So I did it. Eight years after starting my middle-grade novel, I finally finished it and tapped that last full-stop button with a ceremonious flourish. Then I made a cup of tea, sat back down, and began ruthlessly hacking away at my manuscript for weeks on end until it made sense. I killed off my protagonist’s father, changed several characters names (too many of them began with ‘G’), sent a wet-lettuce character home instead of keeping him on the quest, and added a cat.
I’d been doing an online course with the Writers Bureau so I paid my tutor to critique my entire book, and then sent my submission package off to The Literary Consultancy for appraisal. Both these things brought useful editing suggestions, so I went back and polished some more. This was a pleasure because I’d also received encouraging feedback from both parties. My tutor actually wrote the heart-skipping words ‘I’ve no doubt you will find a publisher.’
So after I’d merrily skipped my way through my last round of edits, and when I’d reached the stage where I was only deleting and re-inserting commas (a sure sign you’ve polished enough, surely?) I decided it was time to (take a deep breath) … query.
That was eleven months ago and I’ve been enjoying a steady stream of rejections ever since. I still get that immediate stomach-drop when I see an agent’s name in my inbox (or sometimes my junk mail, which I check almost as frequently). I used to try to allow myself a couple of seconds of pause, just to imagine what possibilities might lie within the message, and how it would feel to read the words ‘I’d like to read your full manuscript.’ Then I’d try to make myself read the email slowly, so that the hope lingered within the words, letting me down gradually rather than slapping me in the face and running away.
But after the first few emails I found myself clicking straight into the message and scanning the whole thing, quickly picking out the words ‘thank you … not quite right … wish you the best …’ and putting myself out of my misery as quickly as possible. I realised that it’s easier to dampen the adrenalin before it’s had a chance to rise to epic levels … then you don’t feel too sick on the descent.
I have to admit though – for all the emotions, nerves, heart-pounding, nail-biting and waves of nausea that querying brings out … there’s something I find addictively satisfying about it. It’s similar to knowing you’ve got short story submissions out there for competitions, and waiting to have some good news ping into your inbox. I know it’s usually bad news, but I also know that once in a blue moon it’s good – and that those ‘blue moon moments’ make all the bad ones worthwhile.
I don’t know whether years of dragging myself to auditions as an actor and musician have hardened me to this process, but I just don’t seem to take rejection very seriously. Perhaps this is because I’m still at the beginning of my writing life, and I’ve only had one book rejected so I’m really just cutting my teeth. But I’m just about to start editing my second novel, and I’m really excited about getting on that querying roller-coaster ride again.
So maybe I’ll update these breezy, hopeful sentiments in six months time, when I’m crying into my inbox as the seventeenth rejection pings through. But in the meantime, buckle up, it’s going to be another bumpy ride on the Blue Moon Express!
