Those troublesome, meddling plateaus, I tell you - always blocking our desert sunsets. We have a lot of them on this side of the planet, these tall flat lumps. Sometimes brown. Sometimes red. Sometimes gray or a mix of all three. If you feel tempted to kick one, don't. It'll hurt your toe more than it will that glob of rock.
Wait, what? Hold on. Back up.
This isn't the kind of plateau I'm talking about.
(And this isn't advice on how to step off an actual plateau, people - just so we're clear on that ...)
Change it to a verb and you get this definition:
Level out, reach a stable state of little change.
After this last Storymakers conference, some serious reflection happened in my cranium, causing a little crisis in my artistic, professional, and personal life.
To make a long story short ...
I wanted to quit ...
Now for the long story ...
How could I say such a thing? I'll be the first to admit, it's not easy. Does anyone want to argue the fact that artists are always hardest on themselves? Awesome. In this case, I felt as if my writing had, in a sense, leveled out. Plateaued. Flat-lined. Reached a point where it's the best its ever been (after 15 years of application), can't get better, but still not publication worthy, for some odd reason - a breaking point, so to speak.
The dream seemed perfectly possible before college, before marriage, before kids. The weight of adulthood now presses my time in ways I never expected. It just seemed easier to drop the most time consuming thing (writing) and focus on being a husband, a parent, a home owner, an employee, and a horse jockey.
Err, scratch "horse jockey" from the list ...
What went down before this crazy talk started:
My readers are awesome. Not just my family (love you guys!), but readers, friends and trusted sources, and some people I've yet to see in real life who like what I offer. Long before our revision of Woven, a gal from Illinois read it (a friend of my mother that I have yet to meet), and she sent me a most surprising email, saying, "My only complaint is that I can't go to Walmart to buy the next one." Wow! Best compliment ever, amiright?
I'm not saying my writing is better than others. Far from it, man. I've had wonderful opportunities in the last few months to read people's work, people who have (to my surprise) come to trust my opinion. A few have since landed book deals or representation, and I couldn't be happier for them. Still, that little imp had to show up and ask this dumb question: what are you doing wrong?
After three years of intense, insomniac work (mingled with a head injury recovery), after all this praise, we were left with 120+ rejected queries and/or partials. Something didn't compute, and I fell into a slump.
Bring out the Cone of Shame!
How awesome is it that we received a partial rejection, with the most amazing feedback that will make this story infinitely better, the morning of pitching our MS to our dream agent? It went a little something like this: "Yep! It's done, but ... we'd like to do a revision ..."
FAIL
Thankfully, said agent is willing to wait, and we're currently doing our best to make the wait worth it.
Something tells me we've gone into digression territory. And broke a rule. Where were we? Oh, right. Crisis!
See, when you stand on a plateau, you're high up (pretty obvious statement, I know). We can see a lot of ground (including ground we've walked on - again, obvious), but there's nothing higher. How do we ascend to a higher elevation when there's nothing to climb up?
This answer dawned on me:
STEP DOWN
Maybe I only thought I've gone as high as I can go? If I want to climb higher, I have to step off this plateau!
Kind of like turning left to go right ... or something.
So I then approached some people, mountains in comparison to my mole hill, so that I could know how things look from their peaks. What's their perspective? And I came back with three important questions.
First up, Lisa Mangum, an amazing editor/author.
She asked me this question, "Why do you write?"
My response after a moment's pause? "I love it."
Big smile - for her, this was the best answer.
1: Why do I write?
Then there were these guys!
I was lucky enough to win a lunch with these two inspiring gents. We talked about writing, among other things, including juicy details about their current works that I am forbidden to speak of (James really liked Prometheus, so you know). I shared my Woven pitch. You know when you're surprised, you back up a little? Same reaction from both, same reaction I had when my coauthor told me this idea of his. When they asked what I'm up to, I told them my plight and asked their advice.
A mind explosion ensued.
What surprised me most was something Jeff said near the end, "You're exactly where we were ten years ago." And these guys are amazing. Why am I worried?
Did you know James ran a marathon recently, with a hair fracture in his leg? He had every reason, and some very good reasons, to give up. I'm sure no one would have thought any less of him. But he kept going. He endured the pain and finished. "Now I can say I ran a marathon. Who knows if I'll ever be able to again?"
2: Have I really tried everything?
And guess what happened the very next day?
(Inside joke - mystery shirt is Hawaiian!)
I know this community of writers would hang me from the yardarm if I quit! This little gathering, our sendoff for Angela's departure to Florida, reminded me how much I enjoyed and missed being a part of their writerly worlds, and everyone there made it clearly known that the sentiment was mutual, whether they knew it or not.
3: Who am I writing for?
In the end, I had to step back and look at everything on my plate with a different perspective. I, too, have good reasons, very good reasons, to drop writing - but I love it, I haven't tried everything, and this isn't about me.
My recent hiatus was threefold: to give me time to revise this MS, to gain a new perspective, and to recalibrate my life. Those of you who volunteered to guest on my blog, now you know why, and I thank you. You've done this writer and tremendous service.
Have I come to a decision, then?
Yep, and here's the verdict ...
I believe in this story. I believe in the stories that I have or have yet to write. Whether on my own merit or with a five-author collaboration, they need to be told.
They will be told.
Let's climb!
Have I come to a decision, then?
Yep, and here's the verdict ...
I believe in this story. I believe in the stories that I have or have yet to write. Whether on my own merit or with a five-author collaboration, they need to be told.
They will be told.
Let's climb!
Who knows how long it'll take. What's another 15 years at this point? If you get there before me, save me a spot. I'll need it!
This is not the rule, just my thoughts on the matter. The most important thing is to not compare yourself to others. Keep climbing. If you reach as high as you can go, step down, look for a higher place. Learn from it. Climb it. For extra credit, watch for those who need a hand. Be a Samwise.
I'm David, and I'll meet you at the top!