Notes to the Creative Writer #1

Notes from a Literary Agent's Desk

Welcome, dear Moonbeam, to The Meadow here on Substack. It can be easy to get wrapped up in our single solitary cave of creation. And it can get dark in there without a light. I hope that this post will remind you that you are the light.

For those of you who don’t know, I am not just a literary agent, I am also a writer in the query trenches with you. I have been writing stories my whole life, I’ve taken classes and workshops and adventured on retreats, but only recently did I decide I was ready to query, to be published, that I wanted my stories to belong to someone else other than me.

One thing more to know about me is that I am stubborn. A prime example is that I tried and tried and tried for seven years to get my first paid job in publishing. I didn’t give up. Once I decide I want something, I go out and get it. Wanting to find a partner in an agent who will champion me and my work? I’m in it for the long-haul.

Several weeks ago, however, I found myself scrolling through Instagram until I saw a friend of mine posting about her work with her new agent, and I spoke out loud, the words coming out of me so intensely that I leaned into my desk, both palms pressing into the grain of it. I said to the Universe, “Oh, I want to be agented so much.” But the feeling that came with those words, though true, was ugly. It didn’t feel like me, it felt like a dark, foreign body who had grown to want those things with such desperation. I sat back in my seat and said, out loud again, “That’s not right.” Because it wasn’t. My desire to find an agent was never, ever, one that came from a place of wretchedness. More simply, I do not to write to be agented. I write because it brings me joy. Finding an agent is a bonus. The realization, my pivot, in that moment made me feel suddenly so much lighter. There was a weight I was carrying around for a few years in me, a weight I didn’t notice growing gnarled and fetid. I was, I think, becoming my own Gollum. But I am my own light, and now my Ring has been cast into the fires of Mount Doom.

The following are notes to you, the creative writer, as you navigate the darkest (or even lightest) paths of your process.

1. What if the thing you think is a failure is growth? Congratulate yourself for trying, make space for the writer you have become because you tired.

2. “Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.” - Mary Oliver

3. There are stories in you waiting to be told, waiting to be made, waiting for you to be ready. But it’s okay if you’re not ready right now. The ideas that are made for you will wait for you.

4. It is okay to want what you want, but not at the expense of your joy.

5. You cannot be good all at once, but you can be good over time, with practice, and with the right feedback. If you’re querying the first book you’ve ever written, chances are it isn’t ready—you aren’t ready. So write another story and another. As artists that’s all we can ever do.

6. Do not hinge your story of success on external validation. Despite your goals it should be you who you seek most to impress. Don’t you think?

7. Come back, come back. Your story is waiting. In those dark times of creative hibernation, remember there is always a way back. That’s you at the mouth of the cave, lighting the way with a lantern. It flickers and glows in the dark, waiting. Patient. And isn’t that the most profound kind of courage?

Thank you for supporting The Meadow and for being creative, wherever you are.

May you always find your inner light,

Marina