Rejecting Rejection with Anne Bustard

This week’s Rejecting Rejection highlights the importance of a writing community. Sometimes support from the people who understand best is all it takes to get those writing juices flowing and motivate you to continue pursuing your dream. Anyone who has spent a weekend alongside fellow writers at the Writing Barn can definitely vouch for this! Happy Monday!

The 10,000^th Try

“You need to begin again.”

That’s what my graduate school advisor told me after she read the latest draft of my middle grade historical novel. That I had a story was the good news. That it was deeply flawed, the bad. And that I must start completely-from-the-very-beginning-over, the scariest.

With tsunami-sized doubts, I opened a new document. I confess that I felt like I might drown that semester. Like almost every day. But, I refused to give up. And thanks to a life raft of family, friends, and my advisor, I remained afloat. In the end, I had a gloriously-messy-filled-with-holes draft. It wasn’t just the manuscript that had changed. I had, too.

Then, I allowed the story to marinate for almost two years while I finished the writing program and focused on other work.

After another year of revision, I sensed it was time for the next level of feedback. So I signed up for a novel workshop with the intent of making the manuscript submittable for publication.

I received a detailed critique before I arrived.

I was devastated by it.

I had a story, but not much was working. Again. I had added more and more layers. Actually, layers, isn’t the best word. It’s more like threads. Layers would imply depth. I added width. And because of that, the mentor pointed out, I’d lost the story. She couldn’t tell what was important—couldn’t decipher the heart.

I cried so long and so hard that my contacts turned hazy from what I assume was salt deposit build-up. That had only happened once before—the day of my dad’s memorial service.

That critique letter felt like a death. The death of a dream.

And may I say, my emotional response to all of the other critiques I’d had up to that point, except for my grad school advisor’s start over letter, was relief. As in, thank goodness someone has identified the issues and is helping me find my way. I’d had two trade nonfiction picture books published in the past. I understood this journey wasn’t short or easy.

But this time, it was a perfect storm high stakes scenario. I’d worked with the manuscript on and off for well over ten years. It wouldn’t let go of me. It had changed and improved. I had grown in my craft. I was certain of that. I had done my absolute best. And then to realize that it still wasn’t good enough, not in minor ways, but in major ones, was horrific.

I’m not saying I thought this was my last chance, but it felt like it.

I considered quitting.

And not just on this story. I thought about offering to bake cookies for the book launches of all of my friends in the writing community and call that my contribution to children’s literature. I thought about walking away from writing.

Then came the epiphany—if my life was a novel, this was the dark moment. Which means, I as the protagonist had a choice. Would this crisis stop me? Defeat me? Or would I jump in, knowing that I may drown, but at least I’d have the satisfaction of having tried.

Did I want to go to the workshop? That would be no. But after the tears dried, my practical side emerged. I’d paid for the week. There would be nice people there. I had a pet sitter. They couldn’t make me write. I could go and turn the time into a personal retreat. I could read and walk and do whatever I wanted.

I’d heard plenty of inspirational stories about people achieving their dreams. Often, just when they considered stopping, they tried one more time, and an enormous breakthrough occurred. Thomas Edison said, “On the 10,000^th try, there was light.”

What if after all the revising I’d already done, I just needed to try one more time? What if I stopped too soon? Who knew? Maybe this next go-round . . . It could happen. Or not.

I went to the retreat. With zero, and I mean zero expectations.

It changed my life.

That week, each lecture, advisor meeting, small group session and conversation was a gift. I received exactly what I needed.

I returned home, opened a blank document and dived in. Again.

My mentor advised writing in short chapters. Identifying the protagonist’s controlling belief, understanding her desire (which was different than what I had originally thought), and going deeper emotionally also proved essential to streamlining, clarifying, and finding the story’s essence.

Over the next year, I wrote, rewrote, and relied on trusted readers to respond. I couldn’t tell if I was swimming or just treading water. But I was back in the water. That was what was important. So I kept working.

Then it happened. It happened on my 10,000^th try. That manuscript and I connected with my dream agent and dream editor. And I cried oceans of happy tears. Some days I still do. Anywhere But Paradise will be published in April 2015.

 

 

 

Honolulu-born author Anne Bustard holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts in addition to degrees from the University of Texas at Austin (BS, MLIS, PhD). She is the author of the award-winning picture book Buddy: The Story of Buddy Holly (Paula Wiseman Books/Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers). Her debut middle grade historical novel Anywhere But Paradise (Egmont USA), set in 1960 Hawaii, will be released in April 2015. Anne lives in Austin, where she is a part of the vibrant writing community and shares her writing space with her feral cat, Sweet Baby James.