The one comment that has come up from publishers and agents is the lack of direction my book has. That if it was developed more, they could do something with it. I think that I was hoping they’d figure out what to do and I could just write it.

That’s not how it’s going to happen.

Although I’ve become closer to what my book is about, I wasn’t quite there with the last proposal – the ending was still unclear to me. After all, if the book is mimicking real life, how does it just end?

I knew the book had to be slightly different from the web site, but again, I wasn’t sure how. I’ve been brainstorming randomly but with the push of the past two days, I’ve been brainstorming like mad and finally figured it out thanks to some creativity and following the rules.

I kept thinking I didn’t need to do a chapter outline like every ‘hot to get published book’ states since my book doesn’t have chapters. I thought that way until I did one and realised if I had only followed these guidelines months before, perhaps I’d have something out there now.

Making the chapter outline I realised my book has several parts – an introduction, a beginning, a middle, an end, a resource section and a FAQ section. I put points underneath them all as to what would go where and the strange thing is, the way I have written it, it all falls into this.

I also created a page to show what’s new in the proposal and book. I’ve been doing my market research making graphs and all that good fancy marketing. Doing that has really helped me to understand my book and who wants what. It’s also helped me stand firm on what I want.

There’s the old saying that to break the rules, you have to understand them. After rereading several of my publishing books I now understand which rules I can – and can’t – break.

The vision is getting clearer.

A part of me feels genuinely humiliated for sharing two recent (and huge) failures, understanding now why so many people keep their dreams tucked so quietly within them. To admit when something doesn’t work out is not only personally humbling, but publicly embarrassing.

People love to watch other people climbing the ladder of success. They cheer them on enthusiastically and do all they can to be supportive. Once they’re near the top though, it’s all a different story. Suddenly, the world fills up with folk who are hanging around eagerly anticipating your downfall. This, I discovered, is true for me.

During the poll that I recently setup, a couple of wicked letters poured in and while generally I know the authors and their motivations behind such letters, it was still upsetting to read them.

Why someone would take so much time out of their life to sit down and write a long, nasty letter about someone else was mind boggling to me. I wanted to discount it but at first, the letter had weight because I thought on some level they were right; I had failed and perhaps I wasn’t any good at what I was doing.

Then I realised that out of one thousand letters, only two were negative, which meant that I must have done something right.

I began to realise from the answers to my poll who my real audience was and what they really thought of my book. All but two of the answers were a huge YES! All but two of the answers were, “leave the book as it is!” All but two of the answers were, “Thank-you for writing.”

People had let me known that they wanted the same kind of book that I want – what’s already been written on the web. They let me know that they too didn’t want a self-help book or guide. They let me know that something I did, meant something.

Their feedback helped me to realise that although I still have targets to reach I have already accomplished several things of importance. It also means that I have much to lose and that certain people would now be only too pleased to help me lose it. However, I am not going to give them that opportunity.

Walt Disney once said Get a good idea and stay with it. Dog it, and work at it until it’s done, and done right.

With that, I am going to continue to fight to get my book published. I’m going to modify it, enhance it but not take away from the core which is the basic, simply telling of a journey. No gucking it up, no preaching and no morning pages to add to it. It’s my book and I’m going to get it published my way.

Arrogant? No, just determined.

There’s nothing like a two mile walk home from the post office in the pouring, windy rain to make you miserable. Wait, there is – carrying a rejection letter from your publisher of choice during said walk.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have hit me so hard if I had been prepared for it. I truly believed that this publisher would publish my book for several reasons. They publish books like mine, they publish first time authors, I had an inside connection and (I thought) my proposal rocked.

What stung the most was that it wasn’t an out and out rejection; they liked my work – even holding an acquisitions meeting about it. The publisher thought I wrote well, liked the idea, and he even wrote me a personal note back saying that my submission had gone further than most. The ultimate decision to not publish it came down to judgment calls based on the fact they didn’t think the book idea had formed completely nor were they sure of the size of audience it would have.

I had come so close, but not close enough which left me more devastated than a simple “We just didn’t like it” would have.

This rejection left me debating if I should continue on or not with the book idea- maybe all the opinions from “professionals” hold more validity than my dream. On the other hand, there is this fearsome power inside me that wants to prove them all wrong by sending them a copy of my published book with a note saying “I told you so.” Is that arrogance or lost hope? At this point, I’m not sure.

Julie Andrews has perfect advice for a situation like this: “You cry a little and then the sun comes out.” Perhaps I’ll wallow a little, indulge my sadness and wallow a little and then give it another go.

I’ll do more market research (an area I knew I was weak on), I give them a clear, concise book (also something I lacked with my proposal) and just write more, finish it and polish it until it shines. Why? Because at this point in my life, I’ve blown any chances to go back to being a how I was.

Postscript:

I couldn’t wallow, I just couldn’t. I had a cry on the way home from the post and that was enough. If I didn’t believe in what I was doing, if I didn’t believe there was a market, I think I would have given up long ago. But it’s like with any personal dream – it’s inside you and you feel it every day. It never goes away until it’s fulfilled. If I gave up, that would be the real failure – not being rejected from a publisher. To help me focus on what to do next, I set up a poll for readers to help answer my marketing questions. This is to prove to the right people that there is a market and that somehow, this story that I’ve told is relevant in today’s publishing world.

Also, I spent most of the afternoon and evening working on my book and answering the questions that the publisher had. I’m going to redo it all (even rebinding the book thanks to my best-friend Emily) and send it back to the publisher. I feel like their rejection was a passive invitation. The worst that could happen was that they would say no again and since I’ve already been through it once, the second time around should be a piece of cake.

I’m going to use the rejection as a motivator instead of a debilitator. Somehow, it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.

Slowly I was starting to form answers to questions I didn’t even know I had asked. Sometimes these answers made sense and sometimes I was left confused, unsure what to do with them.

The only thing I knew for certain was that I was standing at the same jumping off point that I was on April 08th 2001. The point where I knew I had to move forward but I was completely scared to move even one foot.

In April 2001, I got a gentle but firm push from a tarot reader. Did I really need her at that point? Did Dorothy really have to follow the yellow brick road? Of course not, I already had the answer, I was just afraid to act on what I knew. I was afraid to be responsible for a decision that might turn out to be wrong. So I put it in the hands of the Tarot Reader.

In my indecision over the past couple of months, I decided to once again give this woman I didn’t know, my power. I knew where I was, I knew how I felt and I knew that I had to go somewhere. I just didn’t want to be responsible for it. That’s when I called her.

I thought if I spoke with her I’d have the same experience the first time. She’d give me direction, she’d tell me what I needed to hear. She’d make my life work because I just couldn’t.

When I drove up to her place I didn’t want to knock on the door and was relieved to find out she wasn’t there. Driving away I didn’t feel sad to have missed her – I was elated.

It took me until midnight to figure out why.

I didn’t need some woman, no matter how great her insight, to tell me how to move forward. I’ve proven over and over that no matter what, I know how to do that. Despite fear, despite failure, despite rejection, I have always moved forward and quite loudly.

I know what I need to do and it’s simple:

I just need TO DO. No more waiting, no more wondering, no more what ifs or should have’s or want tos. It’s all about the doing.

If I want to paint I will. If I want to sing on stage I will. If I want to write a book I will. If I don’t want to be just a writer I won’t be. I don’t need cards to tell me I’m different, my toes wiggling tell me that.

This time around I gave myself my own push. I’m ready to jump and I don’t need a net.

Her reasons were clear; she wouldn’t represent my book because she didn’t believe it could sell as it was. The agent explained that if I changed my book to reflect the style of Julia Cameron or SARK not only would she work with me, but I would have a very successful book.

The only problem with that is that it wouldn’t be my book.

Maybe it’s naive of me to hold my ground and get my vision published. I know it’s definitely harder. Yet if I give in and change it to meet someone else’s vision, I feel that everything I written in the book wouldn’t be able to hold true. Doing something just for the sake of doing it rather than because I want to do it, well, that’s not what my book is about.

Rejecting the chance to have fantastic representation or to be published makes me wonder if it’s the right thing to do. A huge chunk of me says it is because I believe in authenticity and doing what you need to do, but a small part of me thinks I’m daft because how do I know what’s best for the publishing world. Perhaps the Agents and Publishers know more in this area than I. Where’s the line between being steadfast and being stupid?

I keep asking myself what is my goal with my book? What is my motivation? Is it money, to be published, for fame? Money is a partial motivator because I’ve put so much effort into it that I believe I deserve to get paid for it. Getting published is also a motivation because I believe in this book so much and if these journal have so far affected thousands who only have web access, imagine how many more creative souls could come forth if there was a book. Fame? No, because this book isn’t about me – it’s about anyone with a dream.

It’s hard for me to think with all the hits, feedback and media attention that this site has received that the journals as they are wouldn’t work. Although I adore SARK books and have found comfort from Julia Cameron’s The Artists Way, I do not write those style of books nor do I come from the same angle as those writers. I’m different.

There’s still hope with a publisher that I sent my work to months ago. Perhaps they’ll publish me because my work is my own and not an imitation of someone else.

After all, that’s how it’s worked so far. But is it enough?

It’s that time of year again when the advent calendars are being opened, the Christmas lights turn on and you can play Charlie Brown’s Christmas CD once again.

I’m a huge holiday girl for many reasons but most of all because it’s such a creative and simple time of year. Growing up with Danish Traditions, our home was decorated, crafts were made, cards were written, Sunday candles lit and cookies were baked.

Christmas has been the one time of year when I create without worry because those who I create for – friends and family – seem to appreciate it regardless of how well it turns out. This has always given me freedom and I never realised how much I needed that until my break these past couple months.

Removing pressure from any situation always makes it better but sometimes, it’s a very hard thing to do. When I began to make my cards this year I was at first filled with frustration – it didn’t look like what I had in mind. But then I remembered that when I was six it didn’t matter. What mattered were the moments that it took to make them. Remembering that, I dove in and played with sparkles, glue and coloured pencils. It didn’t matter that it didn’t turn out like the picture, what mattered was that I did it and enjoyed every minute.

I gave up reading “writing self-help” books back in June when I realised that nothing gets done by reading and talking but only by doing what works for you.

However, a few months ago I snuck one in and for me, it blew all the others out of the water. The reason? It took all the romance and dream dust out of writing and made the whole process real. Something I’ve tried to do here.

With Stephen King’s On Writing, I found myself nodding as I read, laughing at parts and squishing my brow in others. There are no dreamy words, no mention magic boxes nor is there any talk of “morning pages.” Instead, he uses every day language and sentences with words like “fart” which, surprisingly, had more impact on me than any other book filled with wistful reminiscing ever did.

Reading this book reminded to keep things real; something I sometimes forget to do when I read some of the e-mail I receive. E-mail such as, “My life sucks right now, if only I could write full-time it would be perfect!” or “I could write a novel if only I had a cabin by the sea and an uninterrupted year.” Better yet, “I would be in a state of eternal bliss if only I could wear my boa, drink tea, and write all day, every day.”

I realise with e-mails like those that I perhaps ignore some of the reality of my life. Things such as the isolation is far too much for me to bear as I learned when I chatted up the UPS man for twenty minutes one day. I don’t like to write every day in fact, if I try to write every day I don’t want to write for a month. I work on a schedule – Tuesday through Friday with weekends off – although I don’t work on a consistent time base which throws my body off kilter a lot. Sometimes I work from 11PM until 10AM for days straight; sometimes I work for only two hours each day. I don’t drink that much tea. Money matters which makes me budget everything like mad and constantly check the balance in my Microsoft Money Program. Sometimes the pressure to make money at writing takes away any of the passion I had when I didn’t have to earn a living from it. I really enjoy my life and what I get to do, but writing isn’t what I want to do for the rest of my life – as I have other ambitions such as being a vagabond again and running a bed and breakfast in France.

Writing isn’t my only passion. I wrote more when I held a three week temporary Christmas job than I did the three months previous; having all the time to write I did anything but. I have days where I feel like useless crap and don’t write anything and then suffer great guilt because of it. That is when I wish I had some papers to staple just so I would feel productive. Writing in Pajamas makes me feel frumpy instead of lucky. Writing, and working on my own terms is bloody hard work. It’s a business, something I didn’t think about when I started.

It’s easy when you’re sitting in a grey cube with a boss who wants you in at seven and out at six and a headache that matches your stress level to assume that if only you could live your dream of writing/painting/singing twenty-four seven would life truly be good. But the reality is sometimes living your dream sucks. Sometimes it’s hard, frustrating, overwhelming. Sometimes you’ll hate it just as much as if you were sitting in a pantsuit with an eight o’clock meeting. If you keep your dream in a dream state, you’ll never get anywhere because you’ll be sinking in disappointment when you get it. I’ve learned through trial and error that being real with your wants, expectations and outcomes is what makes living a dream possible.

You have to get real to make it work whether that be by just doing what you want, understanding what really happens, or using words like “fart” in your sentences.

Dreams are good to have but reality, so much better.

Chris has been taking guitar lessons for the past year and a half as music is something he is quite passionate about. Music is to him what writing is to me and in many ways, we’ve been going on the same journey.

He announced to his teacher yesterday that he felt that for the moment, he had to stop going to his lessons. Not because he had come to hate the guitar, but because he wanted to keep being in love with it. He told her that the weekly pressure to perform and learn things and play by the rules had sucked out his creativity and his passion. He was no longer playing to hear the music, but to learn a tune to impress her. He also told her that he felt he had gone as far as he could with the lessons and wanted to take a break and in the future, try something new. He told her he had felt this way for awhile but was afraid to admit it at first, because he thought if he stopped he would stop the guitar altogether. But he realised that the music is in him and just because he stops for a little while, doesn’t mean he’ll stop forever. He’s a musician no matter what; just right now he had become an unhappy one.

I totally understood where he was coming from as I had come to the same conclusion with my writing.

Taking a winter break has been what I’ve needed as I too had travelled to the point where my journey wasn’t a journey – it was a state. I had felt the pressure to write and create and be a writer because I thought I had made such a huge deal that it was too late to turn back.

Even though I felt I had outgrown what I was doing and that it wasn’t working for me, I felt afraid to leave it. That fear was the same fear that kept me being in the corporate world for so long. I was afraid to give up the security I had finally achieved despite the fact it didn’t work for me.

When I finally declared that it wasn’t working, I immediately felt better. I relaxed, I smiled, I played. I found other interests to enjoy, I spent real time with friends, I spent real time alone. I didn’t write for two months and instead of feeling guilty, I felt good.

There came a night when I finally felt the urge to write and when I did, I was surprised at how effortlessly it came out. I enjoyed letting my fingers click along the keyboard and it felt like playing again. I didn’t write about writing, I didn’t write about my dream and I didn’t write about travel. Instead, I began to write little stories of my past. I indulged myself with writing frivolously without concern of who would read it, who would buy it and who would say what about it.

When I started to write these stories, I noticed something – they were simple. Before my break I had become caught up in my thesaurus, in language and in grammar. I tried to apply all the new rules I had learned so instead of writing, I edited and my work felt contrived. I have an article published that I am currently too embarrassed about because it reads more like a flashy advert than an article I wrote. I forgot how much I enjoyed my simple voice because I had become caught up in trying to be more.

I took one of these simple stories and submitted it to a place that doesn’t pay. I didn’t want money for it; I just wanted to see if it was something people would respond to. Actually, what I really wanted was to see if people would still respond to me.

Turns out, they do.

The article was published and when others read it I received a lot of feedback of how it touched them. It made people recall their own experiences, made them think of other things but most importantly, it connected us. Something I hadn’t felt from my writing in a long time.

For the past couple of months, I’ve slowly been learning about my intentions as a writer. It’s not an overnight process and at times, it’s not even an easy one. Looking inward and asking myself why I am doing something can be frustrating when I don’t have the answers. I’m learning I don’t always have to have the answers if I enjoy it. It’s when I don’t enjoy something that asking the questions become crucial.