"Am I getting mixed signals?"

Dear Auntie June,

Recently I feel like I have been getting mixed signals from the people I'm trying to attract. It seems like they're interested in me - they pay me all kinds of compliments and they seem to like me - but when it comes to the crunch, none of them wants to commit. For example, today one of them said, "In the end I thought it would be hard to make enough of a platform for this novel to reach a wide audience. It’s lovely and well-written but there were some structural issues I had with the story, particularly the last third. It’s one of those that I did waver over though." What am I doing wrong? How can I get them to take that final step and enter a long-term relationship?

Andrea the Aspiring Author

Auntie June writes,

"Well, it sounds like you're in a pickle, Pickle. I'm sorry to say it, love, but it seems to me like they're just not that into you. Actions speak louder than words, pet, after all. It sounds to me like the right person just hasn't come along for you yet, and you need to be patient. It's probably for the best that these attractions haven't turned into relationships; you want someone who really cares about you wholeheartedly, not someone who's unsure. So chin up, ducks! Worse things happen at sea."

In which I get over-excited and post too many photographs

NEW DRESS NEW DRESS NEW DRESS. New, beloved vintage dress! Is another Rejection Dress bought to cheer myself up. My closet has a few of those.

And now I am facing sideways. I curled the front pieces of my hair for the first time today - I like the silent-film look it has.

Here I get delusions of grandeur and try to look sultry. Instead I look like I am mid-yawn.

And here I crack up because, really, I cannot pose to save my life, and I look like a chipmunk.

Back to normal again! Or what passes for it.

New haircut!

I love it! And can't stop fiddling with it.

Skirtzilla

I found this gorgeous green crinoline in an op-shop on Friday for $15 ... one of my favourite finds yet! It was actually one of those magical thrifting days that unearthed many treasures ... they'll all make appearances soon. LOML calls it Skirtzilla and pretends to be attacked by it.

Now that the book is finished and sent off, the usual post-book blues have set in. I'm looking forward to continuing work on New Book while I wait, but I've also become painfully aware of things that went to the back of my mind during the final weeks of rewrites. Things like my healthy eating and exercise regimen, which suffered somewhat in the final stages of the book. Housework. Money. They all took a back seat to the book, and now they're jumping up and down in the front seat saying "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" I suppose now is a good time to concentrate on all those neglected things. I feel a bit yukky at the moment, because I haven't been eating well and my hair is driving me completely mental, so those will be the first things to tackle.

LOML's Birthday!

Happy birthday, LOML (Love of My Life). You are wonderful. And now very, very old. (Just kidding).

We've been spending the day relaxing and doing not-much. I gave LOML a model helicopter for his birthday, so we spent the morning figuring out how to fly it (and then chasing the cat around the house with it, which was very entertaining). LOML is building a dolly for his film camera and fixing up his recording equipment for the 48 Hour Film Festival this year - we went shopping at hardware and audio stores, then stopped at an Indian restaurant for lunch. Now he's hammering and sawing outside while I work (and nap) in the sun. Barbecue and birthday cake tonight!

Building blocks

LOML is away in California for the next week. I have conned various friends into staying with me, though, so I'm not too lonely. I'm also trying to stay very busy. As well as my own writing and my freelance work, I have a huge pile of alterations to do.

This week has been an uphill struggle when it comes to writing. For some reason I have been in a state of full-blown resistance, building little writer's blocks for myself like a toddler making a Lego tower. I have a whole array of things I use to block my creativity:

1) Perfectionism. This one's a killer. "Why should I bother doing it if it's not going to be perfect?" Translates as "I'm afraid to finish. I don't trust my abilities."
2) Indifference. "I can't be bothered. I'm bored with it." Translates as "I'm afraid of caring too much about it and then failing," or "I'm afraid of succeeding and causing changes in my comfortable little existence."
3) Guilt. "I feel so guilty about my low productivity. I'm only writing 500 words a day at the moment. Instead of being kind to myself and realising that at least I'm making progress and it will get easier soon, I'm going to stop writing altogether because I feel so guilty about not writing more." Feeling guilty and thinking about how rubbish you are for half an hour is a lot easier than working for half an hour. I've developed a method of mentally splitting myself in half. I let one part of my brain go and sit on the couch and chew its hair and mutter about how guilty it feels about not being productive, while the other part (which has control of my body) sits down and surreptitiously does some work, glancing over at the first part occasionally and going "Mmmm," and "I know what you mean." Then both parts are happy. And I have a page of new writing.
4) Misplaced (and false) virtue. "I really should help Mum/mow the lawn/scrub behind the toilet cistern with an old toothbrush/make lunch for my husband/brush the cat." Translates as "I do things that allow me to feel smug and self-righteous about avoiding the work I know is more important." Also translates as "But I COULDN'T work, I was far too busy. It's not my fault."
5) False pragmatism. "This is never going to sell. Why am I bothering? I should do something practical that I know will make me money."
6) 'Real job' syndrome. "Think of all those people working 12-hour shifts in factories to get by. They'd be disgusted if they knew I was staring at a screen biting my nails and doing nothing. I'm not living in the real world." The counter-attack to this one is, "The world needs artists just as much as it needs doctors, factory-workers and crocodile hunters. I'm doing what I'm meant to be doing."
7) Self-criticism. "This is terrible. Worst thing ever written. Who are you kidding?" Telling yourself something is bad is far easier than working to make it better, and gives you hours of mental entertainment as you self-flagellate and eat lots of chocolate.

And then there are things like drinking endless cups of coffee, making snacks, looking at blogs. Endless displacement activities. For the past couple of weeks I have been relentlessly busy - every hour of every day has been spoken for. I have been telling people, "I've hardly had a chance to work on the new book because of [list of Things To Do]", when in reality I know I have manufactured a lot of this busy-ness to avoid working on the new book. Why? Because it's scary. Because waiting for news from agents has made me lose confidence in myself. Because I feel uncertain about the future. The only way to get past these blocks is to work through them. So that's what I'm trying to do. So I'd better get back to work.

Thank you!

First of all, thank you all so much for your lovely comments on my giveaway post - I'm excited about the number of people entering, it's going to be fun! If you haven't entered yet, it's the post below this one - or you can click on the icon in the sidebar to be taken directly to the page. I am a bit behind on responding to comments, because life is a bit jam-packed at the moment, but I will reply to them all soon. Thank you also to those who commented for the first time, it's really nice to (virtually) meet you.

I am feeling a million times better today, and we're off to a wedding rehearsal and barbecue tonight - LOML is the official photographer for the wedding on Saturday, and I am acting as his assistant. I also (fanfare, please) picked up my bag. It is an antique doctor's bag, and I love it, particularly because it has my initials in gold on the front.

I could have sworn it opened and shut and that the lock was broken, but I can't get it open now for the life of me. I will probably have to take it to a locksmith - darn. But worth it. Mink isn't impressed, however.

I found this quote of Neil Gaiman's on David Anthony Durham's blog this morning:

"It does help, to be a writer, to have the sort of crazed ego that doesn't allow for failure. The best reaction to a rejection slip is a sort of wild-eyed madness, an evil grin, and sitting yourself in front of the keyboard muttering "Okay, you bastards. Try rejecting this!" and then writing something so unbelievably brilliant that all other writers will disembowel themselves with their pens upon reading it, because there's nothing left to write. Because the rejection slips will arrive. And, if the books are published, then you can pretty much guarantee that bad reviews will be as well. And you'll need to learn how to shrug and keep going. Or you stop, and get a real job."

- Neil Gaiman

When I see I have a response from an agent in my inbox, I do this: say to myself "this is a rejection", take a deep breath, click on it and read it as quickly as possible so there is no suspense at all and I don't get my hopes up. This is definitely not in keeping with The Secret or the chirpy philosophies of Positive Thinking, but it works quite well. If it is a rejection I can say "oh well, no surprise there" (although inside I am ripping a couch cushion apart with my teeth and wailing like a cat on a fence), but if it is something else I am pleasantly surprised. I received two not-rejections over the last couple of days - the first was a request for a full from a partial - yay! and she said she enjoyed the partial - and the second was a note from another agent saying that she was really enjoying the full and would get back to me in the New Year. Hooray! In keeping with my system, however, I'm not getting my hopes up. It's just easier that way. But fingers crossed, all the same.

I posted the full manuscript off to London this morning (to a company that doesn't accept email submissions) - sixty dollars! Holy cow. It still hurts. I think my wallet will need stitches.

Update: LOML opened the bag in five seconds flat. Typical.

Five dollar dress

This is the pinafore dress I found on my thrifting trip yesterday. It was lurking at the back of a rack, but I have a supernatural ability to find plaid anywhere, and so I sniffed it out. Best of all, it was only five dollars! I am completely in love with it, particularly because it has pockets. Pockets! I also found the thin navy belt I'm wearing. All up, the dress, the belt and the tapestry bag cost me ten dollars. Thrifting is great.

I have reached 35,000 words of the book - woo-hoo! - and have also done some work on the Essay of Doom. I'm going to have another trawl through the agent directories this afternoon, too, and see if I can find anyone else to query.