Friday Feedback: False starts, Rejection and Moving Forward - a post chock full of useful links (so you should click on them) and a recycled, hidden, parting gift. . .

Summer is a fleeting bastard.

Hey, all you shiny campers,

I don't have any idea how we're here already.

Here at

The end.
The end.

Two little words so awesome at

the bottom of a manuscript,

yet, so not awesome at the completion of

a summer of Teachers Write.

*weeps a little*

But what is there to do but march forward?

It's been a busy summer for me. Busier and harder than I anticipated. I wasn't here as much as I wanted to be.

I didn't write as much as I wanted to write.

There are no redos.

Nothing to do but march forward.


I hope your writing went well.

I hope you had at least one moment when you surprised yourself.

One moment where you pushed yourself beyond where you thought you could.

One moment when you truly felt brave.

And now what?

How to keep going from here?

If you came here to TW simply to be a better writing teacher -- by the way, a truly commendable aim that makes me admire you deeply and wish there were more teachers JUST like you --  hopefully you have a brain (and computer) chock-full of ways to inspire your students. An idea of how to make writing more accessible, more compelling, and more clear. And a new-found empathy for student writers gained from walking the walk yourself.

But what if you came here hoping to write a book? To be a writer? And you only made it part of the way through?

What if you wrote less than you hoped?

What if you're stuck in the muck and mire of a muddy middle?

WHO IS GOING TO HELP ME IF I'M STUCK???


Um, did you hear me???

WHO IS GOING TO HELP ME IF I'M STUCK?!!?
What if you're almost done and visions of querying agents or submitting to publishers are dancing like sugarplum fairies in your head?

WHO IS GOING TO HELP ME IF I'M DONE?????

This writing world can be a lonely, hard one. In the end, the only one who can write your book is you.

THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN WRITE (and sell) YOUR BOOK IS YOU.

And what if I write that query, and find the perfect agent, and he rejects me, and then she rejects me, and then ten more reject me after that??!?!?!!?



You just keep marching onward.



Rejections are battle scars. Rejection is the sand . . . that ultimately produces a pearl.


And, yes, writing can be a hard, doubt-filled, and solitary endeavor, but it can also be an inspiring one full of community and understanding. And first and foremost, I hope you have found that here.


Because that's what we are. We at Teachers Write are a community. Summer is over, but we're still here to help you, to answer your questions and cheer you on.

If you need us:

Tweet to us on twitter:

https://twitter.com/gaepol
https://twitter.com/KateMessner
https://twitter.com/JoKnowles
https://twitter.com/mentortexts

email me: g.polisner@gmail.com

and, don't forget:

The TW Facebook page

is open all year.

And we love to hear from you. We do. We love to hear the stories of success: the manuscripts worked on, or dare we say, finished, the agents reading partials and fulls. The lessons brought back to the classroom.

You know where to find us, and you know, my shiny campers, where to find me.

So, I wish you all a gloriously happy end of summer and a joyful, productive return back to school.

And now, since it's Friday Feedback, here's a small excerpt from the manuscript I just sold (!!!!).

What works for you? What doesn't? You know THE RULES.



Sarah is singing. Singing, and crawling toward me on her knees. Her voice is breathy and sweet. “Sweet dreams till sun beams find you. . .” It’s a hallucination, I think, but it seems real anyway, so I wedge my hand under my thigh so I don’t reach out to her. “Tell me your dreams, babe,” she says.I shake my head and a crow lands on the back of Dr. Alvarez’s chair, turns a beady eye at me and makes its way up the wall.The crow is a trickster. I focus on Sarah instead.“Sweet dreams that leave our worries behind you. But in your dreams, whatever they be. . .She moves slowly, on all fours, her dark hair falling over her big blue eyes. dream a little dream of me. . .”I squirm as she gets closer, squeeze my eyes shut tight so I don’t lose it. Sometimes, all I have to do is look at her. 
When she reaches where I sit, she slides her lips up my leg, her wide eyes watching me, her tongue tracing the front of my jeans. I make some noise, and she stops. 
She sits back. “What the fuck? Are you crying, Klee?”
I shake my head, but she disappears anyway.

***  
Much love. Keep going!

gae

p.s. If you love what we do here at Teachers Write, please support us by buying and sharing our titles. If you haven't yet preordered THE MEMORY OF THINGS, I'd love you forever if you do. And don't forget my other books, THE PULL OF GRAVITY and THE SUMMER OF LETTING GO.

But also, don't forget the books of my guest authors: Nora Raleigh Baskin's NINE, TEN; Liza Wiemer's HELLO?, Amy Dominy's DIE FOR YOU, and Selene Castrovilla's SIGNS OF LIFE, etc. And if those books aren't right for your classroom, please check out their other titles, everything from truly awesome historical picture books to middle grade to more YA.