FOLLOW THE WHITE RABBIT

I wrote my fourth novel, White Rabbit, in the throes of the pandemic. Which may come as a strange surprise to readers, since we are now almost halfway through 2026, and the novel is nowhere to be found. 

I am very happy that I have three novels published thus far. It has been a goal of mine since I was a child. I am happy that, technically speaking, I have accomplished that goal. But with White Rabbit came the opportunity to strive for something bigger. Once the novel was done, I began sending queries out in the hopes of earning a literary agent. Someone who would, in turn, submit my novel to big name publishers in the hopes of getting a book deal. An agreement we would both benefit from. 

But shortly after I began submitting to agents, the rejections started rolling in. I can’t recall what any of those rejections said, apart from one. That the writing was solid, but the plot needed serious work. They absolutely hated the ending. 

I’m grateful to my past self for listening to this feedback. I stopped submitting. I sat back. I pondered. White Rabbit sat in a (digital) drawer for a few years while I concentrated on other things. Namely, my librarian career and dating a handful of idiots. 

But one day, one spectacular day, a new ending came to me. An ending that was both a little insane and wildly entertaining. My family was skeptical of my idea, but I knew I was onto something. 

I went to work again. I wrote up a brand new outline for the book, and started over. The rewriting process took me longer than a year, but it was worth the time and energy. I knew White Rabbit was a thousand times better than what it had been. 

Last year, I began the grueling and humbling process of submitting to agents again. And like clockwork, the rejections have come tumbling in. Only this time, agents have complimented my plot. They, too, know I am onto something unique. Something special. Something worthy. Their criticisms have been much more specific this round, and pertain to pacing, intensity, and building up the psychological aspects of the novel. 

This process has not been fun. I have cried, and berated myself, and have doubted my ability and talents as a writer. But I am so grateful for these agents, for these rejections. So many of them have seen the potential in my work, and hope that I will keep at it. They, too, hope to see this novel on the shelf one day. Criticisms sting, but so many of them have made this story better. Their feedback has been humbling, grueling. And invaluable. 

So I am revising once again. Many writers who linger on writing subreddits have discussed shelving novels. Putting their rejected manuscripts back in a drawer, to revisit some other time. They begin focusing on entirely new projects, something fresh. And there are many days I wish I could do that. I wish I could set White Rabbit aside. Work on the handful of other plots I have for different horror novels. 

But this story haunts me. When I’m not working on it, I’m thinking about it. If I chip away at my rewrite, I think about it. When I miss a day of writing, I think about it. When I started writing a chapter for a different story, my brain and my heart still lingered on White Rabbit. Maybe it’s the simple fact that it’s been at the forefront so long now, I just can’t seem to let go. Or maybe it’s that I truly believe this novel has the potential to make or break me. Maybe the reason changes, depending on the day. 

Whether or not agents, publishers, or future readers agree with me, I know I have something here. A dip into madness. A psychological surprise. I know White Rabbit will be worthy of a dust jacket someday. And I’m going to keep working at it until that day finally comes.