Dead but Dreaming

One of the most challenging aspects of being a working writer is dithering. Shilly-shallying. Not being able to decide. Is this story done yet? Should I revise it for a tenth time? When do I stop writing fiction and get back to non-fiction? And all of this has to be decided for a mere half-hour of writing time a day.

I’ve neglected this blog a little because I’ve been finishing up a non-fiction book. To no one’s greater surprise than mine, an editor at Penguin is actually reading it. You just never know. Meanwhile novel number seven has been demanding my attention. One through six haven’t been published yet either.

Don’t forget the children. Stories. Lots of stories. Some days three or four story ideas crowd into my head at a time. And I only have half-an-hour to write. Decisions, decisions!

I’d pretty much decided to turn back to non-fiction for a while when I had an unexpected email. A publisher actually wants to see the whole manuscript of my Medusa novel, Interview with the Gorgon. For those who haven’t read my past posts, this novel was under contract with a publisher about six years ago. Then they dithered.

The editor who’d accepted it for publication left the press. They decided they didn’t want to do it. No kill fee. No thank you. Just “my name is no.” Funny thing about it is, since then many presses—after I went out and bought their books just so I could make comparisons—also said “not for us.” Getting this email was completely unexpected.

I used to be a professor at Breck University. Now I profess nothing. I work for a faceless corporation in New York City that publishes non-fiction books. Getting to and from work takes three hours a day. Sleep takes a few, too. Writing is the orphan child of my time.

I’ve never given up on Medusa. I’ve never given up on this blog. To read me is to love me. Even if your name is no. If only I could make up my mind.

Comments

Dusty

My, this thing is dusty. My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic. No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third. With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give. Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out. I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again. I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut? My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago. Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction. Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up. I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best...

Creative Righting

Rejection of my writing is a rejection of my imaginative world. That’s why I was cheered by the acceptance of one of my stories this week. That makes number 31. I’ve been working on a lot of fiction lately, even as nonfiction book number 6 is going to press. The ideas are still there, and bizarre as ever, but publishing venues just aren’t welcoming. The other day I had lunch with a professor whose wife is also a professor. She just had her first novel published, and so he pointed me to her indie publisher. I went to their website to learn that they’re closed to submissions. I have to admit that my latest accepted story, “Creative Writing Club,” was probably given the green light because I know the editor. That seems like a pretty dicey way to get any notice, doesn’t it? You have to know the right people even in the low circulation world. My fiction is difficult to classify. It’s got speculative elements to it. ...

Creativity

Maybe you’ve noticed this too. When you step away from fiction writing for a while, your creativity becomes flaccid. I’ve had to step away from this blog for a while because I was writing my sixth nonfiction book. God, I’ve missed fiction! Now that I’ve entered that phase of waiting for publishers to respond, I’ve turned my limited writing time back to fiction. I submitted a couple of stories this week and am waiting to hear about those as well. When you’re a writer, waiting is a way of life. Opening my software where I store my fiction stories, I was amazed by how many I found. Some of them are bad—so bad that they’ll never (rightfully) be published. Some are surprisingly good and have been sitting around while I finished up my nonfic. The vast majority, however, are unfinished. Some years back I realized that when I’m writing in the heat of inspiration but don’t have time to finish a story that I need to write down where I...

K. Marvin Bruce

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