Consider the Epigraph

I have an epigraph. I've had it saved in a Google Doc now for months. I found it while I was searching for quotes by Louise Brooks, who plays a small but significant role in my debut novel.

I haven't told my agent there's an epigraph that's sitting in a Google Doc, parked along with other scraps from my debut novel--abandoned paragraphs, poems I may want to include if rights don't get in the way--headless words and phrases like:

"I played memory games, trying to recall the names of actors and actresses I was suddenly having trouble remembering. I made the names longer with each loop and pushed them further into the past.

Mark Ruffalo. Jenna Elfman. Bridget Fonda. Donald Sutherland."

The truth is, I don't know what the etiquette is on epigraphs. Is it presumptive to put them in a manuscript before it goes on submission? Is it a jinx? Is it something you only discuss with an acquiring editor?

I don't know any of these things because until November of last year, I wasn't a writer. I'm jealous of those who've written all their lives--the ones who wrote fanfic starring Harry Styles or plotted elaborate magic systems on composition notebooks. I'm even jealous of those who only ever wrote in journals with plastic locks and strongly worded warnings on the front page. It's my favorite thing, and I didn't know that until November of my 42nd year of life.

The epigraph in question is Louise Brooks talking about herself. I've always been fascinated by her because she didn't discover her true talent until she was older. By her own admission, she'd failed at everything by then: actress, cook, wife, lover, friend. She didn't add writing to her list of failures. She went so far as to say spelling, but spelling is not writing. She understood something about herself by then. "Here," she told the world through omission, "is a thing I can do."

I understand Louise. I've abandoned piano, bread-making, art school, Being The Person That Knows All the New Bands, non-profit work, a fashion blog where every outfit was named something clever. I've even abandoned driving. I haven't driven in thirteen years.

The epigraph I've chosen ends with Louise lamenting that she cannot give herself the excuse of "not trying" after her many failures. She tried with all her heart. That's what made me choose it. Not the humorous list of failures, but the acknowledgement that she tried.

I often wonder if she had the kinds of superstitions I do about writing. Not wanting to add the epigraph until the contract is signed. Shushing anyone who talks about "the book." Maybe the list of failures was to get ahead of herself--set herself up to not be surprised if she failed at writing.

While browsing quotes for her to find my epigraph, I found two side by side. I've been curious to know which one comes first chronologically. I prefer to think she wrote one while in the throes of imposter syndrome, and then recovered, the way we all do after we've had our coffee or reread one of our really good chapters.

The first quote is, "I shall write no more."

The second is, “For two extraordinary years I have been working on it - learning to write - but mostly learning how to tell the truth. At first it is quite impossible. You make yourself better than anybody, then worse than anybody, and when you finally come to see you are 'like' everybody - that is the bitterest blow of all to the ego. But in the end it is only the truth, no matter how ugly or shameful, that is right.”