Ex Penna

This is the question I keep asking myself.  At the moment, I am deeply immersed in the revision of one of three manuscripts I have written for possible publication, and forming a book proposal for another.  Both are difficult tasks, challenging what I think I know about what a reader deserves, what a publisher expects, and—most importantly—the actual worth of what I’m writing.

To start things at the beginning, please note that I am a writer only in the sense that I cannot seem to help myself.  I don't use the term because I've been in print in the past, frequent a prestigious writing workshop, or have a regular column in a magazine (though that would be cool).  Instead, I can only term myself as such because any time I wish to express something formidable, I always end up doing so with pencil and paper.  When I want to interact with the world, I write.  When I want to teach, I write.  When I want to be creative just for fun, I write.  So it seems as though the two of us, myself and the printed page, will never managed to quit the relationship we've built.  But (and this is quite important) that does not mean that I am any good at it.

It’s a heavy matter, contemplating greatness or absolute lousiness.  The last thing I want to do—as a writer, as a witch, or as a person—is fool myself.  Trying to make it in an industry built on creativity can be like looking in a funhouse mirror—sometimes you seem like a giant, sometimes a distorted mite.  Just because my book is about magic and witchcraft doesn't make it salable.  Just because I understand a publisher's issues doesn't mean I can satisfy them.  And just because I know the magical community fairly well doesn't mean that my book can fill its needs.  But it is just as likely that with the right polishing I've got a million-dollar idea that publishers would fight over.  I may just have what the community needs most—a book of thrifty, beautiful, natural methods for increasing knowledge and power in the beyond-beginner spellcaster.  I can teach you to find your own ingredients, make tools lovelier than those in stores, find ways to grow as a witch no matter your limitations, and work several forms of traditional magic at little to no cost. Lots of illustrations, lots of let's-cast-this-right-now inspiration, and absolutely no moral dictating.  Any interested readers out there?  

Some people believe that if one is compelled to do something then it must certainly be because they are perfect for it, they have a genius that will not be denied.  In reality, I've been drawn to many artistic endeavors throughout my life with mixed success.  Looking at it realistically, I’m not a fantastic guitar player despite spending nearly all my free time practicing as a teenager.  I wasn't tremendous then and I’m not now.  I only cared about it a great deal and enjoyed it.  That is a lot, of course, but that guarantees only pleasurable music, not great music.  In the book proposal process I've had to think of some very hard truths about my manuscript and one of the questions I’m forced to ask is just that: am I making only pleasurable music?  That wouldn’t be a problem if I was writing as a hobby or self-publishing to pass out to friends and family.  But in the book trade at large I have to be so much more.  The world of publishing is painful, a near constant slash at one’s ego.  And it’s more money driven than in the past.  The houses are more cautious about taking risks, the editors are more strapped for time, and the author is called upon to do a large amount of what used to be insider work. If I’m going to weather that, I’ll need some capital-g Greatness.  Conjuring that will be like pulling a rabbit from the hat.  If all goes well, I won’t reach in and find it empty.

 

But right about now, surrounded by stacks of paper, scrawled lists penciled in on the intermixed post-it notes, and endlessly—hopefully—seeking impressive Google search keyword results for my topic, I dream that there are readers out there wishing just such a book were available.  We might be on opposite sides of