Me: I wrote five novels this year!
The greater-known universe: Who cares?!
I’m getting a little ahead of myself.
I wrote four and a half novels this year.
I started the first one on November something, 2021. Wrote it in nineteen days.
70,000 words. A masterpiece*.
I began work on my second novel, bravely told in multiple points of view, on January 18th, 2022. I wrapped the first draft on March 20th.
75,000 words. Spellbinding**.
Literally the day after I finished novel number two, I began novel number three.
Completed in six weeks.
63,000 words. My heart on the page***.
Mid-May 2022, I started my fourth novel. My best work (IMHO) to date.
Cooked to perfection**** in two months.
119,000 words! An EPIC/EPOCH*****.
I’m not sharing all of this to be braggy. I don’t really know how to brag. Or at least I’ve never felt comfortable bragging. Even to myself. But at the end of the day—or is this case—the year, the FACT remains, I’ve written…
320,000 Words of Fiction
Not including the 25K I’ve put into my current work in progress, or the eight-thousand-word middle grade story I wrote before I wrote novel number one, or the other eight thousand some odd words I’ve put into short fiction pieces this year. So… more like 360,000.
Damn it. I was really hoping that was going to add up to half a million. That would have been cool.
One of the down sides of being Worst Case Scenario Girl, is that I struggle to see the glory of this accomplishment. Because even if every single one of those 360,000 words (argh, why couldn’t it have been 500K?) was poopy garbage, it would (or should) still be impressive.
And it is!
Except for the part of my writer’s brain that tells me that unless other people (mainly those who would want to put my books on a shelf for others to purchase) give a flying fart about my work—
It doesn’t matter.
Here at Worst Case Scenario Girl, we are constantly battling the forces behind this crippling mindset. By we, I mean me. But saying we makes it feel less lonely.
Because being a writer is straight up LONELY, guys. And while it would be super awesome if we could call ourselves “successful” writers just by announcing:
Hey, guys! I wrote something! And P.S. It’s not poopy garbage!
We know that at some point, we’re going to have to brave the gut punching world of querying agents and publishers and face countless rejections if we want our spellbinding, heartfelt, epic masterpieces to see the light of day.
As for this post-rant writer, I’m going to finish penning my current work of anti-garbage. Put it on a shelf with the others patiently awaiting revisions. TRY DESPERATELY not to start another book while I enjoy the holidays with my family. (Although it would ultimately put me over the 500,000 mark if I did.)
Then, at the start of the New Year, I’m going to take my best work to date (which I’m starting to think might actually be novel number three), polish it to within an inch of its existence. And ship it off to fight for its life in the query trenches.
Then I’ll wait months to hear something. Or more likely, nothing.
And that will be hard.
But I won’t feel lonely.
Because I’ll have my four other novels to keep me company.
And you guys, obviously.
Cordially,
-W.C.S.G.
Dayum! Congratulations! 👏📚🥂