I thought about the idea of trying to publish a book, one of my life goals, in this coming year, and the idea of that goal both terrifies and excites me. You see, I wrote this book about two years ago, and then I spent a great deal of my time editing it carefully, and preparing it for the outside world. I queried agents, editors, publishing houses. Some of them answered me. A few wanted to read the first fifty pages. No one wanted to buy it. No one wanted to represent it. They all had the same comments: Good writing, won't sell.
I put that book away. Perhaps it is not very good.
Then, I decided to start with another idea I'd been brewing in my brain. Last summer when I had some time off work, I finished that idea: It was its own book. Since then it has sat in my right hand desk drawer. Sometimes I think about it. I think maybe I should take it out, edit it, fine tune it, get it ready for the outside world. But sometimes I think that the outside world will think the same thing of this book as they did the last one, and I will spend months sending out queries, writing cover letters, and buying stamps for the rejection letters I will receive in the mail. The thought is daunting.
But today when I was running, I thought about it, and I figured that being scared was pretty stupid. (And it can't be more painful than the running.) So, my New Year's resolution: to try and publish this book. Then, if this book meets the same fate as the one before it, perhaps I will try writing a book about running. Maybe I could title it: "21 Days." Catchy, huh?