Rubberband Girl
Remember those brick walls I talked about in my last post? I'm feeling like they are about 2 miles tall right now. I'm not even sure that I haven't been inadvertently laying a few of those bricks myself.
It has not been the most pleasant two weeks in my writing career. There have been some ups, but mostly I've been feeling pretty confused and inept. I've received a whole bunch of feedback on my manuscript, and the opinions have ranged from "I love this and I am dying to know more" to "your protagonist is completely unsympathetic and no reader is going to want to turn the page to find out about her. She is petty, mean and unrelentingly cynical (granted, this last was the only person who disliked my protagonist, but OhWow did she hate her!). People wanted more of certain information while others wanted less of the same information. Some people said add character layers while others said give it a stronger plot (make her an amateur sleuth and bungle around for humor!).
And just about everyone who is in the publishing business (meaning agents and editors) say that the addiction theme is completely played out and won't sell. So I would be best off to tone down that aspect of my book if I want it to be saleable.
The upside? Everyone seems to agree I can write pretty well. It's just that the book won't sell.
Arg.
Another upside? I managed to deal gracefully with the editor who despised my protagonist. I'm very proud of myself for not falling apart. I did feel like I'd been slapped, though. Particularly since much of the protagonist is based on me in early sobriety. (she only had the first three chapters and didn't see how the character evolved, but I don't think anyone -even my mother- would describe me as petty and unrelentingly cynical. Sardonic, yes. Mean? No.
In other news, I was recently diagnosed with uterine fibroids significant enough that the first gyn specialist I saw recommended a hysterectomy in lieu of removing the tumors. She claimed the largest one was too big (the size of a lemon) and lodged in the uterine wall, so that was really the only recourse, although if I wanted, I could have a procedure to cut the blood supply from the fibroids which would shrink them temporarily. But she said I'd likely get more fibroids and the others would probably resume growth, so a hysterectomy would be inevitable.
Now, mind you, I am still in my childbearing years. I haven't hit 40 yet. I don't think I want to have another kid, but the idea of a hysterectomy sounds appalling. I've done a bunch of research since last week, and lo-and-behold, very few fibroid sufferrers require a hysterectomy. In fact, they are by and large over prescribed. Furthermore, there are risks associated with hysterectomy, especially for a young woman, that this doctor failed to tell me - like potential sexual dysfunction, problems with internal organs shifting into the cavity and premature menopause.
Hullo! As if the idea of losing a very important part of my guts (my beautiful baby boy was created there!), but those other things are pretty horrible too. The biggest risk with not having the hysterectomy is that the fibroids may grow back and/or new ones will develop and I will need to have another procedure. There is also a risk of the surgery going wrong and an emergency hysterectomy needing to be performed.
Anyway, I suppose this is TMI for all of you, but I am a little freaked out over this whole thing. This surprise health issue on top of the bumpy writing experiences have me feeling -- I don't know.
Did I mention we have slugs in the garden? Damn slugs. I used to use beer traps to kill them. Not an option now. So far they're mostly eating the marigolds and chrysanthemums, which are flanking the vegetable beds to keep the other critters out. But they have munched down on the mustard greens I'm trying to grow. They're pissing me off.




