A Colorado Gold Fairy Tale

Once there was a new writer who attended the Colorado Gold conference. She’d been writing for about two years and had a completed manuscript, which she’d entered in the Colorado Gold contest, but it didn’t place. She’d come with fairly low expectations. Although her coworkers at the library where she worked were convinced this was her chance to be discovered and get her big break, she was rather cynical about the prospect. She’d been sending out queries for a while and, after months of waiting, had received a handful of form rejections. One was on a strip of paper one inch by eight inches, as if they couldn’t bother to waste a whole sheet of paper on her.

What she was most interested in was connecting with other writers and attending workshops to learn what she was doing wrong. And she found all that. She made friends, some of which are still good friends today. She attended workshops and soaked up the information like a sponge, frantically taking notes, on fire to apply what she’d learned to her book and make it so much better. On the night before her pitch appointments, she couldn’t sleep, so she stayed up and rewrote the beginning of her book based on what she’d learned in a workshop that day.

At the pitch appointment with the editor, there seemed to be a little chemistry. The editor wanted her whole book, which brought on another case of panic. She knew after the workshops she’d attended that she had a lot of work to do to make the manuscript good enough for publication.

So she went home and revised and polished. Two months later, she finally sent out the manuscript. She didn’t have high hopes after her previous experiences. But another two months passed, and she got a letter from an editor at the publishing house she’d submitted to. The editor she’d met had liked the book enough to pass it on to another editor, who had loved it and was offering a contract.

Then fate stepped in, in a good way. The writer tried to call the editor but couldn’t get through. Knowing she’d be unable to sleep that night if she didn’t connect with the editor (and make sure the letter was real and they hadn’t changed their minds), she called an agent she’d been conversing with. The agent said, “Leave it to me” and managed to parlay the offer into a three-book contract with a substantial advance.

The writer was on top of the world, trying to decide if she could turn a cartwheel or two or if she was too out-of-shape to risk it. But she had another nagging worry. Three books. She had one full manuscript and a partial one that she was stalled on. Could she pull this off? Was her first book a fluke? She decided to take the summer off from her job and devote herself to writing the second book. It was an enlightening experience, as she discovered that knowing she was supposed to be writing was much harder than sneaking time to write when it was all just a dream. But she finished the book, and she went back to the second manuscript she had started and whipped it into shape as well.

Over a year and a half after she received the offer, her first book came out. Her coworkers and friends held a book launch party for her, and it was wonderful–the highlight of her life beyond having her children. It was a wonderful vindication for all her struggles as an intellectual outcast growing up in a small town in the Midwest.

If this was a fairy tale, the writer would have lived happily ever after. She would have continued to sell books (she did, but each one seemed to do less well than the last). Her career would have continued to grow, and by now she’d be an established mid-list author making a living on her books.

But it didn’t happen that way. Her editor ran into trouble with the publisher and eventually left. The new editor liked her work but didn’t have the same commitment to it, nor the same power in the company. The writer was orphaned again. Eventually her publisher dropped her, and she spent ten years trying to reinvent herself and sell another book. After a time, she went the self-publishing route. Which seemed promising for a while, until everyone and their dog started doing it. She decided to try a small publisher. These publishers provide editing and professional covers and do the production work, but they do little promotion. It’s a reasonable option, except she still has a day job and other things in her life and doesn’t really have time to do a lot of promotion. So her books are languishing, just like her self-published books.

Back to the fairy tale. Maybe someday a prince will find the writer and she will get that big break that will jump-start her career and make her once again feel like a real writer. Looking back, she wonders if everything happened for her too soon, before she was ready. And yet she wouldn’t change the thrill of being published by a New York publishing house and all the perks attendant: Beautiful covers. A big box of author’s copies sent to her door. Seeing her book in bookstores, grocery stores, even airports. Feeling like a real author on her way up. And she doesn’t regret the books she wrote, flawed though they may be. Because they portray her vision of the world and her hopes and dreams and values, and she got to share that with thousands of people.

Fairy tales are fun, but they tend to end abruptly and don’t really hint at the struggles real-life people face. So, to all of you planning to attend the Colorado Gold conference this fall: It’s OK to go with stars in your eyes and dream big. Believe in yourself and your vision, and don’t let anyone take that away from you. But at the same time, be realistic. Research the market, know that you can always be a better writer. Be open to growth possibilities. But also be open to Prince Charmings. You never know when you might meet one and the magic will happen.