I wanted something different. I wanted to be driven by a different kind of hunger. I had done some serious thinking about my desire for old school legitimacy. For "real publishers" and all that entailed. That desire had power. And it was common, quite ordinary. Human. Silly, maybe. But compelling too. I was not above any of that.
Fast forward to a summer when I wrote "The Wych of Lepyr Cove." I had fun. Real fun. It was hard work - all day hard work, but it was rewarding on at least 16 levels. It was new, trying fiction, relaxing into telling a story in a fairly straight-forward fashion, finding a way to talk more directly about things that mattered to me (how do we relate to the giant institutions who control so much of our world; what do we do with our mistakes, our failures, our accidents and our guilts; who can we trust; how do we find our people, our real people; and then how do we live in the complete world while protecting our smaller sphere, those who are most our responsibility, most within our purview?)
The summer flew by as I sat at a kitchen table in a rented house in Boulder, Colorado. Outside the mountains were gorgeous, the creek friendly and fascinating, the air worth breathing deeply, but I was in that curtained kitchen learning to live in the 13th century with characters who had more to say to me than I had to say on their behalf.
When I was done with the book I liked it. I tried to face getting it into print. My usual pathways did not exist in this world. There were not hundreds of contests where I could send this MS. There were agents, who are gate keepers. They are serious gatekeeper as there really is no slush pile. So I got lists of those agents and I made a good faith effort.
They were kind and I think genuine, telling me they liked the writing, the way I had created the 13th world, and characters who they said they found compelling. BUT they were sure, each of them, that they could not sell the book to publishers. This book had no niche - it was not a book with real magical witches (and the sundry other magical characters that should accompany them.) It had three protagonists and kids, they told me, want only one protagonist to identify with. Worst of all, it was about real history and they seemed quite sure there were no young adults who would be interested in that.
I expected to feel crushed, but I didn't. I still believed in Wych. And I believed in kids and teenagers who I thought had more depth and breadth than these folks were willing to admit. But just to be sure I took the book to students at Pittsburgh's stellar arts school, CAPA and six or eight of them were gracious enough to read it.....
Fast forward to a summer when I wrote "The Wych of Lepyr Cove." I had fun. Real fun. It was hard work - all day hard work, but it was rewarding on at least 16 levels. It was new, trying fiction, relaxing into telling a story in a fairly straight-forward fashion, finding a way to talk more directly about things that mattered to me (how do we relate to the giant institutions who control so much of our world; what do we do with our mistakes, our failures, our accidents and our guilts; who can we trust; how do we find our people, our real people; and then how do we live in the complete world while protecting our smaller sphere, those who are most our responsibility, most within our purview?)
The summer flew by as I sat at a kitchen table in a rented house in Boulder, Colorado. Outside the mountains were gorgeous, the creek friendly and fascinating, the air worth breathing deeply, but I was in that curtained kitchen learning to live in the 13th century with characters who had more to say to me than I had to say on their behalf.
When I was done with the book I liked it. I tried to face getting it into print. My usual pathways did not exist in this world. There were not hundreds of contests where I could send this MS. There were agents, who are gate keepers. They are serious gatekeeper as there really is no slush pile. So I got lists of those agents and I made a good faith effort.
They were kind and I think genuine, telling me they liked the writing, the way I had created the 13th world, and characters who they said they found compelling. BUT they were sure, each of them, that they could not sell the book to publishers. This book had no niche - it was not a book with real magical witches (and the sundry other magical characters that should accompany them.) It had three protagonists and kids, they told me, want only one protagonist to identify with. Worst of all, it was about real history and they seemed quite sure there were no young adults who would be interested in that.
I expected to feel crushed, but I didn't. I still believed in Wych. And I believed in kids and teenagers who I thought had more depth and breadth than these folks were willing to admit. But just to be sure I took the book to students at Pittsburgh's stellar arts school, CAPA and six or eight of them were gracious enough to read it.....