Major revisions to the memoir are done and everything is in the hands of my beta-readers. I’ve tasked myself with working on the proposal for that memoir, hoping to get it into the hands of agents soon, but a proposal needs a lot of thinking. Which authors would I compare myself too? What does my audience look like? Can I justify book sales, and if so, with what data?
Compared to the proposal, the memoir, even down to painful edits and revisions, was easier. The sense of making progress was tangible. But now?
I spend time reading through How to Write a Book Proposal, by Jody Rein and Michael Larsen, each morning. Scrivener was purchased to help me get organized. But the thinking about problems I’ve yet to conquer drives my brain wild.
And So, Distract Me!
Are there writer distractions? Other things to think about, to do? Yes.
In additional to my perennial struggles with social media, I latched onto the need for more calm and my contemplation after our cat died earlier in July. I began to bead bracelets, a hobby I’ve loved for many years, but one that I had set aside to write. And I have a large collection of beads, as well as bracelets from many years ago that either no longer fit (or never did, to be honest), or were as poorly made as you might expect the first attempts would be. They needed fixing. Of course they did.
And then there were essays to write! My platform (or bridge) as an author won’t build itself, and I settled down and whipped out two essays one after the next (three, if you count this one). The first was miraculously published within days of submission. The second was also accepted, but for later publication.
And this past weekend more essay ideas came to mind. A more detailed examination of my motives for moving to Japan in 1998. A whimsical account of the foibles of spontaneity (inspired by a sudden mad dash to Vancouver, Washington, and all that ensued).
Heck. Even time to write this counts as a distraction.
But I’ve Got This
I will get the proposal complete. Every distraction, as much as I both love and hate them, offers me time to think about the proposal. Are my comp authors the right ones? Does the fact that there are few other queer generation X authors writing about grief help me? (Spoiler alert: I think it does.)
And so I will try to let this essay be my last writer distraction, at least for this week.
