Please, sir may I have another

I feel sick to my stomach right now. What I’m contemplating needs to be done, and I know it’s the right thing to do. But man, I really don’t want to do it.

I need to rewrite my new book from scratch again.

I’m more than 70 rejections deep into the submission process of THE SCARS WE CARRY, and while the new letter that eliminates the “PI” words got me more requests for the partial, I still haven’t had any requests for the full manuscript. The overwhelming response is that my writing and characters are good, but my plot is convoluted and hard to follow. This isn’t exactly a new revelation, this has been my problem all along, but I thought I was getting better at fixing it.

The plot is stronger and more comprehensible than it was in the beginning, and it’s faaaaar superior to the mess that was LUNCHBOX HERO’s plot. But still, it’s not there yet. So I’ve known a rewrite was going to be in the offing soon, but I was hoping I’d be able to salvage a portion of what I’ve got right now. But then I started thinking about the whole PI aspect of it and how that really wasn’t vital to the plot. I have this much better idea of making him a fugitive apprehension detective for the Detroit Police Department and pitting him against a female homicide detective in basically the same story, but told entirely different.

And that’s when I knew I was going to have to scratch everything and start again.

Part of me is very excited about this. I love the new ideas and there’s so many more possibilities to work with, and I can write in more than one POV. But the biggest part of me is just ticked that I have to start all over again. Once this draft is done I’ll have to revise it several times. And then once it’s revised I’ll have to start looking for agent’s all over again. That ticks me off. I was starting to think I was getting so close to breaking through.

I finished the first draft of SCARS in May of last year and then had a submission ready draft by September. That’s ten months ago. I sent the first query letter in December. That’s seven. freaking. months ago.

And now I’ve got start all over again.