How I Went From Unknown To Novelist

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Leave me your opinion.

I looked at my novel, Grave Street House,
worked on it for years. The paragraphs
I've plucked out, added, are too numerous
to count. The updated, re-peppered,
scenes have been limit-ness.

I found an agent, that relaxed me. He
returned my manuscript with a, scribbled,
note.

"Work on it." The sticky memo said.

I did. I telephoned him, more than once.
It became clear my manuscript wasn't on his
submit to a publisher list. My manuscript
and I departed.

I enrolled in a writing, mail-order, course.
The instructor had the option of recommending
a student's work for publication, with the
school. My manuscript failed.

A second attempt at the course delivered
the same results. Again, I was the only
believer in the manuscript.

I read books, tried to get a better
understanding of suspense, plot, dialogue,
and sentence structure. I didn't know why
my work wasn't acceptable.

I felt the novel had potential, and the
necessary talent was in me. I, simply, had
to keep writing, practicing. It didn't matter
how many times my manuscript was rejected. I
dared to believe in myself.

I started scanning Craigslist. It offered
opportunities for writers, too.

According to Susan Mactavish Best,
Best Public Relations, Craigslist gets
more than five billion views a month.

I examined the list for writing
opportunities. Perhaps, a new writing
project would inspire me to push my novel,
even harder.

On second thought, advertising my
critique, manuscript, services would
be a better idea.

Craigslist is kept current. There's
up to a forty-five day limit on ads.
The cost is free or nominal. I tried
it, but decided to work on my own
manuscript. My aim was to make
it publication ready.

What was my mystery novel missing?
Why wasn't anyone picking it up? It
boiled down to me. My writing
wasn't good enough? I was the
only person who could find out
the answers.

I knew it had a beginning, middle,
and ended satisfactorily. My scenes
were suspenseful, tried to show
more than tell. My plot unfolded
to plenty of conflict. I stated my
theme, through the characters.

"Let me take a look at this novel
you've been talking about." A family
friend said.

I preferred to have the novel in a
publisher's hands before anyone
viewed it.

"Not sure, but all right," I said.
"Well, I'll let you look at one chapter."

"I felt in the middle of the problem."
He looked at me. "I'm not sure it
should begin like that."

I wanted that effect, but he didn't
like it. I made a toddler size
step.

My reply was on the order of,
wait for the finished product.

I sat the manuscript aside for
several weeks. I worked on other
pieces. It gave me a much needed
break. My manuscript stayed in the
back of my mind. Will anyone see
its potential? Had I done all I could
to make it the best? I was a writer?

No matter the rejection slips, I
continued to believe in myself as a
writer. Although, the learning
process was, is, never-ending.

I, through writing, created games
to halt writer's block. It didn't
matter what I wrote. I received joy
from, the act of, writing.

Hmm. I was, is, a writer played
over in my mind. Was this the stuff
of writers? I didn't know.

I became tired of editing my
novel. So, I looked through
Craigslist for a new writing
idea, product.

I ventured into the editors section.
My eyes rolled across an online
publisher. I had concerns about
exposing my manuscript to another
rejection.

I collected myself. I realized,
rejection is one of the factors in
writing. It makes you better, try
harder, and don't take it personally.

I asked the publisher questions. They
were answered. I didn't have to pay
them, that was refreshing, different.

I liked working directly with the
publisher. I was given space, control
over my work.

I'm a novelist, still, unknown. I
reached a goal, small one. I'm working
on my second novel. Yes, me. One who
was shunned. The same person who
dared to believe in herself.