I hadn't thought of that...

You know that old story about the five silly fishermen? They get back to shore, do an improper headcount, and think somebody's missing? And the little girl points out that there are, in fact, five of them after all, only the knotheads who counted neglected to include their own selves?

My state of mind is something like the five fishermen's at the moment. Profound shock, a flood of relief, and a little bit of shame. I have just diagnosed myself with publishing fever. Rebel helped me out with the diagnosis. In fact, she saved my life by taking me to the Book-Writing Hospital, let's say. She and I have been critiquing each other's work, and she sent me a couple of links that she said were real eye-openers for her. That went double for me! Thanks, Rebel...it seems you knew just what my problem was all along. The links led to:

1. A marvelously informative piece about publishing and writing "firsts" for bestselling author Aprilynne Pike, and
2. A revelation-inducing piece by Editorial Ass.

They blew me away. If you're anything like me—a frustrated, insecure, uncertain, ignorant, starry-eyed, dream-shot, success-besotted, unpublished novelist—you NEED to read these. AP and EA informed me that I have a disease I didn't even know about, nor even considered that I might: "I must get published" fever. It's the warped, all-consuming, feverish drive to forge ahead and publish your first novel as soon as possible, no matter what. It's the urge which causes you to pick the first agent who accepts you or contacts you, regardless of whether they're the right one for your book or market. The need which forces you to pick the first publisher who will print your work, just because, well, they're a publisher, and they'll print your work. The blindness which makes you go too fast, cut corners, skimp on important information, neglect research, make poor decisions, even start off with the wrong book.

Everything I just listed here could've easily happened to me. I was on my way down that road up until ten minutes ago, when I sat down to do a little industry and market research. I was stressed, annoyed, worried, anxious. Having finished the manuscript of my first novel, edited it through twice, and sent it off to my beta readers, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to start down the road to publication. In fact, I belittled myself for not having jumped on the process sooner, like back in November when I actually did finish the MS. I kept kicking myself for taking so long, for being so ignorant of the process. My head was filled with wild dreams of bestseller lists, and book clubs, and signings, and lecture circuits, and sales, and all those other things which are NOT the measure of the success of a book. But to my uninitiated little mind, they sufficed. More than that, my fevered brain dreamed of an unsuspecting American populace soon to be lavished with the gift of my writing, my premise, my message. I was hoping, praying that I had a novel worth the paper it would be printed on, that I would somehow navigate the nebulous world of the publishing industry, secure an agent, obtain a reputable publisher, and stock the shelves of every Barnes & Noble in the country.

And in the meantime, I was having a horrible time. Writing wasn't fun anymore. Revision was stalling, and even stopping. My intellectual and literary development had stagnated. My skills weren't being honed. The magic, as they say, had gone out of it. I didn't listen when, a few weeks ago (and again yesterday) my mother said to me, with a caring but dubious look on her face: "Are you sure this is the book you should be starting with? Are you certain you haven't bitten off more than you can chew? Maybe you ought to wait, and publish something else first." At the time, I thought she was nuts. Of course I wanted to publish this first, and as soon as possible. This was my life's work. I had a great story here, if I could but find the market. This novel would sweep the world. But more than that, this work was my passion. I loved this story. It had been born of the deepest, most desperate recess of my heart and mind. All my other ideas were as dust motes in the wind compared to it. It was a monolith of an idea set among a sea of lesser pebbles. There was no reason, I thought, why I shouldn't strain and strive night and day for its publication.

Man, was I stupid. And this morning, it became readily apparent to me. I began clicking through some web pages I'd dug up earlier, looking for free information on the world of publishing. And there was a bunch. (If you want to know why some authors fail, read this article.) After a mere 30 minutes, my brain felt as though it had been sandblasted. The proverbial little girl had walked up, tugged on my arm, and pointed out the error of my ways. An idea that had never occurred to me before (or even occurred that it might occur) had occurred to me.

Maybe I don't want to get this novel of mine published.
Yes, I know, I was shocked too. But there's some merit in the argument. First of all, consider what might happen if I push ahead with the publication process, snap up the first agent and publisher I can find, and get published that way. Perhaps my agent is less than ideal. Perhaps the publisher is too small (or too big). Perhaps the book never reaches the audience I hoped it would. Thousands upon thousands of things can go wrong if you just bulldoze through publication, doing a shoddy job without researching or shopping around. Now, suddenly, your work (in my case, it would've been the debut novel of my MAGNUM OPUS!) has gone from an unpublished manuscript with light-years of potential to a flash in the pan. An obscure failure. A piece of nothing. Scary thought, isn't it? Here's the straight dope, coming to you directly from Editorial Ass:

It's better not to be published at all than to get published in an inferior way. Doors begin to close if you try to take shortcuts. Instead, take your time to do things right. Accept no compromises. You will be much unhappier with a published book that has gone awry than with an unpublished book that still has potential. In short, your writing must not be contingent upon your getting published. Book publication is affected by many factors. A book may deserve to get published, but the market may be wrong. A book idea may be wonderful, but the execution may not be really up to snuff and need more work. The author may be a fantastic writer, but maybe this particular manuscript isn't the best book on its own, or maybe it's a good book but not a good debut. In all of these cases, if the author pushes, pushes, pushes for publication no matter what, they will damage both their future career as a writer and their relationship with their art. "I must get published" fever hurts a lot of people. It causes people to do things in desperation that will hurt or limit their long-term options. My recommendation to authors--and I know this sounds much easier than it actually is--is to try to develop zen about your books. You write because you love to write. You continue to work on your projects, whatever they may be, because you want them to continue to improve. Some projects, however good they are, never need to see the light of day, because they've been stepping-stones on your road to self-development. They are what will train you to write the book that really matters.

Some sort of explosion took place in my chest as I read this. A whirlwind of emotions came zipping in from Shangri-La, and I spent the next few minutes sorting through them. I had to physically set aside the computer, stretch out on the couch, stare at the ceiling, and think. Hard.

This is what I was feeling:

Mortification. Yes, of course: that was me realizing that I'd fallen into a trap that (a) I'd been totally unable to see and (b) thousands of others in my line of work had fallen into as well.

Surprise. Goes without saying. See mortification.

Revelation. I'm totally ignorant about the publishing process. I admit it. After today's events, I'm taking stronger steps to remedy that shortcoming. I mean, let's face it: Googling the best way to write a good query and checking in on Nathan Bransford once a month ain't gonna cut it. The dangers of the "I must get published" mindset were totally unknown to me before today. (Heck, the "I must get published" mindset itself was totally unknown to me before today.) Reading about it was quite the revelation. I now know what's been bothering me this whole time. (Have I mentioned the word "ennui" in my posts lately? Or "revision hell"? Or "soul-crushing"?) I also know how to take steps to prevent it in the future. I also know that I must now, as Mom tried to persuade me, take a good, hard look at my first novel and decide if it's really what I want to be debuting. Or if I should even try to publish it at all.

Relief. Why am I relieved to know I have a disease? That I committed a somewhat-worse-than-venial sin? I'll tell you: the uncertainty is gone. Patients are relieved to find out they have terrible diseases because at least they know what they have. Nothing's worse than not knowing. I'm free of the persistent sense of urgency, angst, insecurity and inadequacy now. But beyond that, I'm relieved because I can now relax. That deadline I put in place a few months ago, my goal to get this novel on the road to publication before the end of the year, has just gone up in smoke. I can take it easy. I don't have to push, push, push to get this thing back from my beta readers, back onto the drawing board, and then off to agents and publishers to be put back under the spotlight, under observation and scrutiny. I don't have to listen to my brain machine-gunning directives at me: You sit down and you edit that manuscript NOW, mister! It stinks! Get on that computer and start researching agents! Hop to it, we haven't got all year! Yank those writing/revision self-help books off your shelf and READ 'em, maggot! Who do you think you are, an expert?! What in God's name is taking you so long to query a publisher? Get yourself a copy of Writer's Market and get after it! Great elephants! Who says you've got time to go walk the dog or watch a movie? You've got a book to publish! And that's besides finding a bartender's job and studying for your pilot's exams, y'know!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh....gone. They're all gone. Every single one of 'em. As I lay there on the couch, staring at the ceiling, I could feel the blissful quiet swell up inside. I knew that, in the near future, I'd have some decisions to make. I'd have some hard thinking to do, more soul-tearing and hair-pulling and browbeating...not to mention a world of research to perform on various subjects, like the publishing industry, agents, publishers, markets, niches, news, procedures, queries, formatting, revision, and a beehive more besides. But for the nonce, the deadlines are gone. The ship is riding at anchor. I have a job which is bringing in money. I have a trip to England planned in June (and multitudes more after that). I have drinks to serve, airplanes to fly, countries to visit, books to study, tests to pass, mountains to climb. I have enough to keep me occupied for a while, without starving or getting behind. For now, I need to remember the reason I started writing in the first place: because I love it. Because I've got an imagination the size of the Horsehead Nebula, which is always flinging cool ideas at me, like shooting stars. Because if I don't write, I'll explode. Because writing is an interesting challenge, and I want to meet it head-on, conquer it, and get good at it. I need to remember that the success of a book does NOT depend on how many copies it sold, whose book club it got into, which schools teach it in class, how many awards it won (or was nominated for), nor how many book signings it earned its author. Its success is measured in how many people picked it up, read it, and felt some part of it resonate with them, made them think, diverted their minds into new channels. Or maybe it just made them feel good. Ain't that what's important?

I need to remember I've got time to live and breathe. The Big Idea will still be there a few weeks or months or years from now. My copious notes are still in my desk or on my computer's hard drive. The manuscript is still sitting on the floor next to my bed, second edition, its pages pristine and ready for some red marks. More importantly, I'M still here, and I hope to stick around for a good long while. I've got time to write and time to publish. There's nothing that says this has to happen yesterday. Or today. Or tomorrow, either. Maybe I'll just sit on this thing, let it mature for a bit. Then I'll take another look and see if it's worth the paper it's printed on right now. Then I'll know whether I want to kick off my career as a novelist with it, or think of something else—something from the universe of ideas which have been swimming around in my mind this whole time, subordinated by that overweening monolith of an aspiring novel. Then we'll see.