Where My Story Starts

By Tonya Todd

We are taught that every story has a beginning, middle, and end. Easy enough to spot for finished projects. With in-progress stories, locating the start can be tricky.

Take my first manuscript, for example. In its roughest form, Dark Beacon doubled a reasonable word count. With more story than could fit in one book, my initial editing task was to determine how and where it should conclude. I can’t take credit for that decision. Like the book’s premise, the answer startled me awake in the middle of the night. In both cases, I scrambled for my glasses and jotted the notes by phone so my brain could return to rest.

Tonya Todd as Cleopatra. Photo/Richard Mathis.

With the end in sight, I struggled to find my start. As authors, we know so much more about our works than the reader needs to hear, yet we long to share the reasons for our character’s choices. The trick is to sprinkle history like well-spaced seeds. Starting in the right place helps hook your readers enough to guide them through your garden of essential details without getting them tangled in a weedy backstory.

After years of workshopping, shifting the start from Chapter One to Chapter Two to a new Chapter One to dabbling with a Chapter Zero then reverting to the Second Chapter One again, I entered 2020 believing I had achieved this milestone. Having found my story’s start, I ceased revising, stopped sharing in critique groups, and queried with confidence that it was the best book I could write with the best start and finish for that arc.

My focus shifted toward other goals, new beginnings to pursue. Cultivating a weekly blog on how to improve intimacy with your partner. Curating a literary workshop on diversity and inclusion. Planning the Las Vegas Writers Conference. Learning my role as Cleopatra for an upcoming stage play.

Then devastation struck. Not the pandemic. I hadn’t taken that seriously yet. At the end of January, a highly reputable agent passed on Dark Beacon after a full request. Immersed in the persona of the passionate Queen Cleopatra, the rejection rippled through me like a shockwave of despair. I took the failure as a sign. Stopped querying. Set the manuscript aside. Hid it from sight. Yes, it was that dramatic.

To distract from my heartache, I threw myself into my other projects. On February 29, I hosted Paving the Way: Conceiving & Crafting Diverse Characters for Inclusive Literature. Backed by Henderson Writers Group, and partnering with Nevada Humanities, The Center, and Grouchy John’s Coffee, we served over 50 members of the literary arts community. It was the only one of my projects to reach its projected conclusion.

Paving the Way attendees. Photo/John Tates.

Paving the Way faculty. Photo/Nicola DiPalma.

Two weeks later, real tragedy struck. Vegas went dark. Venues closed. Travel stopped. The debut of Bard at the Bar’s Caesar & Cleopatra, slated appropriately for the Ides of March, shut down the day it was to begin.

This gut punch knocked me off the throne. I understood the reasons. People were scared. People were dying. That didn’t change my pain. After three days of guilt-infused wallowing, I met with Henderson Writers Group’s board over Zoom to convince them to convert the in-person conference we had been planning for the last year to a virtual event. They agreed.

With only 14 days to prepare, the team began the transition: cancelling flight reservations and room bookings; purchasing software, computers, and headsets; training faculty; and pre-recording sessions. Armed with a handful of dedicated volunteers and driven by Cleopatra-sized will, we did it. We did it all. And when the dust cleared enough for us to breathe again, it was only April 5—still the early stages of the pandemic.

With the play cancelled and the conference complete, I joined the masses of those stuck at home with little to do. Like most, I found myself with extra time to fill. Yet, my excess of hours lasted fewer than two days. Creatives create.

One of my many yet-to-start projects was to adapt my manuscript, the one I’d stopped revising and querying, into a feature-length screenplay. So when my acting agent, who moonlights as a literary rep for scripts, asked to submit Dark Beacon for a recent call, I began a new endeavor. And when the feature film I was set to star in fell victim to COVID-19 cancellation, and the director challenged me to co-write a short with her that could be filmed from home, I accepted.

To complete my new goals, I broke from social media for a bit. No show-binging. No pile of books read. Nose pressed to the grindstone, I worked my brain until my body hurt. When I emerged, my screenplay was finished, the short film was ready to shoot, and I had collected a host of new skills.

On my return from isolation, I discovered a new rise in social awareness for the value of Black lives consumed our nation. Chaos erupted. And, like it or not, I was caught in the middle.

As a leader in the community, specifically one who advocates for inclusivity, I had an example to set. As an American, I had history to learn. And as a biracial individual, I had soul-searching to do.

While struggling with my own trauma triggered by racial injustice, I juggled another burden. Well-meaning people expected me to explain the experience of a whole race and culture. Though compelled by the responsibility to educate where I could, the task was impossible, unfair, and unrealistic. Although I am a member of the Black community, my life is blessed with privilege, my views blemished with prejudice. Racism from both sides shapes my self-worth, the characters I write, the roles I play. The lessons of grief and bigotry influence where I submit my art and which opportunities feel like real options for someone like me.

In the grand scope of events, my blog, 52 Love, no longer felt important. Who cares about intimacy when the world is falling apart? Within the silence of my secluded home, I considered quitting the project to focus on ways to change the world. The world disagreed.

Through emails, messages, and posted comments, blog followers voiced their appreciation for something positive during such dark days. They expressed gratitude for inclusive efforts and a sense of understanding. Unprompted, they thanked me for something to look forward to each week and shared their experiences with the blog post suggestions. Though I hadn’t mentioned a word to anyone about quitting, the universe heard my doubts and answered with an undeniable reason to keep going. Nothing matters more than love.

Around the globe, a new revolution toward human rights began. Worldwide support moved me to literal tears. Literary and filmmaking communities revved up their efforts toward inclusion. For better or worse, many individuals showed their true colors. Amid the mixed fallout of upended expectations, I strengthened friendships, ended acquaintances, and along the way, new chances presented themselves.

And with them, new fears. Literary conferences, podcasts, and programs reached out for my perspective. Who was I to sit on a panel of experts? How could I dare address such tremendous topics? The answer arrived in Cleopatra. Channeling that very passion that blocked my querying efforts, I absorbed the queen’s essence, raised my chin, and aimed to present with her power and poise. I won’t claim complete success, but even the universe acknowledged my shift in confidence.

In response to long-forgotten emails, many agents now requested my full manuscript and offered detailed notes. A developmental editor offered to look through Dark Beacon to strengthen it for submissions. Between new agent feedback, the editor’s on-point notes (including where to start the story), and the alterations I made based on the screenplay version, I overhauled the full manuscript again. But I still couldn’t bring myself to resume querying.

Instead, I filmed projects from home, continued my 52 Love blog, and took advantage of the many writing and acting workshops offered online. I started co-hosting an international podcast with an inclusive guest list and even returned to my role as Cleopatra in a recorded version of the play—a move which allowed thousands to see it rather than the few viewers that a live performance would grant.

By the end of the summer, I had landed three significant acting roles, extended my IMDb credits, and grown my blog readership to the point where many requested me to publish it in book form. Using the connections from workshops I participated in both as speaker and attendee, I requested advice about the potential 52 Love book. The overwhelming response? Do it!

Hope returned to my literary aspirations. I researched non-fiction projects, started working on a proposal, and reached out to a respected industry expert for help. I started another screenplay. I submitted the completed one based on my novel to a diversity springboard screenwriting contest and placed as a semi-finalist. And when Pitmad, DVPit, conference pitching, and Savvy Author’s Pitchfest became available, I submitted my updated Dark Beacon. And received 10 requests!

Almost as soon as I sent my manuscript materials to the interested parties, the industry expert asked me to call about the non-fiction proposal. Not only did she love the concept, she had recently added Literary Agent to her list of credentials and offered representation—for both the 52 Love book and Dark Beacon. Just like that, after years of work and effort, of riding waves of hope only to be flung into depths of despair, of believing and doubting and believing again, I had reached the end of my agent search.

Along with the excitement, this new status inspired a strange sense of mourning. Change, even desired change, can spark fear of the unknown. Couple that with the guilt of celebrating amidst a worldwide crisis and you have a recipe for conflicted emotions. I also faced the awkward task of withdrawing my manuscript for consideration. I expected a thrill when sharing the news, but I imagine it felt the same as when agents pass on someone’s work. It’s a necessity that brings no joy.

But, like the pendulum’s swing, my spirits lifted. I began a new manuscript and developed the habit of writing each morning. Under my agent’s guidance, I’m strengthening my 52 Love proposal and, you guessed it, revising Dark Beacon.

The sun set on 2020 and new dawns arose. I’m starting revisions on my latest manuscript. My love blog reached its conclusion. And as of the first week of January, I began hosting The 52 Love Podcast, based on the blog series.

Though adversity from this tumultuous year brought many endeavors to a stop, new opportunities replaced them. The trials and tribulations of 2020 reinforced an important lesson that carried me through my challenges this year. No matter where you are in your journey, you can always stop, channel your inner queen, and begin again.

Author and actress Tonya Todd plunged into Las Vegas, the Entertainment Capital of the World, young enough to immerse herself in bright lights, big city, and bigger dreams. As the Education Chair for Henderson Writers Group, she works at building a strong literary community that celebrates and embraces a variety of voices.

Tonya is invested in Own Voices writing and diverse representation in both the literary and cinematic worlds she inhabits. Her involvement in the literary, theatre, and filmmaking communities provides a platform to champion marginalized artists. In her role as regular co-host on the And I Thought Ladies Tale Podcast, she’s met a myriad of like-minded creatives dedicated to celebrating great stories.

To connect with Tonya, follow her social media @MsTonyaTodd and her IMDb page at imdb.me/TonyaTodd. You can also follow the 52 Love podcast here.

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Kathleen KuoJanuary 18, 2021E2 Comments