For NaNo, I have failed. I tried to revive my NaNo novel and get into it several times, but the desire isn’t there. I have, at best, completed a handful of paragraphs for my NaNo.
However, there’s also a victory in this. In losing interest in the NaNo, I turned my vision back to another writing project. This particular writing project I’ve been involved in with my writing partner, and it has been in the planning/organizational/drafting stage for over two years. However, we have completed the first novel (yes, an actual novel!) and are editing it. In a few more weeks, we will be shopping it around to various publishing houses, in the hopes that someone will appreciate our work enough to distribute it through their imprint.
And no, I’m not talking about getting published by vanity and self publishing presses like Xlibris and Lulu. I’m talking about the real deal: Random House, Del Rey, Ace and Tor… just to name a few.
I don’t expect it to be easy. But, on the other hand, I don’t believe it’s an overstatement to say that if Stephenie Meyer can get published then, by God, so can I. I’ve been writing stories roughly since I was old enough to know how to write my own name. Ms. Meyer hadn’t written a story until she first wrote Twilight.
As fickle as my muse may be at times, I do love to write, and I can’t imagine doing anything else other than being creative. If this area of creativity is eventually barred to me, I will always seek other paths. The freedom of self-expression is what frees my soul. It’s as natural as breathing.
With all that said, I do sincerely and deeply believe we have a great concept going that will yank readers into the world my co-writer and I have created together. We just need somebody to share our passion for the work as much as we do. We need somebody to be our patron, who will believe in the strength of our skills and of our work, and spread that passion like wildfire. We need — for lack of a better term — someone to be our publicist, of sorts.
Two years, and my belief in the project has not waned — only grown like the finest of romances, and the creative connection I share with my co-writer is nearly psychic in intensity. I love my/our work, and to have it come to naught would be the cruelest injustice of life. If everything you work for, believe in and are passionate about crumbles to dust, then what is there left worth living for?
What is your passion?