Whew.

That’s the sound of an exhale, like at the end of a long day, or after a soldier realizes that the bullet just whizzed by and hadn’t, as he feared, stopped in for a visit. It won’t be the last whew, not even close, but I thought it a nice moment to share with you just the same.

So, yeah, I’m kind of, sort of, yeah maybe, done, putting the finishing touches on the manuscript, tweaking language here, adding an adjective there, improving metaphors, anything to make it a better read, to elicit one more laugh, to spark one more memory. It’s a bit strange at this point; I’ve read the thing at least fifty-five times, finding myself both incredibly generous in some sections and incredibly close-fisted in others. There are parts I love and parts I hate, but at this point, everything stays in. Obsession rears its ugly head as I analyze certain portions of the book, portions that have tested my resolve and have refused to form themselves into the sort of knock-em-dead structure that I desperately crave. But some of those parts have informed me to just shut up and let it be.

I wonder now how obvious it is that I am not yet, in any shape or form, legitimate. I’ve always wanted to be legitimate (more to the point, prolific), but I imagine that just takes not stopping.

I don’t plan to.

Already I find myself itching for the next project, and am in the process now of determining just which direction I’ll go from here.

Now comes the scary part, the part where I discover if anyone cares about it. My next step is to try and reach out to literary agents, the medium by which a writer attempts to enter the profession. I love the idea of an agent, and am interested to finally have a reason to talk with one. All my previous conversations with agents were very short. It seems that if you have no book, there’s not much to talk about.

If it turns out that universal rejection is on tap for 2009, then you might find me on the side of the road, selling pulp copies for $5.00 and signing the title page with my own blood. You do what you’ve got to do out there.

Ten Things I’ve Learned:

1. My tendency to alliterate has not waned, not one little bit.
2. The semicolon really was starting to screw me over after all.
3. I have an apparent fetish for the dash, especially when commas would be preferable.
4. There are few things greater than a thesaurus that’s quick-to-the-helm.
5. Writing is nearly one thousand times harder than I imagined, but one billion times more fun.
6. Friends and family see you through.
7. Honest is always the best policy, unless the lie is a better read.
8. Bookstores now intimidate me. They never did before. Strange.
9. I like words that only have one definition, such as epitaph, kettle, and cactus.
10. The human mind has limitless capacity for learning, but the human heart is incredibly stingy.

In the coming days and weeks, I’ll begin reaching out to agents in the new year, hopefully capturing someone’s eye and taking the next step, which should, if I keep going, yield another exhale that will be even more exciting.

I cannot begin to say thank you to all of you for your kindness and support through this long process. For all those who have realized that writing is the thing that truly makes me happy, thank you for seeing me. For those who have, on their own, inquired after the progress and have spurred me forward, your kindness knows no bounds, and I am forever grateful. I hope to make you proud. And for all those who are skeptical, or think I’ve erred in the wrong direction, thank you. The friction of your dissent steels me in ways that encouragement cannot.

As the year comes to a close, I find myself grateful, quiet, and content, with eyes that are open and long to see what’s next to be done.

Until next time,
Charlie