manuscript update

Readers will know I'm working on a book manuscript about life on Potomac Creek. Last year I acquired a literary agent. Work, kids, life... all have successfully conspired to make time for writing a commodity more precious and scarce than Trump's empathy gene. But this is a blog, and occasional updates are part of our social contract.

After receiving initial suggestions from Leslie, my agent, I spent the Winter and very brief Spring breaks revising my manuscript. Our goal is a commercially-viable book proposal. An intro and four chapters are now reworked. I'm not completely satisfied with them; doubt accompanied every editing decision I've made. (Does any writer proceed without doubt, I wonder?) I changed the working title to Potomac Creek: Portraits of Life on a Southern Farm. Following comments from Leslie and others, I inserted more family biography and exposition into the narrative at the expense, at least in these early chapters, of pure nature writing -- the type of writing and thinking that originally pulled me into the project. This work often required reflection on past events and people that long ago ceased being a part of my present life. And even after much cutting-and-pasting, fleshing out, and a few very painful sacrifices, there remain manuscript bits that I suspect just need to be tossed in the trash. Veteran writers and editors will no doubt say that if you think something could be left out, then it definitely should be left out. And I concur; I tell my students the same. But I've asked Leslie for her informed thoughts on these bits first. I suppose there's is a small corner of my brain that's optimistically hoping she'll get back with "Oh, that's a very promising passage. You really need to expand on it!"

I sent these revised chapters back to Leslie for review a week or so ago, and she quickly replied she'll respond with more feedback in coming weeks. She's busy, which is one reason why I partnered with her. The professional life of a literary agent still seems mysterious to me. As a student of politics I often think in terms of power and authority, of hierarchies. Identifying the role of the literary agent in the grander scheme of things isn't easy -- at least not yet. Muse? Manager? Police officer? Savior? Perhaps the future will bring clarity. 

Despite nagging doubts about the quality of my revisions I was greatly relieved to send the damned thing off. Even when I had little time to work on it, the manuscript occupied a large place in my mind, interfering with sleep and complicating personal relationships. One person close to me called it a "hobby," a dismissive term that offended me immeasurably. But as long as it isn't an income generator how does one argue otherwise? An unfinished manuscript is like a very large and heavy suitcase that must always be schlepped around, pressing against the writer's mattress at night; always there and often unjoyful. Perhaps the best role of the agent is to spell the writer of their burden for a few weeks. 

Now, work, kids, life, etc. -- what Zorba the Greek called "the full catastrophe" -- are back on center stage. I find myself hanging around more. Like this marvelous bat, whom my son and I encountered while exploring trails near the fast-flowing Rappahannock River.