The Never Ending WIP

I have been incredibly crabby over the past couple of weeks. I don’t know quite what to blame it on. Sometimes these moods just come and go like the tide. Part of it may be the fact that our air quality here in the Phoenix area has been horrible, and high ozone has always done a number on my head. Two solid weeks of low grade headache would make anybody crabby. I also might blame the mood on my never-ending WIP. I made a bet with my friend Hannah Dennison that we'd finish our new books by this coming August, and every day I think, this is the day I’m going to finish. And every day, the damn ending keeps getting farther and farther away. Every minute I spend doing something other than writing causes me great anxiety.

But those bills have to be paid and meals made and doctor appointments kept and meetings attended. The state of my house is beginning to depress me. I manage to keep things clean and tidy enough to forestall the Department of Health, but that’s about it. My long-suffering husband bought me a Hurricane Power Scrubber a couple of days ago (at my request. It wasn’t a clueless anniversary present or anything like that). I thought that having a power scrubber would make short work of cleaning the shower, so I was all excited to give it a try. The instructions say that you have to charge the scrubber for 24 hours before the first use, which I did. Then I rushed into the bathroom, I clicked on the appropriate scrubber head, gave it a couple of test whirls, lowered it to the shower floor, and…nothing. It seems our power scrubber is a dud.

I was immediately plunged into unreasonable despair. Sometimes it feels like nothing is easy. Why oh why couldn’t I at least be able to clean my shower without it being an ordeal? Don will return it tomorrow (he has one of those pesky doctor appointments in a couple of hours, which always makes me a bit nervous), and I hope he’ll be able to exchange it for one that works.

I’m sure that once I finish this book and get it off my hands, I’ll feel better. When I re-read parts of the manuscript, I’m pleased with the way the book is shaping up. When I next write to you, Dear Reader, I anticipate that the air will have cleared, Don will have gotten a good report from the cardiologist, the book will be done or nearly so, and my shower will be sparkly clean. I live in eternal hope. There is always light at the end of the tunnel. Isn't there?

The Roller Coaster

One of the best talks I've ever hear about writing was given by Wister Award winner, Win Blevins, at a Western Writers of America conference. It was superb. Even if the audio of his presentation had been recorded it would not have been adequate to convey his emotions to the listener.

The title was Give Your Heart to the Hawks. He spoke about the dangerous rise and fall of fortunes for those of us who write professionally for many years. He spoke of falling from the sky to the rocks below. He spoke of ascending once again on the wings of a hawk to a cloudless blue sky.

Writing is like being on a perpetual roller coaster. Yesterday I received an invitation to participate in a collection of novellas featuring myself and three other writers. I was absolutely thrilled. I said yes immediately. What a great boost.

Since the first of the year, I've been writing steadily, at my most workable pace of five pages a day, five days a week. I'm sure of the book. The plot is sound, and I'm comfortable with my characters. But I'm not sure how well it will be received by my editor.

So I'm happily putting the Work In Progress aside for a different Work In Progress. One that's a sure thing and requested by a publishing house that is terrific to work with.

Recently I watched a YouTube presentation that featured three agents from my new agency, Folio Literary Management. I was struck by the fact that agents experience many of the same problems faced by their authors. Agents might love a book and be shocked that their favorite editor does not.

Just doesn't. Isn't going to buy it either.

Agents are on a roller coaster too.

Nevertheless, it's winter now. And the rise of hope whether induced by hot-house tulips in the grocery store or an ego-boosting email from my favorite editor is mighty pleasant.

Spring is coming!