My First Lessons Learned…

“…and there were many.”

Summer of 2018

While working full-time at a power plant, managing a farm, and parenting part-time—my seventeen-year-old barely acknowledging my very existence—I wrote my first fiction novel, When a Crow Flies. A murder mystery with a steamy love affair, all wrapped up in a tantalizing plot set in the majestic northern Manitoba forest.

Shortly after typing the two words that every wannabe writer strives for—The End—my feet barely touched the ground for weeks afterward. As I quietly relished in my accomplishment. I had finished my first fiction novel! And it was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! The plot twists, the turns, and oh, the characters! Jeremiah, Erin, and Mathias—who in their right mind wouldn’t love Jeremiah? I fell asleep to dream of future interviews about how my masterpiece had reached out and touch millions.

When my feet touched back down on Saskatchewan soil, I got to work preparing the manuscript’s submission documents. First, I Googled how to write the perfect synopsis. Holy crap! Was I really supposed to condense my 100,000-word masterpiece into 500 words? Then have to compose a short and witty query letter to pitch my book? So be it. I dug my heels in and scoured the internet looking for examples.

After writing, editing, and rewriting the synopsis and query, my next head hurdle was deciding who would publish my book. Who among them was deserving of such an honour? I compiled a list of publishers in both Canada and the U.S., along with a splatter of very lucky literary agents. Diligently recording each one on a spreadsheet, which left my eyes bloodshot and my head spinning.

My next lesson? Each publisher/agent had completely different submission guidelines. There was no industry standard—no blanket submission that could be emailed out to announce the next best-selling novel. Some wanted just the query letter. Others asked for the query letter and the first ten pages. While some requested a synopsis, the query letter, and the first twenty pages. And so on. I had naively assumed I could just toss my manuscript out into the publishing world—much like a bride tossing her bouquet—to let them hash it out.

What was more shocking to learn is that some of them expected exclusivity when reviewing my work. Giving them an allotted period of time to decide. Only to then scroll down to the bottom of their webpage to read:

“Due to the high volume of submissions we receive, we cannot respond to all queries. If you have not heard from us in three (sometimes six!) months, consider it a pass.”

Wait… what?

So, they expected exclusive rights to decide to publish my book for up to six months—only to possibly never respond at all? I calculated the years ahead of me. At that rate, I might possibly be published by the time I turned ninety-two!

The hardest lesson I would ultimately learn when first starting out as a wannabe writer was I wasn’t the only one full of themselves.

Coming up next: Mirror, Mirror. . . (spoiler alert: . . .who is the greatest writer of them all? Not me.)