Selling My Soul (In a Good Way) is a weekly journal

about my efforts to get a debut novel published.

Last week my two sisters visited us, with a request to visit Yosemite. One of the truly great things about living in Fresno is that—as we locals say—it’s close to everything. Monterey Bay, San Francisco, the Paso Robles wine country, Los Angeles, and several national parks. In a little over an hour, we can arrive at the southern entrance to Yosemite. With little over an hour of additional driving, we’ll enter the fabled, dream-like Yosemite Valley.

Ours was a short trip. Just two nights.

One of the highlights, and the highest elevation of our brief adventure, found us wandering around the wonder of Glacier Point. We made sure to arrive near sunset. A full moon rising. Half Dome—directly across from us—shimmering in amber as the day welcomed night.

I snuck away from my sisters and wife and other giddy Half Dome gawkers and, for just a few strides, sauntered along the nearby Panorama Trail. If I’d kept going, eight or so miles of trail and a loss of 3,000 feet would’ve brought me back to Yosemite Valley.

But I didn’t keep going. My old, cranky bone-on-bone knees won’t let me. My balance, once slightly above average for a middle-aged dude, has predictably eroded with the accumulation of more years. Nowadays, gravity gleefully smacks me around. The rocks and roots populating a mountain trail can’t wait to see me face-to-face with ‘em.

So, it was only a handful of steps. And I was only away from my family for mere minutes. Later, my wife told me she couldn’t find me and had started to worry. Bad, bad Larry. I shouldn’t sneak away. I should tell folks where I’m going. But . . .

I just wanted a hint. Again. Of feeling a trail. Of the sole of my feet feeding the soul of my mountain memories.

This last week, with a brew of hope and foolishness, I also searched for a professional editor who could read and evaluate THROUGH A FOREST WILDERNESS. Though I’d have to pay for it, I craved someone’s honest reactions. There have been a host of rejections and little feedback. I sought, if you will, a “hint” from a stranger that knows about publishing and what might “sell.” Does my story work or is it too long or the characters are one-dimensional or . . .

Maybe this hired gun of an editor will give me encouragement to continue seeking a home for my novel.

Maybe I’ll receive a reality check about my less-than-dismal chances for traditional publishing.

Whatever may come. I needed to take another stride on this strange adventure of “selling my soul” in the form of a book.

This week, I didn’t send any queries to literary agents. And I received two (2) rejections. Of note, both rejections were from queries sent four months ago.

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“Substitute ‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very;’ your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.” – Mark Twain