Today I laid a a part of my life to rest. It was favourite manuscript containing my favourite characters and the most gut-wrenching story I have ever written.
It is dead, never to be seen again.
A bit of history: Years ago, my friend, a very funny and creative writer, challenged me to a writing marathon; create a novel, a chapter per week until we finish or quit. There was no prize other than the joy of sharing stories with each other. We stuck to it for about six months and had a blast with no intention of creating anything serious or saleable.
But the idea behind that manuscript festered and grew in my mind until I decided to rewrite it for real the following year. It’s the story of two friends who went to high school together, each graduating with a solid career path and scholarships in hand. They decide to celebrate and mark the end of their time together as kids with a road trip throughout the US and Canada. They lived in Halifax so that’s where they started. Partway through the trip, something terrible happened and they didn’t see each other again for another 20 years.
This story covers all the hurt; sexual, physical, emotional; and growth over their lives. They are each affected by all the changes that happened in the 80s, 90s and 2000s (the Internet, 24 hours sports, sports doping, social media). I had to do a lot of research and speak to several experts about these subjects so I’d know what I was writing about.
All of that grew into an epic story that ran 120K words. Probably too long but it did cover 40 years of two families. During the editing and rewrite phase, which lasted 3 years, I worked with award winning authors and editors and gave the story to a few trusted beta readers for feedback and advice.
Then I started submitting. Over 100 agents, each one researched to make sure I wasn’t pitching the wrong people and who had stated they were looking for this type of novel.
Nothing. Half didn’t respond and half sent boiler plate rejections. No one read it.
I’ve considered paying more money to editors to try and figure out what is wrong with it but, my read from talking to professionals is that they don’t want this story. They don’t want me – an older white guy, writing about older guys. I get it, other voices are important and we need to read more BIPOC writers, I agree – and I do read and support them. Most of the authors I know personally are women. But, stories are about people with lived experiences, regardless of when and where they live. I would like to think that a story would stand on its own merits.
So, this is it. The story, the characters and the experience of writing them are all archives.
I don’t know what to say. It feels as bad as losing someone close to you. Like a bunch of people I knew and loved are gone and I miss and want to mourn them. I don’t care if it sounds ridiculous. This was many years of my life and a lot of my energy invested.
I know, I know. Just because you wrote something doesn’t mean anyone else has to read it let alone publish it. The industry – and the world – doesn’t owe you a living. But every writer and teacher will tell you, find the passion, do the research, make the story real. I’ve read other stories that are vaguely similar to mine (eg: Prince of Tides, Bridge of Sighs, Canada) that have been extremely successful. So, in case you missed that part of the lecture: even if you do all of the work and make something truly wonderful, emotionally grabbing, and visceral, it may still be rejected and never read.
No, self-publishing isn’t the answer either.
Look, I’m not new at this. Over the last 20 years I have amassed a rejection pile several times larger than my accepted one. As a writer, the commitment to creating the story and eventually believing it and getting to know the pretend people you have created and crying or cheering for them, is a major job requirement. So, the inevitable feelings of loss and depression is also part of the job.
Get over it.
Goodbye friends. Sorry you no longer exist.
Jim Sellers Writer 