THE ONE THAT’S A LONG AND WINDING ROAD
Category: Children’s non-fiction (via MG, YA, and PB)
I began writing a book eleven years ago during a difficult time in my life: a good friend was in a coma from H1N1, I was stressed with work and school, I was in a bad kind-of relationship. At first, I just had a scene: two girls digging in the dirt with their hands at recess. I wasn’t sure what it would become, but I kept at it. As reading had done when I was a child, writing immersed me in another world and helped move me through my depression.
It was a weird book. The kind of book I’ve since heard people refer to as a “heart book”. One that you identify with. And it meant the world to me. I didn’t think of myself as A Writer, though I did fantasize about this book becoming A Book. I sent it to trusted friends and received positive feedback. I tried submitting it to an editor who had open calls for unagented writers. I didn’t really know what an agent was for at the time, so I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. My vision was specific: I wanted my book to be in the children’s section of my hometown library, a place I had spent countless afternoons in as a kid, reading cross-legged on the carpeted floor, surrounded by books I’d pulled from the shelves.
I never heard back from that editor but I did return to that book; I edited and revised and obsessed over every word. I researched how people get books published. I began submitting to agents, realizing that was a more viable pathway. As I said, it was a weird book, a quiet middle grade magical realism novel that lacked a strong hook, and I had a hard time figuring out how to spin it in a way that would quickly appeal to a stranger.
I never heard back from anybody.
I had a baby.
Then another.
I was working at my day job and trying to make life work. I still dreamed about getting my book published, but if that was going to happen, I realized I had to try new tactics.
So I wrote a picture book and sent it out to indie publishing houses. After only a week, I was shocked to get a call from a small press in New England who said they wanted to publish it. They were sending it to reviewers for feedback, they told me; they’d email a contract over in the next week or so.
My dream was finally coming true!
I made an announcement on social media—I was so naive! I had no idea I wasn’t supposed to do that, thinking their word meant this was a sure thing. Later that week, they called back. The feedback from their reviewers stoked reservations about the book’s marketability and its potential for success. With an apology, they rescinded their offer.
Defeated, I did my best to recover, telling myself that while this opportunity didn’t work out, at least I’d had some interest, and I had to keep believing in my work. I shifted focus back to getting an agent.
Over the next six months, I queried that picture book, researching agents between rounds, and fine-tuning my submission package. I compulsively read writers’ stories (stories like this one!), comforted by hearing about other people’s experiences in the trenches, and learning from them.
That research and hard work resulted in three agents showing interest in my work, each requesting more material. So I sent them the magical-realism MG novel. I ended up signing with a newer agent who got back to me quickly and had insightful, incisive questions. I really lucked out—she understood and appreciated the weirdness of my weird book.
Together, we got my MG ready for submission and sent it out.
From memory, that book went through two major rounds, to at least 20 editors at a mix of both Big 5 and mid-sized publishers.
We got a lot of rejections saying my writing was beautiful, but no one knew how to place the book. It was an older MG or a younger YA, it didn’t fit neatly into categories, which was kind of the point when I wrote it—it was a book about being in-between the in-betweens—but sadly, that’s not how publishing works. After 19 months(!) from initially going out on submission, we finally got a promising response from an editor at a big publishing house, and I had one of the best phone calls of my life. This editor got it. She had incredibly insightful advice for how to tighten and shape my book so it could keep its heart but fit the market. We ended the call with a request to revise and resubmit.
Reinvigorated, I dived into revisions. I was in awe of the book it became with her suggestions, and was thrilled to resubmit it, confident I had hit the mark and she’d take it under her wing. But during the months I took to revise, that editor had left publishing to pursue a Masters in social work.
Just like that, my perfect chance was gone.
So it was good that in between rounds of submission with the MG book, I’d been working on another novel, a YA historical fiction. Languishing on submission is a long, dull, lonely pain you can’t really talk about without boring people after a while. The only thing to do while you wait is work on something new, set your hopes on the next horizon. Forget the thing on submission—pretend it doesn’t exist. Avoid the obsessive anxiety of waiting for this thing that means so much to you to be scrutinized, weighed, and judged by strangers.
My MG died, unacknowledged, when we took the YA out on submission—and then that book was also steadily beaten to death by a number of rejections. I felt immensely guilty for all the work my agent had put into my work, with no payoff. To this day, I am very grateful for her loyalty, and her willingness to let me experiment across categories and genres in order to find one that hit.
Next up, I wrote eight short stories that I imagined as a series of small picture books, like Beatrix Potter or Maurice Sendak’s books. Once again, we got a few responses from editors who liked the writing but didn’t know how to place it: the same old story.
It was really starting to feel like there was no place for me in the publishing world. That I would always be writing on the sidelines, telling stories that people loved, just not enough to take a chance on.
Then, after four months on sub with the picture book series, we heard back from an editor who didn’t think the stories themselves were working, but wondered if we’d be open to approaching them from a more informative, educational perspective—in other words, writing something completely different, from a non-fiction angle.
By this stage of my publishing journey, I was hungry for opportunity, and even though this suggestion was very different from my original vision, I decided to be flexible. I approached it as an assignment, drafting a sample chapter and a loose outline. In doing so, I began to fall in love with the concept, and poured my heart and soul into the research and the work.
My agent was pleased with my sample, the editor thrilled, and the project was buoyed by interest from a notable illustrator (also represented by my agent). When the editor presented the proposal to the board, the marketing director had qualms about some potentially controversial language, but the editor defended my choices. She was 100% on the same page as me, which deepened my newfound care for this project. I had a champion. She fought hard, and we got the green light. The publishing house bought my book on proposal.
The final manuscript was a brand new baby, but I gave it all my love, amazed at how easily it fell into place after so many years of stress, frustration, rejection, and the silent suffering I kept to myself—of wanting something so badly and not having it come to bear fruit. It had been a long journey (eleven years of writing, five on submission!), but now, thanks to luck, timing, and perseverance, I finally had a thoughtful, talented, and dedicated team.
I had finally— finally—achieved my dream of becoming a published author.
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The stories on this blog are posted anonymously so that authors can speak candidly about their experience. If you have a sub story you’d like to share, drop me an email at: katedylanbooks@gmail.com
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