Why I'm (mostly) glad I'm not published (much)

I used to be so impatient about getting published. I've already submitted my first novel to multiple agents, and been rejected multiple times (though some of them were very nice rejections, if I do say so myself). But waiting (an important skill in the publishing business) is not wasted. Here's why.

First of all, time gives me distance from my manuscripts. I can be more objective about their faults when there is some time between me and my 200-page babies. I can also be more merciless when I need to tear it apart in order to fix it.

Secondly, I can work on other projects, such as new manuscripts or articles. This gives me added credibility if these projects get published (yo, someone else paid me money, so you can, too). This also gives me something else to work on so it doesn't hurt so much when the U.S. Post Office drives through sleet and hail to bring those SASEs back to me. Another advantage is that when I do finally get that multi-book, multi-million dollar deal, I already have several ideas developing so I don't have to pull more manuscripts out of my butt.

Last, I get to know other writing types. I used to scoff at writing books that advised joining writing groups, but I have discovered they are right. Going to conferences, emailing other authors, and attending other writing events are also good ideas. Connections are a good thing. They can get you in the door, help fix your manuscripts, and give you really good practical advice.

After determination, I vote for patience as the #2 most essential virtue for writers.

Boy oh boy

I still haven't adjusted to the idea that I really have a girl. After having two boys, I honestly started to believe I wasn't capable of making any girls, like Henry VIII in reverse. Only I didn't decapitate my husband. It still seems very strange since I know a great deal now about how to raise boys. Girls are foreign territory. If you have boys, here are some tips from my boy-raising experience:

1. Liquid soap and shower gel are the way to go. Don't buy bar soap. Not now, not ever.

2. Get used to reading in the dark. If you have any floor or table lamps, it's best to get rid of them now before your boys break them in a million pieces.

3. Speed dial is a good thing. Use it for plumbers, your window replacement guy, and unsuspecting babysitters you will pay twice what your neighbors with girls will pay because the poor teenagers really don't know what they're getting themselves into.

4. Look in, on, and around the toilet before sitting down. Any questions?

5. Practice the phrases, "What? I can't hear you!" and "I'd better go RIGHT NOW!". They are all you will say to your family and friends on the phone for the next twenty years.

6. Notice that hole in your pocket? There's a corresponding one in your wallet. They seem to get wider every time you enter a toy store.

7. Just go ahead and cut a hole in your boys' pants when you bring them home from the store. Or better yet, buy them with pre-cut holes in the knees. Then patch them up. Right now. It will save time later.

Dilemmas

I've never been good with decisions.
Right now I have three novels in the works in various stages. All three of them need major work before I'd consider submitting them to anyone. Some need more work than others. But I'm excited to make them better. At least the idea of a finished project is exciting, anyway. I'm not so sure about the process.
There's also magazine writing. My current project is an article for Children's Writer. I have three more queries out, but I need to do more if I hope to get some assignments. This means coming up with some new ideas and remarketing others.
I'm also excited about the possibility of commercial writing. I just read The Well-Fed Writer by Peter Bowerman, and I started to think maybe I could really do that part-time and bring in some income. Like many people, our expenses have increased lately, but our income has not.
Of course, I also have a brand-new baby, who is not interested in my career plans. I don't want to exhaust myself with too much work when she's so little.
Everyone always tells me to enjoy this time because they grow up so fast. And sure, there will be plenty of time to do all I've ever wanted later. But I can do a little now, here and there. The trouble is deciding which here and there to work on.

more Meredith

I still can't figure out what color her hair is. Brown? Red? Blond? It may be a few months before she grows enough of it to be sure.

Wet

You'd think, by my third child, I'd know a thing or two about how to feed it. And that my body would, too. And while it's true that I wasn't quite so painfully engorged as I was the first time (think volleyball instead of basketball), my body still wants to make sure the kid won't starve. Talk about your food storage. Mine's even portable.

I carry around an abundance of "nursing pads". I use the grammatically unnecessary quotation marks to emphasize the phrase in its kindest form. Usually I refer to these pads by one of several other less polite terms.

Once, in a childbirth class, the teacher recommended we use the cloth, reusable variety. I understand her noble desire to save the earth and all. But she is not me and does not realize that they DO NOT WORK! It's like trying to use a sieve to keep the ocean away. When I buy "nursing pads", I buy them TO WORK. That's their whole purpose, their reason for existing. It's like diapers. You buy them to do their job. I also do not buy cloth diapers for the same reason. If I want to save the earth, I will buy cloth grocery bags. No, wait a minute, I get plastic grocery bags to throw away the disposable diapers and "nursing pads"... Well, never mind.

So how wet do I get? Well, let's put it this way. If the fire department wants to cut back on its equipment budget, they can just call me. I could put out a house fire in about ten seconds. I've been tempted to pose as a water fountain in a park or mall somewhere. At least then people would throw money at me. I'd add it to the food budget to make up for all the extra calories I inhale to produce all this wonderful nutritious stuff.

And then, while I'm feeding her, I leak more. She tries a little to make sure it still tastes the same, then changes her mind and goes back to sleep. So what if her favorite snack gets all over my clothes and turns them a lovely shade of yellow? So what if it gets all over her face and nearly drowns her? Hey, it's cheaper than swimming lessons, right? What an economical baby.

So then I try to go back to sleep, too. But I guess I'm not too good at "nursing pad" placement because I wake up a few hours later, thinking I'm at death's door because my chest is covered in cold, clammy wetness that I'm drowsy enough to think is sweat. Guess again.

With all this spillage, it's a good thing we know how to do laundry at our house. But that's a whole other topic.