The Writing Life

by William Elliott Hazelgrove

 

William Hazelgrove was born in Richmond, Virginia but has also lived in Baltimore and Chicago. He attended Western Illinois University where he received his Master of Arts in history. He settled in Chicago and began writing full time. His first novel, RIPPLES, was published in 1992 and awarded "Editor's Choice" by the American Library Association. Bill is also the author of TOBACCO STICKS, and MICA HIGHWAYS.

So you've finished the book. You have spent years on it probably.Sweated over it for thousands of hours. If someone gave you an hourly wage you would be rich. What started out as an idea has become a three hundred and fity maybe four hundred and fifty page manuscript looking now like some white tablet of promise on your desk. There it sits. It has been sent to your agent and now you lean back and reap your just rewards. You will lean back and.............WAIT.

What filled up every waking monent of your life before is gone.Now, you wait for news. The first day after you send off the manuscript you're simply amazed the phone is not ringing off the hook. Don't people know a potential masterpiece has been dropped in their lap? You turn to all the unfinished things in your life. You pay the bills, cut the grass, clean out the basement, making sure the phone is not far away. After all, your agent might want to get hold of you immediately to let you know that this manuscript is brilliant and it must be sent to the publisher immediately! The phone rings.

"Is this Bill Hazelgrove?"
"Yes, it is."
"Mr. Hazelgrove, have you thought about life insurance?"

You hang up and stare at the phone. Maybe a call to your overwrough agent is in order. It has been a fullday after all since he recieved the manuscript. No matter. Just a call to make sure. No, he's not in. No, he's on the phone. Yes, I'll tell him you called. That done you have some satisfaction that you have pushed out into the world and something will come back. Time to go back to the job of organizing pictures in the photo album. You look out the window and see a man with a breifcase and are suddenly envious. His job doesn't end abrubtly. His continues in a long smooth steady pattern where he moves up or down slowly with a nice check at the end of every two weeks. None of this uncertainty, this knawing unease. You pick up the phone again.

Yes, I told him you called. Yes, Ill have him call you. Again, you feel better. Then worse. Maybe he doesn't like it and doesn't want to tell you so. Maybe for the last year and a half you have been working on something that just isn't any good. It happens. Authors convinced they have something brilliant until the critics telll them their hearfelt emotions don't mean anything. You pick up the phone then decide on a fax. A nice letter inquring if he read it. That's all. Nothing wrong with that. You quickly type your missive and sent it off through the phone lines. You feel better. You have done soemthign to affect your fate. There are three more hours in the work day and surely a phone call is in the offing.

A little reading is in order. All those books youi havent read because you were so busy with your own. You pull one off the top of the pile and nestle down in your favorite chair. The prose flits in and out and your mind wanders. This isnt any good. Your own book is better than this. You put the book down and go over to the dining room table where your own testament of faith lies and you begin reading the first page. Yes, yes, brilliant. The second page, yes yes, brilliant. No. This is a GOOD book. You put your manuscript down and look at the phone. Your agent must know its a good book.

Yes...Hes still on the phone.. Yes, I told him you called twice and yes
he recieved your fax and yes he will call!. You hang up and stare at the white manuscript again. Alright, just the first chapter and then you will start reading all those other books you should be reading. Ten minutes later you lay the first chapter down. Yes. Brilliant. But what about the rest of the book. Tomorrow, you will reread the entire manuscirpt. One final read just to be sure. But of course after the phone call comes then maybe there will be no need to reread it.

One hour to go in the day. Lunch. A late one but a lunch. Now back to those books. The second novel is an old favorite but it is too good. Your own novel isnt this good compared to this! Read the second chapter then. You go back to the dining table and read the second chapter. Good. Very good. How could he not call when he has something like this!!! The phone sits there like a brooding budha.

"I'm sorry, hes out of the office. No I don't know if he is coming back...yes, Ill let him know you called again....yes...yes, I will..

You hang up and go back to the unfinished books and watch the clock tick the day away. Dusk will be coming soon and everyone in New York has gone home. Fine. First thing in the morning then. Of course. He wants to think on it. He wants to be fresh when he discusses the book. It is a good book. I know it is. There is no reason to have all this silly doubt...no reason at all....maybe maybe just the third chapter then...just that....oh, man, this is good...just...well, one more then one more....maybe the fourth and that will be enough...maybe....