So, I’ve started the next novel, Anomaly, and I’m pleased with the progress early on. I have this novel all planned out, as usual, but I always leave room for changes in direction. Meanwhile, Ether is being shopped, and my mood is turning darkerer and darkerer today.
I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions, and still don’t have proper answers. And while I’m not a pessimist, or an optimist (I’m a realist) I’ve started to wonder about the process called Publishing.
Nothing specific, mind you. Not anything I’d want to come out and make a fool of myself by saying, anyway. That’s a topic for another post, and a clear-headed day, of which today is not. But think about these stats, while I pour myself another vodka:
Agents typically read 250 or so queries per week, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. But that’s a low number, if you consider one agent who blogs her end-of-year stats as 30,000 queries in 2007 – resulting in 5 new clients, only 4 of which had never been published before.
Hey, that’s a .027% chance of snagging her as an agent! Well, let me just go grab those Lotto numbers. . .
I know, that’s just one agent. And a top one, to boot. Your chances of landing any top agent as a new writer are pretty damn nil. So you work your way down the list, having started at the top. Then you reach the bottom, and start looking at small presses. Maybe e-books. Meanwhile, of course, you’re writing another novel that you’re sure will be The One.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
It’ll happen, you say. If I keep plugging away, it’ll happen. Good writers get published. Write a great book, and it’ll get an agent. Now, if I were to call Bullshit right now, that’d be sour grapes. Every writer swears his or her novel is pure gold, and if no one buys it, then the system is flawed.
But I’m seeing other writers struggle, too. I’m seeing great writers stumble and have no success. And I’m seeing the odds, and wondering many things. Mostly I just want to keep writing, and stop thinking. Today I’m just in a dark place, is all.
While some say the glass is half full, others say half empty, and I’ve always said it’s simply a glass with vodka in it . . . I’m thinking it could be time to drink that damn vodka and take the bottle to the couch.
Work out your own metaphor, I’ll go get hammered and cheer up, probably by the weekend.