Current Project: NMMNG ( I'm superstitious about sharing the title, so I'm doing initials)
Status: Plotting
Dear Manuscript #3:
I've tried to break up with you in person a thousand times, but I just see your sad face blinking on my hard drive, and I always give you one more chance. I'm not very good at confrontation, so if you're reading this, I've already left. Or rather, YOU'VE left. My hard drive that is. You'll find your new residence on the back-up server to be quite spacious and accommodating of you, your 14 odd drafts, your many failed synopses, and that Rolling Stones poster you insist on toting everywhere with you.
I really hoped it wouldn't end this way. I still remember when you popped into my head back in 2005. I finished my YA in record time because I couldn't wait to move onto you. When I first sketched the rough outlines of the plot that would become you, my fingers tingled. I started drafting you in 2006, and I loved everything about you: the meandering plot, the beta hero, the funny secondary characters, and the ugly duckling heroine. You were going to be THAT book for me: The one that earned me a golden heart final, the one I snagged an agent with, the one I launched a career with. You made me laugh, you made me tear my hair out, and you forced to me to grow in ways I never could have expected.
I wanted this for you. For US. And so, I spent the last two years making excuses for you. I went on a reading tour of best-selling author's first books, and I tried to convince myself that you were just as bad as them. This should have been where I got a clue, but instead I tried an intervention. I didn't want you to meet my friends, so I said that you were in revision. For two years, I kept up the mantra that you were one synopsis away from being presentable. You were my invisible book--only I knew the REAL you. I kept hoping that you would wise up and do your part to achieve a marketable plot. You had so much potential. But, I can't keep your lazy behind around any longer on the promise of potential.
This summer, I finally decided to make you earn your keep. I tried for the umpteenth time to write a synopsis that would give me a road map to fixing your flaws, and I sent you out to a few contests that don't require a synopsis. Then the inevitable happened: I saw you for who you really are, not just who you have the potential to become. Your plot takes a year to complete, you have a beta hero, and your heroine is more than a little boring. You have a shiny title, but don't get too attached to it--I just might snatch it back later.
I was already packing my bags, but then I got contest scores back last week, and I realized that perhaps you CAN be fixed, but I just don't have it in me to try anymore. I love too much to take a chainsaw to the essence of you, and yet, I don't love you enough to let you stay the way you are. You've shaken my faith in myself long enough. At this point, I'm keeping you around for sentimental reasons, which isn't good enough. You are the embodiment of my journey to parenthood, and I secretly believe that I got pregnant because I wrote you. However, perhaps I can't fix you because I'm not that person any more. Silly inaccuracies that were endearing three years ago drive me crazy now. Thus, if I don't respect you enough to want to be seen in public with you anymore, you can laze around another hard drive for awhile.
I've got a new tingle in my hands and a new WIP that keeps me up at night. I'm a little more jaded this time around, but I still think it might be the one. I can't wait to tell its story. I'm sorry that to do it justice that I have to let you go. I wanted better for you, and I want you to know that I am a better writer for having written you to a completion, for having spent two years trying to save you, and for letting you go.
I know that someday we will both look back and know that this was truly "for the best." When I finally write THAT book, the one that truly is my ONE, I'll dedicate it to you for everything that you taught me and everything that you should-of-could-of-would-of been.
All my love,
Bethany
Your turn: Tell me about manuscripts that sit on your hard drive, under your bed, in your attic. Tell me about the one you thought was THE ONE but wasn't. Tell me about the one that you had a hard time moving on from. Tell me about your rebound book :)