A former teenage author turned twenty and her stabs at writing life and living to write.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

In the Beginning

I begin this blog today with a simple word... wait. A word that has always followed me, chomping on my heels, I find it thoroughly disgusting. Waiting is all I ever seem to hear. From the time you finish a novel to the point when you send it to an agent, to the point where no one responds for weeks and weeks and weeks. Wait. Just wait.

Then again, too often I believe, the world has forgotten how to wait entirely. We are constantly pushing, it seems, for a way to more easily communicate, eat, clean, travel, and even express love and affection. And while I am constantly in wonderous awe at the technological advances our world has made in even the last ten years, I often feel the regret of knowing that instead of telling someone you're thinking of them, we are more apt to shoot them a text. When seated together in a room with family members or even friends, more than half of them are most likely typing away on a keyboard, enthralled with an electronic game, or deep into a conversation where nothing is being said, but relayed on the keypad of a cell phone.

As probably obvious from the title of this blog, I am a teenage author, unpublished to this point. I started this blog for just one reason, to hopefully at some point in my blogging, reach out to anohter like myself. Writing is like oxygen to me now (which is a veilled ironic statment, if you knew me). However, being only seventeen years old with a completed, full-length fantasy novel in my lap is heart-wrenching. And though rejections I've seen, I continue to send out my queries, praying that someone will take interest in the story that changed my life forever. And doing that alone takes every ounce of courage I can summon, while at the same time finding myself extremely naive to have the gall to contemplate that I could ever compete with professional, adult-age authors in the publishing business. Still, I continue forward because I know full well that keeping this book hidden in the dark corners of my closet would bore right into my soul. I couldn't do that, so obviously I continue to torture myself by tempting every agent in the business to give me the same, mundane form rejection letter. Even so, a small flash of hope rises in my chest the moment I send out another letter, another query, another synopsis, another freakin' sample chapter.

Naive? Absolutely. Forever unpublished? Possibly. Still, there is no way I will give up before I ever start. I refuse to let this chance go by without putting all my energy into making my wildest dreams come true. Can't you relate?

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