My Exciting News

Well, it's been six months since leaving the newspaper.  Since then, I've been pursuing my lifelong dream of becoming a published author.

I was raised in a traditional home where both mom and dad went off to work every day; mom as a nurse, dad as a police officer.

Both of them also worked a variety of part time second jobs.  Dad did auto body work, drove a tractor trailer, played music in a band, and even worked for a cement company to fill his days when he wasn't on patrol.  Mom did a stint as a waitress, drove a tractor trailer (hauling 8,000 gallons of gasoline, no less), and even drove a school bus in between college classes to earn her nursing degree.

So as I sit in my bedroom office day after day, you can imagine the guilt that seeps in as I fail to live up to my surname.  Sometimes I feel like the punchline of an unfunny joke that begins "what's the difference between an unpublished writer and an unemployed bum?"  To be honest, I'm not always clear on the distinction between the two.  Both involve wearing slippers and unattractive oversized "comfy" garments that don't include a belt.  As for income, each role earns roughly the same as the guy who can't answer the first-round question "what color is blue ice cream?" on "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire."

Bums and writers both dream of the day when they'll "hit it big."  For bums, that day usually involves some sort of lotto ticket or pharmaceutical settlement.  For writers, it's the elusive "best seller."

For the record, I'm 0-for-20 in the lottery ticket department over the last few months.  As for a "best seller," I'd be ecstatic with a "one or two seller."

Here comes the exciting news I promised last week:

It looks like I'm one step closer to that "one or two seller."

I finished my novel "The Cabin" in September.  It's the horror story of an entity which brings death and destruction within the winter storms, damage mistakenly attributed to the snow and wind.

It also highlights a...well, I don't want to spoil it for you.

Once the novel was finished, I passed it along to a few friends and a kindhearted yet knowledgeable journalism teacher, who all agreed it doesn't suck too much.

After it passed muster with them, I sent it off to a dozen publishing companies.

Then I waited.  And waited.  And waited...

If my life were a movie, this would be the scene where a ghostly clock floats by, its hands spinning maniacally; or a calendar with page after page being torn off to show the passage of time.

I don't know a lot about the publishing business but I suspect they buy their timepieces from the same people who make clocks for the NFL, because I feel like an eternity has passed while I'd bet only two minutes have ticked off the wall clocks at the various publishing houses I've contacted. 

This is tough for a former newspaper man.  I'm accustomed to covering a scene, writing a story, editing it, and seeing it online the next day, followed by a print version a few days after that.

I cut my journalistic teeth on immediacy.

Now I'm splashing around in the other end of the pool, the place where bespectacled turtles dwell.  It's a place where the only person who seems to be in a hurry is me.

I've only received two actual rejection letters, the bane of all authors.  Even Stephen King racked up dozens of "no's" before "Carrie" caught on.

However, instead of being painful, those letters were quick and merciful.  For those two companies, the waiting was over.  It wasn't a yes, but at least I knew.

But for the rest of the submissions, time continues to tick away.  Slowly.

How slowly?

Think back to your elementary school days.  Do you remember the first time you sent "The Note" to the cute girl in the second row?  You know, the one that says "Do you like me?" followed by a pair of check boxes labeled "Yes" and "No" in pencil?  Can you remember how agonizingly long it took for the minutes and seconds to peel away before you got your scribbled response?

Now multiply that by 10,000.

In talking to a couple of other published writers, I've been told to be patient; that it can sometimes take up to six months to hear back from a publisher.

I've been on Amazon and visited Best Buy a half dozen times in search of "patience," but all the stores seem to be out of it.

Fortunately - and here comes the "exciting" part - I finally got an answer the day before Christmas Eve.  A publishing company in Pennsylvania advised they would like to offer me a publishing contract.

If the word wasn't already copyrighted, trademarked, and protected by a large battery of attorneys, at this point I would yell out "yahoo!"

Along with the acceptance, the publisher asked that I respond "ASAP."  I find that ironic, considering how long it took them to figure out where the "reply" button was on their iMac.

Being a bit of a snot, I of course made them wait.  I didn't send my confirmation until three whole hours later.  As part of that reply, I asked them to send the contract at their earliest convenience.  I was hoping to review it over the holidays so I could figure out exactly how many firstborn children they would require, and the mailing address where I should forward my soul.

Today is January 3.  I still haven't received the contract.

However, I'm still upbeat and optimistic.  In human terms, that's 11 days.  But in publisher and NFL time, it's barely second down and five, with two timeouts remaining.

The important thing is that someone has actually expressed an interest in publishing my book, something that doesn't always happen for first-time authors.

So that's the exciting news.

As soon as I know more, I'll share it with you.

That is, if the publisher replies before the Mayan calendar runs out.