SURRENDER, DOROTHY by Guest Blogger Judy Fowler

Intimidating words. Plucky Dorothy Gale—the protagonist in Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz—isn’t scared off for long. Eventually, she’ll confront her fear of witches because she wants to go home.      

In parts of my life, I’m like Dorothy. When my own “Over the Rainbow” dreams of singing on Broadway and writing books met with setbacks, I threw my support behind my husband’s acting career. All I asked for—if he made it—was a house in Beverly Hills where I could write. This never materialized. I went back to school and bought myself a house in Virginia Beach.

I could have done that earlier, but—like Dorothy—I had to learn it for myself.

I also have a Cowardly Lion side that comes out when, as an author, I fear a “first.”

I nearly missed the deadline for turning in edits on the first story I’d had accepted. Why? I was afraid that editing would expose other weaknesses it was too late to revise.               

My first poetry contest submission might never have won third prize had my friend not pulled out a stamp and mailed the envelope I’d carried in my purse for a month.  

I have a Scarecrow side, too, that comes out when I approach the issue of publishing. My Scarecrow side either overthinks every decision, or relies too much on other people’s choices.

Dorothy’s help in getting Scarecrow down earns her his unswerving devotion. He’s watched lots of people ease on down the road but has no opinion of his own on which route to take. He jumps at the chance to meet a Great and Powerful Wizard who may be able to give him a brain.  

It turns out the Scarecrow already had a brain, but he didn’t use it until Dorothy was in danger.

I developed an unswerving devotion to a Great and Powerful virtual professor who helped me complete a Beta-read, novel-length manuscript.

Tired but elated, I signed a contract—not for a book deal, but for a month-long stay in a cottage on Chesapeake Bay. I planned to swim, sun, and fall asleep watching a Hallmark movie every night.

Then I found out my professor had one last assignment.     

“Now that you’ve finished your novel, it has to be published. This must be done immediately.”

He listed the steps I must take immediately—"a great synopsis…though most writers can’t write one…a brief, dazzling query letter…google every agent seeking new talent…follow each one’s submission guidelines.” In my depleted state, I doubted I had the mental stamina to learn that.

Immediately meant what are you sitting around for? That killed my beach buzz.

For the next year and a half my Scarecrow side watched webinars and filled notebooks with advice on traditional publishing. I never looked at my manuscript, because I needed to learn how to write a perfect synopsis and query first, and then to find the right agents to send them to. I forgot what my story was about, including scenes I’d need to add to the synopsis.    

I was about to order a Fiver cover and take it with my manuscript to Kinko’s when I had an encounter with some new friends.   

They were participating in a panel discussion on self-published authorship. Each held up a book the way you’d hold up a happy baby. They quietly shared their private goals and individual journeys. None of them told me what to do.

I saw that it was time to make some personal choices.

Before I close, I have to admit that I have a timid, outwardly-guarded Tin Man side, too. It shows up when I want people to like something I’ve put my heart into. I know I have a heart because I can feel it breaking when you advise me to delete my beloved prologue that doesn’t match the tone of the rest of a book. My Tin Man side snarls to hide a breaking heart when you suggest I stop rewriting my great opening paragraph and get on with parts of the story.   

The Tin Man side once told me to walk away from the annual NaNoWriMo challenge, “because it was going to ruin the holidays.”

The truth? What if I put in all that time and fifty-thousand words only to prove I had nothing to say? That would have broken my heart.

“Perfectionism is a witch hunt,” my friend Skip said, once he saw that I was putting down my webinar addiction and opening my manuscript to see if it wanted me to publish it myself. Then I could get on with shaping last year’s NaNoWriMo draft into a sequel, using the great novel-writing tools I learned from my virtual professor.   

I’d had the ruby slippers on all the time. I could get that book out.        

I’d never had to do authorship perfectly.

All I had to do was pull myself together. 

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Judy Fowler's recent mystery fiction can be read in Coastal Crimes (Wildside Press), Virginia is for Mysteries, Volume III (Koehlerbooks), and Rock, Roll, and Ruin (Down and Out Books). She has a master's degree in forensic psychology and lives near Chesapeake Bay in Norfolk, Virginia. You can link with her on Facebook@Judith Johonnot Fowler.