On Snowballs From Heaven, Not Hell--Reb MacRath
Something remarkable happened on June 30, 2023. A first review came in for a novel I'd launched on Kindle a year before--then orphaned: no ads and no online hustling. I'd moved from Seattle to Tucson, you see, and found myself under siege on all fronts: seeking work, settling in, attending rehab for my injured knee, and working on a second book of Latin translations. As a matter of fact, Latin translations had obsessed me already for a couple of years and this new book, diabolically tricky, had come close to being the only thought in my fool head.
So the novel, the fourth in my Seattle BOP mystery series, sat as an orphan in a deep digital corner. Unread and unloved. And, meanwhile, I worked obsessively on a second Latin project that maybe no one would read. After all, I'm not an established Latin expert or even a proper academic. A handful of Facebook friends read the first little book, on Propertius, and loved it. Two teachers I'd sent copies were enthusiastic and wanted more. But none of this would pay the rent or further my career as a mystery novelist. In fact, I'd started seeing signs that in some quarters I was regarded as more than a bit of a flake: I'd sworn off attending conventions in 1991. And I refuse to flip my fins like a trained seal for praise or favors online. All indications seemed to be that I was going nowhere. The least practical writer on earth, seemed.
But then something remarkable happened on June 30 this year. A rave review came in for the novel I'd forsaken. Then, thanks to word of mouth, it was followed by four more. Now, I'd enjoyed good reviews for previous books in the series, and wasn't about to let the praise go to my head. But these five strengthened my spirit and straightened my spine. And I wondered if the time had come for me to feed the snowballs.
The first week in July I did two things that really weren't 'like me' at all:
The Big Two
1) I sent a copy of my orphan to Kirkus Reviews, paying the fee with no assurance of receiving their thumbs up. Then, while I awaited their verdict, I rolled the dice again.
2) I approached the organization recommended by one teacher: The American Literary Translators Association. Would it be possible to join despite my amateur status? I told them briefly about my writing background and my unorthodox approach to translation. Result: overnight acceptance, with an invitation to their Tucson convention in November.
So, you should be wondering, what does all of this add up to? My conclusions must be tentative since The Big Two are still in the air. But here is what I'm sure of:
1) As writers, we spend too much of our time and talent trying desperately to please agents and editors who may not even have a clue what the market really wants.
2) Our thoughts of practicality are ridiculously skewed. What could be less practical than dying haunted at the end by the books one was too scared to write?
3) The most useful reviews aren't those that stroke our vanity, but those that leave us vowing to do even better the next time...certain that we can.
4) We have better luck with our snowballs if they're seized before they melt.
5) Lastly, never, let any other writer piss on your parade. In the 90s, an older writer I admired smirked when I told him how I'd been trying to translate a few short poems by Ovid. It would take a genius, he told me, to translate another. The unvoiced question was, Where did I get off? Crushed, I gave up for too long. But here's a snowball in return. Long-aborning but well-packed.
This is my report.
*****
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