I developed a love of writing when I was very young. Like all authors I think I’m the most critical of my work. When I was about nine our teacher asked us to write a three page story about anything we wanted. Everyone around me was groaning and grumbling but I was so eager to begin I could barely keep from squirming off my desk seat.
Later that day with pencil in hand I attacked the paper. When I write, to this day, sometimes I feel like I’m moving at ninety miles an hour and my hand just can’t keep up with my thoughts. I wrote about a girl and her dog and named the story ‘Faithful’. I went over it and over it…and over it. Until finally I felt it was perfect. I handed the story in the next morning exceedingly proud and excited.
You can imagine my happiness when the next day the teacher picked my story to read out loud. I grinned from ear to ear. Slowly my smile faded as the teacher began. He read sentence after sentence with a pronounced gasp of air. His tone was derogatory. You see in my excitement I had forgotten commas and periods. The words sounded even more stupid as the teacher continued encouraged with the giggles and laughter of the other children.
I wasn’t left feeling tiny and insignificant—for that I would have to be unnoticed. Boy was I noticed. All of the other kids were staring at me, a few were pointing. I sunk deeper into my chair. After the teacher stopped reading he went on to point out the numerous spelling mistakes. For a long time after I wouldn’t write anything. Then one day a story stuck in my head and I approached a pencil and paper with extreme hesitance. It mocked me!
I secretly wrote the story and kept it hidden under my mattress. Each day I pulled the story out and went over it. I got out the dictionary and looked up every single word—twice. Determinedly I sat my little sister down and read it to her. She was delighted, mind you she was six. Shortly after that I wrote another story, then another. My mattress was getting pretty lumpy by then.
As the years went by I continued to write and even sent a few manuscripts away. Each rejection was met with sadness and determination and every time I was hit with another disappointment my story Faithful sprang into my head. Ironic I think that my first story reviewed and criticized would be called ‘Faithful’ eh? NeveRtheless I remained faithful, but put my writing on hold for awhile after my daughter was born.
The first story I ever sold was ‘Love’s Dangerous Territory’ again ironic in a sense. My love was writing and let me tell you it can be dangerous territory. For anyone who has ever received a rejection I’m certain you will agree. When holding a letter in your hand you arm yourself with Kleenex. And a mental bullet proof vest.
The day my first grandchild was born I opened up my emails to what I thought would be yet another ‘screw off’ letter. When I read the words ‘contract enclosed’ I almost fell off my chair. I re-read the email five times then made my husband read it twice—then to be safe I made my sister read it. It was true, I had sold a book. Me. Wow! I sat and cried. Then when I received my first edits I almost cried again. I asked the editor why on earth the publisher would take my novel if it was that bad. She told me it wasn’t bad at all. She told me the publisher could see past the mistakes to the story and thought it worth their while.
That was the last time I ever thought of my story and the teacher when I open a letter or email of rejection. It takes a good publisher to see a good story. But it takes a great publisher to be able to see the real story. Twenty contracts later I have learned a great deal. I’m still critical with my own work and have worked with editors who I would have liked to strangle or who would have happily strangled me. But it’s been worth it.
Oh and who was the first publisher to give me a chance…Whisper’s Publishing of course!
Connie
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