Writing: So that’s weird.

Most of the time, one hopes (I just misspelled ‘hopes’ and autocorrect put ‘hoes’. I think this supports my claim that hidden underneath the metal casing of my laptop is a gangsta waiting to be released like Genie in the bottle.) to write something worth the ink it costs to get a book published. Most of the time, I stare at my manuscript and pray that one sentence, ONE SENTENCE, that is even a little bit good comes out of it. Of course, nothing is ever perfect, but the very nature of art is the search for perfection so what else am I supposed to do? I am a perfectionist on the best of days and I’m sure one day that will eventually be my mental downfall.

I figured that the agonizing search for perfection was probably the reason most great writers and artists look so confused/exhausted/pissed off in all the old portraits.

"Look at me. Ladies watch out because before I became a musical genius, I had great flowing locks of golden brown hair. I was one hot piece of......fermata. Now look." Seriously, Brahms was once a really handsome guy. I blame his unrequited love for Clara Schumann for his lacksidasical (Lacksidazical? how do you spell laksidasical?) appearance though. That and the fact he was overwhelmed with the search for perfection.

Writing is hard work. I never really realized how hard it was until I tried it for myself. I knew that I could write well, but I didn’t really understand how much effort was required to write well for a really long time. Novels are really long. I always thought it was like an illusion. Novels can’t take that long to write. They’re probably one of those things that seem really hard when you start but turn out to be really easy.

So not true. Novels are awful to write. I think the fact that I have no idea how to write a novel may have something to do with my opinion but still. Those mofo’s are a pain in the ass. I am hoping that my second book will be easier than the first. Part of the difficulty with the first book is that I don’t really have a plan. When I learn a new piano piece, I have a plan. I know what I’m going to do, how I’m going to go about learning it and what I want to achieve. I had no clue what I wanted for my first novel. It was a total shot in the dark sort of move.

I read stuff online and on blogs and in books. Advice about how to write a book. People said that you needed an outline before you began. People said don’t ever write an outline to your book whatever you do. Kiss of death. People said you need a tagline. A hook. People said never set out with a hook for your book. Because all art is so subjective, there’s no way to make directions for it, much like life. In math, you find X. Or you find Y. You don’t find the letter that may be X but could also look a little bit like Y or like a mix between X and Y.

This poetry shit is hard stuff. I like the womanizing much better. So much easier and relaxing. And there's only the occasional bitter dispute with the mother of your children. Plus, I'm having serious doubts about the pencil mustache. Not the turban, though. I am rocking that. Rocking it like a rocking chair on the front porch. I am going all Jason Bourne on that Turban. I am the turban.....what? I got sidetracked. Did I mention I like womanizing?

In my own pathetic way, I dreamt of the day that I figured out my writing style and moved on to becoming the female version of Hemingway. With better hair. I knew that once I figured out how to write, everything would be solved. But it wasn’t. And now it’s worse.

See, now I like my characters. I read parts of the novel…( it does have a name. I just don’t use it. It’s like not saying Macbeth at the theater. Plus. The novel’s title is really bad. I just can’t think of anything less corny or stupid)…and I’m like YES. I like this. I like these characters. They deserve to be read.

And that makes the rejection letters that much worse. When you’re not sure if your writings any good, it’s easy to explain away the awful form rejection letters you get. When you know book agents are passing up on something good, something worthwhile, it’s that much worse. Now, I’m not admitting to being the next……whoever. But I’m an okay author. I know that. And I know I have an honest story that people might someday want to read. I know that there are books on shelves right now that don’t necessarily deserve to be there (Heidi Montag’s autobiography anyone?) and that injustice is really hard to take.

How do you deal with it? I like to think of myself as a Rebel without a cause. And yes, I do picture myself in the jacket.

How can he have that bouffant pouf in his hair and still be so attractive? Really, it's difficult to believe.

I like to think of myself as the sort of person who doesn’t give up after one or three or forty rejection letters. I am an artist. And even if they try to hold me down, I will not be held down! Raaaaaa!!! This is the power of the unpublished writer. The power to realize that you have power. Your words are powerful. Even if no one else ever reads them and your book eventually goes moldy and old and crumbles in a dark corner somewhere because no one took the second to give it a chance……sniff. Never would I have thought that it would be harder to deal with being a good unpublished author than it would to be a bad unpublished author. Now, I have no excuse. I have to get published.

Here’s looking at you.