IWSG: The Fall Will Kill You

There’s a famous scene in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid where the title characters are trapped on a mountain ridge and a posse of hired guns is chasing them down. Sundance is prepared to fight them off, a fight they’ll likely lose, but Butch sees a way out: jump into the river at the bottom of the ravine. Sundance refuses. After a hilarious back and forth, Sundance admits that he can’t swim. Despite the desperation of their situation, Butch cracks up, not because Sundance can’t swim, but because he’s worried about the wrong thing. “The fall will probably kill you,” he says.

I’m posting this as part of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group, hopefully they welcome new members. Anyway, it’s been three months, give or take, since I released my novel, The Wind Maiden. I had no marketing plan, kind of on purpose, and kind of not, because I wouldn’t know what I was doing anyway. Well, anyone who’s published a book – or put their artwork on display, or released a CD, or in any way put their creativity on display for the would to see – understands the sheer terror involved giving it to the world. You also know it’s a thrilling kind of terror, like jumping out of an airplane.* Also like skydiving, the terror fades once you commit. Staring out the side of an airplane at 13,000 feet can get the hardest of hearts jittering, but once you’re tumbling through the air like a load of laundry, there’s not much point in being afraid.

 

My personal anxiety was simple: what if everyone hates it? I know it’s good, or good enough to be published, at least. I also know it’s not perfect, and good or not, everyone has different tastes. I braced my for the bad reviews. Everyone gets them, even the great ones like Neil Gaimen and Michael Chabon, and I’m not near their territory - not yet, anyway. So bad reviews are the price of doing business, and I was prepared for them. But there was one problem:

I was worried about the wrong thing.

I haven’t gotten any bad reviews yet because I basically haven’t gotten any reviews at all. I’ve sold some books, even to people I don’t know, but so far I have no idea if any of those people have even read it, or if they tried to and gave up, or heck, even if they liked it. I should have expected it: I read a lot, but before I saw things from the author’s perspective, even I never reviewed things, so I’m definitely not taking it personally.

On the other, I really need feedback. I was worried about bad reviews, now I’d kill for one,** This is my first book. I’ve gotten positive comments (and some critiques) form people I know personally, but the readers that don’t know me from Adam, they’ll tell me exactly how they feel, good or bad. And that’s what I want to know.

I’ve just got to figure out how to find them.

 

*With a parachute. I rather not experience the thrill of jumping without one.

**Metaphorically.

ABNA Cadabra

So I entered ABNA last week.  I did within a few hours of the contest opening, so I’m pretty confident I made the cut off.  I been reading other people’s posts about prepping their novel and grinding their query into game shape, and I realized something. 

I really didn’t do anything.

I could tweak, revise, and line edit my MS for the next twenty years and never be completely satisfied with it.  Not only that, but I think I hit the point of diminishing returns, where it’s about as good as it’s ever going to get, and the more work I put in will generate a smaller and smaller result.  So basically they got what I gave them, and if they don’t like it, so be it.

I wouldn’t have entered the contest if I didn’t think I had some kind of chance, but realistically, I’m going up against 4,999 other novels, many of them literary fiction.  I’m rooting for myself, and since anything else is now out of my control, I won’t gnash my teeth or rend my clothing if I don’t win.

A publishing contract and a trip to New York would be sweet, but what I know I’ll get from this no matter what happens, is a definite assessment of my query.  I really think my story is appealing enough to make through the first round, which is judged solely on the pitch, which is essentially my query.  So if I don’t make through, I’ll know for sure that my query isn’t going cut it no matter who I send it to.  If it passes, I’ll know I’m on the right track, and I’ll just widen my agent net a little more.

Here’s the pitch that I sent.  The main problem is that it feels long, even though it’s less than 250 words.

Seventeen-year-old Theadne Adir dreams of using her gift of speed to escape her bleak future on Qalon and to build a better life for her family. She’d even escape being Qalonian if she could. Her little brother is dying, her mom works two jobs just to provide scraps, and her entire universe is a sixteen block nightmare called the Pit. For decades, Qalon has cowered under the grip of the Sarall Supremacy, and through the aliens’ occupation, she’s learned to believe what the Supremacy teaches: Qalonians are the most wretched and pitiful life forms in the solar system.

When the Supremacy’s war with the planet Muer reaches Qalon, Thea’s way out seems shut until a midnight swim brings her face to face with an enemy not at all what they seem. Mistaken for a Muer collaborator, Thea finds herself running not for ribbons but for her life in a desperate trek through the darkest reaches of Qalon and into the arms of Talus of Raal, the captivating son of a Muer noble.

Thea and Talus’s obvious affection runs afoul of the Muerlings’ xenophobic sensibilities even as the Muerling Army launches a desperate assault on the full might of the Supremacy Military. Forced into a covert mission as a native guide on the streets of her home, Thea finds herself caught between enemies on both sides of the battle lines and suddenly torn between self preservation and the survival of a planet, and a race, she’s slowly learning to love.

So basically, I’m hoping on the first round; anything else is cake.

Mmm…cake…

Stylin’ (Except not Really)

So I got another award.  The Stylish Blogger Award.  Thank you, M.J.A at the Missing Word.  This is my third one this week, which is more a testament to the generosity of my readers than any inherent worthiness that might be found here.

The recipient of this award is encouraged to share seven things about himself.  I actually did that recently, so instead of coming up with another seven things, I’m going to let you decide what I reveal.  Leave me a question in the comments that you’d like me to answer – informative, hypothetical, embarrassing, whatever.  I’ll take the first seven I get and answer them honestly, no matter what.  If I get some really good questions after seven (if I get seven at all), I’ll answer them, too. 

How can you pass that up?

Also, I’ve decided to host my first blogfest soon, probably sometime in late February to coincide with (i.e. take my mind off of) my fortieth birthday.  I don’t have any details besides that, but I’ll post things as soon as I know them.

That’s the Best You’ve Got?

So I got my first rejection Tuesday morning.  It came at around midnight Chicago time, for some reason.  Despite knowing the odds and understanding the nature of the business and the overwhelming depth of competition, and knowing that I’d probably be rejected at first, I was still mildly surprised at my reaction to the form rejection email:

Meh.

Seriously.  I was almost glad I got it; it beats the limbo of not hearing anything, of wondering if you screwed up so royally it was all they could do to hit the delete button before any more damage was done, like Captain Kirk struggling to pull the warp drive lever before the ship explodes  (“Must…delete…query!”).  Or something like that.  Logically, every rejection is a setback, one more magnetically sealed security door keeping me separated from my goals.  Logically, I should try to glean any drops of info from the form rejection that help me understand what went wrong.

But really, I didn’t feel anywhere near the emotional reaction I thought I might.  I didn’t drop to the ground in my Nancy Kerrigan impersonation (Why?!  WWhhhyyy!?).  I’ll probably get two more in the next week or two I can add to the collection, though I’m not dreading it.  Which of course begs Nancy’s question.

Why?

Not “Why did I get rejected?” but “Why don’t I seem to care?”  I can’t really answer that.  It’s not because I have time, that’s for sure.  I’m not ancient, but I am a month from forty.  I don’t have the luxury to query a project for two or three years, give up, and move on to the next, and hope I can be published “by the time I’m thirty”.  Thirty was ten years ago.  I don’t want to just publish a book, I want to build a career, a body of work that I can leave behind as marker of my time here. 

Maybe it’s because I’m no stranger to rejection.  Don’t worry, I won’t hop on the psychiatrist’s couch here, but the realty is, I’ve had a lot worse.  Using a 300-word cold-call to convince an overworked agent that my MS out of thousands is the one she should commit her time and reputation to?  We’re set up for failure.  Rejection is expected.  We don’t cry when our lottery ticket’s a bust; we don’t rend our clothing when we’re not the thirtieth caller for concert ticket giveaways.  For every lucky (and deserving) duck who gets his book published, there are probably dozens of great novelists whose work will never be known. 

From a career standpoint, every rejection sucks.  From a personal standpoint, it really doesn’t bother me.  Maybe that’ll change after a hundred rejections, or even ten.  But for now, I’m rolling with it.  This is what we chose to do.  And we chose it because we love to write.

And no one can ever take that from us.

Show Me Yours Blogfest Entry

For my Eye Candy entry, click here.

For my 100 Words entry, click here.

DISCLAIMER:  I haven’t touched this since NaNo.  I’ve made no attempt to edit, revise, polish, whatever.  What you’re getting is pure first draft.  So, considered yourself warned.

This for the Show Me Yours Blogfest, host by Hannah @ Musings of a Palindrome.  I signed up for it before I remembered my NaNo novel kind of blows.  Well, it’s not that bad, but it needs a lot of work, as most first drafts do.  So I’ll show your mine, just promise not to giggle.

The setup: This is from Kids Eat Free, a YA horror novel.  Sixteen-year-old Wendy died when the bus she was on crash into a lake.  She died saving others.  Wendy’s boyfriend Doug couldn’t handle the grief, and made a pack with a mysterious figure who promised to give him Wendy back.  Unfortunately, he didn’t say anything about “alive”.  Wendy comes back, but as a revenant, basically a zombie with a brains and a personality.

Despite the creep factor, things go well at first with both Doug and her family a accepting of her new status.  But when Wendy starts give in to new urges, everything falls apart.

The setup for this scene is that Wendy has killed a fifteen-year-old girl, Cami, and Doug has finally realized how dangerous she is and tried to kill her…or whatever.  Feeling hurt and betrayed, she pays a visit to Doug’s house.

Remember: Rough Draft.  Very, very rough.

She can’t feel the pain, but Wendy knows something’s wrong.  She must have broken something. He must have broke something.  Doug.  The boy of her dreams.  The love of her life. Well, her life’s over, isn’t it?  And her dreams are as dead she is.  She had to stand there and listen to him as he tore her apart with his words, murdering her with hate.  He called her a monster, and his “mess”. He dragged her across the ground to the bridge as she begged him to stop, begged him to just talk to her, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t give her a chance. She was good enough for a cheap fuck in the stockroom, but when things got tough and she needed him the most, he turned on her. 

It’s good that she can’t cry anymore, because the tears would never stop. She doesn’t need tears. There are other, better ways to express grief, and she can’t wait to try them out. They want a monster, guess what? 

The door opens and derails her train of thought.  This is her first visit to the Stanton home; she’d never yet been invited, big surprise.  Behind the door stands a blond girl about seven years old with wide blue eyes: Doug’s sister.  She wears a pink cotton nightgown and clutches a white stuffed bunny to her chest.

“Well, you’re up late, Cutie Pie,”  Wendy says, though she knows the girl will hear nothing but a sick moan.  “Aren’t you afraid the monsters’ll get you?”  The girl slices the air with a scream that hangs in Wendy’s ears as the girl gets a good look at her.  She doesn’t blame the little thing.  She’s young; she doesn’t know what else to do. She doesn’t know that it won’t do her any good.

Remember, it’s a very rough draft.  Just saying.

Should Auld Rejections be Forgot…

I was going to write a retrospective of 2010 today, the highs and lows, the accomplishments and setbacks, the losses and the discoveries.  It was a year unlike any other, although there were no major tragedies or triumphs.  It was a very workmanlike year, each up and down a small cog in the machinery of my days.  But put them together and…I don’t know.  It was significant.  I was going to share all that, as I’ve had no hesitation sharing things on here, but I’ve decided to keep it to myself, just this once.  I’m not sure why.  Just because, I guess.

It’s been a while – too long – since I wrote a piece about my writing escapades.  Christmas is over, 2010 is breathing its last, and the publishing world will once again spring to life, exploring strange new queries, seeking out new authors and new manuscripts, boldly going. . .

Never mind, thinking of something else.  My point is, vacation is over; it’s time to get back to work.

And I will have my query ready. 

I had a mini-epiphany while twisting, pulling, and spindling(?) my query to mold it into the shape of that most mythical of creatures – the Perfect Query Letter.  What’s perfect?  To hear some tell, it’s as much detail as possible; others want little more than a logline. 

The trick, I think (but it’s not a trick really), to a good query is not in the writing but in the research.  Research the agents that fit your work and craft a query to fit each one of them individually.  It may take a lot of searching, especially the agents who don’t blog.  Find out what type of query a particular agent likes to read and write that query.  Then write a different query for the next.  I can’t speak to the mindset of an agent, but I know I’d be more inclined to linger over a query written in the style I prefer.  If you get a box of candy, you may eat them all, but you’re going after the kinds you like first. 

Instead of trying to force your writing to be perfect for everyone, accept the fact that it’s not and narrow the audience down those who will like it (and maybe even request pages as a result), then keeping the core of your pitch, write another in a totally different style if you have to.  Maybe this agent focuses on plot, and that one is more interested in finding a fresh voice.  And keep doing it.  It sounds hard, but really, writing isn’t the hard part, is it?  It’s forcing your writing to please everyone that’s hard. 

Anyway, that’s my theory.  Those of you ahead me, who’ve done the querying already, can tell me I’m nuts, or “duh” as the case may be.  I’ll find out soon enough.  

Enough About Me, Let’s Talk About Me

So I gussied up a little around here.  Added a few things, put up some proverbial curtains.  I think it looks a little better, but I’d love to hear what you all think.  The timing couldn’t be better, either, because Sanguine Musings has been named the “Blog of the Week” by Pandora Poiklilos @ Peace from Pieces.  Pandora has a weekly feature called Blog-A-Licious blogs in which she pores over of dozens of blogs each week and makes a list of about twenty or so blogs every week that are, in her words “Awesomeness, Interesting, and Pass-it-On”.  Out of all those sites, she chose my humble little effort to single out.  I’m really honored; this isn’t just an I-like-you-you-like-me-where’s-my-cupcake-thing.  It makes me believe I’m actually doing something worthwhile here.  Also, please check out her site; she blogs not only about writing, but about serious issues such as human rights and making the world better place to live.  While I write about doggie sex and zombies.

Okay, enough of that, it’s Blogfest time!  I entered a couple.  And by a couple, of course, I mean three.  I really like the concept of the blogfest in general: a place to discover new blogs and meet new people while sharing your creativity.  The only problem is that I’m busy enough without entering these things.  The nice thing about these three, though, is that I only have to write a total of three sentences between them.

First up, the New Creation Blogfest hosted by Summer @ My Inner Fairy.  The rules for this one are simple: take the last line of a story you’ve already written, and write the first line of a story you’ve been thinking about for a while.  Sort of a looking-back-looking-forward theme, perfect for the start of a new year.

Second, is the 100 Words for $100 Blogfest hosted by Elena @ You’re Write.  Except When You’re Rong.  Yes, there’s a prize.  For this contest, simply write a sentence.  No biggie, right?  Of course, the sentence has to be 100 words longs, give or take five.  For those of you who’ve gotten used to my incessant ramblings, you know the challenge for me won’t be writing 100 words, but writing only 100 words.

Last up, and – with all due respect to the other two – the one I’m most looking forward to, is the Significant Other Blogfest, co-hosted by DL @ Cruising Altitude and Talli Roland.  On January 21st, they want you to turn your blog over to your significant other and have them write a post about what it’s like living with a writer.  For you single types, they point out that “significant other” doesn’t have to mean spouse.  It could be your boyfriend or girlfriend.  It doesn’t even have to be a romantic significant other; it could be your child, your roommate, your parole officer, whatever.  Any one who feels the effects, good and bad, of someone close to them trying to make their way in the publishing world.  For me, that would be my wonderful wife, Kristy, by far the most significant of my others.  On January 21st, I’m going sit back while she writes a moving, thoughtful, often humorous account of the life of a writer’s wife.  You’re going to love it.

Boy is she going to be surprised when she reads this.

Would You Like Some Cheese with That?

There’s one distinct (and lonely) advantage to not having anyone in my real life that can relate to the struggles of an aspiring writer: it precludes my urge to whine. If no one has any idea of just what’s so important about a query letter, then whining about not wanting to do it isn’t going to get me a lot of traction.

“So don’t do it, then.” 
“But I have to.” 
“So do it.”
“But I don’t wanna…”
“So don’t..."
“Aarrgh!! You not helping!”

So like a garage full of old paint cans and greasy rags, I lack ventilation, in the sense I can’t vent properly. So that usually leaves me no choice but to suck it up and just do it.  But like that garage, if I can’t vent sooner or later, eventually I'll become toxic.  I love my wife, and she is the most supportive person I’ve ever known, but she doesn’t know the intricacies of the publishing world.  She can’t point out the importance of the query letter or observe that I’m not procrastinating out of laziness or inconvenience, but because I know this is my shot – if I screw up the query, it doesn’t matter how good my book is.  Three years of my soul in the hands of 300 words (there’s a Thermopylae reference in there somewhere).  And my coworkers will never have the insight to point out to me that maybe I’m putting off querying because I know I can’t be rejected if I don’t put myself out there.

As a result, I know that no matter how cutesy/sympathetic/alright-enough-already annoying I am, I can’t whine at home; I can’t whine at work; I can’t even whine on Facebook.

So guess what that leaves?

I don’t want to write my query letter.  I’ve spent three years agonizing over this damn book; haven’t I bled enough?  I want to catch up on some reading.  I want go outside and make snow angels.*  I want to watch bad television.  Why do I have to write a letter anyway?  Can’t I just send them my MS along with a hundred or so cover ideas, my non-negotiable terms, and a list of who I think should play the characters in the movie?  Come on!


Hey, that actually worked; I feel so much better now.  Alright, enough whining.  I’ve got work to do.

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* I really, really don’t want to make snow angels.

Well Now You’ve Gone and Given Me the Warm and Fuzzies

I won an award!  Thank you so much to Every Book and Cranny for presenting little old me with the Versatile Blogger Award.   It’s my first blogging award, and it comes just in time to offset my mini-downer for not finishing NaNo.  I’m really touched and I appreciate her taking the time not only to read my little crazy ramblings, but also to recognize it in some small way. 

Of course, there are stipulations.  The rules are:

1. Share 7 things about myself
2. Pass the award to 15 bloggers five bloggers recently discovered
3. Notify the blogger recipients
4. Link to the blogger who gave the award

Okay, seven things about me:

1. I’ve lived my whole life since I was two years old in the American Midwest, yet I’ve never been on a horse.  And it’s not from lack of want to, either.  I have been on an elephant, though.  Go figure.
2. About four years ago, I had the Roman numeral thirteen tattooed on my wrist in an attempt to overcome my triskaidekaphobia.  It worked.
3. There are three levels of emergency medical technician.  EMT-B are the “basic” techs.  They can do first aid, administer oxygen, and perform CPR with an AED.  EMT-I are “intermediate” and are just as the name suggests.  Indiana and Illinois (where I work and live, respectively) do not utilize “I’s” too frequently.  EMT-P are the highest tier and also known as paramedics.  Paramedics can start IV’s, perform CPR with manual defibrillators, give medications, intubate, and a lot more, like drill a hole into your leg (seriously).  I’m a paramedic.  Being a paramedic is in at least one way like being a writer: if you don’t have the passion for it, if you’re just doing it to cash a paycheck, you’ll burn out really fast.
4. In the past few days, I’ve become mildly obsessed with a particular Richard Scarry book I had as a child.  I can’t remember the name, but I’d know it if I saw it; I can see several of the pages in my head as if I’d just leafed through them yesterday.  I don’t know why it’s so important to me lately, except that I loved that book and for what could have been years but were more likely months, I carried it with me everywhere.  It’s a time stamp of a simpler day, a time before car payments and broken faucets, and other trappings of adulthood.  It runs the risk of becoming my “Rosebud”.  On the other hand, if chasing after a kids’ book starring an earthworm in a fedora is the extent of my midlife crisis, I think everyone will be okay with that.
5. The three greatest words in the English language: “Wrapped in bacon.”
6. I’m a pretty awful speller* (in fact, I just misspelled “awful” (and “misspelled”)).  In my world, which mostly consists of family and work, I’m “that writer guy,” or the “book guy.”  So people are always asking me how to spell things.  It’s probably like working with someone who happens to be a podiatrist on the side (“Hey, can you take a look at something for me?” Plops bare foot on lunch table).  Generally, the people asking me to spell things aren’t writing words like triskaidekaphobia, but sometimes I feel like I’m hiding some dark secret from them, like I’m secretly a Cylon** or something.  I spelled “Cylon” right, didn’t I?
7. About two and a half years ago I was living alone as what they used to call a “confirmed bachelor”.  I’d been spit out of one bad relationship after another and decided I was done; never again would I get serious with anyone.  So naturally, I celebrated my one year wedding anniversary this past September and for the past year and a half, I’ve been the father of two teenage boys.  That was probably the biggest, most abrupt change in a life of abrupt changes.  But it’s also been the best thing that’s ever happened to me: challenging to be sure, but worth every minute.  I never would have thought I wanted kids, but must have, because I don’t what I’d do without either of them, or their mom. 

Anyway, enough with the mumbo-jumbo.  On to the fun part.  My immediate predecessor doled out five of these instead of fifteen.  Five sounds like a good number to me.

Here they are:

Spinning Threads – Emily writes very nice poetry and blogs about writing, spirituality, and life in general.
 
Turning the Page: A Literary Ramble – Jodi’s site is jammed packed with all kinds of writer goodies like writing tips, anecdotes, book reviews.  She even offers up samples of her work (it’s very good).  On top of all that, she’s hosting a Query Letter Blogfest in about a week.  You can sign up for that here.

Elevator Musings – Erica blogs about reading, writing, and grammar.  She manages to be witty and down-to-earth all at once.  Not only that, but she forever changed how I dunk my Oreos.

Busy, Busy, Buttons – This site has nothing to do with writing or publishing.  In fact, the author of the blog doesn’t even have opposable thumbs.  Buttons, a ten-year-old Shih Tzu blogs about life as a (pampered) pooch, her occasional power struggles with her mother, and her dazzling collection of squeaky toys.  I don’t really remember how I came upon this site, but I’m so glad I did; it’s a lot of fun.  I defy you to read this blog in a bad mood and not be cheered up at least a little.

Dead End Follies – Not only does Ben blog about writing, books, and the literary world in general, but he also offers insightful reviews running the gamut of popular culture: music, movies, video games.  He blogs a lot.  I had three posts in November; I think he had three in the time it took me to write this.  That’s a good thing, though, because he always has something interesting to say.

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* I’m a bad speller and a bad typist.  You’d think those two would occasionally cancel each other out and I would “typo” the misspelled word into the correct spelling.  Well, no.
** How awesome would that be?   

Road Map

I got my critique for my pitch proposal a lot sooner than I expected.  Crushed are my unrealistic dreams that she would be so in love with it that the world would fall away, and only she and the pitch would remain, their eyes locked in a fiery…

Anyway, that didn’t happen.  No short cuts for me; it’s the long and winding road for as long as it takes.  It’s a long road, treacherous and lonely, but at least I know where I’m going and how to get there.  Actually, it wasn’t all bad.  Heck, just getting honest feedback from a professional was worth the price of admission.  I don’t how polite she was in crafting the comments, but she had some positive words.  She complimented two of my sentences (I only had seven, so pretty good batting average) and said the opening was nice, if a little generic.  She was confused about Thea’s attitude toward her home and felt the mission was too vague.  I got the impression she liked it overall, but that it wasn’t specific enough, that it didn’t give her anything to make her want to pick my book out of the hundreds of letters she gets in a week.

Even though the miracle ending didn’t happen, this was a very positive experience.  The hardest thing for me to know is just how much of the Wind Maiden’s world people can “see”.  I’ve been living there with these characters off and on for five years; It’s as real to me as any place on Earth.  More so than some.  To everyone else, though, it’s just words on a page, and my biggest mistake in the pitch was not providing enough words.  I was so worried about overdoing it that I never considered I might under-do it.

Anyway, I’ve got great notes – a road map to along, as well as proof a respected literary agent thinks I can craft a good sentence (hey, we take the victories where they are).