Been overloaded with work for the past couple of months.
Finally got back onto the horse recently.
A close friend told me to give the novel 6 months before trying to publish it (too controversial).
Of about fifty queries, I had only one full request for the manuscript.
Going to send out another fifteen or so queries, but I'm not holding my breath.
I've written the best version of this novel that I can, and there's not much more to be done. Self publishing is still on the table, but the timing would have to be right. For the time being, the manuscript will sit on the shelf as I return to working on my second novel. Just need to implement a couple of final revisions first, before sending it out one last time.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
Sometimes I wish I had multiple lives.
There's so many things to do in life, but only enough time to be good at one of them.
Like everyone, I've got problems in my life. Right now, they feel more acute than previously, but when considered in context. They're really not that bad. That said, I find myself worrying about them constantly. Not to the level of some type of clinical anxiety, but enough that it disrupts my productivity and happiness.
How to let go of the things outside of my control? How to stop letting fear poison my day to day life?
Struggle isn't a harm inflicted upon you by life. It's an opportunity for zen training.
Been meditating twice daily. It's helping.
In a word: excellent.
Until a novel is done, it grinds away at you, needling itself into your thoughts at all times. Revisions pop into your head in the midst of other activities. Suggestions appear right as you're about to fall asleep.
To complete it is to find peace.
BETA MALE is done.
After almost a year's worth of significant revisions, the final draft has been completed.
Time to get an agent!
I'm 99% done this thing (and it's the best thing I've ever done), but the last 1% is a real motherfucker.
The book is almost done. Maybe 2-3 more weeks of intensive work, and then it's off to the agents again (the election of Trump has changed the game, made my novel far more topical).
The only problem is that the rest of my life is on the verge of falling apart. Except it's not really on the verge of falling apart - that characterization is nothing more than my mind catastrophizing, extrapolating from the current crisis to a doomsday scenario that's enormously unlikely. Objectively, I know this to be the case, but that doesn't prevent me from tossing and turning at night, unable to sleep.
I'm paralyzed by fear. Fear of missing out, fear of failure, fear that I've made the wrong life choices, fear that I'm going to live a life of mediocrity, fear of losing someone I care about, fear of caring too much, and caring too little.
Let the fear pass through you. Accept that you are going to die. Accept that your consciousness will be annihilated. Accept the temporal nature of your existence. Stop fighting it. Stop resisting. Let it pass through you. The resistance is what creates the force. Acknowledge to yourself that you care about her. Acknowledge that you may fail, and fail spectacularly. The world around you is a hurricane. Find the eye of the storm. Sit down and close your eyes. Breathe.
people I admire
Bret Easton Ellis