My First Rejection

Both times, my first rejection stung. It's personal, and there's nothing you can do about it.

22 years ago, I was in first grade, crushing on the precise penmanship and beguiling eyes of Justin Davies. He wrote me valentines professing his love, though word through the grapevine was that his devotions were generously distributed. 

Then my mother cut my hair. Pixie-style, just more boyish and less cute.

The next day, Justin gave me one long look of revulsion and turned away.

I must have cried my body weight in tears. I still remember my mother holding me that night, curled on the kitchen floor, sobbing in despair at his fickle affections while she apologized for choosing a hairstyle that she had becomingly worn only five years prior. Oh, mothers. Oh, elementary school loves.

This time, I didn't take it so personally.

If you're an aspiring author and you're querying agents, it's only a matter of time before someone unequivocally turns you down.

Quality is subjective. So is style, and emotion, and that hard-to-describe resonance when a story connects with you. So, it's only fair that there will be people who like your story, and there will be those who dislike it, and also those who just don't feel anything about it. 

Fortunately for my ego, my first rejection came from one of the latter:

“Dear Ashley,

Thank you for remembering our pitch session and contacting me after a few years! I appreciate your keeping me in mind. I am focusing on middle grade acquisitions these days and acquiring YA only selectively. Unfortunately, I’m not powerfully connecting with the narrative voice in your sample, so I’m sorry to say I’m not the right editor for this. Best of luck to you in finding the perfect publishing home for THE PAPER THRONE.”

— Sincerely, ****, Senior Editor at HarperCollins

She was right about the "years" part: I pitched this editor over 2 years ago at the 2014 Surrey International Writers Conference.

But look at her title.

Yeah. Senior Editor.

At HarperCollins.

FYI, Editors are the people whom literary agents pitch to. So this woman was one BIG step up the rung in the tall publishing ladder I'd have to climb.

But I knew she was a long shot from the beginning. Even when I pitched to her 2.5 years ago, she was primarily looking for children's lit, and I was very fortunate to receive request at all.

"How do you feel?"

I wondered how it would feel. I was sad. I had that hopeful jump in my stomach when I saw who the email was from, and then the sinking feeling when I read the words. It's made me a little more reflective today, but not dejected. So don't feel sorry for me, I'm okay! I've read enough cautionary articles and talked to enough writers that I was prepared. I wonder if the second, and the third, and the fourth rejection will feel different. 

What I'm supposed to do next

Keep my chin up. Grow a thick skin. Keep on truckin' on, which boils down to 3 main activities:

1. Accomplish other things while I wait for query responses. Avoid twiddling my thumbs—or, if I'm going to, I might as well knit (I bought some yarn last week).
2. Keep sharp. Maintain the blog, my online circles, comment & contribute to others' drafts, read writing books, start a new project (I have, but I'll share more another day).
3. Plan my next move: in a month or so, I'll have likely heard back from a few agents—hopefully with some helpful advice. Then comes Querying - Round 2, which involves potential revisions (*wince*) and emailing COLD queries.

Cold querie s are sent to agents I've never met, who don't know me from a hole in the wall. I will be one of hundreds of writers who might sell their left kidney to get published. It's a chilling, discouraging thought, but it's a reality that many of my writer friends have faced. Once your Golden Tickets are gone (aka submission requests from agents you've met in person), the only thing that will distinguish your story amongst the dross is your writing. 

But I'm not going to think about that just yet. Heck, I've still got 9 horses in the race! Nine agents whom I've met and sparked their interest in my story. Nine agents who have my manuscript in their Inbox.

Either way, I'm looking forward to hearing from them.

The Lonely Bear

I wrote this wintry story with the sole purpose of getting in the good books (ha!) of the little ones in my life. 

The Lonely Bear Who Went Looking for a Party is only 25 pages, but it's still my first (e-)published book! It's the story of, well, I'm sure the title gives you a pretty good idea. Don't worry, I hid some humour in there for the adults, so it's not all sugar and warm fuzzies!

Shout out: to the wonderfully talented South African illustrator and graphic designer Lisa Glanz. I'm in love with her work!

Ideal reading age: 2-6 (the older ones can read it)

Enjoy! Scroll to the end for a downloadable PDF version.

Download The Lonely Bear in PDF format

SIWC 2016 Revelations

If you're a writer and you've never been to the Surrey International Writer's Conference, I would recommend it.

Every kind is there, from the successful to the absurd (there was a guy in silver spray-painted hat, coat and boots...), and big names like Diana Gabaldon, Jack Whyte, Robert Dugoni, Eileen Cook, and Jasper Fforde. 

There seems to be an enthusiastic misconception about my attending these conferences. "Ash! Did you get a book deal?" Sadly no. I wish it were that simple. Here's some insight into the conference and also the publishing industry.

For those of you who aren't familiar, let me explain: the traditional publishing industry has raised its bar. It's extraordinarily difficult to attract the attention of a major publishing house (eg. Penguin, Harper Collins, etc.) without an agent. It's kind of like selling your house (except in the opposite of Vancouver's market): with a surplus of houses on the market, how can you sell it without an expert?

Answer: writers who want to get traditionally published (vs self-published) are wise to get an agent. However. There is a surplus of aspiring writers. How do you attract an agent? You either query (like cold calling, but via email) your manuscript, or you meet them in person at a conference. If, during this 5-10 min pitch session, they like the sound of your story and get the sense that you're a generally non-crazy person, they'll "request a submission". It's your golden ticket; your VIP pass that puts you ahead of every other writer in the query "slush pile". If the agent likes your writing, they may give an "offer of representation", and if you accept, voila, you have an agent. No, not a book deal, but an expert who can sell it to the publishing houses.

Blue Pencil sessions are 15 minutes with a published author. You give them the first 3 pages of your manuscript, and they give you feedback. Pretty straightforward, and you can direct their attention however you prefer. 

Because I'm preparing for submission, I signed up for extra pitch sessions and Blue Pencils: 4 of each.

Here's what I learned.

All opinions are subjective.

I had 4 Blue Pencils, each with major authors...hugely successful writers. They all got the same thing: the first 3 pages of Chapter 1. Guess what? They all had completely different advice.

#1 - "You're a good writer. The story's there, it just needs a little editing. Watch your POV shifts."

#2 - "I didn't get a sense of setting or stakes. I don't know what the main character wants."

#3 - "Why don't you start with her doing something domestic, mundane? Add gossip."

By Saturday evening, my story felt like a soup between recipes: too much of everything and utterly tasteless. I was discouraged, because I really did not have the heart or energy for another significant revision. But then... Sunday's Blue Pencil happened.

#4 - "I see what you mean about wanting to start with action. But Chapter 2 is so powerful. What if you just stole the last few paragraphs from Chapter 1 and opened Chapter 2 with them? Then you have the context of this side story introduced, the heroine's goals, and the friction of her undesirable surroundings."

Perfect. I liked the less-revision option. But that's not why I agreed with it.

In the end, you have to trust your gut. I was getting to the point where I wasn't even sure if I'd recognize the right answer if I heard it. But then I did, and I knew. I hadn't always been sure how to begin my story, but I felt it was close and just needed focusing. Thank you, Eileen Cook!

By the way, if you don't know what your "writer's gut" is, you'll know when you feel it. If you aren't sure if what you're feeling is your writer's gut, then it ain't. It's the unshakeable certainty in what's best for your story (BTW, don't confuse writer's gut with arrogance, or delusion. Those are similar, but more emotional). 

I've come so far.

In total, I now have 13 agents who have requested submission. I have also:

• written 96,000 words
• deleted 20,000 words (but kept in a separate doc for nostalgia's sake [yes, I hoard words])
• sent a draft to 46 beta readers (in various stages, and not all of them gave feedback)
• finished 4 drafts.

4 drafts. Cripes. And now I have yet another round of betas reading the latest. So the agents will see #5. 

This novel business is absurdly complex. 90,000 decisions. Every word is a decision, since if it isn't there by your deliberate choice, it probably isn't helping your story. Crazy to think about. I've made 96,000 decisions. *pats shoulder*

I still have so much to learn.

Apparently, I write about as well as I present to strangers in a large room. Fairly polished, reasonably well-spoken, but aloof. It takes a few passes to make me write the heart of my characters; admit their vulnerabilities. Perhaps that's a sign of residual writer's self-conscience. Or lack of connection to my own emotions. *note to self: work on self.*

Character-driven stories. Emotionally engaging characters. Tension on every page; a goal for every scene. That's what sucks a reader in from page one.

I estimate that since April 2012 I have written perhaps 2,000 hours, equalling a full year's worth of employment hours. That's only one fifth of the requisite 10,000 hours of mastery. So I've got a long ways to go.

But now, I've got fresh, good, expert advice, new friends, more requests for submission, and revitalized perspective.

Back to work. H.O.K.A.I.C.

(hands on keyboard, arse in chair)