You gave up everything for this moment—men, jobs, and nights out with the girls. You've waited your whole life for this to happen. Now it’s finally here. The publication of your debut novel. This causes you to reflect on where you were, once, for a long time.
1. You bear questions. Your progress is measured, outwardly. You hear: Aren't you the girl who was writing a book? And, "Oh, you're a writer. Any books I might know of? If things are moving slowly (aka, you are "on a break"), you say things like: I can't talk about it yet, or I prefer not to talk about it. Your lovers complain that they never come first. Mostly they are right.
2. You work a "real" job (or two) to support your writing habit. In your twenties, you work two jobs and gaze out the window of various offices and classrooms, immersing yourself in your newest story. You spend hours, weeks, months, years, thinking about story arcs and crafting real and whole characters. You read voraciously and fill up your house with manuscripts, and the only progress you make is unseen, occurs within you.
3. You find a community or build your own. You win scholarships to writing conferences and become part of a community. At home, you have a standing date with a poetry reading where you meet good poets with whom you commune over cups of mint tea.
4. You threaten the universe by putting all your eggs in one basket (aka: Surely this level of sacrifice will be rewarded). Graduate school gospel dictates a solitary life. You follow sage advice. You rent a room of your own. If you live in Southern California, you sleep on a Murphy bed that pulls out of the wall. You teach and go to school. You write at night. You are just 27 years old but you feel like you have been a writer forever, at least from the age of 6 when you asked for your first typewriter.
5. You keep your hopes up even when you're gazing down at a rejection letter. You become adventurous and submit queries. You are thrilled when you receive handwritten rejections.
6. You publish a little. You publish short stories and poems in literary magazines. No small potatoes. You attend as many book signings as you can fit in your schedule.
7. You find mentors or they find you. You write a short story collection that wins awards. Still, you are far from where you aim to be. You say, "What happens if I leap and there is no one to catch me?" Your best friend says, "You have to become your own net." You learn how.
8. The best revenge is revision. There is a teacher. There is a workshop. You write about taboo topics. Religion and sex. Your taboo story is shredded to pieces by said teacher, and consequently, by said students in the workshop. Your cry. You leave. You threaten to give up. For a minute. Just for a minute. Then, a friend says, "The best revenge is revision." You recognize this as sage inspired advice. You revise the shredded story and fling it into a box marked "Contest" one afternoon in May. Two weeks later you receive a phone call. Your story has won a large award. Your story was chosen by an author you admire for an award that garners a significant amount of money for you at the time. You run into said teacher at the awards ceremony. You say hello. He nods, tilts his head and walks away.
9. Real life intervenes. A publishing deal is almost made for your first novel. And then, it isn't.
10. Faith renews. You go back to the drawing board. You rewrite. You bear more questions as to your progress. You refuse to stop.
11. It is okay to fall in love. Your other life marches on—your life as a woman, as a mother, as a relationship expert, as a health food monger, as an arbiter of friendship dates and tales shared during late night phone calls. You write at night after everyone has been put to sleep. You clock in each night at 9 pm and write until 2 am. You walk on your knuckles.
12. Publication happens. Your agent is still your agent. How is that possible after all this time? You resubmit your revised novel. Miracle of miracles, she loves it. Within days, she calls with good news. You eat, sleep and breathe your novel all over again. Your 6-year old son starts asking if Luke Ellis, a character in your novel, is coming to dinner. For him, the book is new. Not so for you. No, not so for you.
13. It's a jungle out there. You learn to sidestep, to tap dance, to climb without falling down. You reclaim your time, your space, your life, and you take a deep breath. You may even cry a few happy tears.
14. You launch. Your ornery 3-year old Tasmanian devil wears her favorite flowered dress to your book launch. When you finally sit down to sign books, your 5-year old crawls onto your lap with chocolate frosting on his face. Your 9-year old hangs on your shoulder to watch you signing book with the pen she gave you as a present.
15. You imagine. After everyone has left, as the children sleep fitfully, you think about devotion. Yes, devotion is how it begins. You imagine your next book.
Ilie Ruby is a Boston-based writer whose forthcoming novel, The Salt God's Daughter, is due September 4th, 2012 from Counterpoint/SoftSkull Press. Her novel The Language of Trees (William Morrow/HarperCollins) debuted August 2010.
