Writing Under Contract

In his book, Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller offers an eloquent explanation of the pitfalls of writing without a contract:

. . . when you are writing without a contract, you feel as though everything you say is completely worthless (technically it is, until you get a contract).

You can write all day and still not feel that you have done anything. (Pgs 188-189)

Kudos to Mr. Miller here, as this is what I have been experiencing for the past eight months. No new contracts. No shouts from my agent telling me that a publisher has accepted one of my proposals. No book deal. No deadlines. No editor asking questions about my progress. No publicist calling to arrange interviews, book signings or speaking engagements. In short, nothing pressing my writing toward some defined end.

Still, a writer writes. And I've been writing. A great deal, actually. And because I have no contact presently, I've been writing whatever I please . . . which is not an all-together bad thing. This is a time for creating. Attempting new and daring feats with words. It is a time for me to stretch outside of my old stand-by zones and get jiggy-wid-it.

Some years ago (when I was also between contracts) a person asked me, "What do you write?"

My answer was, "Anything I want." I wasn't trying to be facetious, just truthful. I write what I want . . . especially between agreements and deadlines.

And so now, I've got time to finish another novel, a teleplay, a breviary of essays, a peck of poems, and a quiver full of new book proposals. In fact, I sent three book proposals out last week, and a novel, and a big-ol greasy pile of poems. Somewhere in that mix, I hope to pick up another contract (maybe two?).

It's time. I need to sign on the dotted line. I need commitment. I'm looking to get married to the first publisher who will say "yes" to my proposal.