It’s a common-ish story, mine, though I didn’t realize it at the time: Joe Shmoe (or Jolene Shmolene, in my case) gets bitten by the writing bug, feverishly gives birth to The Best Novel Ever, starts querying, and lands up two months later with a stack of rejections on the desk and a stack of confusion in the chest.

So begin the questions.

What happened? What’s wrong with these agents? Am I writing the letter wrong? Approaching the wrong people?

And then, the doubts.

Were the compliments of family and friends only lip-service? Could there be – heaven forefend – something wrong with the manuscript? (You know, the one sitting in the bulging three-ring binder, glowing softly to the Hopeful Author’s eyes as though possessed of its own literary glory.)

And then, the Search.

Websites and books with advice on writing, querying, publishing. POD sites masquerading as helpful saviors. Mixed messages on everything from taglines to plotlines to opening lines, until Hopeful Author’s eyes are as crossed as the lines of the tangled fireweb of agent-hunting itself. Meanwhile, revisions continue, both to the manuscript and the query letter, until hope is a flame dwindled to a point as fine as the pen that started it all.

And then, Litopia.

Last year, I started off with a writing bullet: a monstrous fantasy novel banged out in about four months. I had no idea how many others had undergone the exact same journey, and I am gratified to find myself in such excellent company.

For my one-thousandth post on Litopia, I thought I’d take this little look back down the path, and share it with everyone else. So here, coming up on half a year after joining the writing Mecca of the internet, I find I can scarcely credit the changes in both my writing and my understanding of the literary world.

Litopia taught me that my book was too long to have any but the slimmest chance of publication ever, much less as a first work. It taught me the best way to approach agents and querying. It taught me to leave only one space between sentences. It taught me that an objective eye is the best thing that can ever touch your work.

Litopia tore the rosy glasses from my face and showed me all the glaring imperfections in what I had thought was wonderful prose, if not flawless. ;-) It taught me how to read my own work. It opened the door a crack on the mysterious world of publishing, allowing a peek inside. It taught me how not to piss off an editor, what the agents look for, both pros and pitfalls, and how to make a fantastic margarita. It introduced me to a slew of other writers with whom I can learn, celebrate, commiserate, and laugh.

Litopia taught me to listen, and that almost every viewpoint has some value.

But over all this, it has taught me how much I have left to learn -- and that, my friends, is the best lesson we can ever be taught, really. No one, not even the most accomplished, published, famous, respected writer, can decide that they’ve nothing left to learn, or they’ve no business having a pen in their hand. IMO, of course. (<---something else Litopia taught me: it’s always “in my opinion.”)

Let me add to this reflection my most sincere thanks: to the moderators who maintain the integrity of the community; to Peter, for starting it all; to the wits and wisefolk who populate it; to the experts who give so freely of their experience and knowledge; and most of all, to the fellow members who give and receive criticism with grace and equanimity. It takes a special courage to look at someone else’s writing and tell it like it is, and another, equally special courage to take the blows that eventually thicken the skin. So many Litopians do this with a smile and a nod, and usually a bon mot just for good measure.

I could make this the longest blog post ever, stretching pages and pages, and still not scratch the surface of what I’ve learned, nor come close to describing the depth of my gratitude for it. But I won’t go on and on, because that’s something else Litopia has taught me, perhaps one of the most valuable lessons: knowing when to shut the hell up.

So to those who’ve been here for years, building the foundations and carrying the torch, I tip my hat. For those who have newly joined, hold onto your pants: you’re in for a RIDE. Welcome home.

Submitted for your consideration, this moment of reflection.
Current favorite word:  Litopia
Current least-favorite word:  wireless