Jelena Dunato

Let’s make this clear: The Book is not the first novel I’ve written nor it is the last, so all the drama connected with it is purely subjective. But it is my current project and it has taken me on a roller coaster ride of hope and disappointment of epic proportions (subjective, remember!).

I’ve finished the first draft of my manuscript in the summer of 2019. I’ve found some great beta readers (thanks, Scribophile) that helped me with the plot, characters and prose. I edited it and sent the first few queries in November and December. I had no luck with agents in that first round, so I went back to the manuscript, did a complete structural edit, rewrote some chapters and added new ones. I polished my query and synopsis. And started querying again.

In April, an agent saw my Twitter pitch and asked me for a full. In less than a month, I had an offer of representation.

And then… nothing.

Global pandemic struck and I think the agent just didn’t handle it very well. There were enthusiastic emails and chats about future plans, but those things never materialized. In the end, I got no agent and my manuscript got no attention and no opportunities to get published.

But the manuscript is still here, complete and polished. I just need to gather the courage to go back to querying. Wish me luck.

Look, I’ve made such a lovely mood board for The Book.

2020 has been a good year.

Well, perhaps that’s an overstatement. 2020 has been a terrible year in so many ways. The pandemic, the lockdown, the fear, the crumbling economy and the horrors of homeschooling. It was a tough year to live through and I’m glad it’s almost over.

And yet… it’s been a good year for me, although there hasn’t been any special turning point, no epiphany to speak of. It’s just that I’ve finally allowed myself to do what I’d been wishing to do these past twenty years – let other people see my work.

To be honest, there has never been a time when I was not writing. But scribbling things in the wee hours and then burying them on your hard disc does not make you feel like a real writer. Nor does it give you confidence. It leaves you alone with brain weasels whispering in your ear that you’re not good enough, that your writing is trash and that no one will ever want to read it.

But in 2020 I decided I’m done with being my own greatest obstacle. 2020 was the year when I admitted to myself that I wanted to write speculative fiction, I wanted to write in English and I wanted to publish my work.

Five short fiction sales later, I think I’ve made the right decision.

So suck it up, brain weasels!