would totally go the bun route. It's obviously the hottest route in which to go. Okay I'm just typing in circles here about man-buns. Moving on.

I've finished the first draft of the short story I'm working on. I think I'm going to cut most of it, but I have a satisfactory "climax" if you will (shut up, pervs) that ties up the emo nonsense that is my story. I've never really written nonfiction like this, so it's... weird. And by "nonfiction" I mean autobiographical. It feels kinda like I'm jerking myself off a lot of the time, but it's also very cathartic. And hard to write without making myself sound just as neurotic, over-emotional, and socially awkward as I actually am. I have to maintain some air of competence here.

Anyway. I'm feeling the social life overload. For an introvert I've not devoted very much time to hermit activities lately, and it's starting to wear on me. I could sit in my room and watch House of Cards for the next week straight, not talk to a single soul outside of the internet, and be perfectly content. ...Of course I say that, but I'm sure after two days I'd start to go stir crazy.

In other news, I'm thinking about going to have my tarot read again, or to see a counselor for a few sessions, or both. I feel like I'm emerging from this really confusing, grief-stricken period of my life, and I'm not sure where to catch my footing. I'm pretty proud of myself for joining the writing group, actually making friends at work, and maintaining some sort of social life without going completely insane, but I feel like I'm in a tiny rut and I need a boost out. Or maybe it's just the long winter catching up with me.

Either way, I'll sort it out. And now you should all probably listen to this song, because it's beautiful:

Testosterone Pellet

Who needs contextually relevant photos when you have PBR bus? Nobody.

I slept through my alarm this morning, like an idiot. In my defense, I think the sound was just turned way down on my phone? Okay that's not really in my defense at all. Well, whatever happened, I woke up at 7:00 sharp and did that thing where you look at the time on your phone three times, each time with growing horror, and then yell "fuck!" and jump out of bed with an adrenaline rush. The one good thing to come of my oversleeping is that Louise was up before me and had made coffee just in time to force some upon me as I ran out the door. I don't think I've said enough how awesome my housemate is. Oh, I have? Well I'll say it again. Louise is awesome.

After work I picked Rose up downtown and we went to American Apparel on Hawthorne. I always want to go into American Apparel because they have awesome basics, but the one time I went in there by myself I felt like I was being silently judged by the hipsters working there. So this time I dragged Rose with me because we're both too scared to go there alone, and because we're used to being judged together as a pair ever since we started wearing matching clothes in middle school. It turned out that the hipsters working there were super nice and not judgey at all though, so our fear was unfounded. And then I ended up buying three pleated skirts because I was told that the third one would be 50% off. I can't resist a bargain, you guys. I literally cannot ever. So I spent a lot of money on skirts, is the finale of that story.

When I returned home I ate a bowl of Brussels sprouts because I am obsessed with them and can't stop eating them, and found that a package had come from Urban Outfitters that I forgot I'd ordered. Oops. I may have a shopping problem. At least it's not a meth problem? I dunno. Tell me which is worse, guys.

Anyway, my workshop last night went really well! Everyone said my writing was really strong, but were all in agreement that Cecily needs to be more likable, or at least relatable. Which, let's be honest, is literally the exact same thing that everybody else has said about my book! Other than my mom and Lucy, because they're biased. But everyone had really useful suggestions for ways to make Cecily more relatable, so I got a lot out of it. I'm hoping to get in on a long form workshop later this month, where everyone submits around 50k words and then we're given a longer time to read and workshop all of the submissions. I'm so glad I found this writing group, because it's gotten me all excited about writing again, and when I'm excited about writing my whole life lights up.

And now it is time for me to dry my hair again, because apparently I only blog when my hair is up in a towel after I shower. I mean what else am I going to do during that time, right? Be productive and do laundry or something? No.

P.S. Can someone stop me from using the stupidest titles in my blog posts? No? Okay.

Slush Day

Selfies with Lyall always go awry. One of us inevitably ends up looking stupid. Or, in this case, both. And yet I continue to do it, all the time. 

Today was a good day. I got to work late because the first bus that came by my stop was "drop off only" (okay whatever guys), and the next one got stuck at the next stop and the driver had to make somebody go out and tell him when there was no traffic so he could back up out of the ice. But I made it to work! I probably could have stayed home and worked remotely, but I was so fucking stir crazy after being pretty much trapped inside all weekend.

After work I took the bus to my poor stranded car, where I had planned to get in and speed away all cool out of the slush, with my sunglasses on, yeaahhhhh. But I was actually still stuck in the snow. So I had to call Louise's boyfriend and make him shovel all the snow and ice out of the way, and then he and two strangers who came out of the woodwork helped me push my car out of the mire. Has anyone else noticed that strangers are always coming out of the woodwork to make themselves helpful in Portland? It's like you can't go two steps without someone being pleasant or useful to you in some way. Disconcerting after living in London, but I still love it. Because Portland.

Then Louise, her boyfriend, and I all met up at the Tabor Tavern for happy hour. Next time I'm getting the cauliflower fritters. And not the chili. Warning, future self: always ask if the chili is spicy before you order it.

And then, for some godforsaken reason that nobody will ever fully understand, Louise made us all go to Pix Patisserie, which was amazing and horrible and we ordered like two tiny things to share, and I felt like I was going to fold in on myself, the dessert in my stomach was so dense. Oh man.

Anyway. Tomorrow the first chapter of my book is being workshopped at the writing group, and I'm super nervous. The groups are switched up every week so I'm not sure I even know everyone who will be giving me feedback, and ugh. I'm super worried nobody will get it and everyone will think I'm the worst writer they've ever come across and will throw me out into the street and start chucking slush at me.

I mean it's a rational fear though.

I'm really excited, despite the terror. Hopefully this will motivate me to actually revise my novel a bit more, and maybe actually make it publishable? Maybe? Eh. We'll see. In the meantime I've started the "coming to Portland" short story, which is painfully autobiographical so far and could stand to be more interesting. Sometimes real life is interesting, but other times it's just a long string of really pointless dialogue with no apparent purpose.

Just like my novel.

Haha I'm kidding!! Am I? No. Okay. I'm going to bed. Because I work at an unholy hour and I still have to dry my hair.

Things I've Learned About Publishing

Hey guys, Meg here! I'm blogging to tell you about a few things I've learned in the past year or so while writing, editing, and trying to publish a novel. I found them eye-opening, and maybe you will too! Or maybe not. In that case, I'm sorry this post is so boring for you.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED ABOUT PUBLISHING I GUESS

1. Everything is SUBJECTIVE. 

Okay not literally everything; if you spell words in your manuscript wrong, then you've spelled them wrong no matter who reads it. But it is so important to remember that one person may read your manuscript and absolutely love it, while somebody else may read the very same manuscript and think it's drivel. That's how it goes. For my Masters dissertation, I got an A from one grader and a C from another. They agreed on a B (to Matt's chagrin; thank you Matt!). And then a third grader gave me an A. On the same manuscript.

When it comes to creative things like novel writing, there is no "right" way to do it. Whether or not somebody likes your book is based completely on their own taste. If an agent rejects you (I remind myself regularly), it doesn't necessarily mean that your manuscript is bad. It just means that a) it's not to their taste, b) they didn't fall in love with it enough, c) it doesn't fit anywhere in their list, d) they loved it but already represent a similar book, e) they were in a bad mood that day. Or something else entirely! I have to constantly tell myself that there will be an agent out there who loves my book, I just haven't found her yet. Keep on trucking.

2. Commercial fiction is not literary fiction.

This is important to remember! Especially if you've taken college courses in creative writing, or attended writing workshops. For the most part (well, based on my experience), these are geared towards literary writers. Which to me means boring writers, but in reality means "not genre." What is genre fiction, you ask? Basically all the fun books: Sci fi, fantasy, YA, crime, mystery, romance, etc. Literary writers tend to be more like poets, I find. They focus on the words themselves, crafting perfect sentences, creating beautiful imagery in unique and beautiful ways. Genre writers tend to worry more about plot, characterization, and plot. Plot is important. The writing itself is important, but it's not the same sort of writing that literary people write. You can say "she laughed," "she grimaced," or "he sighed" a whole bunch in your book if you want! You can sell that book, and people will like it! You don't need to hang on your creative writing professor's every word if she's a literary person, and you're a genre person. Realize that you must learn the rules, but you can discard the ones that don't apply to you.

Also, and I learned this the hard way, if you're a genre writer and you take a creative writing course or do a workshop... they might not take you seriously. Which is horrible, and old-fashioned and prejudiced and total bullshit, but it happens! I was told by one of my undergrad workshop profs that I straight-up should not try to get a Masters in creative writing, because people at the graduate level wouldn't take my fantasy writing seriously. Well guess who got a Masters in creative writing, asshole! Don't listen to the negative people, you guys. You just have to find the right environment and the right group of people, and you'll flourish. But beware, there are workshops and programs out there that will treat you as a second-class citizen if you come in brandishing your sci fi/fantasy short stories. As soon as people in one of my workshops found out I wrote fantasy, they started making bad jokes about dragons every day in class. Just a warning.

3. It's okay to write commercial fiction.

It is! I think a lot of people don't regard commercial writers as ~real writers~, but those people are douchenoggins. Also they don't sell as many books. Why? Because commercial writers... wait for it... are more commercial. People buy genre books, and chick lit, and commercial fiction. You can make a living writing commercially. Which is why it's called that! And that is totally okay. If you want to write a beautiful work of art, that's amazing and you should go for it. But if you want to write a fun, tightly-plotted book that will sell, go ahead and do that instead. It's okay!

4. You don't have the be a unique and beautiful snowflake.

I mean, obviously your book should stand on its own legs, and not be a complete rip-off of somebody else's work. However -- and here's something that still baffles me a bit -- it's okay to write something that's super similar to another thing that's out there. I mean, how many books are there about a young dude who goes on a quest to find or destroy some magical item? LIKE A BILLION. And how many books are there about a teenage girl who falls in love with a supernatural hottie? LIKE A BILLION. And they all sell! People like reading books that remind them of books they've already read. I know I do! More babely steampunk werewolves, please!

Agents even like this. I see agents tweeting all the time asking for submissions that remind them of a movie they just watched, or a book they just read and loved. Obviously you don't want to write that very same book or movie with only the names changed, but it's okay to be slightly derivative. Look at the steampunk craze that's happening. They all have automatons and airships and girls in corsets firing pistols at mad scientists, but it's okay! Because steampunk is selling, and agents want to represent books that will sell, so a lot of these books resemble each other closely.

Maybe some people think that's stupid and bad, but I think it's awesome, because it doesn't make me freak out and bash my head repeatedly against the wall trying to come up with a completely and utterly new concept that nobody has ever thought of before in the history of the world. I mean if you dissect the book I'm writing now, it's basically The Affair of the Necklace meets steampunk meets Star Wars meets a tiny bit o' Jane Austen. Which is kind of a weird combo. It's actually so weird I'm worried it won't sell. But who knows? Everything is subjective!

Why Not Self-Publish?

This is something a lot of people have asked me about since I started talking about getting my novel published. "Why don't you try self-publishing?" And since I have some strong opinions about this, I figured I'd post about it!

Well, there are several reasons why I'm not going the self-pub route, at least not yet. The first one is simply that there's absolutely no reason to not pursue traditional publication first. No reason. Sure, the process might take a few years longer, and there's 100% more rejection involved, and it's a lot of work, but none of those facts are good reasons to self-publish. At least, not for me. It's been my dream since I was in middle school to write and publish a novel one day, and that dream was always about traditional publication. I want my books to be in Barnes & Noble, on the same shelf as Brandon Sanderson (they totally would be, I checked). And since people are still getting published in the traditional way, I'm putting my lot in with the rest of them. I'm not going to give up on my dream, or accomplish a half-assed version of my dream. I'm going to try as hard as I possibly can to get published the traditional way, whether it's with my currently finished novel, or with another one in the future.

I realize that it's about a billion times harder to get published now than it was in the past. The publishing industry is suffering, and I get that. Agents are only taking on projects that they absolutely adore. Publishers are only taking on books that they think will sell really well. I get it. It's a business. But just because it's hard, doesn't mean I'm going to give up. Since when do people give up on their dreams because the odds are against them? That's just lame, guys! So I'm not letting the shitty state of publishing discourage me. I know I can publish a book, I just have to write the right one, and put a shit-ton of work into editing, finding an agent, and everything else. I'm more than willing to put in that work.

Which brings me to another reason why I'd rather not self-publish. I think it smacks of laziness a lot of the time. I don't mean always. I realize that self-publishing isn't just for lazy people. But, let's be honest -- I think it can be sometimes. There's significantly less rejection involved (i.e. none), and you don't have to wait 6 months for an agent to finish reading your manuscript, and then you don't have to make a billion edits for your agent and then your editor. You can make all the decisions yourself, and then you start making money immediately. You don't have to wait forever for the book to be released, because you have that power. Easy! Right? Yeah, also lame. I feel like if I self-published right now, I'd be taking the lazy, easy way out. Which isn't what I want for my books, my career, or myself. I want to work hard at this, and receive an equal amount of reward.

Another reason I'm not so into the whole idea of self-publishing is because it can get in the way if you want to traditionally publish that book later. If an editor or agent sees that your self-published eBook isn't selling very well, they probably won't be super eager to offer you a book deal. So if I self-publish a book, and then decide later that I'd like to try publishing it the traditional way, the fact that I self-published could be a red flag to publishers. They might think it's a bad book. They might wonder why I self-published in the first place. Am I difficult to work with? Impatient as hell? Unwilling to do the work necessary to get published traditionally? I know not all publishing people are going to react this way, but I've read a lot of articles and interviews, and listened to podcasts that say these are all legitimate concerns. And I don't want to take that chance yet.

Also, I don't trust myself to edit my book. I don't believe I could get it to a place where I feel comfortable selling it, without an agent and an editor looking at it first. I know I could pay somebody to edit for me, but that's something I'd rather not spend money on.

I still think self-publishing is totally legitimate, and definitely a great option for some people, but it's not for me. At least not right now. I just straight-up don't see a reason not to go the traditional route. I may be getting rejection emails every day and I may not ever get this first novel published, but this is a huge learning experience, and I wouldn't change anything about the process. My soul may have been crushed a little, but that comes with the territory. And hey, I'm working on a new novel right now, which I will definitely try to publish when I'm finished with it. I'm not giving up any time soon. My books are going to be on the shelves of Barnes & Noble one day, and I won't stop working toward that dream, damn it!

Oh, hello

Here have this photo of my dog from when he was drugged after a vet visit and I put his sweater over his ears!

Anyway so I've been writing a lot I guess. Pretty much daily. Well, yeah, daily. For a week straight! Let's see how long this lasts! (Forever.) I'm about 14,000 words into this new novel I'm working on, which I'm enjoying a lot more than I thought I would. I was super excited about it at first, and then I got really unexcited, but now I'm excited again. Mostly because it's dialogue-y, and I love dialogue, and I'm having much more fun with the characters and space ship settings than I had predicted. Hurray! My goal is to finish the first draft by this fall, but I'm not sure that will actually happen. Fingers crossed.

In other news, there's not much other news. Greg and I bought an elliptical, which I've been using daily as well. My goals are: elliptical for at least 30 minutes every day, and write at least 250 words every day. I've been reading while I exercise, which makes the time go by pretty quickly, thank god. The worst thing about straight cardio is that it's boring as hell. At least when you do strength stuff you can grunt and be like, "Just... one... MORE!" while doing curls or something. I finished Austenland, which was very fun and cute, and am about halfway through The Shambling Guide to New York City. Loving it. I need something light and funny to read while I do the elliptical (ellipticalize? What's the verb form of elliptical?), otherwise I'd get too distracted by how sweaty I am. Ugh sweat.

Otherwise life is as it always is. I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen, something to catalyze a change -- either in the world around me, or in myself -- but I don't know what, specifically. I'm probably still getting used to Salt Lake. Will I ever become accustomed to this city? I think, even if it weren't for the overtly religious culture that reigns supreme, I wouldn't like it here. Is there even a culture in SLC, other than LDS? It seems so bland to me, but maybe I've been ruined by Portland and London (the best two cities around, obvs). Also just recently I learned that we're going to have to stay here for a lot longer than I'd expected. 

I don't know. I feel like I don't have an anchor and I'm just sort of drifting forward, letting life happen. And I don't like it. I realized that for basically my entire life, I've been working on something with a goal in mind. I was always in school, or saving up money to move to Portland, or applying to grad schools, or preparing to move to London, or studying and working on my masters degree. I was always waiting for life to happen. And now life is happening, and I'm just like... "Okay? Really? This is life. Well, okay. And when does it start again? Oh, it's... it's already started, you say? Ah. Wow. Okay that's cool I guess."

And it SUCKS, because life is awesome, objectively! In little isolated pockets, it's amazing. Like when I'm hanging out with Greg and we're laughing together. Or when I'm standing on the balcony watching the trees being pummeled by wind and rain. Or when I'm cuddling with my dog, listening to music. But overall it's like these things aren't connecting right, and the great tapestry of Meg's Life hasn't fallen into place yet. 

I'm trying to make it better. I'm being more social, which is always hard for me, even though I crave it. And I'm making an effort to exercise and write, which always makes me feel less like a failure and a useless lump. But... it's just not... there yet?

Shit, I don't know. Maybe I need something big to work towards. Like, hmmm, finishing my second novel?? Publishing my first one? But it doesn't feel like enough. And I don't know what "enough" is. Will I spend the rest of my life feeling like I'm not living it right? That there's something I could be doing to make everything more incredible? Someone tell me how to fix it. Someone tell me what to do.

Journey to Publication! Part 4: Moving On

Hello all, I know it's been a while since I did one of these posts! I felt it wasn't quite right, as nothing was really happening on that front. I'd been sending out regular batches of queries up until a couple weeks ago, but it started to feel... not right. There are 4 agents right now who've requested to read material, one of them the full manuscript, and that's wonderful. I am still hoping for a positive reply or two... but I'm not focusing on it. I'm moving on. I'm not giving up, but I'm focusing my energy elsewhere.

And here's why. I was starting to look at things the wrong way. As a writer I should be writing, and instead I was sending out queries one day a week, and spending the rest of my week refreshing my email in the hope that I'd hear back from an agent. The rejections became easier and easier, until I got to the point where a form rejection of my query didn't bother me at all. I recently received a pass from an agent after reading the first 50 pages of my novel, and it sucked, but it didn't suck for very long and it was fine. So my skin got thicker. But I was still focusing on it, and every time I didn't get an offer of representation, I felt just a little more like I wasn't doing the right thing.

Here's the thing. I love my novel. I think it's great. If I didn't, I wouldn't be sending queries to agents, would I? I do think it has a place in the market right now, and I think it has an audience. But I'm not sure it's exactly where it needs to be yet.

I know this is the novel I wanted to write. The characters, the story, some of the silly moments that I put there just for me... it's exactly how I want it, for now. I'm so proud of myself for writing it. But I don't know if it's ready, or if it's 100% the best it can be. And I'm not at the point right now where I can focus on that, because I'm actually starting to go mad thinking about it, and there is only so much feedback you can hear, so much differing and contradictory feedback, before you start questioning everything.

So I'm taking a break from sending queries. I'm not giving up by any means. I believe in my novel, and I believe it can get published, but I'm not in the right headspace right now to be putting all my energy toward that. I need to be writing, and improving, and learning. And above all, having fun. Because that's why I love to write after all -- it's fun. I love it! And the situation with my novel, where I wasn't writing but just sitting and waiting... wasn't fun at all. It was driving me fucking bonkers.

I had a talk with Greg the other night. He basically told me, Meg, what the fuck are you doing? You love to write. I have a good job and I pay for the great majority of things and you only work part time so you can write. Why aren't you writing? And I thought, why aren't I writing? So I made a lot of excuses, and I cried, but Greg was having none of it. "Just suck it up and write."

Then something clicked. It always has to click with me or I won't do it, I won't listen to advice, I won't make a change unless something clicks. And it did. I realized, not that I should be writing, but I want to be writing. I want to be creating and doing the thing that makes me happiest. I don't want to be sitting and waiting and focusing on trying to sell the book I'd already written. I can do that on the side, or in the meantime, or I can do it later. But right now I have to write.

So I'm writing! I'm working on the outline for a new novel, and while it's set in a different world and there are different characters and a different setting, it's very similar in tone. It's a little bit Steampunk meets Indiana Jones meets Jane Austen, and I hope in a good way. I've no idea if it can sell, but I don't care at this point. I know I'm going to have a ton of fun writing it, and really that's the only thing I want to focus on right now.

Journey to Publication! Part 3: Despair

Okay so I'm not exactly despairing, but I'm not full of hope and optimism like I was only a week or so ago. Things have settled down a bit, and after sending out a new batch of queries over a week ago, I've received two very brief form rejections and nothing else. I've gone through the list of agents I really wanted to query initially, and am now unsure where to go or what to do next. And above all I just feel... emo about it all.

When do I not feel emo though? Sigh. I guess I'm just annoyed because I went from 3 agents requesting material in a short period of time to a series of bland rejections. Obviously this is super normal, and I've only queried about 12 agents so far. But I'm in a stupid headspace where I'm convinced (again; welcome to emotional rollercoaster!) that my book is horrible and even if I was a literary agent I'd never represent it because it could never sell.

In moments of clarity and non-emo-ness, I don't think this at all. I think my book is a bit odd, perhaps, in terms of genre, but it could easily be shoe-horned into Steampunk or Fantasy or even Magical Realism if need be. And I believe it can sell, and sell well. But only when I'm in a good mood. I'm in a horrible mood now, have been for a while, and I feel like a hack.

The only thing I can do is continue to query agents and hope I'll eventually find the one who loves my book. I have a feeling it's gonna take a lot of queries and a lot of patience, but that's okay. I just have to do it. I have to pretend to be confident and excited when I feel full of irrational despair. I have to keep at it.

Statistically, if I query enough agents, someone is bound to love my novel... right? That's how the world works, right? Right?

Outfit no. 39

Skirt, shirt, and jumper: F21; necklace: gift from friend; shoes: Payless; glasses: Ray-Ban

Wow, I did not have any kind of luck with my hair today. It was fine last night when I went to bed, and when I awoke this morning, it was winging out like CRAZY and I don't understand! I couldn't do what I'd normally do and wear a hat, as it's another ~business casual~ week at work, so I let it fly free. Stupid hair.

Anyway, I actually went out of my way to try to be as "conservative" and "business casual" as I could today and yesterday, thanks to some new acquisitions from the Forever21 sale. I've been leaning toward more classic, basic pieces lately anyway, so it all worked out. I bought 2 skirts, 2 sweaters, and a pair of earrings from F21 over the weekend for only $23. Epic score, in my opinion! Then I picked up these wedges from Payless on Sunday while Greg and I were out running errands. I'd been missing a staple pair of black pumps in my shoe collection, and figured it was time. Plus they were only $27. I am Queen of Bargains!

The necklace was a Christmas gift from my friend Ashleigh, and I absolutely looove it. You can't really see what it looks like at all since I'm lazy and didn't get a closeup photo, but it's cool okay. I'm a fan of wearing jewelry that means something, so when someone gives me a piece of jewelry I tend to wear it often, even if it's not necessarily something I'd have bought for myself. My dad got me a necklace for Christmas as well, a pink freshwater pearl, which is worn at least a few times a week. The rings I wear all mean something to me as well. One was a high school graduation gift from my grandparents, one was bought in Camden Market in London, one I got from a market stall in Boston during a high school "field trip" out East, and the last one, my brass Claddagh ring, is from the Washington Renaissance Faire. I buy a lot of rings that break or get lost pretty quick, but the special ones always seem to stick around.

Wow that was a long ramble about jewelry, I'm sorry.

Today I received another rejection from an agent I'd queried. So naturally I'm going to send out a new batch of queries this evening. I don't fall off the horse and wallow about in the mud. I get back on. Aaaannnd that's my cheesy inspirational message of the day!

Seriously though I think the whole publishing process will be so much more rewarding in the end if I'm put through a challenge. It would be no fun if someone just came to my door and was like "I am from Random House I will publish your book now, here is a check. Goodbye." I mean... okay it would be super fun, but it wouldn't be as rewarding. I've found that when I decide to do something difficult (and I really very rarely do), that accomplishing my goal is way more awesome than if I accomplish something easy. Anyone will tell you that, and I've always known it hypothetically, but after moving to London and getting my MA I realize, from a personal standpoint, that it's true. So I'm trying to embrace the pain of rejection, and realize that I may get many many rejections, but it only takes one "yes."

Journey to Publication! Part 2: Weeping and Waiting

When I spoke with you last, I had just received my first "form rejection" from a literary agent. If you're not quite up to speed, I've written a novel and am now slogging through the soul-crushing vortex of pain that is querying agents. Since last time, there have been a few minor developments.

Firstly let me say: when people tell you that trying to get published is a nooollercoaster ride of emotion, usually complete with visits to Vomcano Village on a regular basis, believe them. It is true. Only days ago I was on a high, feeling pret-ty damn good about myself for getting a request for my full manuscript, and a request for my partial manuscript, in the space of a week. I'd heard back from four agents at that point, and two of them seemed interested in my novel. I felt like kind of a big deal.

And then I got an email from the agent to whom Matt referred me. She said she was glad to have been able to read my novel, that I'd likely have success with it, but that it was "a bit too commercial" for her. Which, fair enough. I wrote it to be commercial. And not everyone is into that, nor do all agents represent that, nor did I really think my book would be a good fit for her. So I wasn't particularly disappointed, and focused instead on the kind words that she offered in regards to my manuscript. I was like, "Well yay! An agent read my whole book and didn't think it was akin to rotting offal. This is good. I can do this."

Still feeling quite optimistic, I checked my email this morning and saw that I'd received an email from the agent who'd requested the first 50 pages of my manuscript. Stomach in my throat, I read it... and my stomach plummeted into the bowel region. She said that I was a strong writer, but that my story didn't "enrapture" her the way that she'd hoped.

My story didn't enrapture her.

It didn't enrapture her.

My first and only thought process upon reading these words: OH MY GOD MY NOVEL IS BORING. It is the most boring piece of writing ever conceived on this earth. What have I done.

And you know... I haven't quite gotten over this little speedbump of emo. Not yet. I'm still of the mind that... maybe my novel sucks? Yes, I've had friends and family who've read it and enjoyed it. That is true. But I wonder how much of that enjoyment stems from the fact that they know and love me? Probably a significant amount. Would they love my book if they randomly bought it at Barnes & Noble? Maybe. I'm not sure. There are several people who asked to read my manuscript, maybe a couple months ago now, and as far as I'm aware never finished it. I mean yes, it was not the finished draft and maybe it was too rough for them to get into it. And yes, people have lives, and it takes time to read a novel, and they are likely very busy. Or maybe they just forgot.

But, well... I've clung to this fact, the fact that some of my friends and family have not finished my manuscript... and used it as proof to myself that I've written a boring, forgettable, non-enrapturing novel. I can't shake this feeling. And it's really really pissing me off.

I'm still waiting to hear back from several agents I queried a couple weeks ago, as well as the agent who requested my full manuscript. But I don't have high hopes. My query letter may be good, but does my manuscript live up to it? Am I letting everyone down? Did I write my novel all wrong? I'm paranoid and insecure and it sucks, but it's happening nonetheless.

All I can do now, other than eat copious amounts of chocolate and numb my pain with episodes of TNG, is wait. And have a cheeky weep. And wait some more. And then... a cheeky chunder.

Writing is hard. Trying to get published is even worse. Until next time!

Journey to Publication! Part 1: First Rejection

I've been warned, repeatedly, endless times, over and over again, that the process of trying to get your book published, namely finding an agent, sucks. Like, really sucks. Everything sucks. It sucks writing a query letter, it sucks even more writing a synopsis, it sucks querying agents, it sucks being rejected. Over and over again. So many rejections. Never-ending rejections. "GROW THICK SKIN" they say, "OR ELSE YOUR SOUL WILL BE TORN ASUNDER, YOUR BODY LEFT AN EMPTY SHELL, AND YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY AGAIN, YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE LIKE A BLACK HOLE OF ENNUI, EVERY PARTICLE OF LIGHT SUCKED IN AND DECIMATED." Etcetera.

And I thought, in response: HA you guys are a bunch of pussies, who can't take a rejection letter? It's not that bad. There are so many reasons, mostly subjective, why an agent would reject my book. I totally understand. I mean, not everyone can love my book, or even want to read it, or even want to represent it. It's cool. I completely get it, and I am ready to dive head-first into that world! I'm ready. Let's do this.

Cue me sending out one query letter. One. Just one.

Cue the next day. I receive a form rejection via email.

I sit there. I go, "Oh, okay. This isn't surprising. Good. I've got my first rejection out of the way!" I continue to watch The Vampire Diaries.

Only, I felt vaguely as though somebody had torn my soul from my body, punched it in the stomach, and put it back inside me.

"I'M NOT A PUSSY" I said to myself, pouring an entire thing of Reese's Pieces into my mouth and chewing, slowly. "IT'S COOL. I DON'T EVEN CARE."

As the minutes and hours wore on, I realized, detachedly, that I couldn't get up from the couch. It's comfy here, I thought, stuffing my face with leftover Christmas candy. I DON'T EVEN WANNA GET UP.

Cue Greg later asking what I wanted for dinner, in a clipped tone, and me jumping to the totally reasonable conclusion that he hated me and wanted me to die. "WHY DO YOU HATE MEEE" I said, feeling completely justified. "I CAN TELL YOU WANT ME TO DIE I CAN HEAR IT IN YOUR TONE."

"I just want to eat dinner?" said Greg, confused. "Are you okay? Seriously what's wrong."

"NOTHING OK I'M FINE WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT."

"But seriously what's wrong."

"NOTHING."

"Meg."

"I'm embarrassed, okay? I'm embarrassed I'm so embarrassed I didn't want to tell you."

Cue me explaining that I'd sent out one query letter, unsolicited, without telling anyone. And, just as quickly and quietly, I'd been rejected.

"Oh," said Greg. "So what do you want for dinner?"

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I just wanted to curl up into a fetal position and fade away into nothingness. Clearly there was no reason to live anymore. Nobody wanted my novel. Everyone hated it. Nobody would ever publish the senseless piece of drivel I had dared to call a novel. What was I THINKING? This publishing industry business isn't the magical, cozy, "let's all be friends" sort of Care Bears scenario I'd been imagining. It's a business, just like any other. I mean shit, I probably wouldn't take on my novel if I wanted to make a buck. I'd look for some YA urban paranormal fantasy romance starring a blonde 17-year-old hottie. I'd be like, "Clockpunk? What the everloving shit?" and copy, paste, and send that form rejection. Bam. The end.

"It's just the same as when you start applying for jobs in a new city," said Greg, this afternoon. "Your first few rejections are really hard, but then you suck it up, and it's not as bad."

But he doesn't realize that this is different. It's fundamentally different in that, when I don't get a job, I think "UGH THIS SUCKS I'M STILL BROKE" and cry a little. But after my query being rejected just once, I feel as though my entire existence has been invalidated. Okay maybe not quite that badly... but this book is something I've worked hard on, I've cried over it, I've sweat over it, I may have bled over it at some point. It's my baby. And to send your baby, even in the form of a one-page query letter, to somebody and for that somebody to be like "Meh, not really interested, not even interested enough to tell you that in person or to say something nice about your baby. It's just like all the other babies. Can't be bothered. Here's the same letter I send to all the moms whose babies are so nondescript and/or shit that I forget about them moments after hitting send" is REALLY HARD. It's really hard okay. It's like "but why do you hate my beautiful child, I love my child, whyyyyyyy" and it sucks.

So yeah I HAVE HAD ONE REJECTION and it was from a super popular agency and it was one of those "I'm doing this for shits and giggles" sort of things but it was still a rejection, and I'm still moping about it.

And I also realized that I'm not really feeling the whole ~publishing industry bullshit~ thing right now, and I'm taking a break. I'm not going to push myself to do anything right now. I deserve a bloody break, y'know? I deserve to watch Stefan and Damon brood together in leather jackets for hours and hours every day if I want to. And hey, maybe tomorrow I'll be super pumped up about it again, and positive, and excited! But I figure, if I'm not pumped up and excited... then what's the point? So here I am, treating myself well (aka sitting on the couch watching Star Trek and eating pizza with Greg) and not forcing myself to do things simply because I think I should. Which, admittedly, I do. A lot.

I am waiting to hear back from an agent who Matt put me in touch with, but she doesn't really rep fantasy, so I'm not expecting anything big. I only hope she has some advice or agent-y wisdom to bestow upon me in my time of need. I mean, that's what this Matt connection is for, right? To make people feel obligated to help me out in some way?

Ah, Meg. Why did you ever decide to become a writer. BECAUSE I LIKE PAIN. That's why. I like pain.

What do I do now?

Welp, I finished the novel. What do I do now?

I find myself a bit overwhelmed with the possibilities. I could finally watch the last series of Merlin, I could re-watch Sherlock, I could read more of the Infernal Devices series, I could mainline One Direction videos and decide which one has the best voice, I could make art, I could continue watching The Vampire Diaries even though it's awful, I could start a Supernatural journey, I could play League of Legends, I could play WoW, I could start planning the sequel to my novel, I could write something totally different, I could lie on the couch and eat Cheez-Its until I become as wide as I am tall. I could do anything.

You may be like "BUT MEG you could always do these things, what are you talking about?" Yeahhh but every time I did something like that, I felt guilty. Because my novel wasn't finished. And most of the time I was thinking, "I SHOULD BE WRITING I WANT TO WRITE" and so I was either always living in guilt, or writing. Now I don't have to feel guilty, because I deserve a break after writing and editing a novel! But also I have a lot of things I want to do, and not enough hours in the day.

PLUS I have all these social things happening suddenly? And by "all these" I mean about two, but still. Tonight I'm gonna go to the SLC Writers Group write-in, and decide where to put all the chapter breaks in my novel. ...OKAY maybe I'm not 100% finished, but I can bang that out in like an hour. And it'll be nice to write and sit in a cafe with fellow writers. Hurray!

Regardless of what I decide to do with my afternoon, my Fangirl Feels are coming back in full force... and I intend to use them.

Thoughts Post-Novel

It's true, it's official, it's finally happened -- I finished my novel! I FINISHED MY NOVEL. As in, I finished it and there's no more to write. It's edited and fixed and polished and done.

I don't exaggerate when I say this is the best thing I've ever done in my life. Even better than living in London for a year, although the two are pretty closely intertwined. I went to London to get my Creative Writing degree, after all, and I met some of my best friends and biggest inspirations at Brunel's MA program. Studying at Brunel was the motivation I needed to start and finish the novel I'd always wanted to write, and I'm so beyond happy that I did it -- I can't put it into words.

I've wanted to be a novelist since I was in middle school, when I wrote a story about a goat, a lizard, and like... a bird of some sort in a college-ruled notebook. It was pretty plot-less and obviously not very memorable, but the feeling of creating a story, an adventure, was my favorite feeling in the world. Since then I've written short stories, flash fiction, poetry, half-finished novels, barely-begun novels, fanfiction, porn, and even a song or two. But nothing ever came of them, and the one time that I submitted a poem to my high school's literary magazine, The Troubadour, it didn't get published. And let's be honest -- I never put much effort into finishing any of the novels I started. I just got bored of them, and didn't know how the story would pan out, so I quit. I figured when the right idea came along, I'd run with it and finish the novel.

Wrong. I had to force myself. It was a lot of bloody hard work, self-discipline, and weeping/hair-pulling/panicking sessions before I even finished the outline of the novel. Thank god I had that outline, too, because I'm not sure I could have finished the thing otherwise. So thank god that Brunel required us all to write outlines!

What I'm trying to say, in a very wordy way, is that I've been scrabbling about for years trying to do something with my writing. Anything. I've started so many novels I couldn't possibly remember all of them, and given up on so many projects that I put so much time and thought into. Sometimes I thought I'd given up on ever finishing a novel or getting published. And then I saw a novel-writing program at City University London, while looking for a Psychology program in London (my plans had been slightly different when I started looking at grad schools in the UK). As soon as I read the title of the program, it was like everything inside me lit up. This was what I wanted to do. Not psychology -- fuck doing things to make money, for a career. I wanted to write more than anything, and when I saw that novel-writing program at City University, I knew that was what I'd do instead. Obviously I didn't get into City Uni... thank god, or I wouldn't have met Claudia and Lucy and Matt and all the people who have been so amazing and integral to my work on this novel. But I didn't look back, and took a novel-writing program even though I knew it would probably never propel me onward toward a career.

It did something better. It reminded me what I want to do with my life. Why I exist, if you'll allow me to be melodramatic about the whole thing. It really was like a wake-up call to my soul, and writing this novel was the most difficult, stressful, exciting, fun, terrifying, and awesome thing that I've ever done. The fact that it coincided with a year-long move to London just made it that much more incredible.

So finally, after years and years of writing aimlessly and never finishing a novel, never getting published, never knowing exactly what I wanted to, or could, do with my writing -- I finished a novel. And I could not be more fulfilled, proud of myself, excited, and fucking happy. This is who I am. This is what I do. I'm doing it, I'm making it happen, and it fucking rules!

Just wait until, fingers crossed, this thing gets published. I'll have accomplished every single one of my life goals: live in England, write a novel, publish a novel. Bam. The end. Bring it on, then, publishing industry! Let's do this thang.

[Art by my lovely/amazing friend Emily, who read one of my earlier manuscripts and drew fanart of Cecily and the Duke for me. Let's all marvel at her incredible skills of an artist. And definitely go read her new webcomic, Living History; it's super awesome!]

Cecily at the Fox Hunt

“How kind of you,” said Cecily, noticing that the Viscount Hembly had spotted them and was making his way near. He looked like a huge red growth on top of his horse, his considerable girth sliding from side to side as he rode towards them. For a man in his sixties he looked uncannily like a giant baby, his thinning hair standing up in a tuft at the top of his head.

“Are you quite all right, Cecily?” asked Nettie, her eyes wide with concern. “You've gone rather pale.”

~

Whenever I feel I need a break from writing, but still want to think about my characters (when do I not want to think about them, really), I usually end up drawing them. Yesterday I came across this coat on tumblr, and knew I had to put it on Cecily. So here's my crappy version of it (I didn't use a reference, obviously -- references are for LOSERS!), with Cecily looking understandably horrified by the approaching Viscount Hembly. Although if I'm honest... Cecily looks like this pretty much all the time. Especially when she's around the Duke, who is constantly offending her with his badly tied cravats and disheveled hair.

And now I am off to draw the Duke next. Have a wonderful evening! x

SLC Writers Group

My ~Writing Station~ aka bed.

Last night, as I mentioned in yesterday's blog post, I went to the SLC Writers Group for the first time. I've been craving some in-person writerly discussions and workshopping lately, not to mention straight up old-fashioned social activities, so I forced myself to go. I'd been eyeing the group for a while on facebook, but finally decided that last night was the night.

I was so, so nervous beforehand. I was pacing the house and clutching at my knotted stomach, gurning and wailing. But I kept telling myself: if I can move to London on my own and give my writing to a bunch of strange Brits to read and critique, I can probably drag myself across town and sit in a coffee shop for a couple hours with new people. So I did. I got lost twice on the way there, but I found it at last, and I'm so glad I did! It was exactly what I needed.

Have any of you attended or taken part in a writing workshop? If so, then you know basically how this went. Everyone went around and talked about the pieces they'd read from the previous meeting -- what they liked, what didn't work, and what the author could do to fix it. I just sat there and listened, as I hadn't read any of the pieces they were workshopping, but it was great to see how they worked as a group. I was actually a bit surprised and really happy to see how serious everyone was about it, despite the friendly, casual atmosphere. Tangents happened, and people went off topic regularly, but it always came back to the writing. Everyone's feedback seemed to be thoughtful and detailed. These were writers, and they knew what they were talking about. I had no idea what to expect, really, so it was wonderful to find that I could get a lot of writerly help from this group! Plus it seems like it'll be a lot of fun.

I'm really disappointed because we're going to be out of town for the next two meetings, so I won't be able to share my feedback or bring in my own writing or read more of the group's pieces. Gutted! I will be attending this week's write-in, however, which should be cool -- they meet every week at a cafe just to write. Which seems like a pretty awesome idea to me, and I'm looking forward to it!

I'm just so happy to have found a group of people who seem like they're a lot of fun, but are also ready to buckle down and get some serious writing and critiquing done. This is exactly what I needed! I could spend my whole life just hanging out with writers and talking about writing and and and... I am gonna go write now.

Outfit no. 31

Dress: New Look, cardi and necklace: F21, boots: Blowfish, glasses: Ray-Ban

A question I often ask myself (i.e. almost every day) is, would this be a practical outfit if today is the day I'm transported to a magical world wherein I must have many adventures and save the realm from a tyrant queen? Usually the answer is no. I'm not sure what kind of getup is suitable for adventures in a fantasy land, but it's not this. I imagine some sort of jeans/sneakers/sweater combo would be most practical, but as I'm never going to wear jeans no matter how likely I am to fall through a dimensional portal, dresses and ankle booties will have to do.

After all, Virginia went around in a mini-skirt and a hoodie. Although I'm pretty sure she was also sporting Docs or something, so she was okay for off-roading and climbing the occasional beanstalk.

I always wear this dress and completely forget that the seam on my tights never fails to show through. So dumb and annoying! I need to fix that somehow. It's not even a dress I particularly like, but I wanted to wear burnt orange, so I had no choice. Alas!

I'm starting on draft four of my manuscript today. I got some really great feedback from my friend Rachel (who, incidentally, I met for the first time in Heathrow Airport -- yay internet friends!), so while I wait on further feedback I'm gonna tinker around and see what I can do. Yay writing!

Speaking of writing, I found a writers' group here in Salt Lake City that meets twice a month for workshops, and every week for write-ins. I'm super excited about this, as I've been missing my fellow Brunel MA writers something fierce. I love being around other writers and creative types; they're so inspiring. Tonight I'm just gonna sort of sit and listen, and meet everyone, but I'll definitely try to attend some write-ins and hopefully make some writer friends. I'm nervous, but also super excited. I'll let you know how it goes.

Outfit no. 29

Dress: H&M, jumper: Primark, shoes: Blowfish, belt: wholesale-dress.net, necklace: Topshop

Aaaand I have a blog. I forgot for a few days, I really did! I've been a slave to my novel over the past couple of weeks, especially this last one. I was so close to finishing the third draft and I couldn't think of anything else. I was constantly making notes in my phone when I thought of things I wanted to add/change, and spending basically every free moment writing (when I wasn't reading the Mortal Instruments series). 

So, you've likely guessed it -- I finished the third draft of my novel! I think it's finally really close to how I want it to be, and hopefully with some more tweaks (after my poor friends and family give me their thoughts on it), it will be ready to look for an agent. But we'll see. I'm trying not to get ahead of myself or get too excited about it, because who knows, everyone might tell me it's dreadful and needs another year's worth of edits before it's decent. Augh! WRITING.

I'm trying to get back into the swing of dressing well enough for outfit photos... and failing. I don't really like this outfit at all! My brain is just not with clothes right now, it's with Cecily and the Duke. I will try to be a good blogger, though, and wear non-boring outfits from now on. Gahhhrgh, I have too many interests and not enough time!

Outfit no. 28

Skirt, shirt (old), necklace, and cardi: F21, belt: wholesale-dress.net, shoes: New Look, glasses: Ray-Ban

I feel terrible, but blogging has been the last thing on my mind over the past several days. I wish I could fully blame the Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare, but I've also been drawn 100% back into the writing game. It comes with the territory -- when I get really into reading a book, I also become motivated to write. And now that I'm even more determined to show B how wrong she was about my novel, all I want to do (and all I've done since last Friday) is work on my novel and read.

I'm so addicted to these books it's insane. I cannot get enough of them. I think about them all day, and all I wanna do when I get home is read them. But I'm taking a few hours every day to write, and the novel is coming along so well! I can feel it taking shape and becoming a full-fledged story, not just the bare bones of a first draft. I'll let you know how it goes.

So please bear with me, in the meantime! My blog is super important to me, but unfortunately my novel is more important... so there may be fewer posts, although I'll try my best to update as much as usual! x

A Fantasy Writer's Rant

Random pic of some of our books, because I couldn't find a more relevant photo for this post.

So you're all probably at least vaguely aware that I'm a writer, and I've written the first draft and most of the second draft of a novel, and that I wrote it for my MA program which was in London, and that I've been banging on about my dissertation results on social media for a couple weeks now. Well. At last, at long last, the results arrived last Friday. I was so excited upon finding it all mangled in the mailbox that I ran up the 3 flights of stairs to our apartment and yelled at my mom and Greg to Pay Attention while I opened it and read the results.

And then.

Well.

Let's just say the results weren't exactly what I wanted. They weren't even what I expected. They were worse. And I, the horrible drama queen that I am, ran into the bedroom and laid prone on the bed, the manuscript tucked under me, and tried not to cry. Then Greg came in and poked me or said "calm the hell down" or something like that, and I proceeded to throw my hat, my glasses, my phone, and the manuscript itself violently across the room while screaming that I may as well give up and that I was a horrible writer and that everyone else got an A* and I hated everything and wanted to die.

I overreact to things. On a regular basis. I really shouldn't have this time, as I got a B overall. A B really isn't that bad? I think? And Matt, my tutor, said nice things but was pretty clear that my novel needs to go through at least another draft before it's ready for publishing. He did say it could find a publisher, though, and that a lot of my writing was remarkable for an MA student. So thanks, Matt!

However. My second marker, who I shall call simply "B" did not quite agree with Matt. In fact she disagreed with him. Very markedly. She gave me a C overall, and said basically that she expected more from an MA student, and that if my style of writing was typical of the fantasy or YA genre, that this was a weakness.

This is what frustrates me so much about writing programs. The people who grade you are going to base pretty much their entire assessment of your work on how they feel about it. They aren't going to be objective. I guarantee it. They will say, "Hmm, do I like this? Is it what I like to read? Is it what I consider 'good writing'? Is it what I consider a quality genre of fiction? Am I in a bad mood or a good mood right now? Am I PMSing? Does my horrible neighbor whose dogs take shits in my yard look just like you? These are all factors that I must take into consideration when grading your work!" Seriously, it's awful.

That's what I really liked about Matt, was that he seemed pretty open to any genre, and seemed to realize that not everybody writes the same way, and that some styles of writing work better with certain stories and genres, etc. B, from the first day I met her, pissed me off because of her close-mindedness. So I shouldn't have been surprised that she gave me a C. In fact I blatantly disregarded some of her suggestions for "improving" my writing in the Planning A Novel module. Not because I'm a brat (I am), but because I didn't feel that her preferred very literary style of writing fit the story I wanted to tell. So I wrote the way I wanted to, and the way that I believed was right for my story and characters, and she still gave me a C. Because she simply believes in a more literary style of writing. This wasn't a literary novel-writing course, it was a novel-writing course in any genre.  Right from the start she wanted me to write magical realism so that I could fit into a more literary genre. NO! That is not what I want! I want to write fantasy, comedy, light-hearted romantic adventures. She straight-up did not get that. And it really, really frustrates me.

This opens up the broader subject of: why don't academic people take fantasy literature seriously? And why do academic people, like B, think they can brush off the fantasy genre when they have not even read any of it? She said, first day of class, that she "doesn't read fantasy." And then she criticizes me for not reading a broader spectrum of genres and books. No. Does not compute. If I were to read one of her prose poems (ugh why do these exist), even if I were to read every single one of her books, I would not be inspired; I would not be influenced. This isn't to say her books are horrible, as they are likely very well written and insightful and moving and whatever else books can be. But they have nothing to do with what I write, and so why would I list books as inspiration and influence when they haven't actually done so? I got graded down for being honest? I don't actually understand.

And the fact that she said, if my style is indicative of the greater fantasy and YA genre (my book is not YA, just to be clear), she considers it a weakness -- just makes my blood boil. A weakness of the entire genre? Does she not realize she is being extremely judgmental, prejudiced (coming from a woman who "does not read fantasy"), and worst of all -- pretentious as hell?

I'm so, so tired of these ~writers~ being so condescending about genre fiction. What's the problem? Is it too entertaining? Too popular? Too easy and fun to read? I mean, I suppose it can be fun to play the elitist hipster douchebag to a point, but... really? To criticize an entire genre just because it's not the same as ~literary fiction~, the land of prose poems (god help us), is just plain ignorant.

I was feeling really depressed and mopey about the whole thing, but after a few days and a think, I've realized -- it doesn't matter what B says about my novel. She may absolutely despise every word of it. And that's okay! Because you know what? I'm not writing it for her. I'm not writing it for anyone who reads the kind of book that she reads. I'm writing it for the geeks, the fantasy fans, the girls who want to read a fun romance. I'm writing it for the people who will buy it. And most of all, I'm writing it for me. I still love my characters, and my story, and the world I created. I love all of it. It needs a lot of work, but I'm so happy to put in that work to make a better book. And ultimately, I can't wait -- I cannot wait -- to sell a buttload more copies of my book than B will ever sell of hers, because I'm writing popular fiction, it's what I want to write, and it's what makes me happy. So there.