Revision Journal: Day One

Sorting through notes

Today I start revising my book again.

Today I am going through my beta reader notes, printing out my book manuscript, and doing my best to understand how my book resonates with others. What to keep. What’s strong.

I sold my book in May of 2019. When I got the news that someone wanted to publish my book, I was holding a baby in my arms. For the past five months I’d been working 50 hours a week as a nanny in Seattle, taking care of two babies in a nanny share. I loved the babies (and the two families) but I’d not been able to find stable housing in Seattle, and had bounced from sublet to shared airbnb to sublet, all the while working on my book proposal in the early morning hours and on weekends. Only a few days before my books sold, someone had broken into my car and stolen boxes of family heirlooms, including photographs and letters that had belonged to my mother— worthless to them, but worth everything to me.

Was I thrilled when I sold my book? God yes. My publisher is one I deeply respect. But did it change my life? No.

I got a decent advance for my book, but the word “advance” doesn’t really describe the way publishers dole out the money, which is in increments. If I’d known what the next few years would look like, I would have done the past four years differently, but I think many of us could say that at this point. At the same time I sold my book, I was notified of my selection as a Fulbright ETA in the Czech Republic, and, in my mind, I couldn’t turn that down, despite only being given a year to write my book.

I went to the Czech Republic. I loved the Czech Republic. But it was agonizing to have to choose between working on my book and doing all of the ETA stuff being asked of me; not just teaching English, but becoming friends with fellow teachers and students, teaching English outside of class time, and learning new cultural norms. I left Czechia after four months. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made.

The kicker is that the year deadline didn’t matter. I turned in my book in August 2020, but I didn’t get solid notes back from my editor until a year and a half later.

So, here I am. Still working on the book. I turned in my last revisions in March, after busting my ass to get them in as close to on time as I could despite being in a full-time PhD program, teaching a 2/2 load and taking coursework in my first year. But it’s not my editor’s notes I’m relying on for this revision. It’s my beta readers. I haven’t heard from my editor in over two months.

That’s the truth is that I have spent much of the past few years thinking that the book is terrible. Why else would my editor take so long in getting back to me? Ignore my emails? Why else would it all hurt so much?

My beta readers helped me see that I am almost there. That this book is almost done. They saw me in my book and understood my project, despite many of them not knowing me at all.

I am deeply grateful for that. And while I am (of course) keeping in mind many of the incredibly helpful notes my editor has given me over time, I am also remembering what it feels like to be inside my own power as a writer. To embody the confidence I didn’t have when I was in my twenties and working as a wildland firefighter.

What’s the book about, you ask? Well, just that. Me, in my twenties, working as a wildland firefighter. Me when I was an alcoholic. Me when I slept with more people than I could count. Me when I was bulimic. Me when I hadn’t learned to understand the trauma that lived inside me. Me, as a fucked up kid just doing their best.

But also: it’s about fire history in the United States. Indigenous fire. The importance of prescribed fire. Land history and ecology. Colonization. You can find out more about that in my other newsletter, WILDERNESS.

To me, the colonization of the United States (and the ways in which some of my ancestors participated in that, coming over on the Oregon Trail) is ineluctably connected to the trauma that lives in my lineage. The ways in which my ancestors oppressed and were oppressed. They were immigrants, but they were also colonizers.

An illustration from John Wesley Powell’s book detailing his journeys throughout the southwest.

I have not only spent years excavating and examining myself in the process of writing this book, but years studying the history of fire in the United States. I’ve read countless books and marked them with notes and highlights and brightly colored stickies.

I keep telling myself: this book will be published. Because sometimes it feels like it won’t. But it will.

For the next month or so, I’m going to share my journey with you. This is my revision journal, and it’s deeply personal and honest.

It’s hard to be honest on the internet, knowing anyone can see me. Knowing people don’t always have space for generosity. But your kindness and generosity as I continue to write such personal newsletters has shown me that I can be myself here.

I’m excited to bring you with me as I revise. And I’m excited to revise! Usually revisions are something I’m dreading, primarily because I always feel hemmed in by a deadline, or I’m squeezing them into my life in a way that feels overwhelming. But this summer I am telling myself: I have time. Yes, I have other work. And I start teaching in a few weeks, and taking a summer class, but I definitely have way more time than I did last fall, or this spring. And I’m excited.

As a side note: only one person expressed interest in my short story read-along and class. So I am thinking of not doing it. Let me know what you think. Were you excited about it? If so, what excited you? What else would you like to see here in the newsletter?