This morning I met with a writer pal of mine.
We try to get together once a month — sometimes to critique each other’s work, sometimes to celebrate, sometimes to brainstorm, sometimes to cry.
Today I showed up with the nightmare previously known as my filing system.
Not my whoooole filing system. Oh, no.
I left the taxes and report cards and committee minutes and freelance folders at home to molder.
Today I targeted my revision and submission folders, and if you’re rolling your eyes thinking, “Why doesn’t that nutbar get a clean, efficient Excel spreadsheet like the rest of us” can you kindly hold that thought for now? It’d make me feel better.
I don’t know how I let things accumulate like this, but let me tell you that it was a pile to behold. Notes and revisions from various manuscripts, assorted editorial rejections — opened but still in envelopes, my most recent book contract, three different submission logs (not one of them up-to-date), emails from friends about their agents. You get the idea. I think there was probably a gum wrapper or two in there, too.
So if you can believe it, I plowed through most of the stuff right then and there. All that’s left to do is integrate and update the logs so that I can feel good about putting my work out there in the world again. When you don’t know what’s where it’s hard to know what’s next. Y’know?
I have a feeling that the ‘assorted editorial rejections’ were why I’d neglected this teeming mass for as long as I did. Like if I didn’t record and file them, they hadn’t really happened? When did I stop looking at rejections as an opportunity for revision or a nudge to submit to someone else? Did a rock actually roll onto my head or did I crawl under it of my own volition?
Sigh.
Here’s the thing. In each manuscript’s folder are numerous rejections, which for sure means I’ve been productive in the sending ’em out department. So there’s that. And many of those rejections include invitations to submit more work. I used to just jump on that sort of response but I’ve apparently gotten a little lazy, so I’m back on task there. Plus, a few stories need to be revised unless they want their share of rejections to grow, so I’ve added revisions to the to-do list, too.
And then there are the folders for the books that’ve sold. Two out of three of them have their own little pile of no-thankyou notes. That’s what spurs me on, really. Knowing that we don’t usually make the bell at our first rodeo. Still, there’s always another bull and I’m polishing up my boots. After I put these damn logs into Excel….
Will it reveal too much about the state of my desk to say you don’t sound all that disorganized to me. I prefer writing things in a notebook, then buying a new notebook and forgetting to transfer everything,etc.
And your last paragraph was an encouraging delight. We New Yorkers don’t hear an bell at our rodeo analogy too often.
Oh, right. The new notebook technique. I love it when I use products to try to trick myself…
Oh, Liz, I admire you for tackling that. Would you please come be my filing friend and help me dig out from my own overrun mess? Please? I’ll make you cookies!
Are you kidding??? Then we’d just sit around eating cookies! It’d be a bloody disaster!!!!
Still, what you do is better than what *I* do
Which is just to avoid submitting anywhere. I can’t seem to get past this mental block I have and just do the submission process. I’ve worked as an Editor, I know that rejection is not a personal thing and yet… and yet, the only way anyone will ever discover my work is if they are at my house and see something up on my computer screen.
I’m proud of you.
–Barb
Re: Still, what you do is better than what *I* do
Thanks Barb 🙂 Did you read my post a couple weeks ago about housecalls??? It’s totally about this! About how editors really just need to come over and check in on us sometimes 🙂