This week marks a big change for me. Not a change most of you will see, but it is one that changes my life.
For the last six years, I’ve felt like I’ve been living in a revolving door, only gradually moving forward, but mostly moving in circles.
This is what my life looked like six years ago, in 2010: I started teaching at an online school- 7th through 12th grade English and communication, teaching over webinar and the phone. Ready to answer questions on everything from proper form during a speech to poetic meter, from explaining the themes of the created monster in Beowulf and Frankenstein to plural possessives. This ended a six-month unemployment streak for both me and my husband. I’d just graduated college six months ago, was in my first year of marriage, was trying and failing to find time to exercise, and was loving helping my second-youngest sister with her classes at the college I’d just graduated from. I also started writing a novel, after not writing fiction for four years. Most things in my life were good, and I was the happiest I’d been in my entire life to that point, but I felt like I lacked direction. I had some of my close friends over for an evening in January, and sat there staring at everyone, feeling like I had no idea where my life was going.
This is what my life looked like five years ago: I was enjoying teaching, writing curriculum, helping students find their interests. My youngest sister came to college in the same little college town in which I lived. That meant all four of my siblings (my brother and three sisters) were finally all in the same town, just blocks from each other. I was about 50,000 words into my novel, the first in a fantasy series, and I’d started researching how to get published and how to find a literary agent. Full-time teaching at a year-round school was my day from 7:30-5:30, and after work and weekends my time was taken with family, writing, and researching. Even after a year of trying, I hadn’t found an exercise activity that held my interest and that I could fit into my schedule. I still felt like I was floating, directionless, and even though I had some things I was trying– teaching and writing– teaching didn’t seem like what I needed long-term, and writing fiction seemed like so unlikely a career I’d barely considered it. I felt stuck and frustrated.
This is what my life looked like four years ago: Heading into three years of full-time teaching, I was burning out. Year-round, never enough, fighting systems I couldn’t change. I’d finished my fantasy novel at about 98,000 words after two years of solid daily or weekly writing and revising, and I started querying it. Querying agents was going okay, and I was getting some interest. I was trying, and mostly failing, to go to the gym with my sisters and/or my husband, and sometimes trying to run outdoors when the weather was good. But it didn’t happen more than a few times a month– querying agents, making revisions based on their feedback, and working with some new writer friends to improve my novel even more took a lot of time. I was discovering that connecting in the writing community and slowly building a platform could help me become a better writer, so I started this blog, joined Twitter, and found some wonderful guides and resources for getting into the fiction side of publishing. I also discovered I wasn’t reading nearly enough if I wanted to become a better writer, so I started reading more. During the summer, I realized I didn’t know nearly enough about the industry, and I started applying for internships to work at a literary agency or publishing house, so I could see behind the curtain. After about thirty-odd applications, I started an unpaid internship at a small press. During the fall, about eight months into querying my fantasy novel, I started writing my first YA novel, the first draft of How We Fall. A few pieces of my life suddenly fit together, and this book was from the start a level above what I’d written before. I felt like I’d suddenly sensed what I’d been looking for the past seven years. But full-time teaching, querying my first novel, writing my second, interning, blogging, and being part of a critique group was taking every hour of every day. I wrote over my lunch breaks. I read on the commute. I woke up so tired I felt sick for the first half hour of nearly every day. But I finally felt like I had some direction.
This is what my life looked like three years ago: Several things changed in 2013. I was given the chance to work in another side of the publishing industry, at a New York literary agency, in January. I started seriously querying How We Fall, and made the tough decision to set aside the fantasy novel that I’d spent two years writing and a year querying and endlessly revising. I moved to teaching part-time, to have time to handle both my internships. The work was overwhelming– in order to have the money to live, I had to work paying jobs. But to have the time to write, learn how publishing works, and improve my skills, I had to be spending tons of time investing in my writing career. In order to build my skills and create connections, I needed to be going to the right conferences, blogging, and learning on social media. I felt like I was juggling a million things and getting none of them right. I ended both of my internships, and started applying for paid positions with publishing houses.
Months later, I started at a small publishing house, and the learning curve was steep. My husband, this whole time, had been starting his own videography business, which I supported by working full-time, and our finances took a major hit when I moved to part-time teaching. We also hit some serious friction in our group of college friends, and I lost a few friendships that meant a lot to me. I’d completely given up on trying to find an exercise routine, in spite of pretty constant neck, back, and shoulder issues from sitting at a computer 12 hours a day. I was getting requests from agents to read How We Fall, which gave me hope, but then responses on the reads were taking three and four months. In early June I was thrilled to get an offer to revise and resubmit from an agent, and I worked hard on revising my manuscript for a month and a half. In late July, I sent her the revised manuscript. In August, she offered to represent me, and I accepted. It was a major piece of validation, and having an agent gave me the boost I needed to keep working. The rest of the year was yet more revisions on the manuscript, but this time with my agent.
This is what my life looked like two years ago: I had finished revisions for How We Fall and my agent started taking it to publishing houses. I had started my next book, a YA thriller, and felt that same click I’d felt when I started How We Fall; this next book was better. The publishing house I had been working with as an editor wasn’t a good fit for me– I started applying elsewhere, but worried I didn’t have the experience and skill. All three of my sisters moved from our little town to Colorado, meaning a big part of my support system and my three closest friends (you’ll see sisters all through my writing) were suddenly across the country. My niece, a five-year-old who’d spent multiple days per week with me, was gone, too. I cried, and got a little mad, and visited them, and kept writing. My youngest sister and her husband had a baby, and I realized I wouldn’t be able to be there for him, like I had been for my niece.
In February, 6 weeks after going on submission with How We Fall, it sold to Merit Press at F&W Media. They did a wonderful job with it and supporting me, sending me to New York, Chicago, Dallas, and New Orleans for signings and appearances at conventions. My husband’s job had him traveling for work, too, which was a whole new area of stress and lack of balance. Our finances were a tug-of-war, with both of us working essentially for ourselves and trying to manage pretty intense student loans. (We’re still working on that, by the way.) But in spite of all of that, my book released in November. Critics liked it. Readers read it, asked me to sign it. I was thrilled, but more vulnerable and anxious than ever, because now people could evaluate my work. Evaluate me. Publicly comment on me and this book I’d written. They could, and did, say I’d written pornography. They could, and did, say they’d read every book I wrote and that my book made them think differently about young adults and their lives. My husband pulled me out of a few trees, bought me a lot of chocolate, and supported me a hundred and ten percent. I finished my second book and started on my third. I quit teaching entirely during the summer, and started working as an editor at Entangled Publishing, where it was taking me about 50 hours a week to stay on top of my schedule and handle the learning curve. Plus writing, plus blogging, plus the freelance editing I’d been doing for the past two years to help with that financial tug-of-war. Plus family, and travel, and my own sanity, and wanting to be on submission again to get that necessary next book deal, but not being able to do that. And it still felt like I wasn’t doing enough. Because I still wasn’t making what I needed in order to get on top of life expenses and debt, because my book came out and it was well-received, but it wasn’t supporting me, because my husband was working himself into the ground for his own business and we needed something to change.
This is what my life has been this past year: My book did better than I ever expected. I got two more revised and ready to go. I edited a fantastic list of books I’m proud of with Entangled Publishing. I had to back way down on my blogging, as you readers who have followed me here the last four years have probably noticed. (Thank you, thank you, for sticking around.) I traveled, some for family, but mostly for my writing and editing career, to Colorado, Arkansas, Indiana, Minneapolis, New York, Chicago, Dallas, Minneapolis again, Omaha, and Mexico. My husband traveled for his videography career at least once if not twice a month. He got a new job, a much-earned step up for him, and it was the change we needed. We moved this summer from Iowa to South Dakota. This spring and summer has been the most difficult stretch yet of the last six years. And though I could have scaled back on some of the non-paying work earlier, I can pinpoint positive changes that happened because of them. I don’t know if I should have taken on less, more slowly, but I am happy with where it has gotten me.
This week is a point I’ve been working toward specifically for the last five months, but also for the last six years.
My work is now confined to business hours. 8am to 5pm, weekdays only. My weekends are mine. My evenings are mine. I’ve found a balance for my editing and writing careers, and I’ll be blogging more frequently, too. My next two books are finally out of my hands. I can even put in the effort to find a video game I enjoy (not usually my thing) so I can play one with my husband. I’ve taken up running, and it works for me. I’m finally exercising consistently, and my neck and shoulder issues from all that computer time are slowly being handled. I can read my goal of a book a week.
There are several things I’m turning down in order to make this work. Ever since I started out, I’ve been hearing that balance is necessary. That you have to take care of yourself in all this hard work. That hard work and perseverance make the difference. That a support system and relationships are necessary, that time off is necessary, but time spent writing is how you’ll get there. I’ve been hearing I need to study writing and read constantly to improve, that practice will show me how it works. Conferences and genuine connection through social media might open doors, will help build a support system, will show me new sides of the industry. That I need to disconnect from the internet, so I can write by myself. I need to open myself up for critique, but to follow my own instincts. And it’s all true. And I have been trying, for the last six years, to handle what I can and turn away what I can’t.
I’ve reached a point where I need to rein some things back and settle into a more sustainable pattern. I reached that point a year ago, actually, but wasn’t able to make it work. And it finally does work.
Guess what? I watched two movies back-to-back this weekend. Just because I wanted to. And it feels like a gift.
I want to keep writing, and to keep working with such remarkably talented authors as an editor. And I want to have a long career. I’m starting my fourth manuscript, and I want it to be a good one.
I say all this not to impress you with how much work I’ve been doing. Most people in publishing work this hard, I think. Many authors who write more than I do have children, too, and I don’t.
I say this because so much of the advice writers are given is conflicting. Become a better writer by practicing, become a better writer by studying. Get into publishing by connecting and building a platform, get into publishing by writing writing writing. Work hard, persevere, and do what it takes–but fit it in where you can, prioritize, and it’s okay to take even months off if you need them. And the thing is, all this conflicting advice is true for each of us at different times. We have to know ourselves well enough to know what we need, and when we need it. Sometimes it’s time to throw yourself at the work, trust that your real friends will support you, and have some sleepless nights. And sometimes it’s time to set boundaries, focus on the long haul, and watch a few movies.
Know yourself, friends. Listen to what you need. It may take a long time to find some balance, but it’s worth it if you’re aiming for a long career.
I’m happy. The paperback of How We Fall hits shelves in two weeks. I’ve found a career that keeps showing me more about myself, where love what I do on every side of it. I don’t think I’d be at this point if not for the last six years. But tonight, I’m going to go for a run with my husband. And tomorrow, I’m going to read a book, start to finish. And I won’t start work until Monday at 8 am.