Finished!
God, I can't describe how good it felt to see those two words on my computer screen. I said them out loud and it felt so final. Two words that I’d been waiting to see for eighteen long months. Two words that meant so much to me that I wrote them in block capitals and underlined them in the centre of page four hundred and nine. Words that I never dreamed I’d actually find myself looking at, after all of the hard times I’d been through over the last year and a half. Highs and lows, excitement and fear, tears and joy. Times when I felt like quitting completely, deleting everything to do with my novel, burning any print outs, erasing any ideas from my mind. Times when I thought, why did I bother trying to write a book? What made me think that I could?
I started smoking again after six months of starting he book. Seemingly for no reason, other than it’s always helped me when I’ve felt pressured. Daft, I know. Jack Daniels found his way back into my life too, a few months after the cigarettes. I’d given the booze up completely prior to that, and hadn’t touched a drop in two years, wanting to keep my head clear for the writing.
Susie moved out of our flat three months ago because I kept her awake all night, tapping away at the keyboard, cursing when things went wrong, occasionally asking her to read over a few lines and tell me if they made sense. She said she couldn’t take it anymore, that the book had taken over my life and that was all I ever spoke about.
‘Tom, I can’t handle anymore sleepless nights,’ she’d said as she was packing her things. ‘It’s just not fair. It’s been like this for ages, I’m going back to live with mum.’
‘Hold on hun,’ I’d said, taking my eyes away from the computer briefly. ‘Can you just go over chapter seven for me, I think there’s something missing?’
Needless to say, she didn't reply, and I haven’t spoken to her since. I’ll call her soon though, tell her the good news. It’s hard living in the flat on my own.
But it all seemed to be worth it, everything else paled in to insignificance when I looked at the two words on my screen; ‘THE’ and ‘END.’
I spent a few minutes savouring the moment, taking it all in, soaking up the overwhelming feeling of triumph and excitement, enjoying the smile that had crept to my face, and the tears that were welling in my eyes.
Then I deleted them.
You can’t have ‘THE END’ at the end of a book, can you? That’s kind of like telling the reader they’re too dense to realise there are no more pages to read. You wouldn’t put ‘THE START’ at the start of a book, would you?
No, ‘THE END’ was typed in purely so that I could appreciate exactly what I’d achieved. And believe me, I do appreciate it, that’s for sure. Actually finishing my novel, Jesus, even typing that on here sends shivers down my spine.
My name is Tom Shaw, I’m twenty six years old, I live alone, and I want to be a writer. Actually, I suppose I am a writer, now that I’ve just finished my novel this morning. What I want to be is a published writer. That’s my dream, and has been ever since I can remember. I’ve been creating fiction since childhood, spinning yarns, telling tall tales. I’ve written many short stories, some published on websites, but never anything full length. I’ve never really found the time to be honest, what with working nine to five and trying to fix up my flat.
Until now, that is. I decided two years ago that I would make time to write down the idea for ‘The Island’ that kept buzzing around my head, and a few months later I did just that. Now I have a four hundred page novel, saved on my PC, backed up a million times, and ready to be printed out. That’s what comes next, the exciting part.
Now the hard work is over, and I can go about making my dream come true. The next step is to send out samples of my novel to literary agents that accept this type of genre, mystery/thriller. To any of you that don’t already know, a literary agent acts as a representative of an author. Their primary function is to negotiate deals and royalties with publishing houses. It’s essential to have one because they know the business inside out, and most publishers won’t accept any manuscripts unless they come via a literary agent.
I’ve trawled the internet to get information about these agents, been to their websites, and I’ve checked out feedback for them on many writers’ forums. Unfortunately, I have to say that I’ve not liked what I’ve found so far. You see, these agents will give you advice which they feel will help you, but it won’t be what you want to hear. They’re only too quick to tell you about how competitive the writing market is, or how very few new authors actually get published, and how you shouldn’t get your hopes up because thousands of manuscripts never make it.
I can’t see what good any of these comments do you. I think I understand what they’re trying to say (don’t set yourself up for a fall), but honestly, in what way is it helpful to say to someone, ‘Listen, your dream of becoming an author, right? It’s bollocks mate, you’ll never make it, stick to your day job.’
What if everyone chose to listen to these comments and never sent their manuscripts in? Where would be then? New books would cease to exist. The young man who was due to write the book that would change the world would end up working in Burger King, his manuscript gathering dust on the shelf because he was too afraid of being rejected. Or the lady that would’ve been the next J K Rowling, choosing not to send her work in, favouring the safety of her desk job and not wanting to be a burden by adding to the massive volume of submissions.
Can a literary agent really expect a potential writer to say, ‘You know what, you’re right. I won’t send my work in, it’s just not good enough, in the rubbish bin it goes, I think I’ll stick to crunching numbers.’ Come on, they can’t honestly expect anyone to do that.
I don’t believe them when they say that the market is nigh on impenetrable, and there’s a one in a million chance you’ll get chosen to be published. I don’t believe this at all. I think that if your work is good enough, it will make it. Quality work always does.
And that’s why I’ve created this blog, to show all of you that getting published isn’t impossible, and to detail exactly what it takes to get there, the trials and tribulations of a would-be writer. It’s my intention to add to this site daily, updating you on my progress, experiences, juggling writing with work, responses I receive from agents, my daily routine and any other tips I can give to all of you budding authors, or just people interested in this business. I hope that one day my blog will act as a guide for people in my position, and they may learn from any information I have to give.
Tomorrow morning is where it all starts. Tomorrow morning is when I’m going to send my manuscript out for the first time. I have The Writer’s and Artists’ Yearbook 2006 open in front of me, and I’ve created a spreadsheet listing all of the agents that I will send ‘The Island’ to. There are thirty five in total, so far, twenty of which I’ve had no prior contact with (they don’t accept email queries, preferring to see the work first), and fifteen that I have emailed in advance and have told me to send a hard copy along. The submission guidelines for most agents are the same; first three chapters, a one page synopsis, and a covering letter. Some of them require a CV, others want just the first chapter, or twenty pages. But in general they all want the same thing.
None of them accept submissions via email, so I’ve got to print my work off. Although some say that they may request the rest of the manuscript via email, which is cool because I can’t imagine printing thirty five copies of a four hundred plus document. Christ, that’d take ages.
Cost won't be an issue for me because I work in a Bank and my desk is right by the mail room, so I have unlimited access to card envelopes, A4 paper, stamps, franking machines, etcetera. Obviously, I’m not meant to use the work facilities, but they won’t find out. I can be discreet when I want to be.
I just know all the agents are going to love my book, I can feel it. It’s what I was meant to do for a living, writing. I’m not meant to be an office worker, I’ve known that for such a long time. This is the start of something new for me, a chance to follow my dream and quit my mundane, soul destroying job. (Okay, that might be a bit extreme, but the job is crap, believe me.)
I’m off to sleep now, but log on tomorrow and I’ll keep you updated. Watch this space, as they say.
:-)
