Writing

As I navigate adulthood, I have learned a valuable lesson: growing up does not necessarily entail discarding the dreams of my childhood. Granted, I no longer envision becoming a world traveling veterinarian / novelist, who also dabbles in professional singing, but I can focus on the one goal that has always taunted me: becoming a published writer. In all of my various endeavors: corporate offices, nonprofit affairs, and teaching; no job has enlivened my spirits quite like creating characters and telling their stories.

In July 2009, I finally gave into my desire to write; determining that no business could ever live up to the thrill and hope of publishing a novel. I endeavored to make my career (working with students) into my hobby and vice versa. I started with a writing regiment wherein I promised myself that I would write every day until I finished one manuscript. Within a year, I finished two. Then, came the prospect of editing, learning about literary agents and publishing, and eventually starting my very own blog.

Now here I am in December 2010, typing my thoughts to my awesome, albeit limited readership. Where have I been? Well, with the holidays comes a break from writing letters to publishing houses and literary agents, because no one is in the office. They all say there are two vacation months when querying is like throwing your letters in the garbage: August or 11/25 – 1/01. I appreciate the reprieve, it gives me time to focus on “getting my name out there” in short story competitions, conducting research (reading), and perfecting the first book of my series.

I love my first book. If a publishing house never picks it up…I mean…If it takes a while to get picked up, I don’t care; I enjoy reading the adventure. However, it has one tiny flaw that I hope to remedy this break. In order to understand it, I have a man-alogy for you.

When a guy first assesses a pretty girl at the bar, he starts with her head and works down; or at least that’s how I picture it. If I have a view that’s a bit too optimistic, and men start with the legs up or breasts only just bear with me.

So my novel is at the bar and the handsome guy across the room spies her. The start or her hair is brushed and styled, she’s got striking facial features that have been accented by just the right touch of make-up and she’s smiling. The first assessment is good, so the man’s eyes continue to wander.

His sight reaches her shoulders, because she’s wearing just a little off-the-shoulder dress that has a plunging neckline. Her shoulders are not too bony and not too full and the view of the cleavage isn’t bad either. The guy is thinking he’s found a perfect ten, and is about to walk over when he spies her middle. There’s this layer of flab or perhaps it’s just that time of the month and she’s bloated, but something is definitely off. Immediately, she’s degraded to maybe a six. In handsome guy standards, he might not even finish the appraisal.

For the sake of the analogy, he does finish his assessment, and is glad he does. Her butt is round, but not ostentatious. He can barely stop from staring down her legs, because she’s wearing tight stockings and when he reaches the end, she’s wearing stiletto boots that make him drool. Now, she’s an eight…

But do you see my problem? There’s a little fat, and any model knows that one tiny extra pound is reason for dismissal from the Agency; same deal with publishing. Thus, my novel has headed to plastic surgery for a little liposuction over the vacation. Fingers crossed she returns stage ready.