from the archives...23 February, 2009
And so the disappointment and frustration begins on the return of a first editing evaluation. It won’t be the last, but I wonder if the first is simply just the hardest. This small selection of words today borders on the wallowing writer in me, but is nothing more than a collection and organization of my thoughts in the moment, a way to weed through and find resolution.
I thought I’d feel a pang of disappointment to read the errors and the suggested corrections from the Editorial Evaluation just returned, but I didn’t. I felt pride. I felt honored that a professional level editor finally read my book, that my characters and I took that first step. And I even look at the hurdles of making the changes, searching through the red-penned manuscript with near delight in that my book will only improve from here. I was happy to get the call, happy to see the remarks, both good and bad.
No, my disappointment comes not from the editors but from the self-publishing nightmare of finances. I had expected them but combined with a recent change in the non-writer part of life and perhaps my own naivety of this publishing world, the monsters in this nightmare begin to rear their heads.
And I feel my dreams have just slid away. I know this is momentary, but the financial burden of a book is personal. It’s mine alone and yet it affects my family. The choices now to move forward become selfish on my part which is a hard pill to swallow.
I look now at putting far more into the book than I want, or can, for the line editing alone that is required, not even counting the proofread. Here I sit, faced with shitty timing—the course of finances in the other part of my life changing as I type, our income suddenly and indefinitely taking a new road. (What a perfect example of our presently hurting economy, huh?) I can’t yet justify (if ever) that much money to foster my dream of publishing a book. In a love to money ratio, it’s worth millions. In a money to buy-the-rest-of-the-family-groceries ratio, things look a little different. Of course, this is where the self-pity comes in because I know the world has not indeed ended. ;)
So I review the options, hoping for a ray of light in all of this:
Option 1. Win the lottery.
Option 2. Pray and hope there is a sympathetic God to the realm of writers.
Option 3. Grow a money tree.
Option 4. In the least, and on a serious note, find a friend/family member/acquaintance with enough credentials, ie. an English degree (minimum), to do a line-by-line edit. I have someone. But still this will only be the basics and as far as the proofread, that’s a whole different thing, whole other cost.
Option 5. I can restructure the book as it is, according to the Editorial Rx to make changes and resubmit for a second Editing Evaluation for another lesser fee—if that doesn’t also increase in the meantime—and go from there, hopeful for much more minimal Rx from the editors which does not include as high a cost. I still face a proofread.
Option 6. Submit as is, a not so very polished book to say the least. I don’t know if I could do that but considering the upfront costs already, the stubborn me refuses to take that loss.
So here I sit with the process on hold, trying decide if I should swallow my pride and back out completely, take the already accrued financial loss and venture down other avenues of publishing as before with the bonus of a well evaluated manuscript even if not polished…
...or submit something to print that my heart knows is not well enough perfected.
Both seem impossible for me. And painful.
I guess in the end, life is simply a struggle and there are far more important worries than that of my manuscript. The best things in this world do not come easily. And once I realize that, and step out of this short-lived disappointed wallowing, I will look closely at options 1 through 6 and make one of them work. For now I’ll just start with prayer—it’s free—and hope someone is listening.
