The Trip East

In the Nov 30th post I commented on the changes to Bainbridge Island, where I lived for over 20 years, and concluded with my decision to leave. As noted, I did so without regret and left nothing behind worth worrying about. Having sold everything in my possession except a few essentials crammed into the back of an ancient pickup, it was off to Minnesota via the northern route. It wasn't an easy trip.

That old '73 Dodge was pushing 200,000 miles and loaded to the stops. Sagging along across mountain passes and up onto the central plateau, I figured there was a good chance it would never make the Midwest. It was August, quite hot in Wyoming, and as I started the climb up onto the plateau, the oil pressure dropped toward zero. Still, it kept on running. Considering options if it did die, I decided to set up shop wherever it rolled to a stop and make a life of it. It was good to be free. But that truck ran without a hitch all the way. Funny thing. It had screwed me royally on a few attempts at vacation jaunts, but whenever the chips were down it never failed. And so we arrived in Minnesota.

Starting over is no fun, and I will confirm that starting over for the third time is even less fun. Setting up the 386 in my sister's home, I continued to work on editing Exile and follow-on books in the series while searching for an agent and also searching for a job. Neither prospect was encouraging.

In 1996 it was still technically feasible to find an agent who would represent your work to a publisher. Nevertheless, I didn't find one until one night I received a call from an agent in Minneapolis. The only good thing that came out of that contact was the encouragement to continue. It turned out she only represented herself as an agent while not even knowing the basics of how to approach a publisher. The usual promises and fees, but nothing more. Yet, the greater the disappointments the more time I devoted to writing and editing. I truly came to love Aketti and its peoples. Escapist? You bet. As noted in an earlier post, I spiritually took up residence there.

Signing up with a temp agency to take whatever work they had, I was eventually able to set up in an apartment and continued the search for some way to gain the attention of a publisher. Only gradually, after the usual tall stack of rejection slips, did I come to realize there were huge problems with my manuscript. Not with the story, but with the writing.