I have written a novel!

(pause for applause).

That’s right, after a lifetime of dreaming about becoming a novelist, and two decades of a fairly lucrative career as a freelance journalist, I finally took the leap and wrote, what I am confidant will be the Great American Novel. Or at least a pleasant beach read.

It was a triumphant and difficult process to accomplish. Forgoing Seinfeld reruns and afternoon wine drinking for months, I used every moment of free time that I could pin down to write the story that had been bouncing around in my head for more than a year. The novel was in there clamoring to get out, and ta da! After months of writing, it’s done.  I’ve written a novel – did I mention that?

Once I actually decided to sit down and write the damn thing, everything fell into place. All of my neurotic and compulsive behaviors that for years have confounded my husband and sent my children scurrying for cover, had suddenly found a happy and productive outlet. Instead of manically cleaning up art projects while the paint was still wet on sticky fingers, or tearing out every flower in the yard because I read an article entitled ‘Grow your own salsa!’ in Martha Stewart Living, I channeled my powers for good.

Before I begin my novel writing journey, I scribbled the phrase “One Thousand Words a Day!” on a Post It note and stuck it to the top of my computer screen. Then I created a daily calendar event entitled: “Write one thousand words. You know you have the time,” which appeared menacingly in my Gmail in-box each morning to keep me on track.

And it did.

Between writing countless articles on project management, green building and food safety for the people who actually pay me to write, I spent hours this winter and spring writing for pleasure.

All right, it wasn’t all pleasure. Writing a novel was a little like training for a marathon. Sure it sounded like a great idea when I came up with it, and the first few runs were thrilling, but weeks later, as I slogged through the proverbial rain and shin splints, there were many moments when I thought, “Really? A novel? Who are you trying to fool?”

Despite the negative voices, and the gypsy allure of prime time television – I gave up new episodes of Grey’s Anatomy for this book -- I stuck to my guns. Except for a brief spring break trip to ski Winter Park, I wrote every single solitary day from the moment I decided to write the book until the day it was done.

Then I spent the next several weeks rereading it, fixing it, adding phrases and deleting whole chapters, and painstakingly editing every single page. Three times.

Now I’m happy to say that it’s done, and it’s good.

Entitled The Three of Us (for the moment at least) it’s a poignant tale about a woman whose life completely falls apart one sunny afternoon when her son is hit by a car; and on the way to the hospital, as he lays bleeding and dying in her arms, she discovers evidence that her husband is having an affair.

It’s got a twisty plot, dying children, and the kind of flawed characters who make bad decisions and are forced to live with their mistakes – I firmly believe that all the best stories in life have flawed characters. Think about it. King Author. Luke Sky Walker. Wifey. They all made mistakes. That’s what made them interesting.

I’ll not give away any more of the plot – you’ll just have to buy the book and find out for yourself what happens. But see, there’s the rub.  The book is done. I wrote it, I read it, I edited out every typo and error. It’s ready to be published, but now what?

Over the last several months I’ve mastered the fine art of first novel writing, but that did nothing to prepare me for the cold and heartless process of querying agents.

For those of you who’ve never written a book and tried to get it published, querying agents with a first-time novel is a lot like being a short girl at a popular bar.  Your trying to connect with that perfect guy sitting three stools away, but he’s perpetually surrounded by a hoard of leggy blonds who are also vying for his attention. And even though you may be cute and smart and funny, and quite possibly the best thing that will ever happen to him, unless you can catch his eye what chance do you have?  

Yes, I’m the short girl in that scenario (and in real life). And I’m about three kamikaze shots away from stalking out of this proverbial bar, and curling up on the couch with some take out Chinese, and a Meg Ryan movie.

Looking for an agent is a slow, painful, and often depressing experience where hope is routinely battered to death by that loathsome foe -- rejection. Each query is followed by weeks, and potentially months of waiting and wondering if the four paragraph letter that I wrote, rewrote, and continue to rewrite, will capture any agent’s attention long enough for them to be drawn into my novel.

I can write 300 pages, but can I sell it in 300 words?

So here I sit, waiting and hoping that today will be the day that an agent will reach out to me and say, “I loved your query and I’d like to see more.”

Rather than allowing myself to go batty with anticipation, and to stop myself from making the gravest mistake of all --  calling an agent to ask if they got my query -- I shall blog about the experience here.

I make the vow today, that I will write about this torturous querying process every (work) day until I find an agent. And when that happens – please let it happen – I will continue to write about the experience of getting my first book published, going on a book tour, and ultimately, how it feels to be a best selling author.

Hopefully these musings will amuse you, and if there are any writers out there going through the same painful process, may this blog give you hope, or at least make you feel less alone.

I’m open to words of encouragement. Have you had success querying agents? Have you been beaten down by the process? Anxiety loves company, so please, join me on this journey, won’t you?