I just finished and sent off to my agent a novel with the working title Vaudevaliens. Here’s the pitch: “Two down-on-their-luck vaudevillians run into a couple of strange guys from way, way out of town. Together they will make it big on Broadway… or destroy the Earth.” It’s a standalone novel for adults, 81,000 words, and I’d say it’s in the genre of “historical science fiction.”
It took me three years and seven months from beginning work to a submittable second draft, of which three years were spent writing the first draft and seven months revising it. I had a couple of extensive breaks during that time, including the time spent revising and marketing The Kuiper Belt Job.
This is my eighth completed novel. If it sells, it’ll be my fifth one published. (Unless I somehow publish another one between then and now, which is not impossible.)
My emotional state at this point is… relieved, anxious, uncertain, and frankly not very optimistic. In my experience it will take at least a couple of months and perhaps up to a couple of years before it either sells to a publisher or we decide it’s not going to, and given the subject matter and the state of the publishing industry I’m far from certain it will sell. (I’m not interested in self-publishing.) But it’s finished, anyway, and what happens to it from this point forward is largely out of my hands.
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