A woman, alone in a hostel at the end of the world is trying desperately to book a flight because her boyfriend just dumped her — 6,000 miles from home.

The image came to me as I sipped on beers on the patio on a cool September night in Vina del Mar, Chile. When I got home to Seattle, I started writing. Once I had one half of a scene, the vision for a novel spilled out in front of me and I quickly dove into #Nanowrimo — National Novel Writing Month for those uninitiated.

30 days and 50,000 words later, I had done it. I had written my first (half) of a novel.

I fancied myself a pantser in those days — the plot came to me as I flew by the seat of my pants, my word count rising ever higher. I didn’t need charts and graphs and character sheets and scene breakdowns. Who has time for that? I only have 30 days to write 50,000 words!

Cut to four years later. I’m polishing up that manuscript I started all those years ago. Well, that might not be techinically true.

I’m pretty sure I threw out 90% of that manuscript and started over.

Three times.

The last time I started over, I went in with charts and spreadsheets and character sheets and scene breakdowns. I learned something about myself.

I, my friends, am a dedicated plotter.

As it turns out, if I don’t know exactly how one scene needs to go for the next scene to make sense, I’m just going to write pages of dialog that amuses me but doesn’t do anything to advance the plot. Mindless chatter? Gee, that doesn’t sound like me or anyone I know.

So with October in full swing and the bud if an idea blooming in my mind, I’m fully committing myself to #Preptober. Because in a few short weeks, I’ll be diving back into Nanowrimo with a brand new story that I am totally jazzed about.

It’s bittersweet to be moving on from the first manuscript that made me believe in myself as a writer. I honestly love this book. The characters, the story, the setting. Everything in it, even that sticky middle, gives me a sense of pride. I finished something, and I love that something that I’ve finished. I find myself just going back and reading pieces of it and remembering where those scenes started, how those characters have evolved. I’m ooey-freaking-gooey with pride — and that’s saying a lot because most people will tell you that bristle at any kind of compliment.

I’ve learned a lot over the past four years about the craft of storytelling. I’m really excited to be able to put everything I’ve learned into this new novel. My sincere hope is all that learnin’ will have me capable of pumping out this draft in a few months, rather than a few years.

And in the meantime…I’m going to be pumping that first novel out into the world.

I have my list of agents. I have my letter, which I will probably revamp one or twelve more times. I’m braced and ready for rejection and I think that’s because I believe so strongly in my book. I know it’s good. I know that with 100+ agents on my list that one of them will be interested.

But then, rejection, in its many forms, has always been one of my greatest fears. I’m hoping that age, maturity, and an overall comfort I’ve found in myself, my ability, and my purpose will quell that stomach-churning fear, but there’s no way to really know until I experience it.

So, agents, bring it on. I can handle all of your rejection probably.

Anywho. Are you a plotter or a pantser? You got any good query tips? Maybe a brownie recipe that I can indulge in when I get that first full-manuscript rejection? Share ’em in the comments and make me feel less alone.